Runaway Judas

Side chapter I: Investigation

The clock on my office’s wall was ticking, louder than I ever noticed. I don't know what exactly caused the increase in volume, but that’d be an issue for another day. I already had my hands full of all these sheets of paper containing names, pictures and various other documents about recently captured criminals. I’d spent the whole day reading through the folders, trying to understand why there were so many from just this week alone… I guess spring coming around wasn't helping much. Looking at the calendar, the date was March 25th, 2019. Not even a week into spring and I saw more cold cases than flowers.

I sighed, flipping through another file to check for anything interesting, but it looked dull. Just a mere robbery, not even that grand either. The next wasn't much better, battery on a police officer and third degree murder. I saw a few like that in my years as a detective and police officer. If I can even be considered that… But that's beside the point. I kept mindlessly reading through the folders until I found a rather interesting one. It was quite bulkier than the rest, and the name on it was quite unusual.

“Judas Walker… Never thought I’d see a guy named like this here.”

I told myself, opening the folder and looking at the various documents we had. A few school reports, the latest being from his 10th grade, which was… last year. That didn't seem right at first, so I checked more and I was surprised to see that this kid was being tried as an adult, even if he was just a week shy of turning sixteen. Now that had piqued my interest, so I flipped through his documents, even more shocked to see all the crimes he’s been found guilty of. Grand theft, petty theft, armed robbery, arson, assault with a deadly weapon, carjacking, multiple counts of murder, and possession of multiple bladed articles. There were even still pictures from CCTV footage taken from a gas station. I knew I was in for a ride the moment I saw all of that, so I sat up from my chair and walked to the coffee machine, brewing myself a pot as I thought for a moment.

How was a kid even capable of doing all of that? Was there an accomplice? Was he part of some gang? It couldn't have been something anyone’d do on their own volition, especially at that young age. It didn't make sense. I thought more and more, as the liquid trickled into the glass pot. I waited until there was enough to fill a mug, and after grabbing my trusty cup, I poured myself some as I went back to my desk, sipping as I flipped through some more sheets.

“Huh, now that's interesting…”

I spoke into my coffee, reading the missing person report that was filed for him. The picture attached to it showed a kid that looked like a normal teenager, maybe a little less joyous than some, but still very average. The description was average too, his height being just over five foot-six. What was out of the ordinary was the circumstances that led to his disappearance. Apparently his father had gotten into an argument with his mother and ultimately killed her, so he ran away in search of safety. The father remained at the scene and turned himself in after calling the police himself, complying with the officers and pleading guilty. It must have been traumatic, I won't deny that, but would that be what caused this kid to wreak this much havoc? There had to be something else, so I decided to dig deeper. I took a sip from my mug, and reached for my phone, calling the department that had detained him.

“Hello, Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department? It's me, Kei Isayama from the Blacklock Detective Agency. I’d like to request a meeting with someone you’re detaining. . . Yes, I’d like to schedule a meeting with a certain Judas Walker. . . He's just gotten back from the hospital? I’ll be quick anyway, can we do it tomorrow morning?. . . Perfect, thank you. Have a good night.”

I closed the call and put the phone away, rustling through my pockets for my cigarettes. My trusty imported Dunhills. I lit one, and looked at the clock: it had just struck midnight.
The following morning I hopped into my unmarked Corvette Stingray, and drove all the way from Phoenix to Las Vegas, where I dusted myself off before walking into the police station. I greeted the officers, some I’ve known for a long time, and made my way into the interrogation room, where I got the usual talk I get before speaking with a suspect. But something they said stuck with me.

“I’ve never seen a kid survive that much and still be so angry. He's a rabid badger, be careful.”

Those were the words the guard told me before I stepped into the room, and inside was the teenager, looking down at his handcuffed wrists. I closed the door, and he raised his head, and there I saw it: his face. It had changed so much from the latest clear photo we had. On the right side of his face, neck and upper torso I could see where he’d just gotten skin grafts, and on the left side of his head was a gash that was still healing. His right hand was bandaged, too. Yet despite all those, his eyes still looked alert, dark circles beneath his eyelids as he tapped his foot impatiently.

“Is this gonna take long? I don't feel like talking to a fucking cop today. I’ve already said everything, so just get this over with. I hate these cuffs…”

That voice… That was the tone of someone who was already through with living. That raspy, slightly croaky voice from the remaining medicine in his body was enough for me to understand what I had in front of me. The way he kept complaining, one thing after the other, made it quite clear that he would be difficult to talk to properly. From how he complained about the shirt he was given, to how the stitches on his body were too tight, to even about how the light was too warm, it all gave the impression of a kid that wanted to do stuff his own way, and his way only. A way he’d carve himself, as I quite literally saw as he bit on his bandaged hand to loosen the cloth. That kid wanted nothing more than freedom. Yet now he was looking at life in prison, at minimum… Ironic.

I took a seat, adjusting my eye patch and clearing my voice, making it as professional as possible.
“Judas Walker, right? My name is-”
I was interrupted almost immediately, his words already drilling into my head. He sure complained a lot, but that was just the beginning of what we’d go through. But that's a story for another day, and I think he'll be a better narrator than me. Besides, I’m not the protagonist.