Fiction Series

The Corner of Something and Nothing

Chapter 4 — The Watcher and the Butcher

I stood frozen as I stared through the crack in the blinds. Horrified by the sight in front of me. The shape, wrapped in shadow, detail absorbed from sight by the glare of the streetlight behind, was clearly a person. Thoughts raced through my mind. Had they been hit by a car? No, I’d have heard that. Perhaps they were drunk and simply passed out. I tried to convince myself of that. I wanted to believe it. It wasn’t impossible even though it had never happened around here before.

I glanced, as best I could without opening the blinds, up and down the street. Nothing! Silence! Dead silence in fact. It was then that the realization truly hit me, and it hit me like a flood. Whoever it was, was dead. How long had they been there? I never heard anything. No struggle, no commotion, no screams. I don’t even know why I looked outside. It was late and I was on my way to bed. The house was dark and the randomness of just glancing through the window struck me I suppose.

I grabbed my phone to call the police but paused. What was I supposed to say? “I’m almost certain there’s a dead body in the street directly in front of my home and I just happened to look out the window and see it.” That seemed insane in my head. It would probably seem a bit off to the police as well. I stood, halfway to my door, wondering how to proceed.

I decided that I had to make sure, one-hundred percent sure, that whoever lay there was, in fact, dead. Terrifying thoughts raced through my head as I slipped my shoes on. What if they were murdered and the killer was still close by? What if the police thought I did it? Who could have done it? There’d never been a murder in this neighborhood.

I flicked on the porch light and slowly opened the door. It was past midnight and the street had an ominous look I’d never noticed before. The sections between the streetlights were as black as the void. Every possible nightmare the imagination could conjure was lurking there, waiting to grab any passersby and drag them into an unending horror. On the opposite side of the street, the park took on a sepulcher-like quality to the point that it might as well have been a graveyard.

The fear threatened to overtake me but I choked it back. Summoning some courage, I tried to silence my thoughts, and stepped onto the porch. I moved forward with a slow uneasiness. As I got closer to the body, I could see a pool of black spreading out from under the head and neck. I cursed under my breath and dialed the police. After taking my information and hitting me with a barrage of questions, I was told to return to my home and wait for the officers to arrive. I was kept on the phone for the few minutes it took for them to descend on the neighborhood.

In no time, the quiet, eerie stillness became a cacophony of lights, sound, and movement. Neighbors had started to arrive on the scene, held back by officers and yellow crime scene tape. I had been questioned by the first officers to arrive but could only rehash what I’d already told the dispatcher.

I sat on the porch, smoking a cigarette to help calm my nerves, while I watched the commotion. I could overhear bits and pieces of conversation between the officers and emergency personnel. Nothing provided much information, but I did hear “white male, approximately fifty years old, deceased, suspected homicide”. Photos had been taken of the body and the surrounding area. The coroner was now on the scene examining the corpse.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the voice made me jump. “I’m sorry I startled you. I’m Detective Brinsen. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“They already know everything I know, detective. All I can do is repeat myself.” I was annoyed but tried not to let him hear it in my voice. Nothing was his fault. I wasn’t trying to be rude.

“Oh, I realize that ma’am, just procedure though. You understand! I’d like to record our conversation. It could be of use as the investigation proceeds.”

I sighed and put out my cigarette. “Would you like to come inside?” I asked. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee. God knows I could use some.”

“That would be great,” he smiled.

For the next forty-five minutes, we sat at my table, drinking coffee while he asked questions and I told him what I knew. When he was finished, he stood and thanked me for my time and the coffee.

“There’s one more thing, ma’am,” he said, not looking at me.

I thought he would continue but he didn’t, so after an uncomfortable pause, I ask him what else I could do.

“I’d like for you to come with me down to the morgue to look at the body. Perhaps it’s someone you know and you can identify them.”

I couldn’t immediately respond. I was shocked and saddened. The realization that it could be someone I know hit me like a freight train.

“I don’t suppose it could wait till morning?” I was almost pleading with him.

“Afraid not,” he replied. “Best if we just get it out of the way now. I’ll drive you down and bring you back home.”

I sighed heavily and lit another cigarette. “I suppose I don’t have a choice.”

“You have a choice ma’am. You don’t have to and I can’t force you, but if you are able to identify the body, it would sure be a big help”

“Okay,” was all I could muster.

As we walked to his car I glanced at my watch. It was after 3 a.m. Not that it mattered, I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight anyway. The ride to the morgue took about twenty minutes, and I was thankful that we rode in silence. We walked in, Detective Brisen spoke briefly with the coroner, and I was ushered down a hallway and into a small room. In the center was a small metal table with a body bag on top.

“Right over here please,” the coroner spoke softly.

I approached the table and he unzipped the bag, revealing just the head and face of the deceased. I closed my eyes and took a step back, vomit rising in my throat.

“Oh fuck,” I whispered.

Detective Brinsen was at my side immediately and grabbed my arm to steady me. I was sure I would pass out. The coroner rezipped the bag and left.

After a minute Brinsen spoke. “Ma’am, are you alright? Can I get you anything?”

I shook my head. “No,” I whispered as tears started to roll down my cheeks.

“Do you know him?”

I nodded yes in affirmation. “Just an acquaintance, really. I’ve talked to him over in Lakeside a few times. He was so kind. I helped him out a little when I could. He was homeless”

“Do you know his name?” Brinsen asked.

“Yes. He was sick and suffering from memory loss,” I was starting to choke on the words. My head was swimming, I was suddenly very cold, and nausea was coming in waves. I could barely speak. “He had a lesion on his brain. His name was Eli.”

“Call paramedics,” was the last thing I heard Brinsen yell before the world went black.