Lunatic Fringe

Chapter 1

SWAY

            I’m tired.

            It’s amazing to me that a body can feel this way with without it going into a total revolt. Heart attack, aneurism, stroke, erectile dysfunction, anything to serve as an indicator that it has taken as much as it can stand and won’t be pushed one iota further.

          And yet here I am, forty-nine hours since I last even thought about sleep and continue to demand more from it. Respite is a conman’s word, particularly now, and whatever injustices that I inflict on my body are a toll that I’ll readily pay to see this thing through to the end.

          My cell phone rings for the fourth time in an hour. I don’t even bother to glance down at it, already knowing who the caller is. She’s worried about me, my wife. She’s lit up my cell phone most of the night and has harassed the station to the point where I’m sure my desk is covered in Post-its. I got a call from dispatch telling me to check-in with her, but they’re receiving as much attention from me as I’m showing to her. I finally turned off my scanner and drop the cell out the window.

          Part of me knows that severing communications while out in the city has a better than average chance of blowing up on me, especially if things stay as bad as they’ve been. I concoct a lie to myself that it’s for everyone’s own good, that I’m keeping those not in the know out of the line of fire. There’s been too many victims already, and I’m not ready to contribute to a tally that I feel will climb higher before this whole thing plays out.

         But, like I said, it’s a lie. The truth is that I’m afraid someone will try and stop me from doing the only thing that makes any sense. Talk to my wife, even my partner, means they’ll try and talk me down. Their reasonable tones and arguments will have me at home and in bed, while others not familiar with the nuances of this chaos will attempt to deal rationally with what’s going on. If there was ever a time to approach something rationally, this wouldn’t be one of them.

         So I continue to cruise the city, watching and waiting for it to all go to hell. Uptown, midtown, downtown and suburbs all blending together as the darkness takes down the light. The sounds of the city held at bay by my windows. I turn the radio to a dead channel and let the noise of static fill the car.

         I know they’re out there. They’re tired of circling one another. Somewhere the gun’s been fired, the bullet freed. Now all that’s left is the moment of impact when bullet finds bone. This happens tonight, no question.

         I’ve positioned myself as the only witness to this. It’s the only thing I can do to protect the others. It’s misguided and futile, but someone has to play the role. Everyone else that’s been pulled into Aleister Quinlan’s orbit is either dead or voluntarily disappeared. I should be one or the other, but I’ve been too lucky for the former and too stupid to do the latter. I’ve covered up my tracks enough so that no one should be able to find me until this is over. By the time the sun rises, everyone in the city will know about it. Will know about him. Whether I’m saint or sinner will depend on the media spin.

         Those are things that I can’t worry about now. The perception I elicit in others will become their problem, not mine. I’ve made as much peace with this thing as I can. The only thing I hope is that they choose to scrutinize the situation not the actions that were taken to stop it.

         In all honesty, I don’t know if there can be a separation of the two. Both are so far drowned in blood that they’re indistinguishable from the other. Making sense of it is to make sense of madness. It just can’t be done. I’ll let others play armchair quarterback as long as they want, try to categorize what happened. That’s their luxury.

        Me? I don’t have time.

         I have work to do.