Sunday, June 07, 2009

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

It’s 11:17 am. I’m sitting in a small room that is painted completely white. It only contains a metal table and a few chairs and I’m already over three hours late to work. I was probably going to call in anyway, but I haven’t even been able to do that yet. The only reason that I know the time is because I’ve been asking the two men who have been interrogating me about every twenty minutes. I knew I shouldn’t have gone out drinking last night.

The officer's questions went a little like this, in no particular order:

“What time was it exactly when you “witnessed” this?”

“Where exactly on the road were you?”

“How fast were you going?”

“Were there any other passengers in the vehicle with you?”

“Was your view obstructed?”

“Where were you coming from when you saw this?”

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Why should we believe you?”

For starters all of my senses were obstructed. That’s what happens after 6, maybe 9 or more vodka tonics in about 5 hours. Fuck, I don’t even believe myself. And where the fuck is Mulder and Scully when you need them?

The alcohol had almost worn off by the time they dragged me in here, but it still seemed quite surreal. In my hung over state I told them my story over and over trying not to contradict myself and if I did, it was only because I had been up for over 24 hours and everything seems a bit jumbled when you’re trying to work off a drunk. Time lines get skewed and everything seems exaggerated, in this case, maybe not enough, but they already thought I was crazy and I didn’t want to push them any further in that direction.

At the same time, how do you tell a person other than Stephen King that you saw someone’s mid-section rip open up like the mouth of a great white and consume another human being without them thinking you’re crazy?

Apparently, they believed part of my story. They confirmed that someone was missing and an officer did find large amounts blood, flesh and hair on the sidewalk, along with a messenger bag and all of its contents strewn down the street. They used the phrase “foul play” in almost every other sentence.

After leaving me in the room by myself for another hour or so, they came back to inform me that there wasn’t any other eye witnesses at this time and I was their prime suspect until further investigation. I was booked and in a jump suit by dinner time.

And I never even got to make my fucking phone call.