I spend a while spitting out breathless inquiries at any unfortunate passersby, but this technique led me to the front of a post office. Garish orange, random boxes, and a glass door I thought was a push, so all the bells and whistles of this type of municipal service (what are you looking for? Is the killer a stamp collector?) the inside is similar soulless minimalism I spare myself the grief of loitering in. I am greeted from behind foggy security glass?
"hello!" I approach the counter and show my business card as though it grants me any authority. "I need to ask you a few questions" their voice lose the customer service tone for something a bit more anxious.
"oh, what happened."
"a murder most foul, now did you know a Dmitri Howitzer?" at this point I've just been asking anything that can respond if they know this guy, looking around the Post office strike me an eerie feeling, no one else is here nor is there a sign of life like dirt or disrepair (I think you're just paranoid)
"Dimitri? Yes, I know him, has something happened to him?" oh- I didn't expect that.
"not important, how has he been recently?"
"well, about a week ago he just sorts of shut himself off from everyone, I think it might have been a work thing" I scratch the greasy stubble on my neck, getting back on track.
"has Dimitri received any packages recently?" the silhouette blurs out of sight.
"one moment." I am left along with the four most annoying people I know (what are we meant to find in his post?) the murder weapon (did that shovel shake some screws loose? He was hardly mailed a gun) just think about it, what could have made that crater in Howitzer (a canon.) (ugh) Possibly, it had to be a fast, blunt object of decent weight and size (this is absurd) drawing a star in gun powder is not something someone does, unless they have the gunpowder already, so it must have been some type of DIY canon, which is frankly one of the more sensical things going on around here. Something tells me Dimitri was involved with making the murder weapon, he was an engineer, gets lost in his work, whips something up and when he tries to drop it off something happens and he's left dead in the snow (but the police file said he was retired) I missed that, but that would only make more sense, a project to fill some time and make a bit of change (wild guess work is just gonna take us off track) I'm guessing with full 20/20 Naja.
The smudged shadow appears on the foggy glass, the slot below the window slides open before a clipboard is handed to me.
"what is any of this?" (these ingredients could make black powder) I flip through the nonsense form before nodding, handing it back and scrounging up another question in the back of my mind.
"was Dimitri in contact with any new people recently,"
"I don't think so, but I haven't seen him in a while" I am offered more papers and after a quick and fruitless perusal I feel a headache coming on, passing them back under the security glass. I try to back away with a simple thanks but he askes a question before I am a reasonable distance to pretend, I didn't hear it.
"so. Is Dimitri, okay?" (just lie) (there is no point in that) I opt for the worst option and get into the nitty gritty.
"nope, not in the least. Left dead in the snow with an exploded ribcage, looked painful" I offer the attendant two thumbs up and leave, before they can ask me anything else or otherwise react (that was a bit needless) (cowards are always the cruellest) (what's the issue?) how is the trivia guy the only one on my side? I pause and consider without finding a reason as to why I did that, seems like just pointless bridge burning. (iT IS iN YouR NAtuRE-) listen. this is a private part of my head, now leave. am I just an asshole?
YOU ARE READING
The Melting Mind of One Fictum Ernest
خارق للطبيعةFictum Ernest, or at least he thinks that is his name, anyway he wakes up in a complete state of disorientation. his head ringing with voices not his own, they say things he would not, know things he does not, if he didn't know any better he might t...
