by Myles Abroad
How well do you know yourself?
Trapped within the empty ten-by-ten's grey walls, I shift my aching butt on the hardwood chair. Elbows digging into the table, I gaze at the one-way mirror. How long are they going to leave me here? I'm the victim.
Seems days since startling awake with someone breaking into my apartment. My heart pounding, I cradle my head as once again I hear my front door slam before light pools under my bedroom door. While retrieving my Glock, I punch 911. The toilet flushes. I race to lock the door in time to hear footsteps in the hallway. As the intruder tries the door, I pour my panic into the phone. Despite my whispers, my assailant hears me and screams, pounding on the door. I throw open the window, but before I climb through, the door splinters open. A dark figure silhouettes the hallway light. I fire two rounds and dive into the street's darkness...
Detective Harnon pushes into the room, holding two cups of coffee and a file under his arm. His rumpled shirt and bleary eyes say he's also had a hell of a night. Setting the cup of joe before me, he settles opposite, dropping the file on the table.
Ignoring his hospitality, I say, "When do I get outa here? You got my statement."
The detective takes a sip of coffee before saying, "I have something to show you." He flips over the file and nods at the picture. "That's the man you shot tonight."
I stare at the photo, my mouth unhinging, as my death mask glares back at me. From the mole on his right cheek to the two-inch scar on his forehead, we're indistinguishable. I gape at the detective.
"And your prints are identical. You wanna tell me what's goin' on?"