Detective Jonas Kay was the best in his field—he never left a case unsolved. The Lieutenant had an uncanny ability for unearthing dark truths, shattering iron-clad alibis, and dragging confessions from the unwilling.
There was one thing he couldn’t explain, though. How he always knew who the killer was.
“How does he know?” They whispered in the precinct coffee rooms. Officers gave up their seats for him. Criminals fled as he approached. He commanded fear and respect.
But, across the interrogation table, something felt—different. The suspect wasn’t breaking a sweat. Or making any pleas.
He was just smiling.
A slow, crooked smirk.
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Kay laid the evidence neatly on the table. The suspect on the CCTV camera footage. The victim’s blood on his shirt. The case should have been straightforward.
Except—it wasn’t. The suspect eyed Kay, without fear or doubt, but with recognition. He leaned forward, a movement so casual, that his pulse spiked. He described the details of the crime scene—details never released to the public.
He never denied them. Not one. “Detective, how did you know about the scar?” His eyes were lowered; a sneer shaped the edges of his mouth. “It comes so easy for you, doesn’t it? Like the answers were waiting for you.”
Kay’s breath caught, and his vision blurred for a second. The victim DID have a scar on his wrist. But no one had ever mentioned that. Had he seen it? Or had he just… known?
“So you do remember them. Even before the blood dries. ” ****************************************************************
Kay’s head throbbed like an erratic drumbeat. His fingers nearly tore his case notes as he ran through them. Something just wasn’t adding up. Dates mismatched. Witnesses seem coached…altered.
Then, his fingers landed on a case that took place five years earlier, involving the same crime scene. The same suspect. The same confession.
No…that was just ridiculous.
His breath became sharper…quicker. His eyes scanned another case. Another. And another. Different names, same crime. The faces were..odd. But the confessions? Exact replicas.
The suspect eyed him, amused derision lacing his eyes. “You’re catching on quickly, aren’t you? Dig a little deeper, Detective Kay. When did this case begin? The names mirrored each other. But the faces? They were different.
Kay took a quick breath and stumbled back. The cases were complete fakes. He had been solving the same crime…again. And again. No matter how many times he solved it, it never ended.
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The door burst open. A male nurse strode in, his eyes ominously dark. In his hands, something made of thick fabric.
“Kay,” he directed. “Sit.”
Kay stood rooted. His heart hammered his chest.
CHAIR?
He turned, and his reflection stared at him. But the interrogation room wasn’t the same. It was white. Empty. One chair. One clipboard.
The nurse pushed him onto the chair and unveiled the fabric—-part of a jacket.
The kind of jacket that locked a man in place.
The case file? There never was .
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 