The clock in the wall seemed to be going slower than normal and it was driving me crazy. After the first two hours, sitting alone in the questioning room of the police station, time seemed to slow down significantly. I was feeling more and more annoyed and angry with every minute that passed. Maybe it was just that depressing place or maybe it was my lack of patience after spending the answering questions and being looked weird after I told them what happened.
"Mr. Doyle," a man said, walking in the room with a folder in his hands.
"Mr. Dent," I replied sarcastically, looking at him with a smirk on my face. "You do remember me, right? Clark," I asked, watching him sitting on the chair in front of me.
"I do, Dwight. It's been a long time," he replied, with his eyes fixed in the folder on his hands.
"Sixteen years, give or take," I answered, with my fingers knocking on the table softly.
"Yes, yes... long time," he replied, still without looking at me.
"So... are you gonna ask me what happen again?" I asked, giving up on my attempt of being friendly.
"No, I think we heard enough of your Reaper story," he said, putting the folder in the table. "Well apparently all the evidence in the house match your story. But there is no trace of the man you saw, no other fingerprints, no other footprints, nothing," he said, looking at me with an accusing expression in his face.
"Have you identified the victim? Knowing who she is might give us some clues," I asked, trying to get some information from him.
"No clues yet, and there is no 'us'," he said, hardening his face. "I know you are an investigator in Dublin, but this a police matter, do not interfere or we will arrest you."
"Does that mean that I'm free to go?"
Clark gave me a very unfriendly look and then he stood up and opened the door for me.
"Thank you," I said and then I left the room and did not stop until I was outside the police station, breathing the morning air of Dingle.
"He is stable but still unconscious," said the nurse while walking me to the room where my father was. "The cuts in his arms and legs are not too deep, they will heal soon but the blow he received in his head seems more severe. We will get the results this afternoon," she explained and then she suddenly stopped in front of a room and looked at me with a weird expression in her face.
"Don't worry," I said, reading her thoughts in her eyes, "I won't stay, I just wanted to make sure he was still alive."
"No, I didn't mean..." she tried to explain herself, but her expression was too obvious.
"Don't need to explain yourself. I am a suspect on a murder case. I understand," I said, trying not to sound too serious.
After giving a last glance to the bed where my father was laying, I left without looking back. There was no point on me being there anyway. He was unconscious, I was not going to get any answers from him, and I had better and more important things to do than sit next to the bed of the man who made my mom's life and mine miserable.
After I got out of the hospital, I took my phone and made a call.
"Hey Mike, I need some information," I said, while looking around, trying to locate the police officer that was following me since I left the station. "Yes, I need you to check all the reports of missing women. Approximate height of one point five meters, weight around sixty kilograms and with dark hair. Call me as soon as you get something."
As soon as I hanged up the call, a , the same one I had on the road, when I thought some was playing games with me. "What is this?" I wondered, trying to understand that feeling I have never had before.
YOU ARE READING
The Sentinel
Science FictionA man comes back to his home town after many years, only to be involved in a series of mysterious of murders. Using his skills as a detective he will try to solve the mystery and learn the truth behind his old town
