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Narration:
Heathcliff is roused from his sleep by the sound of someone knocking at the door of his modest apartment. As usual, he feels a bit more hungry upon waking, his dead body having to extend Vitae to do so. However, he also feels unusually lethargic.
With a start, Heathcliff realizes it is not yet night. He has woken from daysleep while it is still day. It doesn't feel good.
Someone is still knocking at the door.
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Heathcliff tries to will himself to stay awake. It's gotta be someone from the office. Why they just didn't email him, he has no idea.
stay awake
He rises from bed and yells out "Who is it?"
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"Detectives Ramirez and Bryant, Sacramento PD," says a female voice. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, Mr. Staley."
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Oh shit. What the hell are the police doing here? Heathcliff sets a bleary eye on the peephole to confirm they are officers, then unlocks the 3 deadbolts but leaves the chain on. The police are just another bureaucracy, his subconscious offers his tired mind, just play dumb. Should be easy for you.
"I'd like to see your badges, please," he says drowsily while looking through the crack in the door. "There is a lot of crime in this city and I don't open my door for people I don't know without good reason. What you're doing bothering a city servant instead of looking for the thugs, and...and...crack snorters, who make it dangerous to open my door is beyond me."
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"It's good to be safe," the woman says. They both show ID card and badge to Heathcliff: Detective Manuel J. Ramirez and Detective Octavia Bryant, Sacramento PD.
Detective Ramirez is about 5'10" and built like a boxer, complete with a nose that's obviously been broken a couple times. He has black hair that is cut short but has a bit of curl to it despite the shortness. He's wearing a cheap suit that looks like he pulled it off the rack at JC Penney and a white dress shirt to match. Ramirez looks to be in his mid-30s.
Detective Bryant is more sharply-dressed, in nice grey slacks and blazer over a pale blue blouse. She has shoulder-length platinum-blonde hair, blue eyes and a deep tan. She looks fit, though her skin is starting to show the effects of maybe a bit too much sun. She doesn't wear a lot of makeup, mostly just some eyeshadow and mascara and pale red lipstick. She looks a few years older than Ramirez. She is wearing flats but is still about an inch taller than Ramirez.
"May we come in now, Mr. Staley?" Ramirez asks. He doesn't look particularly thrilled... maybe to be standing out in the hallway, maybe to be here, or maybe he just doesn't tend to look particularly enthused.
((ST Note: If Heath lets the officers in, please describe what Heathcliff's apartment looks like.))
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Heathcliff takes a moment to examine their badges and sighs loudly in resignation. "Just a moment." He shuts the door and takes off the chain, opens and then steps away from the door. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt, plaid pajama pants, and a look of utter exhaustion. He invites them to enter with a lazy sweep of his arm. As tired as he is, he notices the cute lady cop also has a cute lady cop butt. Nice.
There's a tan couch facing the modest TV on the wall. a small dinner table meant for only two occupants, which is convenient, since there's only two padded wooden chairs, both of fair quality. A large antique desk, upon which sits an older desktop computer, is in the corner of the room, with a full but very neat in/outbox system, and two legal size boxes are on the floor next to it.
That same wall contains a large, heavily curtained window. If the detectives were to toss the curtains aside, they'd see that the glass panes had all been spraypainted matte black.
He shuts the door behind them. He wants to go back to sleep. "What is all this about?" he asks, without offering them a seat or any other hospitality. It is clear from his tone that he is annoyed and they are an inconvenience.
Please don't say the petting zoo, please don't say the petting zoo.
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Detective Bryant takes out a note pad and pen. She glances at something she has written on the pad, then looks up at Heathcliff. "Mr. Staley, ecently your ATM card was left in an ATM machine, and you subsequently contacted your bank and asked for a replacement card to be issued. Can you tell us what happened that night that led to the card being left in the machine?"
Detective Ramirez watches Heathcliff's face as his partner talks to Heath.
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Police don't follow up on people who take too long at the ATM. Did something happen to the mugger after I left him? Has he been telling 'vampire stories?' Did he get picked up by the police with a bloody knife next to him and no bleeding body around? Heathcliff tried not to panic, which was easier to manage since his body still felt asleep, anyway. I know I don't photograph anymore, unless I concentrate. At most, they may have seen a blur of about my height quickly turning and trying to grab the closest thug. What do I say?
Heathcliff faces Detective Bryant, shrugs his shoulders, laments "Peanuts, Detective," and shakes his head slowly. "I work for the S-H-A. Sometimes I drive down to the low-rent neighborhoods to look around. See if we're making any difference," he says, and from the tone of his voice it is clearly very little.
"After driving around for an hour I realized I had forgotten to eat dinner. I stopped at a little fast food place that I hadn't been too before, and I was so hungry I forgot to ask what kind of oil they used. I had some fries as I headed home, then I remembered I needed to use an ATM, so I stopped at the closest one after looking around to make sure it was safe.
When I got up to the machine, that's when I realized the restaurant used peanut oil. I'm deathly allergic to peanuts, and I broke out in hives right at the ATM. I couldn't breathe, I could barely see. I started to panic, and then I heard people approaching. I tried to ask for help, but my tongue had swollen. I think I heard one run off when I turned around. What a sight I must have been," he muses sadly.
"They must have thought I was trying to hurt them, so they started attacking me. Someone punched me in the head. In my panic, I managed to get away, ran back to my car for my medicine. Once I could breathe and see ok, I realized my keys had fallen out. I went back to find them and everyone was gone, like I had imagined the whole thing.
So, I left. I didn't bother with a police report, since I never got a good look at any of my assailants. And I 'attacked' them first, though I was reaching out for help. I could have died, and people tried to hit me instead of get me to a hospital."
Heathcliff puts on his most pained martyr face, one he had honed throughout his marriage. He looks at both detectives sadly. "Some days I don't know why I bother trying to make this city a better place. Do you ever feel that way?"
Oh, I'm good. Now go away so I can sleep!
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"Yeah, I feel that way a lot of the time," Detective Bryant says. She reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a photograph, which she hands to Heathcliff. "Do you recognize this man, Mr. Staley?"
Heathcliff recognizes the man in the picture as the mugger he'd drunk from.
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Heathcliff examines the picture carefully, and also her hand momentarily to determine if she's wearing a ring. He looks back up and lies "No, I don't know this person. Is that who attacked me?"
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