Preface: I wanted to show that I’m not just a guy who writes funny stuff. This week, I’m revealing the first chapter of a book I’ve been working on (one of four that have been in heavy editing for a couple years). The book is currently titled Departure, but the name is subject to change. Please… read, criticize, love, hate. Leave feedback. I need it.
October 8th, 2020.
This isn’t the first time you’ve had a gun to your head, is it?
A single bead of cold sweat trickled down James’s forehead; he could taste a hint of gun oil on the brushed nickel of the Colt 1911 handgun. Detective James Harrington always made sure his pistol was clean and in top condition. The man had a meticulous way about him, and people always considered him kind of anal with organization or cleanliness. It was a habit he picked up years ago from a girl he knew. Organization, however, was the furthest thing from his mind right now as his teeth bared down on the frigid metal.
Go on. Rest your trigger on my finger. The voice in his head – a voice that had plagued him for several years now – was apparently quoting TOOL songs. Bang my head upon the fault line.
“Fuck you,” James whispered as he pulled the hammer back on the pistol. The gun made an audible click as the hammer locked into place, a satisfying sound that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.
Yes! The mounting elation of the voice in his head slightly startled him. It was almost zealous. There was no hiding that this is what that voice wanted for some time.
His finger slowly tightened around the trigger, and James could feel the excitement from the voice in his head change to relief. Perhaps he was relieved, too. Finally, it would be over. Everything he experienced would be a footnote in someone else’s life. No permanent stain on history. No one of importance would remember him or his sacrifices. And yet just as he was about to finally end it, there was a knock at the door.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Do it! His inner voice had had enough of this world.
Instead, James’s finger withdrew from the trigger and reset the hammer on the pistol. He waited a moment to ensure that whoever was at the door had left. The last thing he wanted was a witness to his grisly demise. That moment felt like an eternity. Hours seemed to pass by in a second. The hands on the clock on the wall seemed to spin like a record on a turntable.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
“Fuck off,” he yelled, finally. “I don’t want whatever you’re selling.”
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
There was an insistence in the knocking, almost an urgency, but Harrington’s inner demon wasn’t buying it.
Can’t a man die in peace?!
“Motherfucker.” James buried the pistol under one of the throw pillows on the couch and stood. His quaint apartment in the Third Ward of Milwaukee wasn’t huge, but it was expensive as hell. James had come into some money years ago, and he’d been making it last. It took him maybe two seconds to reach the door from his couch. When he looked out of the view hole, he saw no one, nothing. Probably someone fucking with me. Visions of kids leaving flaming bags of dog shit on someone’s doorstep came to him. But this was the city. No one did that kind of thing here. Or, at least, not that he’d heard of.
Disappointed, he turned to shuffle back to the couch, but as he did, the rap at the door came once again.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
This isn’t happening. This from both Harrington and his inner voice.
Angry, he hastily unlocked the deadbolt and whipped the door open. Once again, there was no one there. His face turned beet red, and he looked down the hallway both ways. No one. Nothing. He was about to slam the door shut again when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a large manila envelope on the ground. On the front, it simply read “James” in thick black marker ink. The weary detective scooped the envelope up and brought it to the couch, where he sat down with a heavy sigh.
Don’t you dare…
But James unwound the old school red string looped around the paper buttons and opened the envelope flap. Inside were two pieces of paper. The first item was a Post-it note which fell to the floor because it stuck to the other item, a newspaper clipping, as he pulled it out. The clipping appeared to be from the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, and whoever sent it circled the date, October 13th, 2020, on the bottom. Today was the 8th. Anyone can make this kind of thing with the right computer program, he thought, though the paper did look like newspaper standard. Incredulous, James read it:
Cop Found Dead in Third Ward Apartment
Former West Bend resident Detective James William Harrington of the Milwaukee Police Department’s 3rd Precinct was found dead in his apartment last night after neighbors complained of a foul odor coming from within. He suffered a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Captain Lewis Helms claimed that James had been experiencing personal trouble over the many losses he endured in his life. Some may remember his name from news several years ago as a survivor of…
The article cut off, torn at the next word. James looked at the backside, and it appeared to be a mix of classified and business advertisements. COME TO THE LAKEFRONT BREWERY AND TEXT 5572 #BEERMEBRO FOR A CHANCE TO WIN YOUR VERY OWN LAKEFRONT PINT GLASS! He flipped it back over and inspected it. It sounded pretty boilerplate, but this all seemed like an elaborate gag. The circled date in the future at the bottom was the icing on the cake. The paper itself felt like newspaper, but again, anyone could probably find a way to print out a gag article like this. Someone was definitely fucking with him.
James reached down to pick up the Post-it note. It was the standard yellow sticky. On the front in big, bold, black letters were the words:
WE’RE NOT DONE WITH YOU YET.
Disgusted, he threw down the note. “Fuck this,” he said, and made for his gun. James wasn’t going to put up with this cryptic shit anymore.
Finally!
Again, he hefted the familiar old gun and placed it once more in his mouth. The goading in his head had won, and now he would finally be free of the doubts, the Ascended, the not knowing, and the shame. I’m coming to you, Callie, he thought with a tear in his eye. James cocked the hammer back, and without hesitation, pulled the trigger.
Click!
Nothing. James pulled the slide back, releasing the unspent shell, and tried once more. Nothing. He tried again, and again, and again. Nothing. There was no way the entire clip was full of duds.
His heart sank deep into his chest.
No!
His phone chimed. James had received a text message; he flipped the old Motorola phone open and clicked a few keys to read the message which was from “UNKNOWN.”
I TOLD YOU, WE’RE NOT DONE WITH YOU.
Tears formed in his eyes again, and he looked toward the window. The window! I’ll just fucking jump. They can’t stop me from that! Yet as he attempted to open the window, nothing moved. It was stuck fast. Like it was nailed shut, yet he knew it wasn’t. James cursed again. It wasn’t fair!
This time, his phone rang.
“What?!” he answered it angrily.
Whoever was on the other end seemed startled. “Whoa, whoa. What’s crawled up your ass, Harrington?”
It was the afternoon shift supervisor, Lieutenant Morrison. “Sorry, LT,” James apologized. “Just having a rough evening. What’s going on?”
“Got another potential crime scene with your perp’s MO. I know you’re not on for another two hours, but I’ll authorize OT if you want to head this one up right now. I know you’re invested heavily in this case.”
James sighed. If he didn’t take it, Nelson and Farmer would be on it, and despite his desire to leave this world, he didn’t really want the investigation he’d been working to be bungled by those two idiots. “Yeah, give me twenty.”
“I’ll send a black and white over to get you,” the lieutenant offered. Morrison knew James didn’t drive.
“No need. I could probably use some fresh air. And exercise. I’ll be at the station in twenty.”
Unwelcome Dental Advice 
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