The “Other.” Sides of Me.

OTHER.

“Who is he? Where did he come from?”

The Detective shakes his head.

“Not very forthcoming, are you?”

He begins to pace the floor.

“Have you seen him before? Anywhere?”

The detective stops his pace and begins staring at me in disgust.

“It’s a legitimate question, Detective.”

“Is it?” he finally responds.

“I think so.”

He motions towards the one-way glass, “You’d better take a closer look, son,” a sense of urgency in his voice.

What is he talking about? Why is he so uptight? And why do I feel like I’m the one on trial here?

“See anything familiar?”

He’s starting to get on my last nerve.

“Pretty obvious to me!”

I shake my head, “Fine. I’ll look again.” Hmm… “My height.”

“Yeah…keep going,” the Detective continues.

“Skin…a milk-chocalatey coat, like mine.”

“What?”

“Nevermind. Why is he staring at me like that?!”

“Uh…glaring is the right word.”

“I don’t think he’s balanced.”

“You don’t say…,” in a sarcastic tone, “Can we move this along?!”

Sorry,” followed by a sigh. “Let’s see now…” An eerie chill down my back…err…spine…whatever. He’s creeping me out! His eyes don’t move; he doesn’t blink. Yet, his gaze follows me around the room. Who is he?!

The detective gets up and puts his hand on my shoulder, “Do you see him now?”

“Of course, I see him. Something’s not right, sir. Has he done something wrong? Is he…wicked? Bad? …Evil?”

He nods in agreement.

“Well, it doesn’t matter who he is. Lock him up!”

“I can’t! Every story needs a hero, son.”

“He’s not a hero; I can tell.”

“No, he’s not. But you are.”

“I don’t have time for this!”

The Detective grabs the cuffs from his waist and hands them to me, “I don’t arrest heroes. You’re the only one who can stop him.”

Before I can argue, the figure smiles ever so slightly at me. It’s the same smile I used to wear in the old days. Still sinister.

The Detective removes the gun from his hip, making sure it’s loaded and the safety is off.

My curiosity has turned to dread.

“I won’t be able to hold him back,” as he nervously grips his weapon.

“What am I supposed to do?” tears begin to fall from my eyes. A cold rush of wind seems to hit me in the face. I start to panic; I can hear the thoughts of the man on the other side of the glass. How?

The Detective shakes his head, “That one-way glass is more like a mirror, son.”

It’s not everyday that you learn a simple truth that comes out of your mouth in a whisper.

The sound of the weapon cocked back breaks the silence.

“You said you don’t arrest heroes!”

Another nod, “True. But villains…well…”

I swallow, looking from the weapon to the villain and back to notice the Detective has become teary-eyed.

“Hopefully, you can put him down…quick…before I have to put you down.”

END?

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