The Other Me

#March 30, 2020, 3:30 PM

#Interrogation #3, Commencing.

Interrogation Room 303, Burmington Police Department, Constan State.

Aging Detective Brand stood at the doorway, grinding out his cigarette before entering with Officer Dylan, a recent academy graduate trailing behind him.

The room was dimly lit with only the faint sound of breathing breaking the silence.

Brand flipped on the desk lamp. Soft light flooded the table area, gradually revealing a young man in ankle shackles.

"Charles Jones, you've been sentenced to death for premeditated murder, aggravated assault, and endangering public safety. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Charles slowly lifted his head. His overgrown bangs obscured his vision, yet somehow, in the darkness, he could clearly see every detail of Brand and Dylan's faces.

"I didn't kill anyone, sir." Charles spoke with unsettling calmness. If he weren't chained to the chair, Dylan might have mistaken him for a detached observer describing someone else's crime.

"Didn't kill anyone? Is that your final statement?"

"Security footage shows you were the only person who entered Lawrence's home a week ago, and you stayed for three hours straight."

"And the murder weapon had your fingerprints all over it!"

"If you didn't kill them, then who did? Are you suggesting demons crawled out of hell, murdered the Lawrence family, and crawled back down again?"

Brand's tone was harsh and aggressive—not his natural demeanor, but a necessary front. When facing dangerous criminals like Charles, showing weakness wasn't an option. This was one of the few practical skills he'd learned in his twenty years on the force.

Charles raised his head again, his lazy gaze concealing a sharpness most would miss.

"I don't know. I was home all week working on the opening chapter of my new story. I couldn't possibly have traveled dozens of miles to Midtown to kill strangers I had no grudge against. Perhaps you've mistaken me for someone who looks like me."

Brand sneered. "Looks like you? You gave us the same excuse in the first two interrogations! But this time, you can't escape."

He slammed a lab report onto the table.

"The tech department just finished their analysis. They found DNA from an unknown person at the crime scene, besides the Lawrence family. Care to guess whose DNA it was?"

"Charles Jones! Surprised now?"

Brand clearly expected Charles to confess after being confronted with such damning evidence.

But the young man's expression remained unnervingly calm. "So, detective, you're planning to convict me based on this report?"

"What else would I need?"

Charles sighed, raising his right hand to pinch the inner corner of his eye near the bridge of his nose.

After a moment, he asked, "May I tell you a story, sir?"

Brand was about to refuse when Dylan intervened, "Sir, let's hear him out. I think he might have some explanation..."

Honest, kind-hearted, righteous—this fresh academy graduate still embodied the admirable qualities of Burmington's finest.

Brand turned and glared at him before reluctantly agreeing. "Fine. You have five minutes. But I'm warning you—whether you confess or not, your execution is already decided. Don't try anything."

"I won't, sir. Honestly, even I might not fully understand what happened."

Charles paused briefly, collecting his thoughts before beginning.

"My name is Charles Jones. I graduated from Inuit College with a degree in Screenplay Writing. I'm currently a full-time author with several ongoing online serials—"

"Stop. Get to the point! We gathered all this background information when we arrested you!" Brand kicked the table impatiently.

Charles paused before continuing, "Recently, I encountered another version of myself in the real world."

"I'm certain this isn't dissociative identity disorder or any similar mental condition—this other me has a physical form."

"He has my exact face and build. He even perfectly replicates habits I wasn't aware I had. This sounds strange, I know, but I swear everything I'm saying is true."

"I'm convinced this duplicate killed the Lawrence family. I had nothing to do with it. As for his motives, I'm sorry, but I don't know. I've never interacted with the Lawrences in the real world."

"Excuse me, Mr. Jones," Officer Dylan raised his hand, interrupting Charles. "You've used the phrase 'real world' twice. In your understanding, are there worlds besides the real one?"

Charles didn't answer immediately. He fell silent, seemingly formulating his response.

Brand grew impatient. "Don't waste time on this nonsense. People with mental disorders never admit they have problems. He's just trying to escape punishment. Don't fall for it!"

"Besides, have you read any of his crime fiction? Anyone who writes such disturbed books can't be normal!"

"I think you're being prejudiced, sir," Dylan replied softly. "Setting aside this case, Mr. Jones's work is actually quite compelling."

Charles, having gathered his thoughts, spoke again—this time with an unsettling fervor in his voice.

"Yes! Beyond our reality exists a mental world we cannot observe or touch! Throughout history, its existence has allowed creators like me to imagine characters, plots, and stories that don't exist in the real world!"

"Legendary works like 'The Lord of the Rings' or 'A Song of Ice and Fire'—you think they're just flashes of inspiration? Absolutely not! Humans can never imagine anything beyond their own perception. It's all influenced by the mental world."

"And under its influence, yes, the opening of my new work features a tragic murder. The victims are a happy family of three: Lawrence the engineer, Emily the full-time mother, and their adorable young son Jack."

"The killer's name is Sharlec. He made a mistake that Lawrence discovered. Fearing his secret would be exposed, he broke into their home last week and silenced the entire family!"

Seeing Charles lost in his creative delusion, Brand sighed and led Dylan out of the interrogation room.

"See? I told you we should've executed this lunatic sooner. Talking to him is a complete waste of time!"

Dylan remained silent, suppressing his own excitement.

Just then, their radio crackled. A colleague from intelligence spoke urgently: "Brand, there's been another incident on New Star Avenue. We need you there immediately!"

"Copy that." Brand responded and headed straight out of the station with Dylan.

On the road, he focused on driving while Dylan handled the case details.

Dylan sighed, exhausted. "Burmington's been restless lately. Cases back-to-back, not even time for a coffee break."

"You'd better get used to it, or else—"

Brand noticed his new partner staring fixedly at the tablet in his hands, as if he'd seen something impossible.

Slowing the car slightly, he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Sir, you need to see this. I... I don't know how to explain."

Dylan handed over the tablet with trembling hands.

'Rookies,' Brand thought. 'Still needs more seasoning.'

He took the tablet and played the paused surveillance footage.

Then he froze—the footage clearly showed the face of death row inmate Charles Jones.

And the timestamp read: March 30, 2020, 3:30 PM.