Jim's haunted past

Chapter 3:dying in ominous ways

Jim sat hunched in the hard plastic chair, the police station's sterile fluorescent lights exacerbating his headache. Chief Pappas paced before him, bushy mustache twitching with agitation.

"Let's go over this again, Norman," he gruffed. "Where were you last night between 6 and 9pm?"

Jim sighed, bone-weary. "For the tenth time, I was home grading papers. Sally can verify that."

Pappas scowled. "And you expect us to take your wife's word? She'd say anything to protect you."

Choking down a sharp retort, Jim kept his tone even. "I understand why you consider me a suspect given my...unconventional theories. But I did not kill Kate or the others."

The chief leaned down, meaty hands braced on the table. "See, I have trouble believing that because your obsession with these supposed resurrected greasers makes you seem a few sandwiches short of a picnic, if you catch my drift."

Jim met his gaze unflinchingly. "I know how it sounds. But I'm of sound mind, and I'm innocent. If you won't listen to me, more kids will die."

Pappas snorted. "More likely you'll snap completely and hurt someone else. I've half a mind to toss you in a padded cell for everyone's safety."

"On what evidence?" Jim challenged, struggling to rein in his frustration.

The chief shrugged. "Multiple witnesses saw you threatening the victims beforehand. And your fingerprints turned up at Kate's crime scene."

"I tried warning her because I knew she was in danger!" Jim protested. "And you know as well as I do that prints can easily be planted."

Pappas shook his head dismissively and exited the interrogation room, leaving Jim alone beneath the harsh lights, their hum amplifying the rushing blood in his ears. He had to stay calm and keep strategizing.

Once Pappas was convinced of Jim's guilt, any hope of convincing him of the resurrected greasers' existence disappeared. Sally could vouch for Jim's innocence, but the police would discount a doting wife's testimony.

Fear curdled in Jim's gut as he contemplated his predicament. He was being framed by true fiends, and only he could stop their menace. But who would believe the word of a suspected murderer over seemingly upstanding teens?

Clenching his fists, Jim accepted the bitter truth. He would have to catch the greasers himself and make them confess. Even if it meant bending the rules. Wayne was depending on him to succeed this time. Failure was not an option when so many young lives hung in the balance.

The cops could suspect him all they wanted - he would still protect his students at any cost. Jim sat across from Olivia "Nell" Nelson in the cluttered living room of her little bungalow, clutching a sweating glass of iced tea. The former police officer looked shrunken and frail beneath her stained housecoat, but her eyes still held a spark of shrewdness.

"Sorry to bother you out of the blue like this, ma'am," Jim started. "I know you've been out of the game awhile."

Nell waved a knotted hand. "None of that ma'am nonsense. And don't you worry about bothering me. Happy to help if I can." She eyed Jim curiously. "Now what's troubling you, son?"

Jim quickly summarized the past murders and his confrontation with the resurrected greasers. Nell listened silently, sharp gaze unwavering.

"I know it sounds absurd," Jim concluded. "But you investigated Wayne's case back then. You know the facts never quite added up. I hoped you might see the connection to these new killings."

Nell was quiet for a long moment, gnarled fingers tapping the floral armrest. "I'll admit, certain details about the train accident always sat sour in my gut," she said finally. "Too convenient, wiping those punks out just as we started questioning them."