Melody Magazine

James Hubert Blake High School

There and Gone

Upon his entrance, the investigator had bumped the light fixture above the metallic table Kip sat at.  It continued to swing, so to both Kip and the investigator, the face of the person sitting opposite them appeared to be there and gone and there and gone. “Exactly how many people have you ever killed?”  The investigator studied Kip’s file sitting on the table in front of him, with his glasses low on his face.  This bothered Kip.

            “I’d like to speak with my attorney,” Kip stated, the stoic expression on his face unchanging.

            “What kind of a name is Kip, anyways?  It says here your name is Eduardo Estevez.”  The investigator fixed his glasses and cleared his throat.

            “It was given to me.”

            “By who?”

            “I’d like to speak with my attorney.”

            “You know, Mr. Estevez, there is no doubt in my mind that you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison, so you might as well start talking.”  The investigator seized the light fixture as is swung to him and held it, on the peak of its cycle, up high on his face.  “Do I look like a mean guy?  I’m just doing my job here.”  He let it go and it began its pendulum cycle again.

            “I’d like to speak with my attorney.”

            “So you had nothing in your pockets but some loose change?  Anything else?”

            Kip leaned forward, reached into his back pocket, and after substantial fidgeting, placed his wallet on the table.  Then his cell phone and some more loose change.  “May I?”  asked the investigator.  Kip did not speak.  The investigator reached for Kip’s wallet, but then reconsidered and left it sitting on the table.  “How about some music?”

            The investigator fixed his glasses once again, as they had slid to the tip of his nose, cleared his throat, got up, and left the room. 

            He returned with a radio that was already playing soft banjo music as he walked back to his seat.  The light fixture had stopped swinging.  He placed the radio in front of Kip and sat.  “This is my favorite type of music, don’t you like it?”

            “I’d like to speak with my attorney.”

            “I like this type of music.”

            Kip sneezed.

            “Bless you.  See?  You can trust me.  Now tell me what happened.”

            “She was dead when I got there.”

            “Now, that’s a start.  But it’s also a lie.  I know you killed her, Mr. Estevez.”

            “Kip.”

            The investigator left the room and then returned with a yellow folder.  He laid it on the table.  “These are pictures of the scene.  Here she is.”  A photograph of a woman face down in a pool of blood emerged from the folder.  Kip looked down at it, his stoic expression unchanging.  “Maria Gomez was a nice young lady, you know that, Eduardo?”

            Kip’s expression became confused.  “They told me that they weren’t able to identify the body.”  Kip then squinted, searching for a badge or some form of identification on the investigator’s chest.  There was none.

            The investigator looked downward at the photograph, the expression on his face morose, then infuriated.  “You disfigured her face with hydrofluoric acid?  What kind of monster…”

            “Sir, what is your name?” Kip interjected, “What’s your badge number?”  He became anxious.

            “What the hell kind of a name is Kip?”

            “It was given to…”

            “Shut the hell up!”  The investigator laid a jug on the table labeled HYDROFLUORIC ACID.  “I told her not to date you!”

            Kip eyes widened.  He then attempted to run for the door, but was met with a knife to the left thigh.  He immediately collapsed.  “My Maria…” the investigator spoke under his breath as Kip attempted to crawl toward the door.

            The investigator walked toward Kip and pinned his ankle with another knife.  Kip began to cry.  “I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry!”  The investigator reached for the jug on the table.

           

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