Take a deep breath—just breathe. You don’t need that stuff…you should have realized sooner. Shit. When did I develop such a stupid conscience? Since Nick died and you didn’t even know he had been killed until it was too late because of… Shut the hell up! I need to get a grip. I’m talking to myself—damn it, I’m fighting with myself. I think I’m going insane. How did I get myself into this mess? The police are gonna think it’s me. Why not? My appearance, the way I act, everything! But it’s not me—How can you be sure? Because I didn’t do it. I know exactly what happened last week. Sure, you do. Damn conscience! God must have given me one to torture me…no—I had a conscience before all this, in the form of Brian. And there was Kevin, who was worse than a conscience at times. But Brian and Kev don’t know about all this. Or do they? Oh shit…I can’t believe I…
~~~~
I can’t take it anymore. He knew—he knew. I could just tell. He knew all along. He just didn’t realize it until now. The police knew too…Oh God! If the police knew then it was already too late. Even if they didn’t know, he knew. Maybe he won’t tell. After all, we’ve known each other for so long. It’s almost like we’re brothers. He wouldn’t rat on me— would he? I have to shut him up. There’s no other way—Nick was like a brother too…Ok, get it together…you can do this—you have to.
******
We arrived at Richardson’s house. There was a car parked outside. Oh no, did that mean someone else was in the house with him? Hopefully, nothing drastic would have to be done. Hopefully, nothing drastic was happening inside. My squad and I slowly approached the door, totally on our guard. This part rarely happened. The murderer had been identified and found. Now, we just had to get him into custody. To think, Richardson would be the one to have killed that poor kid. I shook my head, focusing back to the task at hand. They were supposed to be like brothers. It’s amazing what alcohol or anything can do to a person.
I found the front door open upon reaching it. This could be a good thing or a bad thing—my gut was telling me bad. We quietly entered the house. The first room looked normal, the second—this was bad. There was broken furniture—looked like some sort of struggle occurred. Good God! Please don’t let it be too late. The squad moved silently up the stairs and down the hall. I could here the sound of heavy breathing. This is not good, not good at all. I was preparing myself for the worst.
Suddenly, a man came out of nowhere. His attire was messy—blood stained? He turned, seeing us. A look of surprise washed over him. His eyes were wild, his movements panicky. It looked as if he was going to make a run for it, although there was no way out the way he was facing. I cocked my gun.
"Mr. Mclean, there’s no escape. This is the end."