Forty hours
fandom: k-ville
author: half a second
title: forty hours
characters: trevor cobb, marlin boulet
raiting: g
disclaimer: not mine
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mornings i can't breathe
wind crashes over me, drowns me
wanna feel, wanna feel, like i did before, like i did
before
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There is a kettle trying to tear its lungs out in the kitchen.
There is an expansion of crime activity in New Orleans.
It's 3:40 p.m. on a clock, and he should be at the police-station in twenty minutes.
Thirty hours without sleep.
Four spoonfuls of coffee, without sugar. Slowly darkening water hypnotizes and reminds of a gutter. It's 3:47 p.m. on a clock, and it is impossible to understand how seven minutes were spent.
Cobb remembers that he came home to take a shower and change his clothes.
He realizes that he has been staring at the wall after he buckled clean jeans.
----
His overtime is nobody to count because there are expansion of crime activity and season of rain in New Orleans. Criminals dragged out their musty burrows squinting from dim light and started to dull their knives and unload their guns. Rain-water pretends that it washes all the sins away, but in fact it takes them up even worse.
Thirty four hours without sleep.
Alarmed cops scurry about the station. They walk three times faster than usually. It looks like a film is showed three times faster.
Periodically the film is slowed down and buzzed. Cobb tries not to stop his look at anything, he tries not to buzz. A secretary – the third one during his today's and yesterday's shift – calls him up with a gesture, rubs her eyes and delivers a message from the captain.
He catches Boulet on his way to the car. He has family – he has benefits: may be he had a three-hour sleep today.
----
He sits at the driver's seat himself. There is the rain's noise or it's just noisy – it's impossible to make out. It isn't the second Katrina, but at the edge of his consciousness there are memories.
A lot of water; a little of air – Cobb begins to gasp for breath, but recollects that it's just a recollection; his blood runs twice slower through his veins and the temperature is a few degrees lower. There is a noise in his ears.
Thirty five hours without sleep.
Boulet intercepts the wheel when Cobb is buzzed for a couple of seconds. He stops a car without demur and moves to the passenger's seat.
The rain ties twisted thoughts into the knot. The rain sticks twisted hair together.
Boulet speaks with him and doesn't let him lose consciousness.
----
His hands tremble, and the shots are missed. Two bullets are beside the mark; the third one hits a leg. The criminal falls to the puddle like a puppet which was cut from its threads. There are too many crazy criminals in New Orleans, but now they're going crazy without one of them.
Thirty nine hours without sleep.
Cobb lifts the unconscious criminal and drags him to the car. Large drops pour down as if they want to hole his shirt. The noise of the rain resounds with the noise in his brain, turns to the obscure drone at the background.
Boulet is more bulky and sluggish even if he slept three hours more than Cobb; he helps to throw the unconscious criminal to the car. His blood drips to the seat. Pink drops mix with water, trickle down to the floor and soak into upholstery.
The criminal doesn't recover consciousness on their way to the station, but he quietly moans from pain.
Cobb wants to shoot him, but his hands are too heavy to take his pistol out.
Boulet doesn't speak with him, but Cobb keeps his eyes open.
----
Cobb endeavors to get out of the car after Boulet, but he rests him against the window and asks to close eyes.
Car's window is porous because of the flowing drops, it seems like the window is going to bend and break to splashes anytime.
Cobb closes his eyes.
Forty hours without…
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the end.
