For Detective John Kent Matheson NYPD

Like a swimmer bursting ever upward

from the indigo darkness of the depths,

thrashing, struggling, rushing on through

the air-bubbling, wave heaving surface,

he emerged from the deepest of sleeps,

into a cold, nerve tingling consciousness.

He didn't open his eyes or move a muscle.

His breath gently undulating, he sensed danger.

Magnetic forces ebbed and flowed and linked.

Something primal, an instinct almost dormant,

but now awakened, tuned, in action, analysed

the pulsating rhythms in the world around him.

A nanosecond separated thought and sound

then the first burble of the bedside telephone

had his hand shooting towards the handpiece. 

He drew it to him, listened, but did not speak.

The voice in his ear said, ‘don't say my name,

or yours.  Get out now. Say yes, and move.’

He knew the voice, felt the sense of urgency

said yes, moved, quickly, as an athlete moves.

His feet hit the floor as the handset hit the cradle.

As he turned towards a recognizable sound

he knew that the warning had come too late.

It must be fate, he thought, as darkness fell.

End Note: News Item: Lower Manhattan: A police spokesperson announced today that the body of a Caucasian, thirty to thirty-five years old male discovered in a dumpster in Lower Manhattan is that of a major case squad detective. The cause of death was one gunshot wound to the head. The investigation is on going.

Sydney NSW © Dermott Ryder