Two Way Street

“Anatomizing human complexity by writing from real and raw perspectives?” asks the solemn femme fatale, sitting sluggishly inside of her study.

She stops typing for a moment.

She looks you dead in the eye, before mouthing the words, “That’s my motherfucking forte.”



Despite the detective making several visits earlier that evening to the local hospital’s emergency room, his attempts at getting a real answer from the band’s crippled leader come to no avail.

He leaves the hospital doors yet again, and starts walking aimlessly. The detective needed answers, and he needed them soon.

Who was this guy laying in that hospital bed, and how was the detective going to get his side of the story? Why won’t he talk?

The detective has a nose for those guilty like a wolf does for fresh blood, but none of the other band members seemed to match the traits of the criminal wanted — the infamous punk rock band that the local sheriff in town was certain, that at least one of its members would be found guilty of the murder.

For the first time ever, the detective’s lifelong work and experiences with London’s most wanted psychopaths have left him absolutely stumped.

He stops in front of the park bench outside of the hospital. He rests his elbow on the armrest, and taps on his chin. “Is the truth nothing but the best version of the story we can skew for ourselves? Are we good people if we simply think, that we’re good?”

The detective reflects upon his years of placing countless criminals into jail. A quick-paced squirrel squirms by his feet, and the detective sighs. He puts his head down and becomes frustrated at how simple the circumstances of the case are, yet it’s been an entire week with kids held in cells or emergency rooms.

Everybody wants answers.

But no one is giving the detective anything to work with. Every case the detective has taken on prior to this has been solved with confidence. This time, something was different. He felt different.

“What if my version for these kids was skewed from the beginning? I need to get to know them better. I need to reevaluate my hypothesis.”

The detective stands up, deciding he had no choice but to try and work his old trick on the criminals in question.

The squirrel scurries about quickly yet again as if no one saw him.

For the first time ever, the detective might be convinced in the accused and his band members’ cries of innocence.

The detective decides he would need to go back into that hospital room and attempt at making a new friend, if nothing else, for the sake of closing the case.

The detective would leave no case unsolved.

He scurries along the bushes of the park and marches right back through the hospital doors.

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