“What was in the bag Tommy?” The detectives voice cooed easily to the little boy who sat across the aluminum table; he must have been no older than five. The boy merely shrugged and kept his brown eyes glued to his lap.
“It’s okay to talk to me, I’m a police officer. I’m a good guy,” He formed a plastic grin and slid his golden badge to the boy. The child looked up from his lap to the badge and gave an unsure tilt of his head before he creeped for it. “Go ahead, you can touch it, it’s real.” He spoke slow, and the boy took no time for it to settle before he seized it in his tiny pale hands; thumbing it over as if it were diamonds.
“So Tommy, can you tell me what was in the bag? It’s very important”
“Demon?” Detective Gambini spoke and brought a hand over his cracked lips. He looked at the boy with menacing eyes and gave a hard look to the two-way mirror on his right.
“That’s what my uncle told me it was,” The boy brought his glare back to his lab and began to rub his hands nervously. “He said it was a demon, a son of the devil who was very bad.”
“What did your uncle do about the demon Tommy? Did he hurt the demon?” The detective pressed easily at the young boy. Behind the mirror he was sure that the commissioner and the DA were busy debating the whereabouts of the boys murderer of an uncle but he couldn’t see anything in the dank interrogation room.
“No” He sat quiet and only flashed Vinnie a brief glance.
“Of course I am,” The boy began to chuckle deeply. “I’m the one who put him there. Cut his body up into little bite-size fucking pieces,” The child’s voice went from boyish to deep snarling growls and gripped the sides of the table. The detective couldn’t speak, he sat dumbfounded his eyes marveling in their sockets. “Whatsamatter detective did I surprise you?” His voice changed again to the voice of an old man.
The detective threw his chair over and jumped to the wall, he rushed to the mirror and banged on it as hard as he could. The glass shattered splintering his hands with fragments as they clattered to the floor revealing nothing behind the two-way but a brick and mortar wall. “What-what, who are you?”
“Forgotten me already?” The boy howled and the detective blinked seeing now a fat, plump old man sitting in the chair beating his hand off of the aluminum table in heavy shambles. “You don’t seem too happy to see me Vinnie!” Frances Alavera roared in laughter as Vinnie stumbled into the brick wall, his head bouncing away form the impact.
“Don’t worry boss, this won’t hurt a bit,” And the detective turned in fright to see the pale body of Patrick Finnigan standing behind him, his white shirt stained heavy in dried blood.
The alarm screamed at Vinnie through the fabric of his covers and the detective scrambled to see himself alone in his bed, his pistol gripped firmly between his white knuckled fingers. It was only a dream, only a dream.