Gully

"Abagail?"
"Yes?"
"They're coming for you."
"Who is this?"
Click.

Silence. I stare at my cell phone and the seven second call I've just received. It's a number I don't recognize, but local if the area code is to be believed. I try calling it back. No answer and no voicemail setup. The lack of voicemail strikes me as extremely odd, unless this is a new phone this mystery caller was using. I try looking up the number online, but all I discover is that its a cell number.

I'm considering whether I should just let it go or if this is threatening enough to call the police when there's a knock at the door.

It's the police.

"Abagail Andreson?"
"Yes?" I'm as confused as ever.
"You're under arrest for the murder of Jacob Gully."
"Excuse me?!" I feel my pulse instantly start to race and my head spin.
One of them has moved behind me and I feel something cold on my wrists.
"You have the right to remain silent..."
"Who the hell is Jacob Gully?!"
"Anything you say..."
"What's happening??"
"...can be used against you..."
"Anderson is a common name."
"...in a court of law..."
"You've got the wrong person!"
"You have the right to an attorney..."
"Yes, I'd like an attorney, please. Now! I need..."

I must have passed out because the next thing I remember I'm sitting in a dimly lit room, still handcuffed, with a man who must be a cop staring at me. There's what's clearly a two way mirror behind him.

"What you did to Jacob Gully was brutal," he says to open.
"Where's my lawyer," I mumble. I feel dizzy and the room starts to shake a little. It's hard to focus on this man.
"On his way," the man says. The way he says it and the fact that I don't remember ever telling anyone whether or not I had a lawyer of my own tells me he's lying. One thing I'd thought is that cops wouldn't lie, at least not blatantly. But of course I've never been arrested for anything before, so how would I know?
"Why did you kill Jacob Gully?" the man demands after the silence in which my thoughts are trying to get caught up to the current scenario.
"Who is Jacob Gully?" I demand.
"Don't play dumb with me," he says. "You know who he is."
I frown and start to doubt myself. Do I know a Jacob Gully? I remember a Jacob I met at a bar three weeks ago. I don't think he ever gave me his last name. Did he give me a phone number? I know I never gave him mine, and even if he did give me his number, I never called him. I open my mouth to say all of this, but then think better of it and only get so far as taking a little gasp of air before I close my lips again.
"You see?!" the man insists, lighting up in a terrifying manner. He stands up from the table and slams his hands down on it. "Now tell me why you murdered him?"
"Who are you?" I insist. "And where's my lawyer? Stephen Gilbert is his name."
"He's on his way," the man assures me.
"Liar!" I shout standing up and slamming my own hands on the table. "Why would I have a lawyer? I made that name up. Who are you people?" I stare at the mirror behind my interrogator. "What is going on? What is..." I feel an overwhelming sense of vertigo and everything goes black.

When I wake up again, the same frightful man is sitting across from me, but now there is a new face next to me. He smiles so reassuringly that I can't help but smile back. Mr. Fake Policeman sneers. "We got Stephen Gilbert for you," he says.
I feel my stomach drop and look at the smiling fool next to me. "You've got to be kidding..."
He holds out his hand. "Stephen Gilbert," he says. "Nice to meet you."
"You see!" I exclaim, turning to the man across the table as I take the new man's hand instinctively. "I've never met this man before in my life."
"You probably heard my name on television," the smiling fool announces. "I'm quite the famous lawyer in the area."
The fake cop takes a deep breath and then slams the table again. I feel myself bounce slightly in my chair. The smiling lawyer fool drops my hand and seems otherwise unmoved. "Enough!" the fake cop shouts. "Tell me what I want to hear!"
My face must wrinkle in a look of total disdain because that's what I feel. "What kind of cop are you?" is what I want to say, but of course I don't because I'm already quite convinced this man will claim whole-heartedly to be a cop dispite of what I've decided, so I just remain silent.
"Tell me!" the man shouts again, starting to turn red. I see a vein pulsing in his neck. He seems about ready to turn into the Hulk. I would laugh if the situation weren't so terrifying.
I jump again when I feel a hand on my shoulder and then I realize it's the crazy lawyer guy sitting next to me. "Better just tell him the truth," he says in an insultingly condescending tone.
I now turn to this supposed lawyer in disgust. "What are you talking about?" I demand. "I have been telling the truth. I don't know who this Jacob Gully is and I surely didn't murder him."
"Now now," the lawyer says in a tone that makes me want to punch him. He is literally looking down at me now as he shifts his chin downward. I don't know why, but the desire to punch him fades away to something else; could this be a sense of shame? I think it is! I try to fight it, but I can't. This is ridiculous, but still, I feel myself say: "Well, I did meet a Jacob in a bar a few weeks ago."
The lawyer takes his hand off my shoulder and the fake cop seems to light up in positive glee.
"But I don't even know what his last name was!" I insist. "I never talked to him or saw him again after that, and I surely didn't murder him!"
The fake cop is looking smug now. "Oh are you sure about that?" he asks. He pulls a plastic baggie out from under the table and I see my cell phone inside of it.
"Why did you take my cell phone?!" I demand before I can think better of admitting its mine.
The fake cop just keeps smiling as he presses the power button and shows the contact entry someone's pulled up on my phone. It says: "Jacob Gully" and then there's a number I don't remember ever seeing before. But it's local.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but I can't. There's silence as the cop keeps smiling. I'm not sure what the lawyer is doing until I hear the squeaking of a chair shifting away and look to see him scotted away and shaking his head in seeming disappointment. That's enough to make me realize how fully ridiculous all of this is.
"I'm almost certain I never put that name in my phone."
"ALMOST certain," the cop repeats with extra emphasis, and suddenly, I start to question everything.
I lean forward with my forehead on my hands. "I just need to think," I whisper.
"What was that?" the cop asked.
I look back up at him. I feel like I'm about to cry. "Can I get a different cop, please?" I ask timidly. "And a different lawyer."
The cop gives a smirkly smile and I know he thinks he's won. "Of course, sweetie," he says, the sense of victory obvious. "Let me see what I can do."

The next cop they send me is a woman. She's young and pretty with subtle but dark lip stick and haunting blue eyes. The lawyer looks like he's pushing 80.
"I know how it feels," the cop says.
"Excuse me?"
"To be confused," she continues. "I can't say as I've ever murdered anyone, but I've certainly been caught doing something wrong and instinctively tried to defend myself to the point even I believe what I'm saying."
She leans across the table and places her hand tenderly on my arm. "I can turn off the cameras if that makes it any easier," she whispers.
My head darts around searching for cameras I'd never seen before.
I feel myself starting to give in to this all, but still I try to fight by saying, rather docily, "Are you even allowed to film me?"
The cop pulls her hand off my arm and doesn't answer. I turn to my lawyer. His eyes are closed and his mouth is open and I fear he might be dead until a reverberating snore emits from his mouth.
"Is he sleeping?" I ask the cop.
"Don't worry about him," she says. "It's just you and me; and I want to help her."
In silence I stare behind her at the one way mirror. She realizes what I'm doing and glances back as well.
"I can make them leave," she says softly.
I figure that would make it a little better and I can't see any reason this would help her so I nod. She gives one curt nod back, then stands up and leaves the room. I think about trying to see if the door is unlocked and I can make a run for it, but before I can figure out just how guilty that would make me seem, I'm distracted by a light going on behind the one way mirror, which is now a two way window.
I see the female cop talking, seemingly very calmly, to two other men in cop uniforms. One is the crazy man who had been interrogating me before. He is yelling at her, presumably in protest over how he wants to watch me fall apart. The other is standing just behind him and is totally silent. I can only see his profile at once, but then he turns and looks at me and I feel my heart skip a beat.
I know him. I'm not sure from where, but I'm sure he do. He wasn't wearing a cop uniform before, but still I know I've seen him somewhere.
And then I gasp as I remember.
"That's him!" I exclaim. I'm trying to talk to my lawyer, but then I look over and see he's still sleeping. So I look back at the quiet cop and whisper, "That's the Jacob I met in the bar."

The watching cops leave and the female cop comes back in the room. I'm smiling when she enters.
"I didn't kill him," I say.
"Excuse me?"
"I didn't kill Jacob," I proudly announce.
She looks stunned and almost hurt. "I thought you were going to be honest with me," she whispers, leaning close.
"I am being honest!" I exclaim in positive glee as I jump up from my chair. "I just saw him behind the window! He's one of your cops!"
"My cops?"
"You know what I mean. Those two cops you were talking to behind the mirror: one of them was the one that was yelling at me before and the other one was Jacob! The Jacob you claim I murdered!"
She frowns. There's silent for a moment and then she asks, softly still, "What other man?"

When I wake up again I'm in a holding cell and I feel moisture on my face. Apparently I'd been crying. I don't remember passing out. I look down at the floor and see a picture. It's the Jacob cop, but he's naked, his eyes are closed, his skin is pale, and there are lacerations all over his body. I turn away and vomit.
"Why did you do it?" I hear a male voice say. It sounds familiar.
I look up but there's no one there.

A moment later, the female cop walks up. "How are you feeling?" she asks.
"I don't know," I say. I feel my eyes tearing up again, but I'm not sure why. "What happened?" I ask.
"You confessed," she says.
I jump up from my seat, am hit with a sense of vertigo, and sit back down, but still I look up at her and say with stunned confidence, "I did not such thing."
"I'm afraid you did." She sounds sad for me, quite the opposite of the first "cop" I encountered. Neither of them seems very cop-like and I'm still wondering what is really going on here. She pulls out a small tape recorded from her inner coat pocket and clicks play. I hear a voice that sounds similar to mine, but something isn't quite right about it.
"I did it," the voice sobs, "I killed him. I killed Jacob Gully. But it was an accident I swear!"
"It was an accident that his body was covered with knife wounds, many of them applied after he was already dead?" I recognize the female cop's voice, but somehow I still can't quite recognize my own.
"I'm so sorry," the voice that is like mine but not mine sobs. "I'm so sorry."
The cop stops the tape. "I'm so sorry," she echos. She seems to mean it, but I know that she's lying.
"That's not me," I say.
She wrinkles her brow in what I'm guessing is supposed to be confusion. "I really am sorry," she says, "but that is you. I'm sorry I deceived you, but I recorded you up in the interrogation room just before I brought you down here. You were crying as you confessed, and I can still see the tears fresh on your face."
I touch the tears on my face and my mouth drops open, but still I know something is wrong here. I know that's not me on the recording. "It's not me," I insist.
She relaxes a bit and smiles softly at me. "I really believe you think that," she says. "And if anything, that will help your plee."
"What plee?"
"Insanity."

Am I crazy? All of this has seemed so strange from the start. None of it has made any sense. But I can't be crazy. If I were crazy, I would have felt this way before; something like this would have happened much sooner. If I am crazy, it's not me that's really crazy; someone must be playing with my head. Was I drugged? Could that be what's going on.
"Hey!" I shout, jumping up and running to the cell door. No one comes so I shout again, "Hey!"
Finally a fat, lumbering male cop waddles my way. "What?" he demands with a bored sigh.
"I need a drug screening," I say.
His eyes open up a little. "You want a drug screening?"
"Yes, please."
He sighs. "Okay, I'll see what I can do."

It took too long. That was the problem. That was why it came up clean. "I know I was drugged," I insisted afterwards as the angry male cop put me back in the cell.
After he closes the door, he turns and looks at me. He doesn't seem as angry any more. "Listen," he says. "I'm sorry you have to go through this, but I promise, after the trial, they'll get you help. I'm going to see what I can do to expedite it."
"It's not my fault!" I insist. "I was drugged, poisoned, duped, something!"
He sighs. "I'm afraid not, sweetheart," he says. "Something of that potency would be detectable in your system for a long time."
"What potency?" I ask. "Who says it has to stay?"
He sighs again. "I'm sorry I was so rough on you before," he says. "It's my job."
He turns to walk away, but I shout out. "I want to talk to the other cop!"
He turns back. "To Victoria?" he asks.
I shake my head. "No," I say. "To the other one. To Jacob."
He frowns and looks like he might get angry again. "Just stop," he says. "Jacob's dead. You killed him."

It gets really dark that night. And cold. I feel so lonely. I wonder if anyone is feeding my cat, but I really don't care. I'm being accused of something I didn't do. Any humor that I may have seen in it before is long gone now. I just want to cry, but even that I can't do, so I just close my eyes and try to fall asleep.

"Don't be afraid."
I open my eyes. The light is blinding for a moment, but then my eyes adjust. I look around. I'm standing in a meadown on a hill side. Wide open spaces, tall grasses, trees on the horizon. I know I'm dreaming.
"Don't be afraid," the voice says again.
"Jacob?" I whisper. I turn and there he is. He's smiling, but his face is covered with scars.
"They can't hurt you," he says.
"What?"
"They can't hurt you," he says again.
"I know I'm dreaming," I tell him.
He reachs out and touches my face and for a moment I'm sure I'm not dreaming. "Check the phone records," he says.
"What?"
"Check the phone records."
And then I awake with a gasp. I'm in my dark cell again. I'm all alone.

The next morning I shout for the guard again. It's a similar lumbering fool, but a different fellow from the day before. "I want to talk to the first cop," I say.
He looks at me suspiciously, seems to have no idea what I'm talking about. "The one that brought me back after the drug screening yesterday," I say.
The fat fellow gives a brief nod and then walks away.
It feels like hours before bad cop shows up in his newly discovered good cop demenour. "Abagail, what can I do for you?" he asks.
I know this new-found friendliness must be part of some ploy. I can't believe he went so suddenly from believing I was a vicious killer to believing I was simply insane. If I were an insane killer, would that really be so much better to him than being a sane killer? Especially since they're accusing me of killing one of their own, a cop, I can't imagine it would make much difference to them. But still, I decide to risk that he'll actually help me, so I say, "My cell phone."
"Yes?"
"I want to see it."
He smirks. "I hardly think that will be allowed," he says.
"Then you look at it," I say. "Check the call log."
He frowns. "You don't think we already did?" he asks.
"You did?" I ask in surprise.
"Of course we did," he insists.
"Then you know."
"Know what?" He's either a great actor or he really has no idea what I'm talking about.
"I got a call right before I was arrested. See who it's from."
He sighs as if he's getting tired of this all. "There was no such call," he says.
"What?"
"There was no such call," he repeats.
"Then someone erased it," I insist.
"We're trying to get you help as fast as we can," he says. He just stands there looking at me for a moment as if he expects to say more. I look back, wondering what to say, when an image flirts across his face. It almost seems... it almost looks like Jacob.
"What does it matter to you?" I ask.
"What do you mean," he asks.
"What does it matter to you if I'm crazy or not?" I say.
"My sister," he says.
I'm silent waiting for me to go on.
"Jacob was my partner," he says, "but my sister, my crazy sister, she was my sister."
My eyes grow wide. For a moment I feel some deep connection to this man. I'm not sure what is going on, but I feel like I'm on the verge of something. "Are you saying..."
He frowns and looks like he's about to cry. "See you around, Abs," he says, and he turns and walks away.

I know he wasn't talking about me, or if he was, he was just trying to trick me. Abs, he called me. He took a gamble and lost. No one calls me Abs. I don't know why he wants me to think I'm crazy. I don't know why he wants me to think I'm his sister. Maybe he takes some sick pleasure in it. But the other cop, too, the female cop, she also wants me to think I'm crazy.
What happens when a crazy person commits a crime? Is it any better for them than if they were sane? Maybe these people just want to lock me away. Maybe they think death is the easy way out. But why do they want to do anything to me? Why do they care at all. I didn't kill Jacob.
But then how did I know? How did I know he was a cop?
Maybe he told me in the bar. Surely that's it. People also start out with their job, especially if it's something daring like being a cop.
But what if I'm looking at this all wrong. What if he isn't a cop at all? Maybe these people are just messing around; playing with my head. They never said anything about him being a cop until I started thinking he was a cop. Are they just going along with me on some things and opposing me on others? Why are they after me? Why are they after me?
"Relax."
I gasp. What if none of this is real? What if they only decided Jacob was a cop after I decided he was a cop if this is all in my head? Am I really crazy? Am I really that crazy?
I get up from the bed. I look at the bars of my cell. They aren't real. None of this is real.
I walk towards the bars. I'm not afraid anymore. I close my eyes and I walk.
I hit my head on something and I feel myself falling. The world stays dark.

"Order! Order in the court!"
I look around in surprise. How did I get here? There are people behind me, watching, sneering. There's a man beside me, old and wrinkled, but awake this time.
I look across the aisle and see the other lawyer, the smiling one, what's his name? Stephen Gilbert, that's it.
"What is he doing over there?" I ask, staring at Gilbert.
"He's the prosecution," the old lawyer beside me says. His voice startles me. It's old and wrinkled like he is, and I don't understand how I can have a lawyer who's never spoken to me before. "One of the up and coming prosecutors," the old man attorney goes on, "but don't worry, I have experience on my side and I negotiated quite the deal for you."
I look away towards the judge. Why is he wearing a white wig? That seems odd. I feel like I'm back in the 1700s. "How does the defendant plead?" the judge asks.
Both lawyers stand, which even I know is odd for this point in the trial, and together say, "Insane!"
There's an erruption of noise in the courtroom. Shouts and hollers. "Order! Order!" the judge is shouting. "She killed my son!" I hear a woman shout, but I turn and can't tell who shouted it. I can't tell what any one is shouting, there's too much noise. I close my eyes and cover my ears, but still I hear the shouts and then, suddenly, it all stops and there is nothing but silence.
Timidly, I uncover my ears, and then I open my eyes.
What I see nearly convines me I really am crazy. The room around me is frozen. My lawyer is standing stoic beside me. Ahead of me, the judge's mouth is open as if to shout something and the gavel in his hand is suspended in mid air, the stenographer looks horrified. I turn and look at the crowd behind me and see that they, too, are like an angry photo, unmoving and silent, but raised up in outrage. Then I sense movement ahead and turn with a start.
A man walks across the frozen stage. He's wearing a blazer and holding a beer can. There are no scars or marks of any kind on his face. He's like he was before, the first and only night I remember actually seeing him. "You didn't kill me," he says.
And then I hear a voice in the back of my mind squeel, "But I did!"
That voice, the second voice, I've heard it before! I've heard it before!
"Remember," Jacob says simply staring straight at me. I'm lost in his eyes and then...
Everything starts moving again. I'm staring ahead into nothingness. The noise is back, but it's in the background. What I hear clearly is a voice. "Remember."
I jump up and shout, "298-1375." There is still noise so I shout even louder, "298-1375!"
The judge stares at me and the rest of the court takes note. Slowly they quiet down and sit down until only I am standing, staring at the judge.
"What was that?" he asks.
"298-1375," I say again. "That's the number that called me right before I was arrested, to taunt me. That's Jacob's real killer."
The court erupts again and the judge is pounding his gavel again. He points at some cops in the corner and then at me and they rush to get me out. I think people are throwing things at me. I think it, but I don't understand. The anger and rage against me. I don't understand and then... outside the doors is silence. And I feel relief.
I look to my right at one of the cops who led me out. "Thank you," I say.
"You're welcome," the other says.
I turn and gasp as Jacob's face stares back at me again.

And then I'm back in the cell, that same dark cell that tormented me before. I touch my forehead and still feel the bruise from when I tried to escape before. Maybe I really am crazy.
And then I have a visitor. It's the angry cop from the start. He walks up to the cell, looks at me for a moment, and then unlocks the door and opens it.
"You're free to go," he says.
I stare at him in disbelief. "Is this some joke?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No," he says, and I'm sure he's trying to sound reassuring, but his voice just makes me even less sure. "You were right from the start. Now you're free to go."
I stand up hesitantly.
"But what happened?" I ask.
"That phone number you remembered," he said. "It was Officer, well, former Officer Victoria's brother."
"What?"
"I don't know how you knew it, but after you said it, we looked into it. We found he had been calling, and apparently threatening, Jacob for months. Seems Jacob had been..." the cop sighs heavily, sadly, "Jacob had been making unwelcome advances on Victoria. She told her brother and he ended up killing Jacob. I'm still not sure why they chose to frame you... I guess because you had met Jacob recently and with your history and all..."
I can't believe what I'm hearing, but there's one part that jumps out at me. "What history?" I ask.
The cop frowns. "Your history of mental illness," he says. "They used you, Abagail. I'm sorry I didn't believe you before. It just all seemed so crazy." He reaches out his hand to touch my shoulder, but I jerk away.
I don't understand why I'm doing this, but I back away and sit back down on the cell bed. "Close the door," I say.
He looks at me in confusion. "What?"
"Close the door," I repeat. "Something still isn't right. Close the door and bring me a psychiatrist."

They cleared me. Just like the drug test, they cleared me. When I think I'm not crazy I am, and when I think I'm crazy I'm not. I don't know what to do other than go home. The sun is so bright. I've been down there so long, I'd almost forgotten what it's like. How long has it been, 5 days, 10 days? I hope the neighbor lady with the spare key had enough pity to go into my house and feed my cat.
So what do I do now? I guess I just go on with my life. I go home. They give me my cell phone back and I can't help but check. There are no calls from that number, no calls at all from 298-1375. Victoria must have erased it.
I check my contacts then. Jacob Gully's number is still there. Victoria must have planted it. I delete it. I sigh and put my cell phone away and walk to the nearest bus stop. It will be good to be home. I close my eyes and feel the wind across my face.
"Why did you do it, Victoria?" I hear a voice whisper.
I open my eyes, but Jacob isn't there. He was never there, and never will be. I don't know why I feel so sad. For some reason, I miss him, a man I hardly knew.
I get on the bus and go home.

My cat is still there, alive, so someone must have taken care of her. She makes me smile as she purrs and rubs up against my legs. I sit on the couch and watch the news. There's the story of it all, summed up in a few minutes, how Former Officer Victoria, feeling threatened by a co-worker, begged her brother for help and her brother took that as a request for murder. I'm barely even mentioned. In fact, I think the only mention of me is "an anonymous tip". I was hardly anonymous, but oh well. I'd rather be free and anonymous than...

I wake up to the sound of my phone rining. I pick it up and look at the number. It's one I don't recognize, but I answer it anyway. "Hello?"
"Abagail?"
"Yes?"
"They're coming for you."