Continued from yesterday…
Daniel wasn’t proud of his actions the next day. He really didn’t have much thought at all, apart from, “Wow, this head hurts.”
He managed to open his door and retrieve his newspaper from the front steps. Out of habit, rather than a desire for knowledge, he even glanced at it.
“Murder” popped off the page, hit Daniel’s eyeballs, and bounced off, leaving only the hint of a memory behind. He found a cup and sipped some water out of it before opting for something a bit stronger. Orange juice proved too strong, however, and he decided to give the whole idea of imbibing liquid a rest.
“Murder” crossed his mind once more, and this time it lodged itself there, wiggling a bit. That could have been the result of yesterday, Daniel had to admit.
Sixteen seconds later, Daniel was running down the street to the police station in a desperate attempt to throw himself on somebody’s mercy.
“I think I might have killed the man yesterday,” he blurted. “I was drunk and he was yelling and I might have killed him with a Slim Jim.”
This pronouncement was greeted by a certain quantity of laughter. In this time Daniel discovered that he was still clad in just sandals, a white T-shirt, and a pair of plaid boxers.
One officer didn’t share in the mirth. Sergeant Teresa Bill was the large, stern woman who ushered Daniel into a side room with a blunt “This way, Romeo.”
“Talk,” she grunted as the door slammed shut and Daniel slammed into the metal chair.
“Well—well—I was very, very drunk, and I didn’t know what I was doing, and… There was a fight. And I didn’t think I really hurt him but I didn’t know and I left and then I read that someone was dead and oh my God I’m so sorry!”
“With a Slim Jim?” Sergeant Bill growled disdainfully.
“Uh… I was very drunk,” Daniel whimpered. “It was on, I guess, Miller Street. Outside the convenience store.”
“Miller Street,” Sergeant Bill nodded. And then she turned on Daniel in full rage. “Was this a magical meat tube?
Daniel shook his head pathetically.
“Did you hit the guy so hard that he flew from Miller Street two and a half miles to the Marigold Commune’s South Fountain?”
“No,” Daniel admitted. “He was definitely still on Miller Street.”
“Then you are definitely not a killer,” Sergeant Bill said, with the tone of someone who would have respected a killer far more. “Now get out of here and put some pants on!”
“Right,” Daniel said. “Thank you.”