In the Depths
"If you could calm down, Mr Garrett, we'd just like you to-" "Calm? How can you speak of being calm at a time like this? A friend of five years just blasted his head off a few hours ago, and you expect me to be." Mr Garrett took a deep, shuddering breath. "God.it seems so unreal." Mr Garrett was sitting opposite two police officers in an interview room. The table was chrome, and the walls were grey with a mottled black design imposed over the background. One officer was female, short, and black. The other officer was white and male, with short black hair (and the first signs of grey at the temples), and green eyes. The man looked sympathetic, yet bored, but the female had an eager energy to her, with just enough restraint to be polite. She gently said, again, "Mr Garrett, please calm down. Would you like a drink of water?" Garrett nodded his head. The female officer crossed to the corner of the room, obtained the drink from a water cooler, and passed it to Garrett before sitting down. Garrett sipped the water. "Now, Mr Garrett, I should tell you that you aren't under suspicion. We're just pursuing leads to make sure we don't potentially let a murderer get off scot-free." The officer began a tape recorder. "Interview with Mr Philip Garrett commenced at," she checked her watch, "nine fifteen p.m. Present at interview are Officers McCawkin and Jacobs." The male officer leant forward, "If you could tell us in your own words how you.discovered Mr Hendall's body.?" Garrett took a deep breath, and sipped his water. He paused before he had even begun to speak. "It was about five o'clock today." "Could you be more precise, Mr Garrett?" asked the female. Garrett looked to his left as he tried to recall. "It was definitely after five, because the bus was late and it usually gets me home by five to five, but that's all I can say. Anyway, Joe had been staying with me for a few weeks, he was staying in my spare room. And when I got back, he was there on the bed.gone." "Dead?" asked the female again, even though she plainly knew that was what he meant. Garrett snapped slightly, "yes, bloody dead. Brains on the walls, lots of blood, would you like me to be more precise?" The female pursed her lips slightly and took a deep breath. She seemed to be tense as well. "Was there anything unusual about the scene, Mr Garrett? Any letters?" asked the man. "Yes.there was. It was hard to read some of it, it had been.within.range. It was.wet." The woman held up a plastic bag with a blood soaked letter inside. "I am showing Mr Garrett exhibit A. Mr Garrett, is this the letter?" "It is," said Garrett simply. The woman skimmed what could be made out of the letter, and laid it on the table. The man made a show of looking, but he had already read it earlier. "Mr Garrett," he said, "would you like to suggest what reasons he might have had for committing suicide, if that is what he did?" "No," Garrett said, firmly. The woman glanced at the letter. "It sounds like he was afraid of someone, that he was so afraid of someone who was coming to get him, that he'd even kill himself to escape. Do you know any enemies he may have had? Who would either scare him that much, or kill him and make it look like a suicide?" "No," said Garrett, starting to tremble. "Mr Garrett," said the man. "Are you okay? If you know something, it is in your best interests to tell us and bring this man to justice." "Joe wasn't afraid of a man," said Garrett, still shaking. The woman raised her eyebrow. "That's an odd way to put it. Afraid of a man? Was there a group?" Garrett shuddered. "I'm not saying another Goddamn word while that tape is recording me." The woman exchanged a look with the male officer. "Mr Garrett, if you know something and tell us off record, we won't be able to use the evidence in court." "Turn that fucking recorder off!" "Interview terminated at nine twenty four," the female officer intoned, and turned off the tape recorder. "Now, Mr Garrett, would you like to tell us what you know?" asked the male officer. Garrett took a breath. His fingers trembled, almost spasmodically. "When I tell you this," he said, nervously, "you're going to want to put me in an asylum." The officers looked at him blankly. Garrett began his story.
"Like I said, Joe had been living with me for a few weeks. He'd been living with his girlfriend before that but it went sour. He didn't say why. Anyhow, I said he could live with me until he got sorted. He paid his way. I mean, he had a part time job, just enough to help pay for food and some bills. Nothing that he could move out and into a place of his own with. Anyway, he spent most days just lying around. Fair enough. You ever been dumped? Not nice is it? Anyway, I got him advertising papers, but he left them on the floor. Looked like a bird cage there was so much on the floor.
So what did he do instead? He was reading horror novels all the time. He had boxes of them. I was getting ready to tell him to get off his arse.but this happened. He was reading Stephen King now and then, some Clive Barker. He was reading some old stuff too, there was a whole bunch of stories he liked by this guy called Lovecraft. Weird name, yeah?
He said the guy was writing about time of Prohibition in America, and he was a bit odd. All his stories were about things that lived in tombs or in deserted places. I read one, forget what it was called. He made me read it a year ago, but I never got into it. It was supposed to be about this monster that lived under the sea that made people go insane. Hard to pronounce name."
Garrett sipped from his water.
"Cthulhu," said the male officer. "Huh?" said Garrett. "Cthulhu is the monster. I've read some of Lovecraft's stories, my wife made me read them. Is this going somewhere?" "Yeah," said Garrett shakily.
"After the first week he started to look a bit rough. He said he wasn't sleeping well, and his eyes were getting blood shot. He looked like hell. He wouldn't leave the house anymore, not to buy supplies, not to look for jobs. Started to annoy me, but he's.was a mate. A few more nights and he started waking me up. So I wasn't getting much sleep either, and my boss at work started warning me not to let my work get sloppy. I gave him sleeping pills, but he wouldn't take them. He didn't want to sleep.
Last week he stole some of my pens, and he just scrawled.shit all over the walls. Crazy shit. Some of it was just squiggles. Some of it was loads of crosses, and Joe wasn't even religious. And right over his bed, there was this big fucker of a monster he drew. Like an octopus, but he gave it these evil red eyes. I shouted at him, asked him what the hell he was doing. He said he couldn't take it anymore. He was barely sleeping at all now, because he was taking caffeine pills, drinking coffee like it was water. Because he kept dreaming of this monster that he said lived under the Pacific. I told him to piss off, and I didn't see him for three days. When he came back he was bruised, he said he'd been in a fight. I left it at that really. He still had problems getting to sleep, and I told him that if he didn't want to be thrown out, he could help paint over his scribbling. That was the day before yesterday.
Yesterday he said it was more than dreams. He said he was seeing these things wherever he went.In the shadows. He said that some people were looking like monsters too. And then he started going on about this.Cthulhu? Something like that. He said this thing from the ocean was waking up, and it was going to kill him, or eat him, or something. I told him he was just delusional. He hadn't slept in days! I told him to see his GP, or see a counsellor. Anything. I told him to make a phone call, make an appointment. Just to get him sorted out.
And when I got back today from work.well, you know the rest."
Garrett sipped from the plastic cup of water.
"Is that all, Mr Garret?" asked the female officer. "That's all," he replied wearily. "Well," she said to him, "it hardly sounds like anyone could call you insane. It's an absolute tragedy, but you said it yourself. Your friend was delusional. It seems a simple enough case." "Maybe," said Garrett, "but I've known him for years, and he went mental in just three weeks. And that's not the weird part. After I phoned the police, I found a bunch of newspaper clippings in a drawer. He'd kept them from all the papers I gave to him." "What were they about?" asked the female officer, slightly nervous. The colour drained from Garrett's face. "Seismic recordings from the Pacific ocean. There've been scientists there looking at tectonic movements on the ocean floor. They've been recording unusual increases on the Richter scale for two weeks now."
"If you could calm down, Mr Garrett, we'd just like you to-" "Calm? How can you speak of being calm at a time like this? A friend of five years just blasted his head off a few hours ago, and you expect me to be." Mr Garrett took a deep, shuddering breath. "God.it seems so unreal." Mr Garrett was sitting opposite two police officers in an interview room. The table was chrome, and the walls were grey with a mottled black design imposed over the background. One officer was female, short, and black. The other officer was white and male, with short black hair (and the first signs of grey at the temples), and green eyes. The man looked sympathetic, yet bored, but the female had an eager energy to her, with just enough restraint to be polite. She gently said, again, "Mr Garrett, please calm down. Would you like a drink of water?" Garrett nodded his head. The female officer crossed to the corner of the room, obtained the drink from a water cooler, and passed it to Garrett before sitting down. Garrett sipped the water. "Now, Mr Garrett, I should tell you that you aren't under suspicion. We're just pursuing leads to make sure we don't potentially let a murderer get off scot-free." The officer began a tape recorder. "Interview with Mr Philip Garrett commenced at," she checked her watch, "nine fifteen p.m. Present at interview are Officers McCawkin and Jacobs." The male officer leant forward, "If you could tell us in your own words how you.discovered Mr Hendall's body.?" Garrett took a deep breath, and sipped his water. He paused before he had even begun to speak. "It was about five o'clock today." "Could you be more precise, Mr Garrett?" asked the female. Garrett looked to his left as he tried to recall. "It was definitely after five, because the bus was late and it usually gets me home by five to five, but that's all I can say. Anyway, Joe had been staying with me for a few weeks, he was staying in my spare room. And when I got back, he was there on the bed.gone." "Dead?" asked the female again, even though she plainly knew that was what he meant. Garrett snapped slightly, "yes, bloody dead. Brains on the walls, lots of blood, would you like me to be more precise?" The female pursed her lips slightly and took a deep breath. She seemed to be tense as well. "Was there anything unusual about the scene, Mr Garrett? Any letters?" asked the man. "Yes.there was. It was hard to read some of it, it had been.within.range. It was.wet." The woman held up a plastic bag with a blood soaked letter inside. "I am showing Mr Garrett exhibit A. Mr Garrett, is this the letter?" "It is," said Garrett simply. The woman skimmed what could be made out of the letter, and laid it on the table. The man made a show of looking, but he had already read it earlier. "Mr Garrett," he said, "would you like to suggest what reasons he might have had for committing suicide, if that is what he did?" "No," Garrett said, firmly. The woman glanced at the letter. "It sounds like he was afraid of someone, that he was so afraid of someone who was coming to get him, that he'd even kill himself to escape. Do you know any enemies he may have had? Who would either scare him that much, or kill him and make it look like a suicide?" "No," said Garrett, starting to tremble. "Mr Garrett," said the man. "Are you okay? If you know something, it is in your best interests to tell us and bring this man to justice." "Joe wasn't afraid of a man," said Garrett, still shaking. The woman raised her eyebrow. "That's an odd way to put it. Afraid of a man? Was there a group?" Garrett shuddered. "I'm not saying another Goddamn word while that tape is recording me." The woman exchanged a look with the male officer. "Mr Garrett, if you know something and tell us off record, we won't be able to use the evidence in court." "Turn that fucking recorder off!" "Interview terminated at nine twenty four," the female officer intoned, and turned off the tape recorder. "Now, Mr Garrett, would you like to tell us what you know?" asked the male officer. Garrett took a breath. His fingers trembled, almost spasmodically. "When I tell you this," he said, nervously, "you're going to want to put me in an asylum." The officers looked at him blankly. Garrett began his story.
"Like I said, Joe had been living with me for a few weeks. He'd been living with his girlfriend before that but it went sour. He didn't say why. Anyhow, I said he could live with me until he got sorted. He paid his way. I mean, he had a part time job, just enough to help pay for food and some bills. Nothing that he could move out and into a place of his own with. Anyway, he spent most days just lying around. Fair enough. You ever been dumped? Not nice is it? Anyway, I got him advertising papers, but he left them on the floor. Looked like a bird cage there was so much on the floor.
So what did he do instead? He was reading horror novels all the time. He had boxes of them. I was getting ready to tell him to get off his arse.but this happened. He was reading Stephen King now and then, some Clive Barker. He was reading some old stuff too, there was a whole bunch of stories he liked by this guy called Lovecraft. Weird name, yeah?
He said the guy was writing about time of Prohibition in America, and he was a bit odd. All his stories were about things that lived in tombs or in deserted places. I read one, forget what it was called. He made me read it a year ago, but I never got into it. It was supposed to be about this monster that lived under the sea that made people go insane. Hard to pronounce name."
Garrett sipped from his water.
"Cthulhu," said the male officer. "Huh?" said Garrett. "Cthulhu is the monster. I've read some of Lovecraft's stories, my wife made me read them. Is this going somewhere?" "Yeah," said Garrett shakily.
"After the first week he started to look a bit rough. He said he wasn't sleeping well, and his eyes were getting blood shot. He looked like hell. He wouldn't leave the house anymore, not to buy supplies, not to look for jobs. Started to annoy me, but he's.was a mate. A few more nights and he started waking me up. So I wasn't getting much sleep either, and my boss at work started warning me not to let my work get sloppy. I gave him sleeping pills, but he wouldn't take them. He didn't want to sleep.
Last week he stole some of my pens, and he just scrawled.shit all over the walls. Crazy shit. Some of it was just squiggles. Some of it was loads of crosses, and Joe wasn't even religious. And right over his bed, there was this big fucker of a monster he drew. Like an octopus, but he gave it these evil red eyes. I shouted at him, asked him what the hell he was doing. He said he couldn't take it anymore. He was barely sleeping at all now, because he was taking caffeine pills, drinking coffee like it was water. Because he kept dreaming of this monster that he said lived under the Pacific. I told him to piss off, and I didn't see him for three days. When he came back he was bruised, he said he'd been in a fight. I left it at that really. He still had problems getting to sleep, and I told him that if he didn't want to be thrown out, he could help paint over his scribbling. That was the day before yesterday.
Yesterday he said it was more than dreams. He said he was seeing these things wherever he went.In the shadows. He said that some people were looking like monsters too. And then he started going on about this.Cthulhu? Something like that. He said this thing from the ocean was waking up, and it was going to kill him, or eat him, or something. I told him he was just delusional. He hadn't slept in days! I told him to see his GP, or see a counsellor. Anything. I told him to make a phone call, make an appointment. Just to get him sorted out.
And when I got back today from work.well, you know the rest."
Garrett sipped from the plastic cup of water.
"Is that all, Mr Garret?" asked the female officer. "That's all," he replied wearily. "Well," she said to him, "it hardly sounds like anyone could call you insane. It's an absolute tragedy, but you said it yourself. Your friend was delusional. It seems a simple enough case." "Maybe," said Garrett, "but I've known him for years, and he went mental in just three weeks. And that's not the weird part. After I phoned the police, I found a bunch of newspaper clippings in a drawer. He'd kept them from all the papers I gave to him." "What were they about?" asked the female officer, slightly nervous. The colour drained from Garrett's face. "Seismic recordings from the Pacific ocean. There've been scientists there looking at tectonic movements on the ocean floor. They've been recording unusual increases on the Richter scale for two weeks now."