Waiting… Room

The monster went to the police station with a bag full of self-incriminating evidence and was told he would have to wait about thirty to forty minutes before the detective in charge of solving the recent and clearly related ritualistic child murders came back from lunch.

The monster takes a seat in the waiting area, which is a better term, as 'room' suggests specific and intentional walls, whereas of right now at this very instant since we live and breath in fractions of seconds of decaying and reassembling particles he is about to park his rear end upon a surprisingly comfortable Swedish-furniture company rip-off chair in an open space with multiple pieces of carefully arranged furniture, a counter dividing this area in half from the people seeking assistance and those that give it, a series of large windows showing the quiet outside world, and doors to better defined rooms.

I got time I can wait I always have been waiting that is how you mark it how you make marks you have to wait and be patient be patient and wait you have to grab moments but not the wrong one you have to wait for the perfect one the one that fits you like a good and proper suit

The tie is for business you wear the tie when you mean business when it's time to be serious when it's time to look them all in the eye and say this is how it is this is how it will be this is how this is how and your hands should do this and make points and talk for you that's what the book said the book on the mantle in the room make your hands do the talking

Hold the fingers right

I always hold the fingers right

I always hold their fingers right

There's not even a phone call. By the time the detective comes back word’s gotten 'round through the station that 'sorry bud, your time on the celebrity C-list is over, you'll never get around to banging the insta-newz weather girl, because it looks like your prime suspect got tired of his shit before the public did'. So he sips his coffee, takes a dump, wonders if he can get the story optioned in Hollywood instead of a book deal (maybe a lengthy article in the Atlantic to turn into a movie?), and finally goes out to the receptionist. And only after rather lengthy small talk does he even bother to turn his neck so slightly and stare at the tranquilized ox of a man sitting in a seat that could barely hold his frame, a slightly soaking double brown bag wilting on his corpulent lap.

The detective doesn't want to waste his cool on the walk over. The small talk in the pre-cliche room? No reason to bother. Dismissive acknowledgement of existence gestures spat out with a condescending confidence. But it works. The Monster makes a glassy-eyed connection with his hunter and struggles to stand and grabs his loot and is ready to follow past the counter into the well-lit cubicle laden…area.

To the interrogation…room. Yes, the old school, cliche and re-cliched four walls, ceiling, floor, table, two or three chairs and an always out of date camera bolted in one corner. To wait.

Right?

Nope. The detective is coming over to join him in the let’s call it talking room.

The leaky contents of the bag is dripping onto my pants and the wetness is cripplingly uncomfortable but there's no way around it no I shall not seek out shame out of weakness another level of professionalism has to be found another level of playing the right role at the right time at least at least I don't have to stand up at this second I can seem to sit for a little bit longer a littlest bit until something else changes and changes

-you're the guy.

-My name is-

My voice is somewhat familiar it sounds like my breath but takes more effort more finessing more careful sculpting in the muscles and flesh of my throat and there is the liquids inside and running around without worrying about gravity inside of me and I was supposed to say more that was my plan the plan was to say my name but he stopped me he interrupted

-don't tell me your name. Not yet. Look-

And I do not interrupt him he stops talking to look around before talking again

-you only killed four so far, right?

Numbers I was not ready for numbers just yet but I answer his penetrating eyes

-so…far…yes...

-okay, tell you what. Once you hit double digits, start to get a bit sloppy.

Confusion I feel slowed by confusion because I should be ready for certain things but this is not a certain thing but I think I know but I don't know for sure of what he is saying which are the right words but the meanings are not lining up like a jump from one ledge to another I am falling into a bad cloud I don't want to be lost I don't want to make this a mistake but I am finding myself moving on awkwardly to a pressing like issue

-start…sloppy?

-you’re planning this out, right? Coming here and all that? Just change it up a bit.

Not the right changes no this is not the changes that were supposed to be changed how is he so certain so certain so this how it is going to go now happen now change now I am not ready I am not I cannot

-what do I tell... the woman?

-woman? What woman? Is there a woman? Is this an elaborate game of hoop jumping you've set up for me?

-the woman here...at the desk. I spoke to her.

-oh, whatever, she's at the desk, what does it matter?

Those four words said with contempt and dismissal and hate and it rings it rings it rings in my ears and it's not supposed to grab me but it does it takes me through the years reeling and sputtering when it was all contempt and total dismissal from home to school and I'm a man of my experience and nothing more nothing more and when goes to the door to open it I get up and pick up the bag and hold it up and it was heavier than I remember it being

-I have this...for you. For you...detective.

-tell you what, leave it in some sort of well or abandoned car for me to discover. Sound good? Understand?

I hear and understand but I can tell that the look on his face means the look on my face makes me look like I don't hear and don't understand.

So I screw up the muscles and move my neck and maybe now it looks like I am agreeing like I am okay with these new plans that seem to be nothing more than a eater of more time which is making my stomach twist and turn because I was ready really I was ready but I guess ready can be done once twice until forever until something else gets in the way and as I walk down the hallway and through the first set of doors and past the now smiling receptionist as the detective says something and something else to her and then I am outside again and it is nothing again I can put it away place for everything for every when the numbers align just a little bit better for us all

END