The Harrowing of Mel

An Old, Bad Story No One Else Would Publish

Created by this writer with Dream by Wombo.

Armed with their coffee cups and case files, Detectives Spencer and Quint took their seats at the table across from the suspect. The wiry little man before them wore a burnished wedding band and a tan HVAC uniform with a botched expletive stitched into the chest. He looked nothing like the man whose blue eyes projected a relaxed, countrified innocence in his driver’s license photo. Now, in Interrogation Room A, his face projected only remorse and wounded pride.

Detective Spencer powered on the video recorder and said, “State your name and age, please.”

“Melvin Fluck, age forty-three.”

“Mr. Fluck, are we to understand that you have waived your right to be represented by an attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Do you reside at 1201 West Boothby Street, Charlotte?”

“That’s right.”

“Anyone else reside with you at that location, sir?”

“My wife, Wendy, and our two kids, Jacob and Elijah.”

“You have a good relationship with your kids?”

“I love them more than anything in the world,” said Melvin Fluck, “which was all the more reason for me to do what I did.”