What a pleasant night it had been. His hand had fallen asleep again - as usual - which was probably the reason for the dark and crazy dreams - as usual - that would probably haunt him for the rest of the day - as usual.
He sat up on the bed, rubbed his face and temples, finally let his hands rest on his knees and looked out of the dirty windows that simply refused to be cleaned properly.
A rainy day in October. Oh well.
After rummaging through the strange and fleeting memories the dreams had left behind, he finally got up and started the coffee machine, a white plastic dinosaur from the nineties. He took it black, with lots of sugar and several cigarettes, the typical subtle shame burning itself into his subconscious as another crime against his middle-aged body.
After fulfilling his unhealthy morning duties to addiction, he finally checked his phone and found four calls and seven messages from his partner, Emma. "Hunter, where the hell are you?" etc.
That meant trouble. And he wasn't in the right frame of mind for trouble. Had he ever been. And would he ever be.
Next he had to swallow his medication. A purple packet with little pellets that sometimes got stuck in his teeth. In the morning at 9 am, in the evening at 6 pm. Every day. God forbid he should forget them again. The last time had been absolute hell on earth. He had absolutely no interest in going back there.
His life as a detective was another hell. People treated each other like garbage that needed to be disposed of. Cases piled up in a ruthless city. Understaffed departments. Poor pay. And of course - the ultimate cliché of a tough-as-nails captain.
Emma was the only relief. And the boys were all right.
But she'd have to wait another ten minutes for him to shower and devour an egg on rye toast.
She would be pissed. But he still liked her.
When Detective Hunter "Green" Walsh, who according to his Irish family in Belfast had a birth defect because he rarely drank alcohol, finally got behind the wheel of his old black Buick, he sighed and turned the key.
He paused and thought of that one horrible dream sequence from last night. He was standing on the corner of his old childhood street. And a figure appeared at the other end, just standing there, frightening him to the core.
It had only been a dream. A damn Darth Vader figure.
He wouldn't be so sure about that later.
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