*Corman

Thirty minutes after leaving the office, Corman was sitting at the police station, waiting for the detective to come. His leg wouldn't stop bouncing and his ass wouldn't stop twinging.

He was guilty as fuck, he knew it, but he didn't know how or why. Whenever he tried to remember, all he came up with were the hazy flashes of the man running, or lunging out of the bathtub, screaming and streaked with blood.

Corman put his hand on his leg to stop the jitters.

None of this was him. This wasn't his life. His life was boring, lonely, predictable, and consisted of watching things happening to other people. Other people went on dates. Other people committed crimes. Other people ran through wet golf-courses carrying buckets of blood and guts.

How was this possible?

His life was in shambles, and the detective was going to figure it out.

Earlier, when Corman had announced his arrival at the counter, two officers in nearly matching civilian suits and ties both glanced up from the desk they were standing at to watch him cross to the waiting area. Corman shifted in his uncomfortable seat as his stomach dropped through the floor. They were still watching him, barely concealing their stares.

They knew something. They had to know something. While he didn't believe he had many survival instincts left in him after years of interacting only with computer screen, slivers of fear embedded the length of his spine. His body knew he was in danger.

Something was also broken in his head. Or his body.

On top of it all, he was getting flashbacks from when he was twelve years old. The police showing up at his friend's door, telling him about his parents. Calm with a side of very sad, like it was a pet who died instead of his parents and his whole world. So sorry, buddy. We're going to take you down to the station and find someone to take care of you from now on, don't you worry.

Criminy.

He was going to puke. He had to get out of here for so many reasons, but mostly because he was screwed if he couldn't fake his way out of this with the detective.

"Mr. Bennet," the detective called, stepping into the waiting area.

Corman jumped from his seat, ready to shake the iron fist that belonged to Detective Miller.

"I hope there aren't any problems," Corman said.

The detective waved the file for Corman to follow him down the hall. Corman swallowed. Or tried to swallow. There was no moisture left in his mouth to swallow. He squeaked in fear, but covered it with a short cough.

"Could I get a drink of water?" he gasped.

"No problem," Detective Miller said. He motioned him into an office. "Take a seat."

"Sure," Corman said, faking innocence as hard as he knew how. "Am I in some kind of trouble?"

Detective Miller handed him a plastic cup half-filled with tepid water from the hall water fountain. He shook his head. "No, we really appreciate your help. In fact, you are the only person coming forward so far. Tell me again exactly what you think you saw, with as many details as you can remember."

The day before at the bar, when he had blurted out that he had seen the wanted man, Corman had gotten away with making a quick statement. Now, to buy time he sipped his water. It tasted like a heavily chlorinated, warm swimming pool in the middle of summer.

The detective spread his papers on the table and flipped a pen between his fingers. Corman kept sipping pensively. With a quick flip, the detective used the pen to point at the bottom of one page.

"Last night," Detective Miller said, "you told us you crossed the man's path on the far side of the golf course, in the Shady Hills neighborhood, as he was walking, and you were in your car. But you said this was a little past midnight. However, by that time, it had already started raining, but you failed to mention this fact. Care to elaborate?"

"I'd be happy to." Corman bobbed his head. Faking innocence was not his forte.

"Great. I'm ready."

"Great." Corman shifted, willing his ass cheek to stop burning. Just a few seconds of relief so he could get a story going. "As stated yesterday—"

He broke off. One of the plainclothes officers strolled down the hallway, a paper cup in hand, eyes glued to Corman the entire span of the double windows. Detective Miller, his back to the windows, sighed with impatience. The officer moved past the glass.

"As I stated, I was out driving around because I couldn't sleep, and I saw the individual, the man, at the edge of the golf course. He must have gone over the golf course to the road." Corman smiled, but inside was screaming, Why the hell am I giving him clues on where to look for clues?

"Yes, we are studying the golf course terrain for more evidence," Detective Miller said, confirming Corman's worst fears. "And the rain?"

"Yes, it was raining."

"But you didn't mention it yesterday."

"I was very upset. This is all very disturbing."

"But you were able to see the man's face, and recognize him through the rain on your windshield?"

Corman coughed. "I have wipers. They must have wiped the windshield."

"Indeed." Detective Miller scribbled something on his notebook. "And what time was this?"

"I couldn't say for sure. A little after midnight."

"How do you estimate that time?"

"I left the house at about midnight, but didn't drive for too long."

"Did you go anywhere? Stop at any stores or pass any stop-lights?"

Corman kept his happy-to-help smile plastered to his face. In other words, was there any video footage to back up his story? "Nope. Circled a couple of quiet neighborhoods and went home."

"And before you left your house, what were you doing?"

"Stuff. Gaming, and stuff."

"Like PlayStation gaming or..."

"I'm part of an online D&D group," Corman said. This was true. And it sounded good.

"Great. The other players could verify the fact that you were busy playing that whole evening?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Oh, yeah. Shit.

"Great." More scribbling. "And before that?"

"Before gaming?" Corman asked. "Dinner."

"No, I mean what about the bar? The—" Detective Miller checked his notes. "The Bottled Arcade?"

"I like that bar. They have some good local brews on tap and the arcade games are authentic, eighties-era machines. I'm a big Zaxxon fan, personally. But I'll play Frogger in a pinch."

Detective Miller scribbled something on the paper, presumably that he was a Zaxxon fan. "Shooter game? Do you kill a lot of people in that game?"

Icy fear loosened Corman's intestines. "Robots. Evil robots. And fuel drums for refueling. Of course."

"Of course. Now, I am especially interested in what the bartender, a former law officer, mentioned—that you left the bar with an attractive woman?"

Corman opened his mouth to make a quip about attractive women going to bars, but nothing came out. Worse, something in his head broke. A fog moved into his mind, smothering his control over his own body, except for a small, hidden voice that started screaming.

The second plainclothes officer inched by, staring at him through the office windows. Corman knew he was acting cool as a cucumber on the outside, but inside, he screamed louder.

"You left together," the detective continued. "Can you outline your movements with her, what the two of you did together before you were gaming at your house?"

The officer was gone.

Corman took a breath. And spoke words that weren't his. "She very rightly assumed that I would be able to help her with her IPad which was acting up. I followed her to the car and fixed it and she thanked me before she left."

Detective Miller blinked in surprise. "She walked straight to you, asked you to fix her electronic device and took you out to her car to do it? Did I understand correctly?"

"Absolutely," Corman said so convincingly, he almost believed himself. "I'm handy with electronics. It's a thing."

"I see. Then you went home, had dinner, and gamed online with a group of friends—"

Whatever was holding onto his brain, controlling him, let go. It simply vanished into a poof of nothing in his head. He jerked in his chair like he'd suddenly been untied. The detective had asked about gaming...

"Online acquaintances. They have avatars and profile names, so I can't really call them friends in the traditional sense," Corman said in a rush.

"I see. Then at midnight you decided to go for a short drive in the rain, when you happened to see a man who fits the wanted man's description. Am I correct?"

"That's it."

"But you forgot to mention the rain when you gave your statement because you were—" He checked his notes. "Disturbed."

"Very. Disturbed," Corman said, nodding his head. He almost wished that thing would come back and help him keep faking his innocence.

Detective Miller set his pen across the top of the page, lining it up above the first line. "I think that about covers all of my questions."

"Great. Okay. Bye." Corman stuck out his hand.

Detective Miller looked at it. "We'll be in touch if necessary. I'm also sorry to hear you were so very disturbed by this murder."

Corman stepped outside the police headquarters, soaked in sweat. He needed a burger. His phone buzzed.

Celia: Hey!

The attractive woman from marketing had messaged him.

*** Corman should have taken that acting class in college instead of the Medieval Saints Hagiography course he took and nearly failed.... Thanks for reading!!! ***