I was attacked by a red eyed cannibal in Brooklyn, NY- Pt. 2
I may have made a mistake. I flew off the handle pretty badly. I apologize to anyone who had the misfortune of coming across my post. It's better if I just hurry up and get to it. You know, give a proper introduction and all that.
My name is Elijah by the way. As you know, I made a post about how I was a victim of an attack. Some of you guys have actually been nice to me. I can tell you right now, I definitely don't deserve it, but I appreciate it none the less.
Anyway, last night I got in touch with a detective- I'll call him John- and he wanted to question me immediately about what happened. I figured that wasn't a good sign but what really tipped me off was the drive to the precinct.
Two officers picked me up outside my apartment drove me there. Both cops were completely silent. They didn't cuff me, but one of the cops spent the whole ride staring at me like I was gonna jump out his cruiser at any moment. He even held me by the arm as he was escorting me through the building.
As soon as I got to the room I just knew I was fucked.
It wasn't a normal interrogation room. Usually they just take you to any old room they have available. A tiny closet with folding chairs and a table. This wasn't one of those rooms.
No, this room had a nice couch with cute pillows and teddy bears. Comfortable chairs, a coffee table with a box of tissues. Imagine the living room of your favorite grandma. The kind of show room she'd put plastic sheets over. Think of that, then take off the sheets, then put the most obvious fishbowl camera right on the wall above the couch and you've got yourself the witness room. It is the worst room they could possibly put you in.
I wanted to throw up the moment I stepped inside, but instead I pushed the comically large teddy bears to the side and sank into the vinyl folds of the couch.
To those of you out there who are still confused- first of all-congrats on having an uneventful life -second- let me ask you all a question. When do cops ever want you to be comfortable?
The answer is never. They want you comfortable because they're about to tell you the worst news of your life and then pass you some tissues and a fucking teddy bear to keep you from jumping out the window.
I think I sat there for like five minutes before two detectives rushed in. A man and a woman. They didn't say a word at first, they just went straight to the interview.
Detective John showed me pictures. He pulled them out of an envelope. Most of the photos were of women. They didn't show me any crime scene photos or anything, just pictures of what they looked like, but I could make a pretty good guess of what happened to them and why they were showing me photos of women I didn't know.
Detective John told me the gist. I dont remember the whole conversation buy he told me about 6 women that were attacked almost exactly like I was. They all displayed matching bite marks in their autopsy reports. I was apparently the only surviving victim in a string of cases. They barely gave me time to process all that before getting to the questions.
At first they kept asking me if I knew any of the women in the photos, or if I was related to them in any way. I told them no. I could feel my stomach churn as they showed me photo after photo. Each one filled me with guilt and disgust. I tried to hold myself together as best as I could while they questioned me, but I wasn't prepared. I didn't know my attack would have me part of a years long investigation with no leads. I wanted them to stop.
Then they brought out the last photo. As soon as I saw the sparkly purple cap and gown I turned to the tiny trashcan next to the couch and vomited. Because of course, it had to be a kid. Detective John put the photo away and awkwardly waited for me to stop vomiting.
The rest of the meeting wasn't any better. John didn't even wait until I wiped the saliva off my chin before he started asking more questions.
“What did he look like?”
“Can you give me an approximate age?”
“Any identifying features? Tattoos, deformities, a distinct birth mark?”
I could hardly keep up with the questions. I tried my best to answer, but most of my responses were either “I don't know” or, “it was too dark.”
Everything I said was being written down by the female detective sitting next to him. After every question she'd look down at her watch with a blank expression, then get right back to her notes. I don't think she even glanced at me once the entire time John was questioning me. John moved on to other questions.
“You said in the initial report that his eyes were… red, is that correct?”
I remember wincing as soon as John said that.
“Uhm… yes sir,” I mumbled.
“Sorry? Can you repeat that please?”
“Yes, sir… they were red. Like, the part that's supposed to be white was… red? Not like his eyes were irritated or anything, it was just…completely red.” I said, panicking.
The detectives both made passing glances at one another as I stumbled over my words. The more nervous I got, the more I felt the need to over explain.
“I don't know… I must sound crazy, but I don't think drugs can cause that, right? I mean- I could be wrong. I know what I saw- I- I mean, he was right on top of me and I just..”
The female detective looked up from her note pad and tapped her finger on her watch. John's eyes flicked over to her, then back to me.
“Do you need a break, Elijah? I could get you a drink from the vending machine, if you need it.” He said.
“Uh…yeah. Can I get some water-?”
John practically jumped out of his chair before heading for the door. Completely ignoring me.
“Good, the uh…FBI agent should be coming by shortly-” He sounded nervous.
“Wait, FBI? I wasn't told-”
“I'm sorry this is taking up so much of your time,” John said as he was halfway out the door.
“But as you can clearly see, you're the only victim in this case able to give us anything substantial and we need to keep the ball rolling- so to speak.”
The other detective didn't even look up from her note pad. She just followed him to the door.
“Thank you for your cooperation, we'll be in touch if we have any more questions.”
As soon as I heard the door shut my face was right over the little trashcan again. Nothing came out but bile. I couldn't stop thinking about the pictures. I should've been grateful to be alive, but what was the point when I couldn't even give the detectives something as simple as a physical description?
I felt like someone was crushing me. My head was pounding. I could barely breathe. I wanted to go home. My bandaged hand was starting to throb and I could feel the stitches digging into me, like teeth. All I could do was sit there and hope the pain would eventually go away.
The FBI agent knocked on the door quietly. He didn't wait for an answer, he just let himself in while I was busy clutching the trashcan for dear life.
The first thing I noticed about him was how old he was. He looked more like a church elder than an FBI agent. He gave me a warm smile before speaking.
“Miss Elijah?”
He spoke very softly, with a southern drawl. Had I not been vomiting just a few seconds ago I think it would've been comforting. Instead it just made me feel even more sick.
The old man waited patiently. He said nothing as I continued to sob and heave into the trash can. He didn't say anything until I was able to look up.
“You mind if I put that outside?” He pointed a shaky finger at the trashcan I was clinging to.
“Sure?” I said quietly, placing it right on top of the coffee table.
He hobbled over to move the can out the way at an uncomfortably slow pace. It was almost like he was playing up how old he was. I could've sworn he took a peak inside before he set the can ouside the door, but wasn't sure.
The old man made a big show of sitting down, bending low at the waist before plopping himself on one of the soft chairs in front me with a loud grunt.
“You alright?”
He paused for a moment expecting me to answer. I just stared at the floor.
“Well, I suppose that's a stupid question… I apologize miss Elijah. How about I get you some water and-”
He reached over to a bag beside him. I hadn't even noticed it. He brought out a small thermos and a brown paper bag.
“-and a little gift.” He smiled and placed both items in front of me expectantly.
I paused. His sweet southern grandpa act was off-putting. My suspicion definitely got worse the moment I opened the bag.
Inside was a bottle of pain medication. Hydrocodone. I looked at the old man hoping for an explanation.
He must've realized how suspicious I was and gave a little nervous chuckle.
“Woah there- this ain't a sting- I promise. That was a prescription the hospital meant to give you. I'm just the delivery boy.” He joked.
I wasn't amused, but the prescription was right there in the bag and the bottle had my full legal name on there. I just set it back down on the coffee table and grabbed the thermos.
The old man's eyes nearly popped out his head when he noticed me trying to open the lid with my injured hand. He nearly snatched it back but stopped himself once I got it open.
I looked up and pushed the pill bottle back toward him.
“If you want to help me so damn bad you can open that.” I said half jokingly.
To my shock he obliged.
“I'm sorry miss Elijah, how inconsiderate of me.” he said while opening the pill bottle.
I nearly spat out the water.
“Wait, I was joking- I'm not taking-”
“There's nothing wrong with needing a little pain medication, miss Elijah. Getting two fingers bitten off is no joke.” He interrupted.
“Look- I'm sorry- I didn't mean to come out like that- but c’mon- I’m not taking random pills outta some old man's bag!”
He ignored me and pressed a pill into my palm.
“Take it or don't. It's not my hand that's swelling like a balloon.”
I stared at the pill in my palm then at my right hand. It was swollen and radiating pain from the stitches to the tips of my white fingernails. The bandages were wet and covered in dried blood. It didn't take much time for me to think about it. I took the pill.
The old man looked relieved.
“Did the detectives say anything about me?” He said suddenly.
“Not really. They said you were with the FBI.”
He shook his head, mumbling something under his breath about “ignorant boot-lickers.”
“Look…I'm going to be completely honest with you, I'm not an FBI agent or a detective. I'm more on the lines of a private 3rd party contractor. I take the supernatural cases. Stuff regular folks don't like dealing with. You know, monsters and what-not.” He said.
“Oh… Okay.” I said.
“Do you have any questions for me, Miss Elijah? I understand this can be a bit much, but I can assure you, you're in very good hands.”
I waited for a moment hoping the vicodin or whatever mystery pill he gave me would hurry and hit me like a truck. The old man's sickly sweet delivery made it hard to keep calm.
“Nah, I've got nothing…” I mumbled.
“So you have no questions about the monster who attacked you, or any of those other women who died, is that right?” He said.
“Nope. Don't care.” I said as my voice shook.
I kept thinking this had to be some sick joke. I kept searching the man's face for something- anything that could clue me in to what was going on. All I saw was a slight twitch in his smile. Clearly he was losing his patience with me.
“Okay. I realize this might be a bit much for you miss Elijah, but I would appreciate a little respect-”
“Oh, a little respect?” I yelled. “Respect for fucking what you old fool? You're not FBI, you're not a fucking cop, and I don't give a rat's ass about monsters or whatever the fuck you're talking about! You're crazy!”
The old man frowned. The silence after was deafening. I didn't move and neither did he. It took him a while but eventually he spoke.
“Right… well, call me crazy all you want, I'm just here to confirm a few details. Soon as that's done I'll be on my way, and you can forget this ever happened. Does that sound fair?” He said, dropping the sweet voice to a more gruff matter of fact tone.
I didn't respond. I just looked away.
“Miss Elijah,” he said a little louder. “Can you do that for me? Can you just confirm a few details?”
I just ignored him. His voice still made my skin crawl.
The old man leaned forward. I could see a vein bulging on his forehead from the corner of my eye.
“You do realize that if you aren't cooperative with this investigation more people will die, right? You don't care? What about the families of all those other women?”
He waited again for me to respond, then he continued.
“That little graduation photo you saw? That young lady was found in a dumpster right next to the alley where you were attacked. Decapitated. That thing ripped her to pieces and threw her in a dumpster. They never found her head by the way, and you're telling me you don't care about that?”
I thought about what he said for a moment. I can't say I'm proud of my response, but I was moments away from going absolutely insane, and I had no clue what I could've possibly done with that kind of information.
“Could you pass me another pill, old man? I don't think this one's working.”
The old man took a deep breath. I was hoping he'd just storm out the room. Instead he went over to his bag and pulled out a stack of photographs. He spread them over the table one by one and sat back.
I didn't want to look at the photos. I just glared at the old man's face hoping he'd give up, but curiosity got the better of me.
They were all close ups of people's eyes. All normal except for one. The second to last photo was slightly blurred as if the subject couldn't stay still long enough for the camera to focus. But it was clear enough.
Bright red blood practically spilling out of the eye socket, a blown out pupil and something I wasn't sure if I imagined the first time- a faint burning glow. I gagged and turned my head away.
“Okay, that's all I needed to see. You're free to go now.” the old man said as he quickly gathered the photos.
“Wait.. where did you get-” I whispered.
“I said you're free to go.” He snapped “You made it very clear how you didn't want an explanation Miss Elijah, so I would advise you to head back home, lock your door and pray you don't end up in a landfill yourself.”
I shook my head and stood up.
“Wait, I'm sorry sir, please I don't- I didn't mean-”
The old man turned and glared at me. I quickly shut up and sat down.
“Listen kid, you don't have to apologize. I wasn't going to give you an explanation that would satisfy you anyway. I told you, all I needed was confirmation, and I've got it. Again. You're free to go.” He said packing his things.
“That- that's not fair! How was I supposed to know this was real? You expect me to trust someone I just met? Someone who lied to my face?” I started sobbing. “Nobody explained anything! You didn't explain-”
I couldn't even finish my sentence. I was panicking trying to come up with something else to say, but my mind went blank.
The old man noticed me crying and sat back down rubbing his temples. I guess he felt sorry for me, but he looked more frustrated than sympathetic.
“Look, it's obvious that there was a bit of a miscommunication here. I will try my best to explain, but I don't have a lot of time and it's simply not my job.” He said firmly.
“You were probably attacked by a vampire. I'm here to confirm what you saw because I need a statement from a living witness to preform my duties without interference. It is as simple as that. Do you understand?”
I was silent. I didn't believe it in the slightest but I kept that to myself.
“Anyway, it doesn't matter if you believe me or not. My only job is to get rid of them and any potential carriers of the disease. It's not my job to convince you, but I'll ask you this…”
He paused for a moment to catch his breath.
“What do you think is more believable? That I'm telling you the truth? Or, do you really think anyone can walk into the police precinct, impersonate an officer, and interrogate a key witness in a room that's under constant surveillance?”
He must've forgotten he was in a rush. The old man kept ranting at me.
“I gave you information directly from a closed case file. I gave you multiple chances to ask me questions. All that- you think I did all that- to what, inconvenience you?” He said breathlessly.
I couldn't even open my mouth to speak. I felt like an idiot. The old man rolled his eyes and stood back up.
“That's the best I can do for now. My card is in that bag. Infection is rare but if you notice any bodily changes…” he trailed off. Then stared at me for a moment. I could feel my heart in my throat.
“Nah, that would've happened by now,” he muttered.
Before I could ask him anything he was already out the door. He didn't even bother closing it.
I sat there thinking about what happened for like an hour before someone came in to check on me. Luckily, I was high as a kite by then.
The female detective, the one who barely even acknowledged my existence during the first interview, was the one who escorted me out. She didnt say anything just gave me her card, called up a taxi, and sent me home.
I ended up stumbling into my apartment sometime after 9pm. I got into the tub and passed out for 14 hours. When I woke up my clothes were soaked in sweat and bile. I didn't bother showering.
That's all I care to tell you. I'm not going to embarrass myself any further than I already have. Tune in tomorrow to see if I'm still alive or whatever.