In The Jailhouse Now

A Modern-Day Fairy Tale

Nigel Bergenstein, after the famous Bergenstein, was – unlike his great-grandfather – a lesser-known character. He did not have his looks nor his skills and did not aspire to anything much in particular. In his hometown, Nigel was generally known for his stupidity. Outside of his town he was generally unknown. Whether it was his lack of intelligence, or a form of rapid onset intellect, remains an ever-unanswered question. It did baffle the entire town and, afterwards, people regarded him with a little more awe, mostly out of fear. Bergenstein died childless, unmarried, and still relatively unknown. May this be the legacy he so deserves.

“Wakey, Wakey, Bergenstein!”

Nigel rubbed his sore eyes with his blood-crusted hands, leaving light shades of red across his face. Not realising he was not in his own bed, nay, not even in his own room, he croaked, “Is that you Auntie Em?”

“No, son, I am not your Auntie Em. Not even your Uncle Henry. And the dog is dead.” The door of the cell opened with a loud clang echoing clearly through Nigel’s hollow skull. He was lifted up by his arm and more or less dragged along by the guard through a corridor he could not place.

With a lukewarm cup of coffee in front of him on the table, he was left behind in the interrogation room. Vaguely remembering the events of the night before, he took a sip and straightened his ruffled hair a bit. Two official-looking characters stepped into the room as he was inspecting his clothes and noticed that they, too, were covered in bloodstains, as were his hands. Jason, one of the men, walked past him while saying,

“It is no use denying it, son, you were caught red-handed.” He had been waiting for this day for years. Finally, someone had actually been caught with red hands.

“With all due respect, sir, I don’t think I was denying anything. I had not even said a word. That is, until now.”

Jason’s Partner – Wilburt – was still standing behind Nigel and slapped him on the side of the head with the back of his hand. “Don’t act all smart, Bergenstein.”

“That’s quite enough, Wilburt. No use hitting a guy who is so obviously guilty and willing to cooperate.” These officers were new in town and had not heard about Nigel. The wheel was spinning, but the hamster was long dead, that is, if it had once been alive at all. Jason did have a sense he was not dealing with the sharpest tool in the shed. “Let me rephrase it. It will be no use denying anything what I am about to say. Do you understand?”

“If you say it is no use denying anything, then it would be folly to do so. Therefore, I shall not. What is it that I will not be denying?”

“You killed her, didn’t you, Bergenstein?” Wilburt blurted out from behind the young man.

“I won’t deny that I didn’t, sir.”

Jason stared bewilderingly at Wilburt and then at Nigel. “So, Bergenstein, covered in all that blood from the victim, you claim to be innocent?”

“I can’t deny that, sir. So, I must be innocent, right?”

Another slap on Nigel’s head. He rubbed the place he was struck and shrugged as if he did not know what he had done wrong. “Wilburt, if you’d please. Leave the poor fellow before we have another accident on our hands.” Wilburt took a step backwards.

“Last night, Bergenstein, you were found lying next to the body of Marilyn Waters. She was killed by a knife. Neighbours say they saw you entering the house at about nine o’clock. At about half nine, loud screaming was heard. Besides Marilyn, you were the only in the house. Weren’t you?”

“I most certainly was not, sir. I firmly deny that.”

“So, you are saying there was somebody else on the premises. That changes everything, doesn’t it, Wilburt?”

Wilburt was scratching the back of his head. He had wanted to hit Nigel again, but he was too far removed from him and did not exactly know what Nigel had done wrong. Though he felt something wasn’t right. He nodded dumbfoundedly and mumbled, “I guess so.”

Jason started theorizing out loud looking down at the table between him and the prisoner, “This third party, he must have been there already, for the neighbours had not seen him coming in. Maybe he came in through the back door. He could have been hiding in the pantry after he had taken a knife out of one of the kitchen drawers. It would have been a perfect time for him to strike while Marilyn was talking to Nigel. I see.” He looked up at Nigel and said, “You didn’t get hit on the head or anything?”

“I fully deny not getting hit, sir. There was a witness and everything. I got hit twice. It hurts mightily, still.” He rubbed the side of his head in pain.

Rubbing his chin, he went on with his speculations, “So, you were knocked unconscious, the killer stabbed Marilyn, ran out through the back door and got away unseen. Then, after all that kerfuffle, the neighbours came in, found you lying there, and they must have assumed you were the murderer. That must be how it went down. Now, don’t call me a liar, Bergenstein. Tell me, am I wrong?”

“You are not wrong, sir. Honest to God, I deny you are wrong, and I would not dare call you a liar. I have never known you to be a liar, sir.”

“That will be all, then, Bergenstein. Wilburt, I guess we have the wrong guy. We will need to investigate these matters further anyway. Here we were, thinking it was such a cut and clear case. It just goes to show, Wilburt, that even catching a guy red-handed, does not mean anything. Thank you for your cooperation, Bergenstein. You are free to go.”

Nigel walked out of the room and was led outside by the prison guard who had come to fetch him from his cell earlier. On their way to the exit, the guard asked Nigel, “Tell me, Bergenstein, how the hell did you do it?”

“I just did as they asked, sir. I denied everything. Will I be getting my knife back anytime soon, sir?”

“Don’t tell me it was your knife, Nigel.”

“I won’t tell you that, sir. Sorry. It wasn’t my knife.”

He took off his cap in disbelief, and rubbed the top of his bald head with the palm of his hand as he pushed Nigel out of the station, “Off you go, lad. Don’t let me catch you here again.”

“You won’t catch me again, sir, and if you do, I will be a good boy and just deny everything again if they ask me to. Good day, sir.”

“Good day, lad.”

Writing Prompt by Janae Borntrager from Writing Prompt Pal

“You wake up in a jail cell, crusted blood covering your hands. You have no idea how you got there. The cell door clangs open, and an officer walks you to the interrogation room where two detectives wait to question you.”