Scream

Oscar Alvarez

"I told you what happened," I defend against Sheriff Desario. "I'm waiting in the lobby –" 

"And why were you waiting there?" he challenges, cutting me off. Now, he isn't thinking, a green-eyed man who told me where to get information about Reyna's attack. Now, he's the devoted officer who is determined to nail a killer and settle with me being it. 

 "Because I had nowhere else to go. And what if something happened in the hospital? I wanted to be there," I explain. I know it's gone, but the sweet scent of chloroform still lingers in my nose.

 "Something did happen in the hospital, Oscar!" 

I'm in the sheriff's office at the SPD building. Two deputies stand behind me in case I decide to whip out a nonexistent knife and slash Mr. Desario. The blinds of the windows that see the rest of the cubicles are drawn shut. 

 "Something that I didn't do," I fight back. "I was getting up to leave and someone put a  chloroform rag to my nose. Next thing I know; I wake up in bed with a cold Hanzo.

 Why the hell would I sleep in the same bed as a man I supposedly killed?" 

 Desario leans forward in his rolling chair and crosses his hands on the desk. "Oscar –" 

 "Ozzy," I instinctively correct.

 "Oscar, whoever's killing these people is sick. Maybe even sick enough to lay with their corpses."

 "I –"

 I'm cut off by someone barging in the door with papers in their hand and a worried expression on their face. "Sir," a woman says in a rush, a medical examiner jacket on. 

"May I have a word with you?"

 "Only if you promise to knock next time you need something," he bargains, standing up. "Deputies, watch this boy."

 I roll my eyes and watch as the sheriff steps out with the ME. Though the blinds are shut, I can see their silhouettes moving about, as well as hear what they say.

 "I ran some autopsies and labs..." the woman starts. There's a shuffling sound of papers as if she's flipping through documents or, presumably pictures. "There were large hand prints on the neck of Hanzo Duvall; ones larger than Ozzy's." Mentally, I thank the woman for not saying my full name.

"So what does that mean?" Desario questions, vaguely agitated. Just when he thought he had the killer – boom – a new revelation. 

 "Ozzy could have very well been framed. The inside of the neck was damaged in two different places," the ME continues. "And not to mention Ozzy's healing arm...one side would've been more damaged than the other if it was truly Mr. Alvarez. I think there someone else we should be interrogating." 

"Any idea who?" Sheriff D inquires. 

 "Someone whose hands are bigger than Ozzy's. Also, the hospital cameras were shut down temporarily. Someone either hacked them or had the authority to turn them off. I'd recommend, if I may, sir, getting prints from those in the hospital as well as your own deputies."

 The sheriff scoffs and I can see him shaking his head. "Why my deputies? They'repoliceman; not serial killers." 

 "A cop would have the ability to demand shutting down the security systems," the woman points out. 

Desario sighs and puts his hands on his hips. "Alright, I'll do it. Thanks for the find.
Keep up the good work." Though he says encouraging words, he seems dismal. The man walks around and enters his office while the deputies and I act like we didn't hear every word of his conversation. "Ozzy Alvarez," he says with a blank tone. "You're free to go." 

 "Can I call someone to pick me up?" My Jeep was driven to my house by my mom, considering I couldn't drive with handcuffs on my wrists. 

 "Sure. Phone's right around the corner." 

 I glide between the deputies and twist the door handle open. I round the corner and dial some digits. The phone rings four times before someone answers. "Hey, can you pick me up?"

"Why not call your mom?" a male voice asks. 

 "Because I'm calling you," I hiss. "Do you remember who pays you? Me. Do you know who can throw you under the bus for the church incident? Me. So I suggest you get your ass over here."

 There's a pause on the line. I know this man didn't hang up. He wouldn't dare hang upon me. He has too much to lose. 

 "On my way, sir."