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Chief Logan
made his way to the interrogation room and looked through the
glass. Inside, officer Johnson, his uniform coated in a mass of
blood and gore, danced over to the wall, punched himself in the
nose, and spun himself into a leaping split like a world class
ballerina.
Officers
Burke and Nocks sidled up next to Lawson, waiting for
instructions. The rest of the precinct was crowded closely
around.
“What the
hell was that?” Lawson asked.
Burke
pointed at Johnson. “That was a plié, Chief.”
“Not the
dance. Why’s he punching himself in the head?”
“Don’t
know. The perp was doing the same thing before his head blew
up.”
“We’re sure
of that? Johnson didn’t shoot him?”
“I checked
his weapon when we got him back here. Hasn’t been fired.”
“How long
has he been like this?” Inside the room, Johnson twirled around
with his arms splayed out.
“About an
hour. Wasn’t easy getting him back in the car. Oh, that was a
chassé.”
Chief
Lawson glared at Burke; he was not amused by any of this.
“Sorry,”
Burke said, “my sister was a dancer, I had to go to all her
recitals.”
“Tell me
about the perp again?”
“Call came
in to 911 about 11:30. Guy said he was possessed and couldn’t
stop dancing. Then he said he’d blow his head off if we didn’t
bring him an extra large pair of tights.”
“This is
nuts. If it was somebody’s birthday I’d think you were playing a
trick on me.”
“It’s my
birthday, chief.”
“Shut up,
Nocks.”
“Shutting
up, sir.”
Lawson
winced as Johnson slammed his fist into his face again before
gracefully kicking the air. “Can we get in there and tie his
hands down? He’s gonna break his own nose.”
“No way,”
Burke replied. “We already tried. It’s like he’s got super human
strength. He grabbed McCallister and fox-trotted him into the
filing cabinet. Knocked him clean out.”
“I don’t
think it was a foxtrot,” Nocks said, “looked more like a
straight waltz to me.”
“No, a
waltz goes like this.”
Lawson spun
around. “Enough!
What is this the Pansy Precinct? Jesus Christ. This perp, the
one’s whose head exploded, was he on any drugs or anything?
Maybe Johnson got a dose?”
“Nope,”
Burke said. “We never got that close. The perp was dancing all
over like Fred Astaire. Kept yelling for us to help him. Said
his head hurt. Then it just burst. Boom. Brains everywhere. If
he’d gotten drugs into Johnson I’d have seen it.”
“So then
explain … this … to me.” Lawson turned back and watched Johnson
leaping about like a gazelle.
“Don’t
know. Soon as the guy’s head blew off, Johnson says he feels
funny. The next thing you know he’s moonwalking around. He was
fighting it though, so it was a bad moonwalk. Got him in the
car, but by the time I got him here he couldn’t withstand it
anymore. He’s been dancing nonstop since.”
“Tell him
about the Ouija board.” Nocks said to Burke.
“What Ouija
board?” Lawson asked
Burke
nodded. “The perp had a Ouija board out at his house, like he
was playing with contacting spirits.”
“Bullshit.”
“That’s
what I said, but when I saw-—oh, that was a poisson, that’s a
hard move.”
“Burke!”
“Sorry,
Chief. The Ouija board. I think the guy was trying to contact a
ghost or something. You don’t think he’s really possessed by a
ghost or demon?”
“No such
thing as Demons and ghosts, Buffy. This has to be drugs. That
would explain the strength. His adrenaline must be through the
roof.”
“But does
adrenaline make your head explode?”
“I’ve seen
drugs do some fucked up shit. Could be.”
“I dunno.
Some of the things the guy was saying … every once in a while he
changed voices. This was a big slob of a guy and he knew all
about ballet and well, he was pretty graceful, Chief. I don’t
think a guy that big should have been that graceful. My sister’s
fat, and she never could do half of what this guy was doing.
She’s on a diet now though, so I bet if she got back into it--”
“The perp,
Burke.”
“Right. I
don’t think drugs make you dance like that. I mean, this guy
could have been on Dance Fever or something…’cept for the part
where his head exploded.”
“So the guy
was a good dancer. Doesn’t mean anything.”
“Well, like
I said, he was speaking in two voices. One was a regular guy
like you’d expect, and the other was a French accent. I think.
And then when Johnson was in the car he started speaking in a
French accent, too. Johnson speaks a little Spanish but no
French. My sister took French growing up and—“
“Mention
your sister again and I’m shooting you in the face.”
“Point is,
Chief, I think he’s really possessed.”
“Burke,
you’ll never make detective if you don’t get your head out of
your ass.” Lawson went over to the door to the interrogation
room and grabbed the handle. “Okay, I’m gonna go in and try to
subdue him. Nocks, you come with me. Burke, you stay here in
case he gets by us. You, over there, go get a doctor.”
“But I
don’t work here,” responded the delivery boy from Smitty’s
Sandwich Shop.
“You’re
here now so do it before I arrest you.”
“You think
a doctor can fix this?” Burke asked.
“If he’s on
drugs I want his system pumped.”
Lawson
opened the door and stepped into the room. His uniform slick
with the perp’s brains, Jonhson saw the Chief and danced over to
him, smiled and kept spinning. “Johnson, stop moving.”
Johnson
spun away, punched himself in the face again. “Oh God, Chief. I
can’t! My head hurts so bad! It feels like—" And suddenly
Johnson’s voice slid into a high pitched nasally accent. “Bon
jour, Messieur. Come to challenge me for a position in the Royal
Dance Company? I dare say you are out of your league. Can you do
this?” Johnson leapt though the air and made himself straight as
an arrow. From outside the room, Lawson heard Burke remark about
the quality of the move.
“Johnson, I
need you to stop moving. Can you do that?”
Johnson’s
voice came back as he twirled on one leg. “Chief. I can’t
control anything. I can’t—-You’re friend is mine, Mr. Gendarme.
But no worries, I am almost done with him. So quickly the body
tires. And this one has been a fighter.”
Seeing this
was going nowhere, Lawson signaled for Nocks to move around the
back of the dancing officer. Cautiously, Nocks followed the
instructions, fear visibly wrinkled into his face. “Nocks, when
I say go, we grab him. Ready…go!”
Together,
Lawson and Nocks lunged for Officer Johnson, but the cop
gracefully spun and kicked Nocks in the head, sending him to the
floor. Without stopping the spin, the officer then grabbed
Lawson and pulled him close like a dance partner. Lawson fought
to pull free of the grip but the cop was too strong. They danced
around the perimeter of the room like two highschoolers at a
sock hop.
“You cannot
stop the dance, Mr. Gendarme,” Johnson said in the French accent
again. “It is forever in our lives, like the spinning of the
earth itself. But alas, this body is exhausted, and so I bid you
a brief adieu.” Without warning, Johnson stopped dancing, his
eyes slowly focusing on the crowd watching him. Was he back to
normal? Lawson wondered.
“Johnson?
You okay? You just kicked Nocks in the face. I called for a
doctor so just sit down for a second and--”
Johnson
threw his arms to his head and screamed. “Oh God, Chief! My
head! My—“
There was a
loud pop and Lawson froze as Johnson’s head exploded all over
him.
The other
officers rushed in to the room, some with their guns drawn.
Lawson, his
face dripping with bits of Johnson’s skull, shouted to his men.
“Put your guns down, you idiots! I didn’t shoot him! Burke,
where’s the doctor?”
“On his
way, Chief.”
“Jesus!
Someone get a HAZMAT team out to the perp’s house! This has got
to be a bio-weapon. I want…all units…all units…I feel kind of…”
Burke put a
hand on his boss’ shoulder, winced when he realized he was
touching his former partner’s brains. “Chief, are you all
right?
“Get off
me. I’m fine. I … I … kind of feel like dancing, actually.”
“Chief?”
“My head
feels woozy. I … I …” Lawson could feel the urge to spin welling
up inside him, a power that bordered on the insatiable. Oh God,
it was killing him, he needed to move, to leap and twirl. In his
mind’s eye he saw a thin man dressed in a black leotard, waving
at him, laughing. The man grew larger and larger. He wanted to
shout at the man but found his voice was not his own. He spoke
aloud to the room. “I am the greatest dancer to ever grace the
stages of Paris. Do not fight me you stinky gendarmes, or I will
clout this man’s jaw as such.”
Lawson
punched himself in the nose.
The
officers backed off.
With a
graceful arch, Lawson said, “And now, we dance.” He broke into a
sissonne and it felt oh so good.
- the end -
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