Stephen King - Red Screen

Copyright 2021 Stephen King

All rights reserved.

Cover Design by Eric Amling

First eBook edition: September 2021

Humble Bundle, Inc.

San Francisco, CA

humblebundle.com

No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, recorded, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database or retrieval system, without prior permission by Darhansoff & Verrill Literary Agents.

Wilson is having a bad morning. He cuts himself shaving and is using a Kleenex to clean away a rill of blood on his chin when Sandi pops her head in to admonish him about leaving the toilet seat up and the cap off the toothpaste. He spills juice on his tie and has to change it. Before he can escape to work, there are several more admonishments: she found beer bottles in the trash instead of the recycling, and he forgot to rinse his ice cream bowl before putting it in the dishwasher. Theres another one, but it goes in one ear and out the other without catching on anything in between. Kind of a bummer, all in all. Has he become forgetful and a little slipshod lately, or has she changed in the last six or eight months? He doesnt know and its too early for such questions.

Yet once in the car and backing down the driveway, he has an idea that elevates his mood. If theres such a thing as bad karma, he may have frontloaded his for the day and from here on...

Clear sailing! he exclaims, and treats himself a cigarette out of the pack in the glove compartment.

This optimistic idea holds for fifteen minutes. Then he gets a call redirecting him to 34th Avenue in Queens. He is told to see the officers, which is never good karma.

Five hours later, when he should be thinking about lunch, Wilson is instead looking through one-way glass into a small interview room. Theres a table and two chairs. In one of the chairs sits a man named Leonard Crocker. Hes handcuffed to a ringbolt on his side of the table. Hes wearing a strap-style undershirt on top of khaki work pants. His outer shirt is now in a tagged plastic bag and bound for Forensics. When its turn comes (it will be awhile because theres always a backlog), the bloodstains on it will be typed and DNA-matched. This is a formality. Crocker has already confessed to the murder. Soon his undershirt and khakis will be swapped for jailhouse tans.

Wilson puts on his ID lanyard. When he goes into the room, he also puts on a smile. Hi, Mr. Crocker. Remember me?

Leonard Crocker seems perfectly at ease, handcuffs and all. Youre the detective.

Right! Wilson sits down. Do you answer to Len, Lennie, or Leonard?

Lennie, mostly. Thats what the guys down at the plumbing shop call me.

Lennie it is, then. What were having hereif you agreeis just sort of a preliminary conversation. You were given your rights, correct?

Lennie smiles as a man does when seeing through a trick question. First by the officers at the scene, then by you. I called them, you know. The officers.

Great! Just to recap, anything you say

Can be used against me.

Wilsons smile widens into a grin. Bingo! What about legal representation? Hows your memory on that? Because were being recorded, you know.

I can have a lawyer at any time. If I cant afford one, youll get me one. Its the law.

Correctamundo. So do you want one? Just say the word. And I can get some lunch, Wilson thinks.

Im happy to talk to you, Detective, but Ill need a lawyer at the trial, right?

Unless you want to defend yourself. But a man who defends himself

Lennie raises a finger and cocks his head, more the gesture of a scholar than a plumber. has a fool for a client.

Wilson laughs and nods. Give the man a kewpie doll. Then he grows more serious, folding his hands under his chin and looking straight at Lennie. Why dont we get right to the point? You killed your wife this morning, didnt you? Stabbed her three times in the stomach, after which she bled out. Thats what you told the officers, right? And me.

Lennie shakes his head. If youll recall, what I actually said was I did it.

Meaning you killed your wife. Arlene Crocker.

She wasnt my wife.

Wilson takes his notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket and consults it.

Isnt your wife Arlene Crocker?

Not today. Not for the last year. He considers. Maybe longer. Its hard to tell for sure.

Are you saying you killed a stranger? One who just happens to look like your wife of nine years?

Yes. Lennie is looking at Wilson patiently, his face saying eventually youll get to the right questions but Im not going to help you.

Sowhen we type and DNA-test the blood on your kitchen floor and all over your shirt, it wont match that of the deceased woman?

Oh, it probably will. Lennie gives a judicious nod. Im almost sure it will. Although I hope your science people will look for peculiarmmm He searches for the right word. Peculiar components. I dont think youll find any, but it would be wise to check. I expect to go to jail for killing that thing, but Id certainly prefer not to.

Now Wilson understands. Crocker has already got an insanity plea on his radar.

What are you telling me, Lennie? That your wife was possessed? Help me understand.

Lennie thinks it over. I dont think you could call it that, exactly. When a person is possessedcorrect me if Im wrong, Detectivea spirit, or maybe a demon, comes in and takes over, but that person is still there, inside. Being held prisoner. Is that your understanding?

Wilson has seen The Exorcist and a couple of similar movies, so he nods. Pretty much. But that isnt what happened to your wife?

No. She died when it came in. They all do.

They all? Who all?

Not many so far, compared to the population of the earth, which is almost eight billionyou can google itbut theres more of them all the time. They take over, Detective. Its the perfect disguise. Were the perfect disguise.

Wilson pretends to think this over. What hes really thinking is this interview will be useless to the District Attorney. Theres going to be plenty of rigamarole aheada couple of prosecution psychiatrists, plus Crockers own shrink. Wilson wouldnt be surprised if Crocker already had one on speed-dial.

Aliens?

Crockers face says the penny drops. Thats right. Aliens. I dont know if they come from space or from some parallel world. The websites are pretty much split on that. I think space. It makes sense, because He leans forward, earnest. The speed of light, you know. What about it?

Not that Wilson cares. Hes losing interest.

What interests him is a ham and turkey club from the deli down the street. And a Marlboro chaser.

Spaceships cant exceed it or they go backwards in time or maybe just disintegrate. Thats the science. But pure mind, Detectivethat can make the jump. Only once they get here, they need bodies. Would probably die without them. Were in the preliminary stage of the invasion now, but if the world governments dont wise up, theyll be coming in thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions.

Crocker has been leaning forward over his cuffed and chained hands, but now he sits back. Its all on the Internet.

I bet it is, Lennie. I bet Kamala Harris is one of those invaders, just waiting for Amtrak Joe to croak so she can get her hands on the levers of power. He gets up. I think you need to go back to your cell and think this over before you get arraigned. And, just my advice, I think you need a good lawyer. Because only a good one could sell that to a jury.