"This was the first." I began
**********
I was sleeping in my room. I was a journalist in a news channel and I had a meeting that day. I woke up a bit late for that. I got ready as fast as I could and went to the office. There, my boss said that there was a false hoax; a false alarm went off which had us believe that the Statue of Liberty was to be bombed. The meeting was cancelled. The police arrived at the destination, and took notice of a plastic bag there. I stayed in the mainland- the policemen went there and came back with the bag, on a motor boat. The bag had some sort of device, a small round thing with red buttons all over it. A note was its accompaniment. It read- 'This is just the silence before the storm. Clones and duplicates save the day.' My guess was that whoever wrote the note, had more of these things and was planning something big. It was a long day at the office, police officers coming in and out of our office giving news and taking details of people who might have a part to play. I was in the thick of all the action. I had to go to the Statue and see what the officers there had to say. I made repeated trips from the office to the Statue- giving information here, taking it from there. It was getting really tiring. When I was at the Statue at about 5 in the evening, my colleague asked me for my camera. I had left it in the van so I thought of giving him the keys for the van. I didn't find it in my pocket.
"My keys. I can't find them."
I looked all around for any person who was running; I'd probably find my keys with them. I saw one such man. He was running into a busy street, but I caught a look of him. I started running too. Pushing past the pedestrians, jumping over obstacles-the smaller ones- and running around the bigger ones. He climbed some building, and I followed him up there too. This was some office, an office of some brokers, and they were watching the two of us running into and out of their workplace. My ears helped me; I heard one of the men calling the police. This I thought was good, as if I caught him, the police could escort him to where he belongs. I saw him reach the terrace of this building, and I still hadn't caught up to him. When I reached, I saw this man holding up a photo of somebody I knew. He was the one looking at the person in the photo, but I caught her glimpse. That was it. He couldn't jump off this building, the nearest ground was at least a hundred feet below. I had him. He tried to escape but he couldn't. That photo changed me. I didn't want my keys back. I wanted his life. I caught hold of him and starting beating him up. The walls, the metal poles; nothing was too much for me. Anything I could find, was a weapon to kill this man. He fell unconscious, but that wasn't enough. I found a brick, and landed several blows on his head. I kept hitting him till my hands told me to stop. His face was mangled completely. It was covered with blood. So was my hand. I fell unconscious now. When I regained my senses, it was dark, I could faintly hear the sound of the police sirens. I looked down and saw a car down there. Then, I ran down, I encountered an officer rather immediately,who had his gun in his hand, and I managed to kick it out of his hand. I shot him in the leg. I saw another police officer. He was unarmed, so I rendered him unconscious with a hit on the head, with the gun I obtained from officer 1. That's it. I ran down, and started running towards the Statue- where I had kept my van. The police were onto me in no time. I reached my van in one piece though, and I drove. There was only one car behind me. As a journalist, I had my own ways of security. I wore my head mask- that covered all my hair making me bald. I also wore spectacles, and added a bit of paint on my lips to make it slightly darker. That was all I needed- or rather there were two more things- I hoped no officer saw me getting into the van, or applying this disguise. I stopped at a grocery store, got off my car, and walked into the store. The car zoomed past. I was successful. Also, my red van is quite a common vehicle in the neighborhood. That too helped me.
***********
Mr. Sears was evidently engrossed in whatever I had just said. He looked lost at some moments, and seemed a hundred per cent attentive at some others. He spoke.
"Who was she?"
"She?"
"The girl in the photo. The person because of whom you murdered an ordinary thief. Who is she?!"
I didn't want to tell him anything.
"All I can say is that she was my whole world, and now she's anything but."
He was evidently angry. He controlled himself, however.
"Seven more."
