The Bizarre Case of The Murder of Marcus Thompson

“I must warn you, Detective Sean,” Officer Serena said, “this case might shock you. He has shown not a sign of regret.”

“He is either cold-blooded or a nutcase, I’ve interrogated a lot of people like him,” Detective Sean replied.

“It’s probably the latter. All evidence pointed towards him, and he didn’t refute any of it. Well, technically. You’ll see for yourself. Also, there was an odd sense of merriment in him during the arrest.”

Officer Serena adjusted her beret before shutting the door. “Good luck with the interrogation.”

Detective Sean gave a nod of acknowledgement, before puffing another smoke from his pipe. The suspect remained motionless in his seat. Detective Sean took his seat across the table, flicked on the table lamp, and organized his papers on the wooden surface. The suspect sat silently. The air around him was bizarrely cheerful.

“Detective Sean O’Connor,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to the suspect. The suspect awkwardly accepted the handshake with cuffed hands.

“Marcus Thompson.”

Detective Sean adjusted his posture to match Marcus’ upright posture. It was a well-known tactic detectives use to put the suspect at ease.

“Before we start, are you willing to cooperate?”

Marcus replied with a nod.

“It seems you are accused of murder,” he said as he went through his papers, “of… Marcus Thompson?”

“Yes.”

“What was your name again?”

“Marcus Thompson, Detective.”

“Spell it.”

“M-A-R-C-U-S T-H-O-M-P-S-O-N.”

Detective Sean furrowed his brow. “It seems you’ve murdered someone who shares your name. This is a quite a rare occurrence.”

“No, I killed myself.”

Detective Sean glanced at the one-way mirror to the right of the interrogation table while raising an eyebrow. From the inside, Officer Serena shrugged, even though she knew very well that Detective Sean couldn’t see her.

“How did you kill yourself if the suicide was another person?”

“No, he was the other me.”

“In other words, your twin?”

“No, the other me.”

“In other words, you have killed the other you?”

“No. The other me was me.”

“It does not make any sense.”

“Let me rephrase it. The other me killed himself.”

“It was another person!”

“No.” Marcus remained calm as a rock. “He was me. I was him.”

Detective Sean had no choice but to jot it down, even though he was struggling to make sense of it all. Marcus Thompson had killed Marcus Thompson, but Marcus Thompson didn’t actually killed Marcus Thompson, but the other Marcus Thompson killed the other Marcus Thompson, and since the other Marcus Thompson was actually Marcus Thompson, therefore, Marcus Thompson killed Marcus Thompson. With all the premises, he came out with a conclusion.

He's a nutcase, he thought to himself. However, he could not shake off the feeling that there might be some truth in his words. As he perused the papers, he noticed that the victim shared the same facial features as him, from the brown hair to the dimple on his cheeks. It was time for a different approach.

“Tell me about it,” Detective Sean said as he leaned back to his chair.

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“I mean, where do I start – no, wait, I know where to start. One day, as I, Marcus Thompson, was brushing my teeth, I saw a person in the mirror. I saw me, Marcus Thompson, was sitting on my bed, silently, as I, Marcus Thompson, was brushing my teeth.”

“Just use ‘me’ and ‘him.’ Drop the names.”

“As I saw the other me, him, I didn’t give much thoughts since I’d been hallucinating lately. There was a day that I woke up in the middle of the night and saw an eerie-looking girl, similar to those you would see in horror movies, with long black hair dressed in white, seated at the edge of my bed. I was paralyzed by fear at first, but as I gathered my courage and approached the figure, she turned out to be my laundry that I had piled up on the edge of my bed.”

“I see.”

“Back to the present. After I was done brushing my teeth, I went to the bed, and began running my hands over the other me. You know, just to make sure that it was a pile of laundry, not a doppelganger, so I could rest peacefully for the night. Well, it turned out to be the latter, and, well, I kind of sexually assaulted the other me.”

“Interesting.”

“So, does it mean that I molested my doppelganger? Or have I touched myself?”

“Move on.”

“We talked to each other. It was pretty natural to do that after such an accident. He told me that he was a ghost, or to be more precise, a jinn. Do you know what a jinn is?”

“Explain.”

“They are like humans, no, they ARE humans, living on the same earth, but in a different dimension. They resemble us, no, they ARE us. They have the same parents, the same attitude, the same childhood, friends, school – everything is identical, except…”

“Except?”

“They’re stupid. The jinns have conscience, but no intelligence.”

“So, he’s stupid?”

“Yes.”

“But he’s you.”

“Yes.”

“So, you’re stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t work like that.”

“It does work like that. You and he were the same person. Or will you admit that he was not the same person as you?”

“He is the same person as I.”

The notes on Detective Sean’s piece of paper were getting more complex. They were completely readable, but it was nonsensical.

“Keep going.”

“As I mentioned, they exist in their own dimension. The realms of the human world and the jinn world would never intersect unless a specific ritual is performed. If you’re asking whether do I know the ritual, no, I don’t. Due to my recent exhaustion, I began muttering a bunch of things I didn’t even comprehend while reading the newspapers, for I always had the habit to vocalize what I read, and accidentally I summoned the other me into this world.”

“Mhm.”

“After we were introduced to each other, I realized that the other me was the real me. The TRUE me. I was so relieved! At last, I could take a break from my work and let the other me handle my job! He was just as laid-back as I but much happier, and he was also a teacher in his world, so he took the job without hesitation. I was surprised at first to learn that he was also a teacher, for he had no intelligence, but it appears that education holds high value for those with conscience, not necessarily intelligence. Animals lack a conscience, and hence, they don’t establish schools.”

So far, none of the story seemed to contribute to the truth of the case. However, there was something that caught Detective Sean’s attention.

“You were a teacher?”

“Not were, are.”

“Were the hallucinations caused by drugs?”

“No, it was all was due to the exhaustion.”

“Sure.”

“What’s with the skeptical look on your face? Don’t you believe me? Name a job more exhausting than a teacher! If you’re too lenient, the class will not listen to you; if you’re too strict, brace yourself for parental complaints! Hell, you even gotta teach them nonsense these days! If a student identifies as a cat, I’d risk losing my job if I refused to meow at them! No, sorry, not ‘them’ – it’s ‘xem’ now, or whatever it is! And also, why on earth do I need to teach them about…”

“Enough. Continue with the story.”

“Apologies for going out of place. Remember when I mentioned that he took over my job? It lasted for only a day.”

“At the time we’re speaking, when did it begin?”

“Two days ago.”

“What happened after that?”

“You want to know what happen next?”

“Tell me.”

“He became so depressed that he took my kitchen knife and slit his throat, not the wrists – straight for the throat! He was so fed up with this world, and as a sign of protest, for I had traumatize him by letting him take over my job, he chose to end his life. He did it while locking his eyes into mine to traumatize me! Isn’t it ironic? A teacher, living a parallel life as mine, but in a world without intelligence, just conscience, yet, once he dipped his feet into the world of the intelligent, even, diving head first into the field of education, where intelligence blooms, or supposed to bloom, he spiralled into madness in less than two days! A being without intelligence could never comprehend what has been grasped by the intelligent. Perhaps even we, the intelligent, also do not fully comprehend the essence of intelligence, but our capability to capacitate intelligence mitigated the despair. Isn’t that interesting?”

“So,” Detective Sean said as he shuffled through his notes, “according to your account, you mentioned that he killed himself. However, the freshest thumbprints on the knife belonged to you.”

“Oh, please, stop embarrassing yourself as a detective! How could you not understand?”

“Enlighten me.”

“He is I, and I is he. We are the same person, of course we have the same prints!”

“Understood, Mr. Thompson. We had talked a lot. Do you mind if I get some water for us?”

“Please, thank you.”

As Detective Sean exited the room, he headed straight to the observation room behind the one-way mirror, where Officer Serena had been quietly listening to the entire conversation.

“So, what do you think?” Officer Serena said, handing out two bottles of water.

“Case closed. I’m certain he isn’t lying.”

“Your verdict?”

“Straight to the asylum.”