Recursion (Starting Over Whether I Want to or Not)

Good evening. In honor of this week’s writing challenge, I am proud to present “Recursion,” a story about a most unfortunate soul. Enjoy.

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August 28^th, 2011

It was a typical Autumn morning – cool, with the slightest bit of a breeze. Congressman Steven Mandel, recently swept into office in a special election, emerged from his home to make his morning commute. This was the not the sort of thing normally demanded of a United States Representative, but Mandel was a traditional sort who appreciated the structure of a daily routine. He got behind the wheel of his car – for the Congressman also refused a driver – and headed into town.

Two blocks away, an unseen figure watched the Congressman through a scope. There were two loud cracks, shattering the stillness of the morning. The windshield splintered, and the car careened out of control, hitting a lamppost. Most of the pedestrians ran for cover, but one brave soul investigated the car. “It’s Steven Mandel! He’s been shot!” He called for an ambulance, but it was too late. The Congressman was already dead.

Mandel’s assassin dropped her rifle and ran through the building. She didn’t make it far. The area was already swarming with police, including a beat cop who had seen her in the window right after the shots were fired. Within moments of hitting the street, she was stuffed into a patrol car, on her way back to the station.

* * * * *

Detective Jerry Holbeck wasn’t expecting this. Less than a month in town, and investigating a homicide – the murder of a politician, no less! His new partner, Detective Schmidt, already had the suspect in custody. Her name was Angela Hawkins – 28 years old, no criminal history, no ties to radical groups. She was just an ordinary person right up until the moment she decided to kill a Congressman. Her guilt was a foregone conclusion, but there were other mysteries here, and they were only going to come out in the interrogation.

Jerry entered the interrogation room, gingerly shutting the door behind him. “Miss Hawkins? I’m Detective Holbeck. Detective Schmidt you already know. Before we go any further, you have been advised of your rights?”

“She says she doesn’t want a lawyer,” said Schmidt.

“Okay, just so we’re clear. Now…”

“I’d rather not do this today,” interrupted Angela. “Can we pick this up tomorrow?”

“Excuse me?” said Holbeck.

“I’m not up to this right now. Put me in holding or whatever, and we can do this tomorrow.”

“Ma’am, I don’t think you understand what’s at stake, here,” said Schmidt. “You should try being a little less cavalier.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant.” Angela sighed deeply. “Listen, I’m not fighting you here. I’ll sign a statement, a confession, anything you need. But let me do it tomorrow. I’m so very tired right now.”

Holbeck and Schmidt looked at each other. It was an odd request, one neither of them had ever heard. “Fine,” said Schmidt after a long pause. “We’ll work through this tomorrow.”

A few minutes later, Angela was on her way to lock-up. Holbeck just sat at his desk, contemplating what had happened. They were right. It’s not like TV. I wouldn’t have believed this if I saw it on TV. He still couldn’t help but think that there was more to this than he was seeing. He’d figure it out tomorrow, but tomorrow was a long ways off.

August 28^th, 2011

It was a typical Autumn morning – cool, with the slightest bit of a breeze. Congressman Steven Mandel, recently swept into office in a special election, emerged from his home to make his morning commute. This was the not the sort of thing normally demanded of a United States Representative, but Mandel was a traditional sort who appreciated the structure of a daily routine. He got behind the wheel of his car – for the Congressman also refused a driver – and headed into town.

The drive was typically uneventful, and Mandel arrived at his office on time. An early riser, he usually made it to his office before the rest of his staff. Only maintenance and security were there to greet him. As Mandel entered, he noticed a guard dragging a woman to the security station.

“What’s going on?” he asked the man at the desk.

“Sorry, sir. We caught someone trying to sneak onto the premises with the cleaning crew.”

“Someone tried to sneak in here?” He chuckled. “What was she expecting to find?”

“Don’t know, but she was only up there for a few minutes so we doubt she had time to do anything. You have a good day, sir.”

Mandel headed upstairs. Before everyone arrived, the building was empty and serene – almost like it was asleep. The old coffee pot – a reminder of his earlier, simpler days – was warm and ready. He poured himself a cup and set about planning his day.

There was no one around to see the convulsions start. By the time they found the Congressman, he was already dead.

* * * * *

Detective Jerry Holbeck wasn’t expecting this. Less than a month in town, and investigating a homicide – the murder of a politician, no less! His new partner, Detective Schmidt, already had the suspect in custody. Her name was Angela Hawkins – 28 years old, no criminal history, no ties to radical groups. She was just an ordinary person right up until the moment she decided to kill a Congressman. Her guilt was a foregone conclusion, but there were other mysteries here, and they were only going to come out in the interrogation.

Jerry entered the interrogation room, gingerly shutting the door behind him. “Miss Hawkins? I’m Detective Holbeck. Detective Schmidt you already know. Before we go any further, you have been advised of your rights?”

“She says she doesn’t want a lawyer,” said Schmidt.

“Okay, just so we’re clear. Now, you were caught trespassing in Congressman Mandel’s office. A search of your person turned up a vial of a concentrated organophosphate which you had illegally taken from the lab where you are presently employed. What, exactly, were you planning to do with this substance.”

“I used it to poison Congressman Mandel.”

“And why…” Holbeck started to speak, but was taken aback by what he’d just heard. “…You’re admitting that you planned to kill the Congressman?”

“Yes, Detective.”

“This is shaping up to be the easiest homicide investigation in history,” said Schmidt. “Care to tell us why you poisoned him?”

“Because he was going to get a lot more people killed.”

“‘More’ people?” said Holbeck. “Then you’re alleging that he’s killed before?”

“Yes, detective. Three people that I know of.”

“She’s feeding us a line,” said Schmidt, pulling out a file. “Mandel was a flack for some little biotech outfit before he got into politics. He’s got no record, no investigations even. I say this one’s off her nut.”

“I didn’t say that he killed them with his own two hands.” Angela rested her head in her hands for a moment before continuing. “He wasn’t just some flack at GenPro. He was on the board, but a junior member, and no one respected him. He figured that he had to champion some big breakthrough or he’d never get ahead, so…” She sighed deeply. “…so he secretly approved involuntary human tests.”

Holbeck looked up from his notes. Something about her story seemed familiar. “GenPro was investigated for experimenting on people, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, and the board was cleared,” said Schmidt. “The investigation found that it was all cooked up by two wanna-be Mengeles on the research staff.” He stood up and leaned over the table. “So nice try, but no dice.”

“Those two were the scapegoats,” said Angela. “Mandel called the shots, and that wasn’t the only time he did it, either. It was just the only time anyone died.”

Holbeck looked over Angela’s file. “You worked for GenPro when Mandel was on the board, correct?”

“That’s how I know he did it. You want a man like that in office? He’s not going to stay a Representative forever. He’ll become a Senator, and then he’s just a stone’s throw from the White House. He had to be stopped.”

Holbeck looked up at Schmidt. “We need anything else?”

“Nope,” replied Schmidt. “Just the statement.”

“Of course.” Holbeck slid a legal pad and pen over to Angela. “Write it all down in your own words, please.” Angela picked up the pen and started writing. “Just one more question: How did you get the idea to do this? I can’t imagine that someone like you would just suddenly decide to turn assassin.”

“I’m used to it,” she replied. “I’ve killed him before.”

“Excuse me?” said Holbeck.

“I’ve killed him…it must be twenty times now. He never stays dead.”

“You going for an insanity defense?” said Schmidt, incredulously.

“Hold on a second,” said Holbeck, pulling away the legal pad. “Maybe you should explain this a little more.”

“No real point. I’ve explained it to you two before.”

“You’ve met us,” said Holbeck.

“I usually get caught,” said Angela. “Like you said, I’m no killer. But it doesn’t matter. I kill him every day, and then when I wake up, it’s August 28^th again, and Mandel is alive again.”

The room was quiet. Holbeck stood up and walked over to Schmidt. “How do you want to handle this?” he whispered.

“I say we lock her up for the night. See if she’s still crazy in the morning.”

A few minutes later, Angela was on her way to lock-up. Holbeck just sat at his desk, contemplating what had happened. They were right. It’s not like TV. I wouldn’t have believed this if I saw it on TV. He still couldn’t help but think that there was more to this than he was seeing. He’d figure it out tomorrow, but tomorrow was a long ways off.

August 28^th, 2011

It was a typical Autumn morning – cool, with the slightest bit of a breeze. Congressman Steven Mandel, recently swept into office in a special election, emerged from his home to make his morning commute. This was the not the sort of thing normally demanded of a United States Representative, but Mandel was a traditional sort who appreciated the structure of a daily routine. He got behind the wheel of his car – for the Congressman also refused a driver – and headed into town.

The drive was typically uneventful, and Mandel arrived at his office on time. Today, there was a woman waiting in front of the building. As Mandel stepped out of his car, the woman produced a handgun and shot him repeatedly, until the gun was empty. She tossed the weapon aside, dropped to her knees, and raised her hands. There were guards and cops on her in a second. Minutes later, she was stuffed into a patrol car, on her way back to the station.

* * * * *

Detective Jerry Holbeck wasn’t expecting this. Less than a month in town, and investigating a homicide – the murder of a politician, no less! His new partner, Detective Schmidt, already had the suspect in custody. Her name was Angela Hawkins – 28 years old, no criminal history, no ties to radical groups. She was just an ordinary person right up until the moment she decided to kill a Congressman. Her guilt was a foregone conclusion, but there were other mysteries here, and they were only going to come out in the interrogation.

Jerry entered the interrogation room, gingerly shutting the door behind him. “Miss Hawkins?”

“Detective Holbeck,” she said, interrupting him. “Yes, I’ve been advised of my rights, and no, I don’t want a lawyer.”

“She’s been acting like this since they brought her in,” said Schmidt.

“This guy’s an asshole!” shouted Angela. “I’ll talk to you, but not him.”

“I’m an asshole, you crazy bitch? You just shot a man a dozen times! What does that make you?”

“Detective, can we have just a few minutes?” said Holbeck.

Schmidt laughed. “Fine. I’m gonna go down to the corner and get a danish. If you haven’t gotten anything out of her by the time I get back, then we do things my way.” Schmidt left the room, slamming the door behind him.

“All right,” said Holbeck, flipping open his memo pad. “Let’s start with where you got the gun.”

“You really don’t remember any of this?” asked Angela.

“Remember what?”

“We’ve had this conversation fourteen…fifteen times. You don’t remember?”

“Ma’am, we’ve never met. Now, could you tell me where…”

“But we have met,” she interrupted. “We’ve done this many times, but I’m the only person who remembers it. Why am I the only person who remembers it? Why am I so special?”

Holbeck set down the memo pad. “Could you explain what you mean by that?”

“I’m stuck in some kind of loop. Well, we all are, but none of you realize it. We’ve been reliving this same day over and over again. I’ve killed that man so many times, in so many different ways…but it doesn’t matter.”

Holbeck was puzzled. He’d never had any real contact with the genuinely delusional. Was this an act, or for real? He decided to let her keep going, hoping she might give something away.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about what this means.” Angela stood up, turning away from Holbeck. “It feels like this is some kind of…cosmic narrative, a story.” She looked at Holbeck. “Do you ever read thrillers? Spy novels?”

Out of morbid curiosity, Holbeck opted to play along. “I guess…Yeah, I have in the past.”

“I think that’s what this is,” Angela continued. “Mandel is the villain. That must be the trick. You can’t kill the villain so early in the story, right? And only the protagonist can stop the villain. No way I’m the protagonist. That’s why they can’t let the story continue.”

“Miss Hawkins…”

“You look like you could be the protagonist, though. You’ve got a good name for it, too.” She took her seat again, gazing off into the distance as she spoke. “That’s how it would work. Someone tries to kill the popular local figure. Everyone thinks she’s just crazy. But there’s that one curious detective that just knows there’s more to it. So he digs deeper…That’s you, Detective Holbeck. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

There was dead silence in the room for a long while. It was Detective Holbeck who spoke first. “Maybe you should consult with a lawyer.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll write out a confession, but maybe it should wait until tomorrow.”

“Okay, Miss Hawkins. We’ll do that.”

A few minutes later, Angela was on her way to lock-up. Holbeck just sat at his desk, contemplating what had happened. They were right. It’s not like TV. I wouldn’t have believed this if I saw it on TV. He still couldn’t help but think that there was more to this than he was seeing. He’d figure it out tomorrow, but tomorrow was a long ways off.

August 28^th, 2011

It was a typical Autumn morning – cool, with the slightest bit of a breeze. Congressman Steven Mandel, recently swept into office in a special election, emerged from his home to make his morning commute. This was the not the sort of thing normally demanded of a United States Representative, but Mandel was a traditional sort who appreciated the structure of a daily routine. He got behind the wheel of his car – for the Congressman also refused a driver – and headed into town.

It was a long day, but an uneventful one. Mandel’s projects kept him busy until long after darkness had fallen. Just as he was preparing to leave, there was a rumble and a flash of light outside, followed by screams from the street. Mandel ran to the window. Flames leaped from his car, and bits of metal were scattered about. He’d avoided the explosion by mere minutes.

August 29^th, 2011

Detective Jerry Holbeck wasn’t expecting this. Less than a month in town, and investigating a car bomb outside of a politician’s office! His new partner, Detective Schmidt, was already on the scene.

“The arson squad been here yet?” asked Holbeck.

“Yeah. Someone was trying to rig an explosive device to the starter of the Congressman’s car,” said Schmidt. “Looks like she wasn’t too good at it.”

“We know who she is?”

“You seen her? It’ll be days before forensics traces her identity.”

Holbeck knelt down next to the body. She couldn’t have been over thirty, but that’s about all anyone could say just yet. The charred remains of a pocketbook lay smoldering under some wreckage. Holbeck fished it out, finding a damaged driver’s license. “’Hawkins’…can’t read the rest. It’s funny, this woman looks really familiar to me.”

“Probably just some nut. It happens around here.”

“…Maybe.” There was something wrong about all of this. Holbeck couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but this was more than just a crazy person with a bomb.

The truth was here, but it would take some digging to find it.