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“There's no doubt he's guilty. He was standing over the body holding the knife,” Detective Tom Flank said.
“Drugs, you think?” asked Detective Andrew Peters, looking through the two way glass.
“Or alcohol. Look at how he twitches. He can't sit still.”
“Good cop, bad cop?” Peters asked.
“What about a psych eval?”
“On the way but until then...”
“Good cop bad cop it is,” Flank said.
Peters entered and stood next to the man, resting a hand on the table, while Flank sat across from him.
“Visions, huh?” Flank asked.
“I know you don't believe me,” the man said, still twitching his hands while his eyes darted around the room looking everywhere but at Flank.
“That's right we don't believe you. You're just scum, admit it,” Peters yelled at the man.
“Calm down Peters,” Flank said. “Give him a chance.”
Peters made a sound of disgust but didn't say any more.
“So, you say you killed him because you had a vision?”
“No, yes, I mean,” the man took a breath, “it was a lot of visions. They just wouldn't stop.”
“Your file says you were released from the hospital two months ago.”
“You were in a coma for three days.”
“I fell off my roof.”
“Did you ever have visions before that?”
“No. Look I know how it sounds but I'm telling you, he was a killer.”
“Who did he kill?”
“Well, no one yet. But he will,” the man said, finally meeting Flank's eyes. “He would have. I had to stop him.”
“Did voices tell you to kill him.”
“No,” he yelled. “Not voices. Just visions.”
The man grabbed Flank's hand and squeezed. “Every time I closed my eyes. They wouldn't stop.”
Flank fought the urge to pull his hand away.
“I tried to ignore them. I really did. I didn't want to kill him. I thought if I found him, if I saw him in the flesh, I would see he was innocent. Then the visions would stop,” the man said smiling and nodding while still squeezing Flanks hand. “But they only got worse. And then...”
“And then what?”
“He looked at me. And I knew.”
“That he was a killer,” the man sobbed. “I knew I had to stop him. He was evil. He was going to do such bad things. To children. Don't you get it? I had to do it.”
“You had to kill him,” Flank said, finally pulling his hand away. “This helpless ten year old boy was evil. A horrible murderer.”
“He was,” the man said, trying to grasp Flanks hand again, pleading. “He was. Such terrible things coming.”
A knock on the door startled the man.
A cop stuck his head in the door. “Psych is here.”
“Okay, thanks. Looks like were done here,” Peters said, heading for the door.
They watched as the man was loaded into the ambulance.
“He's crazy. Gotta be. Who would kill a little kid like that?” Flank asked, not really expecting an answer.
“Yeah. Either way, he's not getting out.”
“What was the kid's name again? The victim? Jim?”
“It was John. The kid's name was John Wayne Gacy.”