Two detectives are seated in a conference room at a large formica topped table. Across from them - a television set with built-in DVD player. The forensic materials specialist enters.
“Digitized copy of the confession tape.” he says, holding up a disc.
He slides it into the player.
“Ending is pretty gnarly.” he offers through a repressed grin.
The men stare at him blankly.
“Enjoy.” he adds, then takes his awkward leave.
The video begins with snowy screen carry-over from the VHS source material, then a few jumping horizontal lines complete with monochrome pushing its way into color - finally, the main attraction.
A young woman enters the frame and sits on a wooden dining room chair, one of three in view. A whiskey glass and liquor bottle occupy the table. Her appearance is haggard - eyes red and vacant, dark mousy brown hair slightly tousled but greasy and matted in places. Faded, ripped jeans and a wrinkled blue flannel shirt.
She starts off slow and timid - her obvious struggle for words and stammering make the first few minutes a chore. After a sampling of the bottle, her stride is found.
“Once I decided to embrace this new perspective, that Earth was a prison for souls - and there was little anyone could do to defeat the endless loop of reincarnation cycles - I committed to what I felt had to be done.”
Darcy pauses briefly.
“I would liberate them from their flesh tombs - so that they might know something beyond this captivity.”
She runs her left hand through her hair.
“Figuring out who to free first wasn’t easy. I’d never killed anyone before. I was scared.”
She stands and paces in and out of frame while talking.
“Then it came to me - I’d pop my murder cherry on a cop.”
The men exchange a transient glance.
“The more I thought about it, a strange excitement took hold. Who wouldn’t want to dust a fuckin’ pig?”
Darcy takes her seat and unbuttons the flannel, exposing a washed-out black t-shirt underneath, peppered with an array of holes and gashes.
She rubs her face with both hands.
“I staked out this house in a nice neighborhood - old married couple. Caught on to their routine.”
Darcy pours a drink and takes a sip.
“Last Wednesday night I made my move - after they left I broke in through the back patio doors and called 9-1-1. Pretended I was being beaten by my violent husband, needed help, please send an officer kinda thing.”
She takes another sip.
“I fucked the place up a little so it looked convincing, left the front door cracked - with all the lights off, I hid in the hallway bathroom - ready.”
She tilts her head back, looks at the ceiling and yawns.
“I got quite the surprize though.”
Darcy stands and begins pacing again.
“I heard the cop enter and announce himself, then there was talking - two people - I panicked. Didn’t plan on killing two cops.”
She rolls up her sleeves.
“He called out to me, asked where I was. I yelled back in the best frightened voice I could muster - it happened really fast.”
She rubs the back of her neck with her right hand and returns to her seat.
“He pushed the bathroom door open with his flashlight. I was huddled on the floor against the wall. When he flipped the light on I had already turned around - shot him in the face. The second cop was just behind, got him in the shoulder. He went down in the hall. I was quick to my feet and with a third and final shot. Again, to the face.”
“Fuckin’ cunt.” mumbles one of the detectives.
“I got the hell outta there. I was parked a couple blocks over next to a field, drove straight home - pulled the car into the garage that night.”
She glances off camera and laughs quietly to herself.
“Once I was home, showered, my clothes burned - I wasn’t afraid. If I’m honest, it felt good. Really good.”
Darcy leaves her chair, walking out of frame into the kitchen. Restrained grunts evolve into loud bellows as she kicks and punches cabinets and possibly the wall.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck you, goddamn fuck!”
A full minute of this before she returns to her seat. Tears mark her cheeks - her bloodshot eyes find the lens, she screams at the top of her lungs. Several intense but stifled sobs before wiping her face.
She takes a stabilizing breath.
“No regrets.” she admits calmly.
Darcy trickles two fingers of bourbon into the glass, rolls it around and takes a drink.
“Couple nights later I went to the church to handle the pastor and his wife. There was only one car in the parking lot, figured it was just him. Didn’t know she was there too until after.”
She takes another drink.
“I ran inside, scoping it out, to see if anyone else was there. Halfway down the hall I was met by the lady. I put on my best hysterical act, claiming my crazy boyfriend was after me. She took me into a back office where her husband sat at a big desk shuffling papers.
She closed the door and I pulled out the gun. Told them to get down on their knees, hands behind them. She started crying but they did as they were told. I cuffed them - compliments of the dead cops - made them sit back-to-back in the middle of the floor.
He started bargaining - ma’am, I don’t know what’s happening but can you let my wife go? You can keep me just please let her go. She teaches Sunday school. I told him to shut the fuck up. I opened my backpack and got to it.”
Darcy lulls into a pensive state.
“First, I soaked a rag with ether, knocked ‘em both out.”
She clears her throat and pauses.
“Then I covered their heads with plastic bags, duct taped tightly around their necks.”
She leans forward, pinches the bridge of her nose.
“I didn’t eat at all that day, felt so sick. Must’ve been the crank.”
For a short interval, she falls still and silent - then looks directly into the camera.
“I need the restroom.”
Darcy moves to the camcorder and hits STOP.
