Tinted Truth

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Simple things and big issues.

Submitted: October 28, 2016

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Submitted: October 27, 2016

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"It was 10:30pm--no, 11:00--I mean 10:30, I think." Johnathan's face blushed and his eyes looked away in confusion as he tapoed his fingers in his chin and wondered what time it was. 

"It's quite alright Mr. Harkins."

Detective Raymond put out his cigarette in the glass ashtray and threw his glasses on the table between the both of them. 

"I don't need to know the exact time." His voice was deep and his cigarette--multiple cigarettes had formed a light fog above their heads. It was late. Johnathan sighed. 

"I think--I'm pretty sure it wasn't a dream. It all seemed so real." The detective crossed his arms, reclined in his chair and and looked at him dead serious, waiting for him to go on. He was wearing a worn out suit with suspenders, he looked tired; you could tell by the light shadows that curled up beneath his eyes and his expressionless face. 

"Proceed." He murmured in a low voice. 

"I was walking home from work, the sane route I always take. I paced slowly down the street. I remember seeing a car pull up on the opposite side. I didn't mind it, people pulled up all the time. However, at night I am always alert; just in case, you know?" The detective cocked an eyebrow, his face still serious. 

"Anyway, I payed attention to this car particularly since it was the only one in the street. Cars don't usually drive at that hour." 

"About that." Says the detective. Johnathan stopped and looked at him with alarmed eyes. He seemed uneasy--and twitchy. 

"Why were you coming home from work that late?" Johnathan looked confused and blinked a few times. Finally, he looked at the floor and back up again, he said calmly, 

"I take the night shift." The detective nodded. 

"Go on."

"Um... Let's see, Ah yes! A strange car pulled up. Blue, no, black, yes black. A man, tall and with very short hair, quickly got out of the car. Wait... there was something about the car..." He looked around the room, searching for answers. Again tapping his fingers against his chin. He looked at the detective with a sly grin and pointed his finger at him.

"A sofa." He mumbled. 

"The sofa we found I assume." The detective was tired and wanted to go home. 

"Yes, there was a sofa on the roof of the car. It was badly set with a few ropes tangled to keep it from falling off. He stopped the car and got out, unstrapped the couch and just... just, threw it over." 

"Threw it over?"

"Yes, yes; pushed it right off the car." 

"Anything else?" Said the detective as he glanced at his watch.

"I didn't really pay attention to it at first, but there was something terribly odd about the couch." Harkins crossed his legs as he frowned.

"I crossed the street to...well; 'check it out', and the couch was dirty."

"Dirty?" Asked the detective.

"Yes, very dirty indeed. There were multiple stains all over it and large bumps were sticking out of the cushions. I couldn't see what it was... so I looked for the cushion zipper...then I... I unzipped it." He stared into the distance with his legs still crossed and leaning forward towards the detective, he rested his head on his hands. His water-filled eyes glistened with the light that they reflected. 

"There were..." He shook his head and looked at the detective with serious eyes. 

"Body parts." He muttered in a slight whisper. The detective sighed a very bug sigh and said,

"Yes, we know this already." He remarked loudly.

"Body parts!" Johnathan was shaking now.

"Then what?" The detective stood up, exasperated. Johnathan looked up at the detective shyly. 

"That's it, that's all I know, I called the police." Serious, the detective muttered furiously.

"Get. Out." Mr. Harkins squirreled across the room and out the front door, shutting it hard behind him. The detective let out a relived sigh, packed up his suitcase and went home. 

The next morning the detective came into his office and noticed something in the edge of the room. He gruntingly bent down and picked it up. It was a blooded-fingerprint stained note that read,

"Relax. It was just a little something to make the couch more comfortable."

The detective looked up with wide eyes. Before he could blink, he was standing in his office doorway, asking his secretary,

"Can you please contact Mr. Harkins for me?" Something caught his eye, he could swear he saw something move behind the office plant. A grin, he had seen it before...

 

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2017 F.W. Vega. All rights reserved.

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