Mister Whitewood by Kateryna Glovatskay

The lights of the night metropolis flare up,

as if on the principle of dominoes: from the center, already tightly cordoned off by the police, to the suburbs and remote areas, alarmed by the noise of sirens, as the terrible news spreads. The body is no longer there - they have taken away, and the bloody trail in the dark is just right to be mistaken for an ordinary puddle -although, of course, there would not be so many experts scurrying over an ordinary puddle, and it would hardly have occurred to anyone to surround it with a yellow ribbon, fencing off the crowd that had gathered literally in a matter of moments. Dozens of frightened, bloodless, tear-stained faces shine red and blue in the glare of flashing lights, and even journalists who are accustomed to many things do not hold back their emotions. Voices get confused, hands shake shallowly, and the image caught in the lens flinches when the operator aims the camera at a pile of flowers already folded next to the fence.

- Breaking news: Famous model Emily Distond was killed about an hour ago in the Johnson Beach area. An unknown person fired two shots, the girl died on the spot from her wounds. Currently, the area is cordoned off, the police hope to detain the criminal in hot pursuit. Let us remind you that this is the third murder in a high-profile series ...

The news is already on all channels - yes, for the last month and a half, they have not talked about anything except a series of murders that swept through the city; but the onlookers are not stopped either by this or even by the blocked streets. People gather nearby, clinging to the fences, despite the shouts of the police, and especially curious people pull their necks, looking out for the car in which, as they say, the main witness is now.

Many, however, already call him the culprit. The rest are a victim, but all without exception agree that what is happening is uniquely connected with him. After the second appearance of the sniper, it was still possible to believe in coincidences, after the third - at least somehow try to find another explanation, but the fourth no longer left anyone in the slightest doubt. One after another, the girls became victims, but the target was him, and no matter what the unknown sought: whether to substitute, lime, or maybe both, now they are very close to success. The identity of the person sitting in the back seat of the car can only be determined by the documents found in his jacket. A well-groomed man with shining eyes looks from the photo, but now only his empty shell is at the disposal of paramedics. The movements are tortured, inhibited, as if mechanical, and only at someone's request: this is how the robot executes commands. The frozen gaze is directed down to his hands, still clutching a paper towel, speckled with brown spots - and even more of them on his clothes, as if he was bleeding. And he would have preferred it to be so - if only this whole nightmare would end. If only no one else died.

- Mister Whitewood?

He shudders in surprise and automatically deviates to the side. The realization that people are dying because of him, being next to him, pops in the ears with electric discharges: "Don't come - he will kill!", Generating an uncontrollable desire to break contact, close, disappear...

“Mr. Whitewood,” the police sergeant, a large man of about forty, freezes a few steps away. -1 know it's hard for you, but... You, as a witness, must testify ...

- Yes ... Yes, well, - thoughts get confused, and only by making an effort on oneself, it is possible to catch the main one. - But... can I call first? ..

- Of course, - the policeman looks in bewilderment, raising his eyebrows. And only when the fingers are already groping for the phone, one understands how this question sounded - typical for a detainee on charges, but not for a witness. However, he has already been sentenced - without the right to appeal.

“And...” unconcealed sympathy splashes in the tired eyes opposite, “don't consider it rude, but... I think you should hire a guard. Someone hates you, Mr. Whitewood.

As if at least someone else could have doubts about this.