Detective D. Case (22 page)

          “All of
us?” he repeated. D. repeated a lot of things.

          Lake nodded.
“The police should be the only ones who take control of such cases, not poor frail
men like you, barely making a penny per day. Isn’t it how all of you are? That seems
to be the appropriate label for people like you.”

          No comment.

          Around
them the scenery had changed. The once glass walls disappeared (they were already
melting from before) and they were now on the rooftop of the same building. Paul
was nowhere to be found. Inches away from where D. crouched was the dizzying distance
of thirty stories and a thousand falls, the place where anyone afraid of heights
(or falling for that matter) would shiver and wet their trousers.

          “Where
is Paul?” D. asked.

          Lake giggled.
“Paul is dead.”

          “That’s
not funny.”

          “It is
to me. Now, why don’t you put your mind to work on why Paul disappeared, and I mean
really
disappeared? Go on.”

          The pain
was coming back into D.’s veins and blood. Arms were twitching mad, screaming in
mystical tones that came from the hell next door. D.’s lips jolted and rose up revealing
his pink gums and filthy yellow teeth. Opposite him Lake stood, doing nothing at
all. He had his arms behind his back, waiting for the old detective to react. So
far nothing was happening except the old man was fighting back impulses.

          “Realize,
now, that Paul never existed to begin with. Realize how, after all this time, fifty
years is the true number – but not from the time of his disappearance. It has been
quite the fifty years since this yarn of a story began, and it will end today. The
end of the story is premade and will surface in the world soon; why, it already
started with Paul’s so-called return. Every single version of Paul McDermott – from
child to young adult to man – had been portrayed by actors, none of those people
knowing what they were doing while they were doing it. The only ones in on it were
his made up family. Their roles were complex since the beginning, but they did well.
Winnie, on the other hand, was a different problem. She never knew she was living
her life in lies, wrapped together with a petty bow and luxuries. She will never
know and will continue to live that way, thinking her brother returned and she’ll
live a happy, more prosperous life. Her parents, in a way, brainwashed her, but
I suppose that was my doing to make her grow up into a lie, like Mr. Truman in that
fabulous TV show of his. Quite the shocking surprise, isn’t it? The darling little
star of this show, but none know it as such. On another note, the police force had
to be traumatized in order to make them choose you – all pieces of the story. I’m
sure you know about the story map web? Yes, that one, I made that for you specifically
so you would know what to expect. And yet you think this is all some kind of revelation
to overcome, to bear, when it really isn’t in truth. Blinded by your own instincts,
that is how you have lived that pathetic life of yours. For fortune to arise, sacrifice
must be made. There you have it.”

          Lake took
a deep breath that reached the capacity of his lungs, then exhaling. “Never in your
life had you ever felt such pain and loss of control,” Lake said, bringing forward
his step. One kick had D. on the rocks, the tips of his fingers clinging to, not
just the edge of the De Angelo building, but to life itself. “Few times have you
seen light as bright as this.”

          And there
it was – here came the sun. Light showered the two men, one old and one cruel, in
such a way that not even heaven could replicate the feeling. D.’s eyes saw the taste
of death coming through and sure enough it really would come this time, set forth
in the coming light. Slightly did his mouth open? Strangely, it tasted like hope.

          “Why am
I doing this?” Lake said. “I won’t tell you that. I’m saying too many things
and am beginning to sound like a villain. Which isn’t my intention, I might add.
I am not one to spit on with pure hatred; no, I want to help people and not hurt.
You all, on the other hand, are obstacles blocking me from my true passionate goals
and the bright futures to withhold.”

          The old
detective understood it all. This man, Lake, had truly gone into a mental breakdown.
He had turned mad to the point where he thought himself a savior, hope itself glimmering
in golden armor. The image of Christ and other religious idols could not compare
with this new man who came from the sorrow depths of horror resurfacing into something
so diabolical it might actually be true.

          One second
he might actually have let go. But he didn’t. Life was too pure for that. The last
of his fingers slipped away, but the other hand grabbed on. Was it the light behind
all the work of this nearly dead man? A mystery was a mystery, anyway.

          “You truly
are mad,” said the old detective, barely living and breathing. “And you will die
because of it.”

          “Still
a child, aren’t you, D.?” said Lake. “Detectives do nothing but con people’s personal
lives. You are no different. Ask me what have I done and I will tell you.”

          “What have
I done? I did nothing wrong!”

          “Of course
you didn’t. Most of your cases were late in the schedule and a far cry from complaints.
Believe me, I’ve checked.”

          “You have?”

          “I have.
Nothing different, believe me. My mission is to save people from this disaster and
put faith in the police for ones who have always been frightened of them. Make the
world a better place. Wouldn’t you like that?”

          “Yes, but
not in the way you will do it.”

          “Are you
sure about that? I doubt your mother would want to see you this way, in such depressed
a state. I spoke with her and she made that particular point very clear.”

          “Y-you
have?” stammered the old man. “Lake, that’s impossible for you to have talked to
her.”

          “Yes. Now
don’t believe before I’ve finished talking that I’m your mysterious father or some
nonsensical plot twist, because I’m not. But yes, I spoke with her before she died.
If you die for me, make yourself disappear and never become an investigator again;
you can always see the sunshine, D. Maybe you can see your mother again.”

          He thought
about it. Most of the blood in his body was draining low, making him barely able
to stand. About now he tipped and topsy-turvied or however you say it. Life was
leaving him.

          He pushed
Lake off the De Angelo Building. The story would never be finished in Lake’s point-of-view.
Once the man fell, everything turned dark again as if nothing had happened. Had
anyone else seen what he had seen, or was it all just a dream?

D.
collapsed to the ground. Was he waiting to die? Death scared him, like children
had been, but this was worse. Also, to add to the scenery, it had begun raining.
His coat got heavier and wetter. His head rested on the roof, the bullet holes punctured
into his chest with legs no longer sustainable. Somewhere, according to Lake, was
his mother, but D. didn’t know where. She could be anywhere, he thought. As the
blood left his body and nobody was there to help him (where in the hell was Paul,
Winnie, Lincoln, and the rest of them--he had seen only a glimpse?) the old detective
thought in long strung out sentences. Forever in he might have the pain of the strings
tugging his life, but the right decision still lingered. Was Lake right? D. thought
that when you die, everything becomes calm but it was anything like that. Brain
damaged to the point of death, thinking was without form. Were he to be alive, the
world might become a different place. D. didn’t know for sure, but at least one
rational thought was kept in his mind: he was dying alone – like he feared – and
he was thinking like normal.

Was
Lake right?

Was
Lake right?

Was
Lake right?

*****

In 1945 A.T. – that
stood for “alternate time,” similar to alternate realities – the P.I. Abolishment
Act had been established in the city of Old Chicago Way City, the corrupt replica
of what people thought of as Chicago. A precise 20 minutes later, the remaining
detectives and P.I.s were murdered. All of the deaths weren’t done at once, synchronized,
but it was done quickly.

Everybody
believed in the new force of government, where nobody could do what they wanted.
Freedom did not exist anymore (it had died before they knew it) and an old woman
in a hospital had shuddered her last breaths. She said something starting with the
letter D, but nobody knew what the word meant, much like Kane’s rosebud. The world
definitely was a happier place now, they guessed. Where had they been all these
years? Oh wait: everybody forgot the year.

And
yet even after the P.I. Abolishment Act, a strange and lone old man strolled through
the streets like a ghost looking for something it had not done in its standard lifetime.
Like most things, people recognized it,
but never acknowledged
its existence.

The
End