CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 727
What is the most dangerous thing you have ever done?
“Deep breaths. Deep breaths.”
He watched the young policeman as the other man mouthed out the words, supposedly, to keep himself calm.
He didn’t need to keep himself calm. Tight lipped and glaring at the significantly younger man, he, Conrad Ecklie, was calm. Stupid git.
Nine dead, three injured, most likely fatally. Michael J. Mitchellson, multi millionaire stock market and business success story. Had married the now Juleen Mitchellson when they were young kids, still fresh out of high school. One of those vomit inducing true love stories. He’d risen to fame, and together, they’d been the perfect married couple. She’d popped out ten babies so far, and what was it, another set of twins on the way. Although he should have had more sympathy for them, he couldn’t, really, because he hated people who were as happy as they were. Not enough to wish them dead, but he was there to do a job, and that was it, because he didn’t need to get personally involved in things.
So, there he was, Dayshift Supervisor, pressed against the wall as two madmen with a seemingly unlimited supply of deadly bullets, stormed through the house, trying to get into the safes where Mitchellson kept a small fortune. The guy didn’t trust the banks as much as he should have.
Thinking the robbers had gone, absolutely sure that the robbers had gone, the young nervous cop had let them in, and, let them down, because, just as he had began work on the scene, there was a rustle, and they had both run out of the house as bullets flew over their heads. Now, here he was, standing next to a cop who couldn’t clear a house properly, and who was whispering to himself, gun steady in his hand, and just waiting, waiting, until he could make the next move.
He didn’t even have a bullet proof vest on. If he walked away, then that was that, it and he was most likely finished. Here, at the front door, pressed against the wall, he could see them if they came at him.
They couldn’t wait for the backup, had barely been able to call the backup, where in danger of loosing their lives. And there he was, pressed against a wall while three people sped towards death, and nine were already dead.
Back into the house now. Bullets, bullets everywhere and not a drop to drink. And in between the shooting, he finds himself grappling with one of the two men, while young nervous cop grappled with the other. Both guns went flying at the same time, the two men, the two robbers, relying on their firepower and not their actual strength or training.. They both picked up their guns at the same time, and he saw the barrel of the superior weapon pointed at him, and, he squeezed the trigger. And he saw his attacker drop to the floor with glazed and pained eyes. One shift kick and his gun slid across the room.
Time seemed to pass slowly then. He had felt all eyes on him when he had shot dead a man in self defence, but now young nervous cop and robber number two had flicked back into it. So much movement, and then, bam, young nervous cop went down, and then, and then, the barrel again. Cold hearted barrel pointed at him. He was meant to be processing a crime scene, not playing games like this. And then, bam, again, he got in first, and robber number two went down. And the rest of the night seemed to pass so slowly, as he stemmed young nervous cops bleeding side, saw backup arrive, and found that he had a cut on his lip, a few cuts on his hand, and some areas that were going to produce some lovely bruises.
At the end of the day, it would not matter whether he had killed those two men or not. It did not mater that he had deadly aim and seemed so quiet about saving Bobby Reeler’s life. It was just another thing, another happening to him. So much death had already been witnessed by his soft eyes, and as he stood in the morgue inspecting the fourteen dead bodies, he breathed a sigh of relief and utter, immense sadness. Because they were dead, and, he, wasn’t.