Detective D. Case Read Online Free

their
lives, begin to act more and more like children. All of it was based on
scientific studies and the poem, “The Little Boy and the Old Man” by Shel
Silverstein. D.’s mother once read the poem to him. Still, what was it for?
              The
date of the clipping read September 23--a few weeks ago.  Stepping back, D.
found the web forming from the mind of a man diagnosed with schizophrenia. Large
indented circles looped over and over, darkened from the graphite. In the
center of the web, where in big red letters it read START, there were lyrics to
a song. D. read them. He had heard the song more than once before, a long time
ago, since he listened to 30s and 40s music. Too frequently people thought him
mad to spend his time hearing music targeted for children and bedtime. An old
man hearing such things and people already begin cooking up ideas of
pedophilia. People were control freaks, for the most part. The song, according
to its lyrics, referred to the all-too-famous Boogeyman that scared children in
their sleep. Whoever sent this must have seen similar parallels between the
poem and the web the old detective was glancing at. The description of the
Boogeyman sounded quite odd when he read it, something between a fuzzy bear and
a pedophilic stalker during the night. And the teeth that somehow laughed even
when he wasn’t smiling . . . the man who wrote and sang the song probably
wanted to bring up various ways to stop the devious monster, but it brought
D.’s attention to whether there was a way to stop the lurking shadows that may
or may not be entirely real.
              What
did this mean? Was it connected to McDermott in some way, or not at all? Did
this web have a purpose or did it just represent madness? To whom did this
belong to?
              D.
took the note and stuffed it in his pocket. He followed one line and continued
on the yarn that made up one-sixth of the web.  A note told of a man who was
the chief of the city police force. Huh, that sounded very familiar. No names
were written on the note, but you didn’t need to be a detective to figure it
out.
              Red
tape followed the first note onto several branches, and at each he encountered
the tale of the police chief who had a failing marriage. His son, Joe, came out
straight. The police chief decided to never speak to him again because of the blot
he gave to the family name. The only living, breathing thought he had in life
was his job. Day after day, the chief went further into the new case presented
to him. When he read it, he banned the case from anyone’s eyes: he wanted to do
it himself. He was falling apart, and finding the plot of a psychopath was an
easy job to pull his strings back together. As he figured it, the psychopath
wanted to burn down the police station to ashes. He wanted people dead, burned
alive. The chief wouldn’t let that happen, and would put a stop to it.
    D., following the story, went up to the
top of the inverted pyramid where all the branches expanded out into multiple
endings. Photos of the chief’s son were there, indicated by a name labeled
below. Others showed his family and journal excerpts from his wife spelling out
abstract messages. The words “KILL”, “CHIEF”, and “DEAD” were pasted on top of
the chief’s wife’s photo of her head and shoulders: she was smiling at the
camera. When the story began to end, the chief somehow got the psychopath under
his arms and began beating him. Only through the description of the words, it
didn’t sound like beating. The chief had begun torturing the psychopath with
pleasure, as if making love. Oh how did the love of pain and blood make him
burn with fever! When he finished, he ripped a limb from the psycho-plotter,
and left him there. Everyone was saved, and when he was done, the chief shot
himself in the head. The psychopath had lived with a metal leg and ended up
burning down the police station after all. Dozens of officers