The dead lesbian has been bothering me. Not in spirit, but in mind.
Thusly I marched down to the local cop shop, so as to inquire as to the progress of the investigation and to drop the possible hint that her “friend” may be the culprit and/or suspect.
The little shits kept me locked up for 48 hours.
Just to ask a few questions, they said, because apparently, I did live below them.
During my incarceration and subsequent “torture” I never ever mentioned, let me tell you this, the war of the words that we had, as that would have definitely put the spotlight of blame directly on me.
Motive, they call it.
But I did not break!
It would appear, however, that a phone call from a Dr So-and-So secured my release and as far as I can recall (prison does things to a man’s mind, I must say), it would appear that their investigation into me is “unstable” at best.
I have thought long and hard about it and I have come to the conclusion that this is all interwoven, intertwined; the death of Jeanie, the key, the time machine in the basement and this Dr So-and-So.
I am unable to sleep.