The Interview Page 3

he wasn’t done with whatever this day had brought to him.

  Through it all he arrived at the business square he sought. He trudged across the main plaza and saw the familiar letterhead he knew was still there. Sure enough, Blessing Jewelers, glowed in the waning light of day.

  6:30 was most likely when he closed shop and by his watch he still had 10 minutes to spare. He passed through crowds of people going to the eateries that populated the square when he unexpectedly ran into someone stationary.

  “Excuse me.” He apologized to the figure. He saw it was a police officer and froze out of habit. They were both under a covered walkway as the snow came down. The grizzly, old cop looked him over suspiciously. Haden’s scarf had fallen from his face and he tried not to reveal anything. He realized, stupidly, there was no cause for alarm. His stash was still on his coffee table.

  “I know you.” The police man said.

  “I’m doubt it.” Haden didn’t want to go on with this. He needed to confront someone.

  “I don’t forget a face, son.” Recognition spread across the old man’s face. “The Maxwell Shooting! You were the little boy, his son.”

  Now that he looked more closely, the cop did look familiar.

  “I was working with homicide on the case.”

  Now he did remember this old cop. He’s the one who promised they would catch his father’s killer. Another memory had returned from the darkness.

  “You know, it’s weird seeing you like this. I keep going over that one case. It never stops. I know there’s something that wasn’t right about what we did.”

  “What do you mean?” Haden asked, suddenly interested.

  “I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but it seems important for some reason. I think we made a mistake. The bullet that killed your father didn’t match any gun we found at the suspect’s place. He had motive and opportunity, but he didn’t have the gun. He didn’t have a .22.”

  Haden sucked in air. Kent did. It was a gun he’d threatened to kill Haden with numerous times if he had told anyone what Kent did to him and his family. The bullet casing in his pocket felt like it was burning his leg.

  A crowd of people escaping the storm swarmed around them. Someone bumped into Haden. When the man got his bearings he looked up and sure enough it was Kent. He was fatter and uglier, but it was him. He appeared to remember Haden just as well.

  “NOW!” A woman’s voice screamed at Haden.

  A clear thought rose above all others. Kent had killed his father. He had to die.

  Haden grabbed the officer’s Beretta 9mm from its holster, flicked the safety off, and pulled the trigger. Kent’s head exploded. His lifeless body fell back into the snow storm, bathing the ground in crimson splashes. Onlookers began yelling and screaming.

  “Change it.” The woman’s voice commanded. Thousands of shadows rushed around the scene, and then faded into the night.

  In a blink, the gun that had been in Haden’s hand was now in the officer’s. The gawkers seemed calmer and were looking at the cop like he’d done it. The situation was now backward.

  Haden looked down at his empty hands to make sure. The gun was gone.

  “I’m sorry folks.” The old cop waved everyone back. “Clear out. This is a crime scene.” He pulled out his radio and spoke into it, “Dispatch, Radio 23; Officer requires assistance at 12th and J. Shots fired.”

  Haden stood motionless. He knew what he had done. His hand still hurt from the kick of the weapon firing.

  The grizzly cop pushed him back. “I’m sorry son. You need to move back.” He held a bag with a metal object in it. “We got him.”

  It was the bullet casing from his pocket.

  Haden back stepped a few feet as police and a gathering crowd took up positions. He slowly made it to the edge and heard what everyone was saying. He pieced together a clear picture of what had supposedly just happened. The cop, Officer Garrett, had come across a .22 bullet casing with finger prints on it. When he matched the results to a file on Kent’s records, the cop went to ask him a few questions. When confronted, Kent pulled his .22 and the officer was forced to shoot. It was a case of self-defense.

  Haden was the only one who knew it was completely bogus. Who carries a murder weapon around?

  “Hey.” The dark haired woman was right beside him. “You did it.”

  “What is going here? I don’t understand any of this.” Sirens were flashing. The crowd continued to swell despite the snow storm.

  “We knew Officer Garrett wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done and we knew you would. Well, we hoped. We’ve met with that old officer and no matter how many things we altered, he just couldn’t take a life even when someone else’s was at stake.” Their eyes met. Haden thought she looked like she was finally warming up to him. She looked away and continued, “We can’t intercede in human affairs directly. We can, however, change a few details here and there to alter an event. Ever have deja vu? Ever see someone and think you saw them a dream? We repair things as much as we can, keep things on the right path. We did the switch on this case so that Officer Garrett would get his man and you wouldn’t go to jail.” She extracted another piece of paper, it was the same one’s from the files and handed it to him. “And to stop this.”

  Haden looked at her familiar handwriting: ‘11/21/11: Murdered family.’

  “Will you tell me who you are or who you work for? Are you Death? An angel? What?”

  She pulled out a manila envelope and it evaporated. “A deal is a deal. We’re starting a new file on you.” She turned, then stopped herself, smiling. “We’re always watching. So keep out of trouble... Hadie.”

  Haden watched her face transform just enough to see who it really was. His little sister stood before him. She kissed him on the cheek and laughed. “Thank you Hadie.” Then she faded back into the crowd and vanished.

  Haden felt a tear roll down his cheek and he cleared it away. “You’re welcome Amy,” then added, “You watch Dad, I’ll take care of Mom.”

  He turned in the direction of the hospital his mother was at, bundled himself up against the cold and walked toward a future worth running toward.