‘Did you kill the President?’
I took my finger off the intercom and waited for a response.
‘Go fuck yourself, detective!’ The suspect in restraints violently shook himself, but it was pointless. He wasn’t going anywhere until I was done with him.
‘Boot the sequence, Louis. I’m going in.’ Light flooded the interrogation room and the tension in the suspect’s body dissipated. As with the 147 other subjects this week, I started my pre-observation ritual. I ran my fingers under my tired eyes and wiped my clammy hands on my skirt and brought the headset to my face. The world before me disappeared and a numbing sensation swallowed me whole. I was no longer sitting behind the console, but an explorer in the jungle of the mind.
It took forever to sift through the suspect’s memories from the day of the assassination. I knew he was our man, he fit the profile perfectly. Ex-military, strong anti-government views, and multiple prior arrests. To my disappointment, his memories were junk. Even without connection to my own body, I knew I was hot with frustration. No evidence, only visions of hookers, video games and jam on toast. He had been there that day, in the crowd, but he hadn’t shot the President. As I ejected, I could feel his hatred, resentment and vile thoughts separate from mine.
‘Dammit, he’s clean.’ I slammed my fist on the console. I’d been so sure I’d hit the jackpot when he had been wheeled in. I was certain he was the one to get the death sentence. A life for a life. Seemed fair to me.
‘He got what he deserved. Fuck the system,’ mumbled the groggy suspect as he disappeared from sight. Louis’ soft tone brought me out of my whirlwind rage.
‘Last suspect ma’am,’ he said. I looked up and felt my lungs spasm as I caught my own breath. The last suspect was a child, a girl no older than my own daughter. She didn’t fight the restraints, but lay motionless. The fire in my body turned to ice in an instant. I skipped my ritual, ignoring my rolling stomach and dived into her memories.
As soon as I assimilated, her feelings of loss and anger overwhelmed me. I completely lost my sense of self in her memory. As she clenched her fist, so did I, and in it I felt metal. There was the President, running from an angry mob. She closed her eyes. In the darkness of her memory, I saw the static image of another woman’s face and felt warmth. Was that her mother? I felt a cold wave of loss washed over me and the warmth was gone. As she opened her eyes, I saw the gun, raised. Tears seeped from my headset. Don’t pull that trigger, I begged. I didn’t want to confirm it, so I forcibly ejected; but I still heard it. It echoed. Like a gavel coming down on a block. The firing of a gun. BANG.
