Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Twenty-Seven: You Guys Aren't Trying To Burn My House Down Are You?

Chapter Twenty-Seven: "You Guys Aren't Trying To Burn My House Down Are You?"

"I'M NOT PRESSING CHARGES."

"I didn't have a choice! But it's great you finally have done something other cops haven't."

"Don't think you're off the hook, yet, Peters. You have a long time of community service ahead of you."

I sigh. The charges I didn't really care about at first, but with me already being 18, they'll stay on my permanent record and I can kiss any good college or university goodbye. If I can get my record wiped and clean, this will be a whole new start of life for me, and it'll definitely be better for me.

"How long?"

"A few months, anyway." Gordon replies. "But, that's not why I asked you here today. I know you have a pretty. . . busy schedule, and you can get ahold of me whenever you're ready. I just wanted to at least make your life a little less stressful right now."

I gulp. Is this a good thing that's going to come out of his mouth? If it wasn't summer I would mistaken today as April Fools Day and think this is all a huge joke; that today I'm actually getting charges, and whatever news out of Gordon's mouth isn't going to be good, and is actually more stressful. "W-what would that be?"

"I was going through your files," he begins, and my heart picks up its rhythm. This must be be if the topic of conversation is my criminal record.

"Oh. . ." I trail off nervously. "Um, look, I've been clean for several months now, and I'm doing pretty good except for the warehouse thing, but that was like. . . a month ago and–"

"I've expunged your juvenile criminal record." Gordon interrupts, cutting to the chase.

"What?" I say, unsure if he said what I think he did. Did he actually seal my criminal record? Is all my rebel history cleared? I have nothing large to worry about, like I haven't intentionally murdered anyone in recent except for the warehouse people. . . but I didn't kill them unless they shot me first. The rest were mainly the syringes.

If Gordon actually did this for me, I have no idea what I'd do. I'd get a new chance, and I'll be able to attend Berkeley next year.

"I said that I've expunged your record." He repeats, more clear and slow this time.

"G-Gordon why? I mean, I didn't even ask you to, and you did that. After the warehouse, I thought I would never be able to get it sealed. I. . . k-killed people that night. I know I shouldn't be fully admitting to that, but it's true. I can't take it if I'm just going to have more added to it."

"What happened that one night was. . . hectic. However, we did in investigation anyway, and you won't be having any charges or arrests made for what you did. There was clear proof that your life was in extreme danger, and from witnesses, you only shot if someone shot first. I was very impressed with your technique with the paralysis."

"I tinkle around with things when I'm bored. I've recreated a lot of things." I shrug. "So, I'm not in trouble? Like, at all?"

I must be sleeping. This has got to be a dream!

"No, except from the community service you'll be willingly doing weekly for three months."

"Three months?!"

"Three months." He confirms.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. "Fantastic." I add, loud enough where he can hear me.

"Also, I wanted to make a proposal." He says after a short silence. A proposal? What would he want me to do? I knew clearing my record would have a catch.