“Okay. I think we’re all set. Jimmy? Are you recording?”
“Yes, Professor Vogel!”
“Are you sure? Because you said that last time and you weren’t recording.”
“Yes, Professor, I’m sure this time. I’m really really sorry for earlier.”
“You owe me no apology. It’s our friend over here that deserves your sorry.”
Professor Vogel takes a deep sigh, probably thinking about how he’s too old to be dealing with these kinds of things. The experiments weren’t his idea, after all. He removes his glasses and sets them on the desk in front of him. He rubs his temples while doing the breathing exercises his wife taught him. She says it’ll help with the migraines he’s been having lately. Even though he’s the one with the PhD he’s always suspected that Peggy was the brains of their operation. He looks at his messy desk and all the notes scattered across it. He sees his glasses. He’s been using the same pair for 10 years now. Peggy says he needs a new pair. She says that’s probably the reason for the migraines.
Professor Vogel puts his glasses back on and takes a short glance at the intern he’s been assigned. Young Jimmy. Not the brightest bulb in the room but no one has more heart than this kid. Professor Vogel smiles at him. Jimmy smiles back, instantly knowing he’s been forgiven.
Professor Vogel then turns to the strange man sitting across from his desk. Quite an unremarkable man he is. Average height, average weight, average education, and an average job. By all accounts Ogden Hanes is as forgettable as they come. Barely combed brown hair, plain clothing, plain features, and a completely forgettable presence — other than the blood on his shirt, of course.
“Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Hanes,” the old professor said with his tired voice.
“Oh! No worries,” Ogden said, his countenance remaining stoic.
Professor Vogel takes a glance at Jimmy. He’s sitting on a small chair beside the desk, working the camera and making sure he’s recording. Jimmy gives the professor a nod.
“Okay, Mr. Hanes. Can you start from the beginning? Tell me how you died.”
“Sure! Well, I… uhm… I tried to kill myself. I took the revolver out of the safe and looked for the bullets. The wife and I, we keep them in this old shoe box in the back of the closet for some reason. Maybe ‘cause it’s the last place we’d expect the kids to look. Hiding things from them has always been hard, though. They always find the Christmas gifts we hide this time of year, but always seem to avoid the shoe box.”
Mr. Hanes had this look of melancholy on his face. The first sign of emotion he’d shown throughout this unusual investigation.
“I can’t tell you why I wanted to do it. All I know is that I didn’t want to live anymore. So, I put the gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger. It hurt, but only for about a second. I didn’t even really feel it.“
“Everything went quiet for a bit. It felt good. It was a strange kind of peace, you know? But it didn’t last long, as you can so clearly see.”
“So, tell me, Professor,” Mr. Hanes said, leaning forward.
“What the hell did you people do to me and WHY CAN’T I DIE?”
