Things Aren't Always As They Seem

The techs tell him the man behind the glass has not said anything for hours. It doesn't surprise him. Why would one want to admit pretending to know what would happen on a particular day and be discovered as a fraud? But watching him through the one-way mirror, he starts to question that assessment. There was a feeling about the man behind the glass that he may know something.  

Sipping his hot coffee, FBI agent Moore Gallagher studies the man while waiting for part of his team to arrive. But not all of them would be coming. Some of them are at the so-called "office" of Calean Brannon or the man behind the glass and where he claims to have supernatural encounters. 

            "Have we heard anything more from Ed or Nick yet?" he asks the techs, not taking his eyes off the man. 

            "Ed is on his way up, and Nick called a few moments ago saying he will be here in five," said one of the female techs. 

            The door behind him opens and slams closed as Ed rushes in with Nick quickly on his heels. Moore doesn't turn around. There is something to be said about how these two slam a door. The room itself is soundproof, but the glass rattles lightly from the door. Calean turns and looks at the mirror and narrows his eyes. Presumably, at whoever is standing behind it. Moore sighs, "Anything?"

            "There are a few scribbled reports found in his books of premonitions but nothing that leads directly to what happened," Ed states. 

            "Well, let's see what we can find out." He picks up a water bottle sitting on the counter and leads Ed into the interrogation room. 

            Gray. That was all you could see looking around the room. Gray. The table, the chairs, the door, the walls. All in this gray color, leaving no room for warmth. Damp. Another word to describe the feeling and temperature in the room. The only noise is coming from a vent somewhere in the ceiling. 

Calean sits in the chair when the agents walk into the interview room as though he doesn't have a care in the world. It is not a defensive posture, but there is something off. The man's eyes flick over them, taking in all of the details and filing them away, but no emotion shows on his face. 

"Thanks for agreeing to meet with us," Moore greets him. Though it hadn't been Calean's choice as they had barged into his place of business earlier that day. "This is special agent Edward Murray, and I am Special Agent Moore Gallagher. We are in charge of the investigation."

The corner of his mouth ticks up in a fleeting movement, and he pushes the chairs across the table out with his foot for the agents to sit. "Special Agents in Charge, this must be something good to get this kind of service." 

Moore unscrews the cap of the water bottle he was holding and hands it to the man, taking a moment to analyze and readjust his strategy. 

            "Do you know why you are here, Mr. Brannon?" said Ed, as he sat down in the chair opposite the one Calean Brannon had pushed out with his foot. 

            "What? Don't like the chair pulled out for you, Special Agent Murray?"

            Moore bits his bottom lip not to crack a smile. Something about this man makes him want to smile, but it won't help the situation or unruffle his partner's feathers, but the temptation is there just the same. "Again, Mr. Brannon, do you know why you are here?"

            "No, I don't believe I do. I know that you came into my place of business and told me I was wanted for questioning downtown. Other than that, your men didn't give me any details." 

            "You don't seem all that nervous," Moore notes.

            He shrugs his shoulders, takes a sip of the water, and swallows. "Should I be?"

            "Most people are when they are called in for questioning with the FBI."

            "Most people probably have a reason to be nervous. I, on the other hand, do not."

            Ed, at that moment, slams his fist on the table. "This is not a game, Mr. Brannon. One of your premonitions has come true, and since only you and the man who is dead knew about it, that puts you in a sticky mess."

            Moore shook his head at his partners. Giving this man too much information might be undermining the case. However, looking at him as he leans back in the chair, showing no remorse might be the ticket they need. 

_______________________________

            You see, it wasn't that I wasn't nervous. I was petrified, shaking from the depths of my inner being. I had taken the drink of water as a means to calm my nerves. I've been telling fortunes and having premonitions for years. My entire livelihood and career are based on telling the future. But see, I'm a fake. I don't actually have encounters with the supernatural world or have ever had a message from a loved one. I am in it for the money, plain and simple. See, just like the supernatural, anything in that place ceases to exist or matter in truth but is made up of ignorance and desire. What isn't created ultimately doesn't exist. See, if anything were supernatural, we would not have any way of knowing anything about it or that it even exists. But if we can interact with it in the world in any way, then it ceases to be supernatural anymore. I use this to tell people the things they want to hear. While they may become part of the natural world because we interact with it, it becomes the truth. Not once has it ever become truth, at least not that I know. Why should this one have been any different? But it was.  

            I woke up that morning with a splitting headache; every time I opened my eyes, I could see a bright light. The pain was running through my skull with every movement I made. Rolling out of bed, peering through slits, I crawled to the bathroom. I managed to get medicine from the cabinet before curling into a ball on the bathroom rug. Laying there, with my eyes closed tightly, I saw a man walk into my shop. Usually, this wouldn't be such a remarkable thing; however, this man I saw in my dream came walking in later that day. 

He was wearing a dark blazer and jeans, nothing too unusual from what comes to see me daily. However, I could smell his spicy cologne before I saw him. When I turned around in my chair, I almost screamed at the detail I had seen in my vision. This was the same man, and I had an eerie feeling he would ask me the same questions. 

 He told me to turn around because he wanted to talk to me but didn't want me looking at him. Even though a rather odd request, I obeyed and swiveled in my chair. I took a deep breath and forced my muscles to relax. I curled and uncurled my fists, and with each uncurl, I could feel the tension leaving. Something was off about this man, but who was I to question. 

            He asked me to tell him what his partner was doing with his side of the business. He explained that "things" had come up missing, and the numbers "didn't add up." I made myself focus on his words and his inflection. Usually, I can use these things to tell people what they want to hear. However, while lying on the bathroom floor, I had a real vision, where I saw his partner selling and trading items belonging to the business in an underground arena. While this doesn't seem to be anything strange, it was then that I saw it. 

            Calean stopped to roll the water bottle between his hands and took a long sip. When he showed no signs of continuing, Moore asked him, "It?" 

            He doesn't answer but takes another long sip of water. 

Moore pulls a picture from his coat pocket and places it on the table. 

"See, when you already know the answer to your question, yet you continue to ask, It makes me less inclined to trust you." Calean pulls the picture closer for inspection. 

"As the FBI, we are usually in the know, but this time I think you know something or can tell us something we are missing." Ed snickers as he doesn't believe in fortune-tellers or psychic powers. 

"Something you would like to add, Agent Murray?" Calean smirks at the officer. "I do believe you asked me to be here, not the other way around."

"No, just a tickle," Ed scowls. This time Moore lets out a small laugh. Ed turns and deepens his glare.

"There is something special about this picture, isn't there, Mr. Brannon," Moore reaches over and repockets the picture. 

"There you go again, asking questions in which you already know the answers. See Special Agent Gallagher, I don't find this game of cat and mouse to be one of entertainment. A man was found dead on my lawn, and you seem to have your theories about how that happened." Calean took another long sip.

Moore was used to handling victims and even criminals, but never someone who seemed to have not a single care about what had happened to which he may be connected. He decided to treat it like he treated his teenagers at home. He waited. In silence. Eventually, something would break inside him, and he would start talking. 

_______________________________

I tried to keep breathing when I saw the picture. To turn the agents' eyes off of me and back on to what they needed to be—the death of the man on my front lawn. 

I knew giving this man information about his partner would impact that relationship. Normally I am all for delivering information and watching the fall out of a relationship. However, this particular scenario gave me the chills. One nice thing about living in the city is that no one ever asks questions. It's just a place people go and can just disappear. No one cares what you have done, where you have come from, and where you are going. They are too focused on themselves, what they want, where they want to go. This helps in my line of work. I'm not asked about my past or me most of the time. Well, until this time.

"Why did you want to hide?" Asks Moore. I could see how he was looking at me closely, trying to figure out what was going on.

"I wasn't worried about being found because to be found, someone has to be looking  for you." 

"No one is looking for you?" Ed asked as he got up to fill his coffee cup.

"Why would anyone be looking for me? I have lived here for many years and have started a thriving, successful business. There is no reason for anyone to be looking for me. See what is real is truth."

"A conniving business talking people out of their money by telling them lies?" Ed scoffed.

"Yes… well, no… I don't deceive people into giving me money. People give me their money so they can see the future. 

"Did you graduate high school? Did you attend college?" he asks. 

"Why is that of importance Special Agent Murray? That only tells you about my life before my career."

"I know; we're just trying to get to a mutual starting ground. I need you to tell me what happened after that. Give me an idea where this comes from," tapping his breast pocket where he had placed the picture, "and your relationship with this man on your lawn." Moore goes and taps on the mirror.

I am unsure what the agents are alluding to or why they need such trivial information. "My past doesn't tell you anything to do with the future or what you have in that picture. Isn't that what you really want to get at?"

"See, Calean, things are not what they appear. You said the supernatural and lies become truth when you interact with them. My truth is within this picture. I need to prove to the jury that you are just a credible witness. Not cooperating with the FBI will not look good. It may convince them you are more of a suspect than an innocent witness." 

"Me? I could be a suspect; to a crime of murder?" I yelled in rising fear. "I didn't do anything. I've been set up. He…he…he…came to me." I could feel my temperature starting to rise as the fear gnawed at me. "I…I…"

_______________________________

A knock comes at the door and stops him from talking and describing the information needed to determine his part in this death. "What do you think you are doing?" Moore growls as he opens the door. "He was starting to talk."

"Sorry, Sir, but the team found something at his office. Can you please step into the hallway for a minute?" The agent backs up and allows Moore and Ed to step out of the room. "The team found this within the desk drawer. The drawer was locked and had a secret compartment. It took several attempts, but the team was able to get it open and discovered this."

The officer hands Moore a bag with a bloody hammer in a bag alongside a small bottle of sleeping pills. 

"They took some blood from the hammer, and it matches the victims. The name on the bottle is none other than Calean Brannon."

This interesting change of events pointed to their current witness as the culprit of the crime. A crime that he laid out to happen precisely as it occurred. This leads to the killing being premeditated, not just a whim.

 Moore walks into the small kitchenette of the interrogation room and starts digging through the fridge for anything that may constitute food and help get Calean talking. Once he finds some chips within the cabinets, he pulls out three cups and fills them with the sludge of leftover coffee. Not his best offering, but maybe since he has been here since early this morning, he will be hungry and thirsty enough to want it.

Ed scowls as he helps Moore carry the food and drinks into the room. Sitting at the table, sweating profusely, sits Calean. It is not something anyone would notice at a fast glance, but Moore could see the beads of sweat around the base of his neck and changing the color of the collar of his shirt and the small ring of dampness starting to peek out from under his armpits. He has him where he needs him, and hopefully, this will do the trick.  

He slides the cup and chips under his nose, startling him. Moore carefully hides a smile as he sits down across from him. He waits until he has shoved a handful of chips in his mouth. "Tell me about the sleeping pills, Calean."

He doesn't choke, doesn't flinch, but there's the slightest pause, a moment of stillness. It was all he needed. Calean swallows what's in his mouth and starts to open it to talk. At that moment, Moore pulls the hammer, the picture of the deceased and Calean standing beside him, and the pill bottle out of his coat pocket. Calean's face turns completely ashen. He looks like he is going to hurl. Ed pushes back from the table. 

"Let's start from the beginning again, shall we Calean?" Moore gets comfortable and turns on the recorder. 

_______________________________

He had me. The bastard had me, and he knew it. I was not going to be able to lie. I hadn't meant to kill him. I had the premonition of my brother walking into my shop and demanding answers. When he walked in that morning, I was unsure of what to do. I knew I had to come clean as his partner and family. I couldn't admit to stealing from the business. I needed to get away and have time to hide the evidence. I wasn't planning on killing him; I had only planned on giving him a few sleeping pills in his tea. Just enough to give me some time to make changes. However, I must not have been paying attention and poured more pills in than I thought.

When he was sitting there talking to me, telling me not to look at him and calling me a disgrace, I looked up and into eyes of disdain. I turned around to get the books from the shelf as he asked, and I heard a thud. My brother fell out of the chair and hit his head on the corner of the stand; sitting on top was the hammer. HE WASN'T BREATHING when I went around to him, and the gash was deep from the hammer. I didn't have much time to think. I grabbed him and dragged him out of the room to the front sidewalk, taking the hammer out of the skull and placing it in a bag. I ran back into the house and cleaned up the mess. I have never been able to predict the future, but I knew my time was done this time. I had finally reached the peak of my career; little did I know it would also be my end. I couldn't let it; I had to do something. 

See Special Agents; things aren't always as they seem.