| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted February 28, 2011 | Chapters: |
...19 20 -20- 21... 
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James meets with Mac
A chapter in the book The Heir Apparent
The Beginning of a Very Long Night
by Sasha
| Background James has a panic attack when a forgotten memory tries to surface. He meets with Mac to talk about Dad's childhood. |
Although I had never experienced one before, I knew I was having a full-blown panic attack. I ran down the hallway toward the elevator. I pressed the down button several times, anxiously waiting for it to arrive. The door opened, and to my relief, it was empty. I pressed the button for the lobby and prayed there would be no stops on the way down.
As soon as the door opened, I felt a second wave of panic sweep over me. I was the levelheaded one in the family. I only dealt with facts. The world was my personal Petri Dish and there was no room for intuition, gut instinct, or bad vibes. However, since pulling up to the locked fence and seeing the no trespass sign, I felt the devil himself was breathing down my neck. I tried to tell myself I was being foolish but the adrenaline pumping through my racing heart told me otherwise.
I immediately ran across the lobby and out the front door, nearly knocking down the doorman as I rushed past him. I continued running until exhaustion took over. I had no idea where I was. I leaned against a telephone pole for a moment and then sat down on the curb to catch my breath.
The feeling of panic slowly subsided but was replaced with the ominous sense that something terrible lurked in the darkness. I did not realize I was talking out loud when I said, "What could possibly happen that could be any worse than what has already happened?"
A familiar voice startled me. "Be careful what you ask for, you might not like the answer."
Still gasping for breath, I looked up and saw Mac standing over me.
I shook my head, and said, "You must think I'm an idiot running down the street like that."
Mack smiled, "Believe me when I say, no one would ever call you an idiot."
Mac sat down beside me. "What's going on, James? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I stared at Mac several seconds before responding. "Don't you dare laugh, but that is exactly how I feel."
Mac smiled again. "I'm sure whatever you've seen, it isn't a ghost."
I started to stand up, but Mac put his hand on my shoulder. I paused, waiting for what he was going to say next.
"James, you need to trust me. I know you see me as the bad guy, but I think we want the same thing."
"And just what is that?" I asked sarcastically.
"The truth."
Mac was right. I wanted to know the truth, the whole truth, no matter where it led. "You know, it may sound strange, but Dad raised me to be honest and truthful and he did a very good job teaching me. Now, it seems the truth is the very thing that may well tear my family apart. Tell me, Mack, what the hell would you do if you were me?"
"Talk to me, James. Tell me what is going on in that big brain of yours."
I laughed. "And what do I get out of this besides a giant guilt complex that will have me in therapy for the rest of my life?"
"Hey, if I recall, you're the one who called and asked to talk to me."
I nodded. I felt a familiar cold chill run down my spine. The devil had come back and the son-of-a-bitch was breathing down my neck again. Mac was the guy that arrested Dad. Common sense dictated that I view him as the enemy, but I didn't. My ability to verbally interact with anyone other than my fellow nerds, was non-existant. But there was something that drew me to Mac. Unlike Dad, a major control freak, for some strange reason I trused this man and felt I could talk to him about anything. He felt more like a freind than an advasary. The feelings I felt were strange, awkward, and totally unfamiliar. I wondered what he thought about me, the pushy, brazen kid poking around in his sandbox. I feared I was about to find out.
Mac pointed at a small café across the street. "Let's get a cup of coffee and talk."
When Mac said talk, I knew he wanted to ask me more questions. I agreed, but with conditions. "Tonight we play by my rules. You can ask me all the questions you want, but I get to decide which ones to answer, and this time, you will answer a few of mine too."
Mac shook his head. "You know I cannot discuss the case with you."
I smiled. "Those are the rules. Take them or leave them. The choice is yours."
It was impossible not to like Mac. He was honest, upfront, and treated me with respect. He was a good cop and I knew he wouldn't do anything that would put the case in jeopardy. However, I had questions too, and Mac was the only one I knew who might know how to get the answers.
Mac stood up, brushed off the seat of his pants, and with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he shook his head. "Fine, I'll tell you what I can, but don't expect much."
Except for the waitress with the fire engine red hair and matching three-inch plastic nails sitting at the counter reading the newspaper, the café was empty. As we walked toward the back of the room, she looked up and smiled. "Evening, Mac. Your favorite table awaits. I'll bring you some coffee and a couple of menus."
"Forget the menus, Betty. Just bring some coffee for me and my friend."
Betty placed two cups of coffee on the table in front of us. She tapped Mac on the shoulder and winked at me. "Be gentle with the kid, Mac. If you want my opinion, he don't look much like a killer to me."
Mac nodded. "I've told you before, Betty, you're wasting your time waiting on tables. You should join the force."
Betty laughed. "And give up my precious night life? Hell no!"
They both laughed. Betty returned to the counter and her newspaper, leaving us alone to talk. I poured some cream into my coffee and added a little sugar.
My list of questions was growing with each passing minute. I decided to jump right in with the big one. "Mac, tell me everything you know about Dad, his parents, and his childhood."
Mac took a sip of his coffee. "Are you sure you don't want to start with telling me about the ghost?"
I didn't find his attempt at humor amusing. "No. First tell me what you know about Dad, and then we'll talk about the ghost."
As soon as the door opened, I felt a second wave of panic sweep over me. I was the levelheaded one in the family. I only dealt with facts. The world was my personal Petri Dish and there was no room for intuition, gut instinct, or bad vibes. However, since pulling up to the locked fence and seeing the no trespass sign, I felt the devil himself was breathing down my neck. I tried to tell myself I was being foolish but the adrenaline pumping through my racing heart told me otherwise.
I immediately ran across the lobby and out the front door, nearly knocking down the doorman as I rushed past him. I continued running until exhaustion took over. I had no idea where I was. I leaned against a telephone pole for a moment and then sat down on the curb to catch my breath.
The feeling of panic slowly subsided but was replaced with the ominous sense that something terrible lurked in the darkness. I did not realize I was talking out loud when I said, "What could possibly happen that could be any worse than what has already happened?"
A familiar voice startled me. "Be careful what you ask for, you might not like the answer."
Still gasping for breath, I looked up and saw Mac standing over me.
I shook my head, and said, "You must think I'm an idiot running down the street like that."
Mack smiled, "Believe me when I say, no one would ever call you an idiot."
Mac sat down beside me. "What's going on, James? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I stared at Mac several seconds before responding. "Don't you dare laugh, but that is exactly how I feel."
Mac smiled again. "I'm sure whatever you've seen, it isn't a ghost."
I started to stand up, but Mac put his hand on my shoulder. I paused, waiting for what he was going to say next.
"James, you need to trust me. I know you see me as the bad guy, but I think we want the same thing."
"And just what is that?" I asked sarcastically.
"The truth."
Mac was right. I wanted to know the truth, the whole truth, no matter where it led. "You know, it may sound strange, but Dad raised me to be honest and truthful and he did a very good job teaching me. Now, it seems the truth is the very thing that may well tear my family apart. Tell me, Mack, what the hell would you do if you were me?"
"Talk to me, James. Tell me what is going on in that big brain of yours."
I laughed. "And what do I get out of this besides a giant guilt complex that will have me in therapy for the rest of my life?"
"Hey, if I recall, you're the one who called and asked to talk to me."
I nodded. I felt a familiar cold chill run down my spine. The devil had come back and the son-of-a-bitch was breathing down my neck again. Mac was the guy that arrested Dad. Common sense dictated that I view him as the enemy, but I didn't. My ability to verbally interact with anyone other than my fellow nerds, was non-existant. But there was something that drew me to Mac. Unlike Dad, a major control freak, for some strange reason I trused this man and felt I could talk to him about anything. He felt more like a freind than an advasary. The feelings I felt were strange, awkward, and totally unfamiliar. I wondered what he thought about me, the pushy, brazen kid poking around in his sandbox. I feared I was about to find out.
Mac pointed at a small café across the street. "Let's get a cup of coffee and talk."
When Mac said talk, I knew he wanted to ask me more questions. I agreed, but with conditions. "Tonight we play by my rules. You can ask me all the questions you want, but I get to decide which ones to answer, and this time, you will answer a few of mine too."
Mac shook his head. "You know I cannot discuss the case with you."
I smiled. "Those are the rules. Take them or leave them. The choice is yours."
It was impossible not to like Mac. He was honest, upfront, and treated me with respect. He was a good cop and I knew he wouldn't do anything that would put the case in jeopardy. However, I had questions too, and Mac was the only one I knew who might know how to get the answers.
Mac stood up, brushed off the seat of his pants, and with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he shook his head. "Fine, I'll tell you what I can, but don't expect much."
Except for the waitress with the fire engine red hair and matching three-inch plastic nails sitting at the counter reading the newspaper, the café was empty. As we walked toward the back of the room, she looked up and smiled. "Evening, Mac. Your favorite table awaits. I'll bring you some coffee and a couple of menus."
"Forget the menus, Betty. Just bring some coffee for me and my friend."
Betty placed two cups of coffee on the table in front of us. She tapped Mac on the shoulder and winked at me. "Be gentle with the kid, Mac. If you want my opinion, he don't look much like a killer to me."
Mac nodded. "I've told you before, Betty, you're wasting your time waiting on tables. You should join the force."
Betty laughed. "And give up my precious night life? Hell no!"
They both laughed. Betty returned to the counter and her newspaper, leaving us alone to talk. I poured some cream into my coffee and added a little sugar.
My list of questions was growing with each passing minute. I decided to jump right in with the big one. "Mac, tell me everything you know about Dad, his parents, and his childhood."
Mac took a sip of his coffee. "Are you sure you don't want to start with telling me about the ghost?"
I didn't find his attempt at humor amusing. "No. First tell me what you know about Dad, and then we'll talk about the ghost."
 Recognized |
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James Mathews is not your typical eighteen-year-old boy. He has an IQ of 190 that not only makes him smarter than most adults he knows, it makes developing friends his own age next to impossible. His photographic memory has turned him into a walking, talking library. Waking one day to discover his father is the infamous Belltown Killer, turns James's life into a living hell. He reluctantly becomes friends with Mac, the lead Detective on the case. Together, they discover more unsolved murders and James is faced with the choice of continuing his search for the truth, or simply turning a blind eye.
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