Flanigan watched from the bridge as the ducks settle onto the pond, returning from their migration south. The water was still cold, the ice having just broken up and melted, and it kept the body on its surface below ever so slightly fresher.
Flanigan had been here a few hours, waiting for the police to
finally arrive and arrest him. The day was getting on and the sun setting behind
the hills in front of him, its red glint radiating a semi-circle of fire on the
mirror of the water. He could hear sirens in the distance.
Flanigan stretched his arm out over the water and dropped a
phone from his hand down to splash into that semi-circle, fracturing it into
rippling shards of red light. The body started to bob up and down, up and down
again. Flanigan’s hands felt sweaty and he rubbed them against the wooden balustrade
only to leave a faint smear of blood behind, a trail that followed the grain of
the wood until it met the banisters supports.
He heard the cars pull up behind him and the sound of their
doors slowly opening.
“Hands on your head now sir.” The voice was firm on the
surface, if carrying an undercurrent of uncertainty, and Flanigan followed its
instructions to the letter. He heard footsteps on the wooden slats behind him
then a hand pressing down hard on his left shoulder. He sank to his knees. Cuffs
clicked around both his wrists and he was yanked to his feet and pulled towards
the waiting maw of the police cruiser.
Flanigan saw the dark insides of the car grow closer, and waited
for the inevitable.
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