Resurrection

Chapter 9 : The Thin Blue Whine

My holding cell was a beautifully awful piece of accommodation which allowed me to live out any movie gaol-house cliché'. I paced out my exact measurements and attempted to ignore the awful odour of human manure and old stale scents of the last prisoner that engulfed every particle of oxygen that occupied this tiny habitat. The small bunk and cinder blocks seemed to create a pattern of imprisonment that seemed to line up with all of my expectations. I couldn't hear anything intelligible aside from the occasional thud from the cell next door and some incoherent mumbling.

Most criminals would have to endure the insufferable boredom but in my case, my dark passenger had other thoughts. I felt its spirit inside of my conscious but I felt this unnerving sense of dread like it was circling me. Sizing me up like an overmatched prize fighter ready for a bout, it could not wait to express its admiration.

You should seize this moment: Think of it as character building.

It was just building up. I debated the stupidity of my actions so far that had led me to this predicament.

There was nothing stupid about it. Mr Hoody was in need of some panel beating. You acted and you can hold your head up higher than those pathetic pacifists out there. I'm only annoyed that you feel bad.

I thought that it was inevitable that I could weigh up my options and naturally feel bad. My conscience was supposed to be giving me hell right now.

Is that what you think I am? How delightful. Look at where we are. Do you think that intellectual midget you call a conscience had any influence here? Your conscience is the absent father of your existential eternity my friend. It only arrives when it's inconvenient and departs leaving nothing but pain.

I felt myself slipping at this point. Do normal people start having this conversation with themselves or was I starting to become schizophrenic? Or was this something even worse?

The cycle of madness continued all through the morning before I was abruptly cut short by the welcome sound of my name being called out. This was followed by 'move out of the cell or you can stay here all weekend. It's your choice, Princess." I thought that it would be wise to move out at this point.

My room had a small upgrade. A new desk and chair with some white blinding lights that paved the way for someone like Morgan Freeman to make a god-like appearance. Instead I was left with this twat. I felt like Constable Arseface seemed like the appropriate title for the man interviewing me. I didn't like the title 'inspector' that this man felt he richly deserved. He seemed too incompetent to climb the corporate ladder, though again this could have been my ego talking.

"Do you know why you are here?" he enquired.

"You know what? I have absolutely no idea. No idea whatsoever." I replied.

"Are you giving me some attitude? I can put you back in." He snapped.

"Sorry, but the fact that my head is still ringing from a blow to the head by one of London's finest is not filling me with a sense of civic duty." I commented.

He changed his tact. "Look I get it. No one likes a blow to the head in the wee hours of the morning. But seriously: what were you doing there?"

I proceeded to tell the inspector what had happened. I felt if I was honest enough about not wanting to stand back that he may feel enough respect for me to ignore the fact I had committed assault and battery.

"The Rajans...nice newlyweds that were also caught up in this mess...were nice enough to explain what you had done for them." He explained.

He continued. "If you could do us all a favour and kindly ignore the heavy hit and stay out of any further protests, we would be willing to leave your assault issues behind us."

In the scheme of things it was a win-win; a short opportunity for me to let go of my authority issues and move forward. I would hope that this was the right push I needed and stop this alter-ego from taking over.