Marcus had sat in the interrogation room at the Denver FBI field office for nearly two hours. He expected that at any moment some smug agent would enter and begin what was sure to be a long and excruciating process. He knew what they were doing. They were sweating him, but he had no sweat left to give. After going up against the likes of the Sheriff and Ackerman, the FBI didn’t intimidate him.
Bring it on. After the week I’ve had, this’ll be like a vacation.
He just wanted to sleep. He felt as if he hadn’t slept in a week, which wasn’t too far from being accurate. He wanted to fall into a bed and awaken two days later, refreshed and rejuvenated. But he didn’t want to dream. He wondered if the dreams would get better or worse after this. Only time would tell.
His wrists ached from the cuffs. An overzealous agent had clasped them too tightly. He supposed that he should have been in cuffs a long time ago, so he couldn’t complain.
He had accepted whatever fate awaited him. He had succeeded in what he had set out to do, and nothing else mattered anymore. He wished that he could put it all behind him. He wished that he could hold Maggie again. But he knew that wishes didn’t come true.
He could see no way out of what had happened. He had no evidence, just a string of bodies. But he had nothing left to lose either.
He wondered whether his parents would be proud of him. He wondered about the life he would have led if he had never stumbled onto the Mavros case. Would he still be a detective? Would he be married with kids by now? His mind swirled with a series of what ifs and whys. In the end, he concluded that it was all meant to be.
Maybe Ackerman had been right. Maybe his whole life had been building toward something, some realization or purpose. Had he now fulfilled that purpose? Was he meant to stop Ackerman, and now that his task had been completed, the universe would allow him some measure of peace? Or had he only just begun to walk the path? So many questions with no real answers.
He supposed that was the essence of life. People quested for answers that they were never meant to know. Maybe no one was ever meant to see the big picture or know the meaning. Maybe people weren’t prepared for the answers. Perhaps when a person finally comes to the grand realization and learns “the meaning”, death comes for them. Maybe the asking and not the knowing was the important thing.
His head ached from the flood of thoughts that flowed through him. He knew that he couldn’t save everyone, but he had played the game to the best of his abilities. If all that was necessary for evil to triumph was for good men to do nothing, then evil had not triumphed. He was a good man, and he had stood up against the darkness and refused to do nothing.
He tried to be resigned to his fate, but many questions nagged at him.
He didn’t want to think about the events of the past few days, but he couldn’t help it. There were too many things that still bothered him, pieces to the puzzle that didn’t fit together.
Using his vivid photographic memory, he relived every event, every detail. With his eyes closed, he journeyed into the past. He walked through his memories.
Then, his eyes opened.
*
The door to the interrogation room swung open, and a dark-skinned man in a black suit entered. The agent sat down across from him and laid a group of files on the metal table that separated them. The man smiled, obviously trying to gain his trust.
All part of the process.
“Hello, I’m Agent Monroe. Anything I can get you before we begin?”
He decided to play along. “Yeah, these cuffs are hurting my wrists. Would there be any way that you could take them off, or at least loosen them up?”
Monroe held the smile and nodded. “Sure.”
The agent stood up and opened the door. “Could you please unshackle the prisoner for me?” Another man entered the room and removed the restraints.
He rubbed his wrists. “Thank you.”
Agent Monroe walked back to the table but didn’t sit. The man removed the dark jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Something seemed strange, but it took Marcus a few seconds to put a finger on it. Then, he realized. The agent still had his gun holstered at his side.
He wasn’t certain, but he didn’t think that regulations allowed agents to bring firearms into the interrogation room. He also noticed that the door stood open.
Agent Monroe, seeming to notice his eyes on the door, gestured toward the opening. “My partner is going to be joining us in a moment.” Monroe shuffled through the stack of papers, his attention centering upon the documents and not his prisoner.
The agent had his gun in plain sight, and the door to the interrogation room stood open. Is the plan for me to be killed during an escape attempt, or is this just another game?
He let out a long breath. “Why don’t we cut the crap? Tell him to come in here and talk to me himself.”
The agent seemed perplexed. “I don’t—”
“You know damn well who I mean.”
“I’m afraid that I—”
He slammed his fist on the metal table. “Just tell the Sheriff, or whoever he is, to get in here. I’m tired of playing his games.”
The sound of a familiar voice came from just outside the door. “But you’re so good at them.” The Sheriff strolled into the room with a look of triumph.
Marcus cocked his head to the side and cracked his neck. “You look pretty good … for a dead man.”