I. Brows That Sink
I fiddle in the uncomfortable chair. Is it made to be uncomfortable? I suppose it is. After all, this isn't a place where comfort is prioritized.
I suppose I should take notes though. I've never been here, though my characters seem to frequent this place.
Authenticity is important.
"Again," The police officer says, making my attention snap to him. He's a stout man, who seems fed up with my attitude, and life in general.
"Tell me, Mr. Raymond. Did you kill Ms. Moore?"
I shake my head resolutely. "I did not. I have never killed a living being in my life. Though, I have brutally murdered several book characters."
He frowns. His eyebrows sink into the crease between his eyes making him seem sad and confused.
Poor thing. This must be so distressing.
But I'm afraid I can't confess to murders I did not commit.
"Several of your passages found their way in real life."
I nod sympathetically. I do hope he releases me soon. My hand is itching to write down his character.
"Yes, but many people read my books."
"That come from your twisted brain!" He bangs his fist on the table. Oh. How dramatic. I love it.
"Officer, I'm sorry, but I didn't kill anyone."
"Then where were you—" I interrupt him because I know the answer, and inspiration can be so fleeting.
He frowns. There go his eyebrows again. What an odd quirk.
"I haven't said the date."
I nod frantically. The words are begging to seep from my finger tips. If only they hadn't confiscated my pen and pad.
"Yes, but that is what I am always doing—writing. And if you would excuse me, I have to churn out a best seller, on little sleep, a lot of caffeine, and junk food."
I snatch his pen and pad. Rude, I know, hut this is an emergency, far more urgent than his preposterous questioning.
I'm not a murderer. I write murder mysteries.
No one accuses Stephan King of murder, I wager.
"Hey! Give me my pad!"
"One second, let me just get this last sentence down."
"Sir," An officer says at the door. I quite like his voice. I think it should be the make lead's voice.
He'll be killed first, and then he'll be accused of murdering others, unable to clear his name, he will haunt a detective, to get to the bottom of it all, and find the real killer.
Who may or may not be, his killer.
Genius! I can taste success!
"Oh, my poor Johnathan. Are you alright?"
There she is. The love of my life. I smile sweetly. "Of course, darling. I just had an excellent idea for a story."
She smiles, taking my hand. I rip the paper from the dumbfounded officer's pad, handing his pen and pad back.
I smile at him amicably. "Thank you sir. I truly appreciate you."
His eyebrows go back to their original place.
I smiled, giving him a respectful nod. Then my dear Magda walks me out of the police station, her arm in mine.
It's a beautiful day, cold and crisp. I take a deep breath. She stops me, meticulously wrapping her scarf around my neck.
"You'll catch a cold, Jonathan."
We walk hand in hand from the police station.
Little did I know, I'd be back. And this time...
This time, things would be different.
The next time I step foot in that police station, would lead me to find out that I'd been kissing a killer.
And I loved it.