Sometimes I Kill Myself Part 3

The drive to Hermitage didn’t take very long, but the distance was much too far to walk. I made a note of this to remind myself of the fact that anything I saw or thought I saw was a dream. Buster and I would not have walked this far at night. The sunny skies of Rialto Township where I live changed to grey by the time I reached Hermitage. There was no rain, but as I passed the welcome to Hermitage sign a nuclear flash of lightning occurred that was followed by blast of thunder that seemed to break the sound barrier. Fortunately, I found an available parking place close to the entrance of the police station and hurried inside.

A man with a solid build and wearing a navy suit greeted me. “May I help you?” he asked.

I smiled. I felt nervous and the smile was forced. I always smile too broadly whenever I feel apprehensive. I grew up being told that strange dogs would bite if you smile and don’t act nervous. I believed my smile had failed its purpose so I prepared to be mauled.

“I’m Masson Meursault here to see Detective Sintes.”

“Sintes would be me,” he said. He offered his hand, so we shook hands. I was surprised and happy mine was not clammy. “Come this way. We can talk in private.”

I followed him down a hallway and into a room I expected to be his office. Instead we were in the interrogation room.

“Have a seat,” he said indicating a chair facing the one-way glass. “May I offer you anything? Coffee, a soda, a bottle of water?”

“No thanks.”

“Just as well. I can’t vouch for the age of the coffee,” Detective Sintes said seating himself in a chair opposite me. “So tell me why you called this morning.”

“Like I said on the phone. I noticed something in the photo that the reporter didn’t mention. I thought perhaps it had been overlooked.”

“What was it you saw?”

“The large branch on the ground a few feet away from the body.”

“Oh, yes. What do you think is significant about some old branch, Mr. Meursault?”

“There was blood on it.”

“Really? How would you know this?”

“I saw it when my dog and I discovered the body.”

“When you ―? When was this?”

“Last night when I took my dog out for his last walk of the night before going to bed.”

“You discovered the body last night? Why did you wait until this morning to call the police? Actually, you didn’t call to report the body. Instead you called because you thought a newspaper account left out some details. Is that right?”

“Well, yes and no. You see. I know this is going to sound crazy. My dog and I weren’t in Hermitage Park. In my dream, I guess, we were in our usual park close to home.”

“Where’s home, Mr. Meursault?”

“Rialto Township.”

“Do you consider yourself to be psychic, sir? Is this visit because of some impressions or a vision you had?”

“No, I’m not a psychic. There seemed to be some sort of synchronicity between the dream I had last night and the article in the morning paper is all. The scenes seemed to be very similar. That’s all.”

“So in your dream, Mr. Meursault, how did the victim die?”

“He had a sizable dent, if you will, in the back of his head which had bled a lot. I noticed blood on the branch. I figured the killer bashed his head in from behind.”

“Interesting. Anyone else in your dream?

“No. Why do you ask?

“Well, if someone was, shall we say, servicing our guy from the front and he was hit with a tree branch from the back, there must have been at least one other person there. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose that sound reasonable. However, in my dream there wasn’t anyone else there.”

Sintes didn’t comment right away. My imagination ran wild. I knew what must have been passing though his mind, but I didn’t need to prove that I was right. I remained silent.

“Mr. Meursault, did you know the victim?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Had you ever seen him before?”

“No.”

“Please don’t be offended by my next question, Mr. Meursault, but I have to ask. Did you have sex with the victim at any time before he was killed?”

“I’m not offended but I am surprised you would ask such a question, Detective. My answer again is no, I did not last night or at any other time have sex with that young man.”

“How can you be so certain? Did you turn him over to take a look at his face?”

“I never touched the corpse. I know because I’m not in the habit of going to city parks or any other public places for blow jobs. Anything else you’re curious about, Detective?” I smirked when I asked him that. I don’t know why. An involuntary response to his accusation of lewd behavior on his part I suppose. A tic. My smirk was the one thing about the initial meeting I wish I could edit out. Write a new direction. Do another take.

“I apologize, Mr. Meursault. I realize my question seems out of line to you. You are offended by it, I can tell. I do sincerely apologize. I have several gay friends who would all give me hell right now if they had been here. I had to ask because there was something I had to find out about you.”

“So, what did you learn?”

“I know that sex in public revolts you. You don’t approve of it. My friends don’t either. I know you are an honorable man. You are here trying to do the honorable thing by offering the details you saw in your dream in an attempt to help me solve this case.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“That is why I must ask you one final question. Did you kill that young man?”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve told you I didn’t know him. I have never seen him before. Why do you know think I killed him?”

“I think you might have come across the victim getting his jollies with whomever while you were out walking your dog. You became incensed at their despicable behavior. You picked up the nearest weapon at hand, that tree branch, and you struck the young man over the head not to kill him, but to stop what he was doing. You hit him harder then you intended and he fell over dead. You felt guilty about it this morning so you call and come in to tell me about some dream you had so you can talk about it without having to confess to manslaughter. Isn’t that really what you’re up to, Mr. Meursault?”

“No, sir!” I tried to sound indignant, but my voice trembled.

Thunder punctuated my last statement. The room started spinning. I fell to the floor. The next thing I knew I was laying on my back with a weight on my chest and dog breath in my face which was chilling the saliva that had been slathered on me. I opened my eyes to Buster’s smiling face. I was on the floor of my kitchen. Shards of mug and splattered coffee surrounded me.

“Let me up, Buster. C’mon, boy. Yes, you’re top dog today. I surrender. Now let me up like a good dog.”

Buster leaped off and sat down a short distance away. He looked amused at my efforts to get up from the floor.

“Don’t just sit there. If you can’t help me up, get a broom and sweep up this mess.”

Buster cocked his head like he thought I was crazy. I’m not you know. My name is Masson Meursault and I am not insane. I am not psychic and I am not insane. I also am not as young as I used to be. I rise from the floor feeling quite stiff and sore. I have no idea how long I was on the floor nor how I happened to be there. Some things simply happen. I can’t begin to explain them all. Two things I do know for sure are my name is Masson Meursault and I am not insane.