video.”
Tom stopped tugging at his handcuff. “Confession?”
“Sit down,” the inspector snapped. “You disgust me!”
The door closed slowly on its pneumatic hinges. Gene the Genie, smiling, gave Tom a little wave.
“Don't let him leave!” Tom shouted. “Stop him! He's the murderer!”
Inspector Evans and Officer Martin manhandled Tom back into his chair. It took both of them to switch the handcuffs from the table to hold his wrists behind his back. Tom never stopped screaming as they led him from the interrogation room toward a holding cell at the back of the station. Tom screamed, but no one listened.
* * *
Outside, Gene the Genie slid into the driver's seat of the shining new Jaguar. Lidia Swanson, dark hair blowing in the breeze through the opened window, smiled at him, though her eyes didn't quite seem to focus.
“Where's Tom?” she asked.
“He won't be joining us,” Gene told her. He started the engine.
“That's too bad. I think I really like him.”
“Forget about Tom,” Gene the Genie said, and Lidia did.
“So, my dear. We've got ten million dollars in the trunk and a full tank of gas. Where would you like to go?” he asked her.
“Your wish is my command,” she said.
Together, they drove away from the police station, away from Tom who was still screaming and fighting with armed police officers, and away from the battered oil lamp that was officially the property of the Redding, California Police Department.
∞
About the Author
Derek Powell was born in 1975, in Alabama. He followed his wife to Wisconsin in 2001, and has lived there ever since.
Happily married with two sons, Derek is the author of a growing number of self-published short stories, mostly in the horror and suspense genres, with an occasional science-fiction story.
In between short stories, Derek is also working on his first novel, which he hopes to publish in late 2013.
For more information, please visit www.DerekPowell.net
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