Michael pulls on his tie.
His hands, however, are stiff in his pockets.
A chair loudly drags along the floor.
A book is flipped open.
Then it closes, the chair slides into place, and Michael walks out the door, whistling a hollow tune. The picture on the TV screen ripples, the pixels uncoordinated, a mess of color, until it gives a little “beep” then fades away. It is black.
I stir my tea, putting in my fifth scoop of sugar. The liquid bubbles, unsatisfied with the calories I have been ingesting over this murder case. I take another look at the video again, clicking the red “rewind” button on the front of the remote. The screen blinks to life, the now deceased Michael’s room displayed on the monitor.
Thirsty for more evidence, I scoured the screen for more, hungry for answers I could write down in my notebook. I heard the rapid-fire clicking of a pen, click, click, click, click, click. But I don’t see it on the TV screen.
The lights turn off. The constant clicking gets louder.
Beep! The video screen fades away.
My pen is gone.
The button isn’t working this time around.