Shadow Wrought's Journal: [Serial Writing] Everywhere, Is the War (Part X)

Start from Part I or Back to Part IX

Walker sat in the metal chair with as much poise as the Army Officer in him could muster. The deeply scarred and pitted table in front of him had only a single cup of untouched coffee on it. He would avoid any of the water or food offered to him, too. The threat of them poisoning him was incredibly small, even with the muckety-mucks he had fragged. No the threat came from needing to relieve yourself. Just one more thing he wasn't going to try and fight. The mirror in front of him was obviously the two-way glass made famous in just about every cop show there was. The one thing those shows didn't capture was how cold it was. The brick walls, only just covered by a thin peeling layer of drab paint, kept the room far cooler than was necessary. He fought the urge to shiver.

He knew it wouldn't be much longer before Agent Brink, if not some of his buddies, came in and started the questioning. He knew he could stay silent, but Clarke had been quite clear as to what he should do when caught. Sing. Tell every last detail to the Police. The only good that come from his incarceration would be the fear at knowing that he wasn't acting alone, that he was only one small cog in a far larger machine. He had to roll on Clarke, too. Even though she repeatedly told him to, he found the thought of it made him near physically ill. "And David," he remembered her voice clearly, "even if it makes you sick, you have to do it. They'll know me and it will corroborate your story. Just don't think for a second that they can actually get me."

The door clicked open and a haggard looking Agent Brink walked in with a thick manila folder. He felt like the eyes that he had tattoed into the back of head now burned through his mind, as if they were Clarke's eyes watching what he was about to do. Of its own, his heart started beating faster, he felt like he was ten again, and about to have to explain the car window to his father. But most of all, he just wanted to throw-up and run away. Too late to puke, he thought, time to start talking....

Starting with the village in some forgotten dessert, Walker told his story. Talked about losing his family, how Clarke had recruited him, and even walked Agent Brink through his killings. Brink asked few, if any questions, and seemed perfectly content to listen. Finally, after relating how and why he had killed Jenkins, he had unexpectedly he felt a huge emotional release. He felt serenely at ease to accept whatever Brink said to him now, as well to deal with whatever fate might have in store. The Death Penalty seemed likely, but, who cared? His life was no longer his own, and he felt releived that he had no more decisions to make.

Special Agent Brink sat and regarded Walker for a few moments, half waiting, half baiting him to say more. When Walker's silence continued, and a subtle smile of relief hinted its way across his face, Brink calmly pulled open the file and removed the photo sitting on top. He handed it to Walker. "Do you know her?" he asked without preamble.

Walker replied with little hesitation, "Yes. That's Clarke. You already knew about her?"

"In a manner of speaking. We found her body in a hunting blind out in the woods. Her kids' bodies were next to her."

"That can't be. Clarke didn't have kids. She told me she couldn't while we were in Iraq together. That's why she made the Army her career."

"I doubt that, Walker," Brink said shaking his head and leaning back, "I doubt that very much."

"How would you know? It's not like you were there!"

"And it's not like you were there, either!" Brink yelled back to the irate Walker. "In fact, you were only in the Army for a grand total of three weeks before they kicked you out of Basic. Ring any bells?"

"No, it doesn't! But there was another Walker in Basic... a total fuck-up. They booted him, but not me. I was tops. Went straight, straight into Ranger School."

"No Walker you didn't. You were the only Walker there and after flunking out of the Army for psyche reasons, you joined a Militia. Remember? Only they got sick of you, too and they kicked you out after you tried to attack the group's 'CO'."

"NO!"

"Yes! That's not Clarke! Her name is Misha Boyoun and you went to High School with her. You followed her home everyday. Remember?"

"NO!"

"Yes! We talked to her family. You told her you were going into the Army so you could support her. Do you even remember that, at least?"

"They got to you. That's what this is. The Shadow Group got to you. They're feeding you lies. Brink, you've got to listen to me. I didn't believe either at first but it's true. The whole thing is true! You're just, you're just lying to me!"

"No David, I'm not," Brink said in a much softer voice to the near panting Walker, "you're a sick man. You created Clarke to be the women that Misha never was. While you went to Basic she moved to DC. She was married and had kids almost right away. The first person you killed was her ex-husband, when he got off the train. We found her body and her kids' bdoies in a deer blind out in the woods. And Jenkins, well, with the divorce finalized, she had only just started seeing him."

"I- No." Walker paused staring up at the bare ceiling and darkened corners of the room while shakign his head, "No. No, these are just more lies."

"They're not, David, they're not. You came to DC to find her after the Militia kicked you out. Her husband had left her and you killed him for hurting her. When she shunned you in favor of Jenkins, you kidnapped her and the kids. You took them to the woods and killed them there. Then Jenkins had to go because she chose him over you-"

"NOOOO!!!"

"Yes, David. Unfortuantely, yes."

After a deep breath and sigh to Walker's silence, Special Agent Brink picked up the manila folder and Misha's picture. Looking one last time at the now despondent Walker, he slowly shook his head and walked out. Sometimes, he reminded himself, the only thing worse than solving a case is not solving it.

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