Poison Hemlocks

Ch. 16 - Red and Blue

String doesn't fully register what is happening. Everything is happening so fast, like time had decided she's bored with him and smashed the clock against the wall.

And the light follows behind, when the dim fluorescent lamp hanging on the ceiling becomes outmatch by what stood ready behind him, by what had forced the two rusty doors of the warehouse to open wide.

String's eyes fall on the body in front of him, one moment ago so cocky and confident he'll make it out of here alive, now no longer bound to the chair, no longer running his mouth, no longer breathing, not when his face has been obscured, and his blood runs dry on the curve of the now dented crowbar.

He glances over his shoulder, at the lights, the blaring red and blue lights. He knows those blue uniforms, the sound of the sirens, the cocking of the guns being pointed at him, the man in the middle yelling orders at him, to put down the crowbar, and turn around with his hands up.

It doesn't matter if he does or doesn't though, if he follows those orders or not. He knows either way, his story ends here.

And he'll even say he's contempt with it, of outliving his usefulness, of turning the final page by his name, of the dead end he's made for himself.

Then, behind the squad of policemen, his eyes widen when next to the blaring lights of the police car, is none other than Paper.

A calm expression, one he always bares, watching him expectantly, like this is all according to plan, like this is the moment String's worth in his hands is measured.

Thus, the crowbar clangs onto the floor, and String raises his hands, slowly turning, and the middle man announces to the rest of the squad to hold their fire. The vibrant lights completely facing him now, making his eyes squint, as the copper grabs his wrists, bring them down to his lower back and the click of cuffs is heard.

"William Shipman," He says to him. "You're under arrest for drug trafficking, embezzlement and several accounts of first-degree murder."

William Shipman.

That isn't his name, but he knows it, he knows that name all too well, the name has forever stamped its place in his head.

And for that name to be mentioned here, it can only mean one thing.

He could only move his eyes, with the cop behind him holding his head down and he knows better than to fight it. His eyes lock with Paper's.

Paper only smiles back.