Creative Writing: Detective Killinger

Trails of thick smoke danced in the air, twirling into all sorts of directions. Nothing but haze fogged up the brown tinted aviators dangling off Detective Killinger’s eyes. Out from his eternal slumber, Killinger awoke as the backend of a lawn chair tipped back ever so slightly. As he wrangled around on the warm red carpet, a cold metal vice clenched his wrist, preventing him from exiting the scene. Handcuffs. Of course, he fished around into the abyss of his pockets, only to come up with a handful of lint, an empty flask, a crumpled pack of Camel cigarettes, and the address of a motel. No badge. No gun.
Killinger’s eyes darted across the room, still recuperating from the grogginess of his swelling pain, burning with a red tint of anguish. The black and white crackle of the T.V buzzed in the corner of the room. A crooked mirror etched over the nearby wall. Clothing was spewn across the room, almost as if someone had been desperately packing for a quick getaway. It was all too quiet, but the faint murmur of cascading water could be heard behind the bathroom door.

Yanking backwards with drunken Herculean force, Killinger began tugging away at the wooden corner of the dresser he was cuffed to. Desperation dissipated into hysteria, as the voice came to complete silence. Taking a moment, Killinger slicked back his sweated glistened hair and pulled back once more. Nothing. Accepting defeat, Killinger rested backwards onto the carpet, closing his tired eyes. Just before everything faded to black, Killinger saw a metal shard dangling from the nearby dining table. Quick to action, he unbuckled his belt, whipping it towards the corner peg of the table. With one quick sweep, the table tipped over and the key landed smack in his lap. He was free, unlocking himself from his