The other night I found myself sitting in the dark at my living room window and staring over at Bill’s basement window. I didn’t want to admit what I was thinking. I fought hard to rationalize what I saw the other day when I broke into his basement. I told myself over and over that there was no connection between the missing mailman and the bricks pulled up from the dirt floor in his basement. But the longer I sat there in the dark, staring across the yard at that window, the more it became clear to me. Bill had killed the mailman and was intending to bury him beneath the brick floor.
Was I going crazy? Was my imagination getting the better of me? It wasn’t a chance that I was willing to take. I called the police early the next morning. Now I knew I didn’t have any evidence – only conjecture. I also realized that without something solid the cops weren't going to do anything. The only thing concrete was that the mailman had been missing for nearly a week. So I did what I had to do. I lied. I told the cops that I saw the mailman’s postal bag when I was down in Bill’s basement retrieving some of my tools. I went on to tell them about the bricks being pulled up and the shovel next to the dirt.
The cop car showed up in front of my house minutes later. They questioned me before they went over and knocked on Bill’s front door. As they climbed up the steps to Bill’s porch, I pulled the drapes in my living room shut to where I could peek out and not be seen.
I have to say that I was shocked when Bill answered the door and let them in. A few seconds later I saw the lights flick on in his basement. …what was going on…? I couldn’t see what was happening, but about ten minutes later the cops walked back outside – and Bill wasn’t in their custody! I waited until they were back in the cop car in front of my house before I ran out and flagged them down. As they jotted some notes down on a report I asked them why they didn’t arrest Bill. The cop on the passenger side, a young guy, answered without ever looking up from the notepad. He said that they found the spot with the bricks pulled up – he said they even dug down a couple of feet until they hit hard clay. Nothing was there. No mailman. No postal bag. Nothing to indicate that there had been any wrongdoing.
I was in a daze as I walked back inside. There had to be a body… there had to be. I slowly walked over and sat back down in the wingchair that I had positioned in front of the window. Everything felt disconnected – like I was watching the events unfold from outside my body. I didn’t feel myself lean forward. I could see the drapes bunched up in my hands, but the material had no feel. I sat there, and without realizing what I was doing, resumed my stare at the basement window across the yard. Nothing really registered until the lights flicked off in his basement. That’s when I took a deep breath and began to think about the locked coal room.
Until next time, pull up a chair and join me. As long as one other person believes me – then I can’t be crazy. J/W
