Читать книгу How To Kill Yourself With Time Travel - Martin Cordemann - Страница 4

I had to admit the whole thing kinda ruined my day. Not that it was a great day anyway, but finding out that you will be killed in maybe a matter of days and knowing that for sure kinda sets you into a bad mood. So how did this probably last day of my life start? Quite normally, I would say. I woke up, prepared for work, some interviews in a case about a time traveling serial killer, but then the office called and Captain Fect said: “Wanna see something mind blowing?”

Of course I wanted. So I went there. A small park. Autumn. Cold. More browns than greens. Trees like skeletons. And a figure in black. Lying on the cold ground. Cause was there, the coroner was there, some of Polizeit's Finest had build a perimeter around the black figure. I showed my badge, they showed some respect... except for Cause, of cause. He stepped into my way, before I could find out, what was going on... or who was lying there.

“This is... different,” he opened.

“Different how?”

“Different... completely.”

“Mind blowingly?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“What is it?”

“Someone you know.”

“Closely?”

“Very.”

“Someone I liked?”

“Guess so.”

“Whom I'm gonna miss?”

“Technically... no.”

“Are you going to tell me anytime soon?”

“I'd rather not.”

“But?”

“Guess I have to.”

“So who in the nine hells of time travel is it?”

“Sal... you're not gonna like this.”

“I think it's a dead body, someone I know, evidently, murder and by that a crime, possibly, so no, I'm not gonna like it.”

“As I said...”

“You said nothing!”

“As I indicated, it's... more personal this time.”

“How much?”

“Actually... more than even possible.” He sighed. “I'm not really sure, you should see it. It can... do things to you.”

“Is the body mutilated?”

“Thank god, no! But... it's not a pleasant sight. In some other sense. Which you will find out if you really want to see it.” He thought about it. “You don't have to.”

“Who's idea was it to bring me here?”

“That was mine,” he admitted. “But maybe it wasn't a good one. Maybe we should forget this ever happened and... see what happens. Uncertainty Principle and stuff?!”

“Would it help?”

“I doubt it.”

“Soooo,” it was my time to sigh, “I was called here, I am here, I am, as you, an Agent for the Polizeit, so is this a case? Is it time travel related? And...? I can't think of a third point.”

“Then I answer to one and two with yes.”

“Is it my case?”

“If you want it.” He smiled. “If something like that happened to me, I would beg them to make it my case.”

“If what happened to you?”

“Finding my own dead body.”

“It is...”

“Oh, it's not mine. If it was, I would love it. In a morbid kind of way, of course. But wouldn't that be great? Having the opportunity to find out what happened to me and who killed me... probably.” He sighed thinking about that. “What a thrill. What an interesting concept.” He shook his shoulders. “But, as I said, it's not my corpse.”

“Are you saying, it's mine?” I gasped.

Cause nodded, slowly.

“Yeah, I'm not good at telling people stuff like that, so... I wanted you to figure it out for yourself.”

“You are saying I'm dead, probably murdered and my dead body is lying there in the bushes?!”

“Pretty much,” he nodded. “Wanna see?”

I had better starts into the day, but certainly not worse. It took me some time to comprehend. I'm still working on that, actually. Certain death, that's a rare concept. Well, actually it's not. Many have faced it. Sick people. People in planes, that were about to crash. Prisoners in front a firing squad. Okay, there are many possibilities for certain deaths, time travel only added one or two new ones. And this was one of them. My dead body, in a park, with a gunshot wound. But the why, the where, the who, all of that was still unknown. The coroner told me, that my body had been moved, meaning I hadn't been killed there. So why did the killer place my corpse somewhere easily to be found? There were lot's of questions, but they had to wait. First, I had lot's of other questions for some other people.

“Yes?” the person who opened the door asked.

“Good morning, Mr. Perkins?”

“Yes?!”

“My name is Sal Schick and I'm with the Polizeit.”

“Is it about our damn time distortions?”

“No, it's about the St. Patrick's Days Murders. May I come in?”