The Plot Calls #36 : "Idle Whispers part 2 of 2"

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and/or Ai-assisted-content-generation. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Sam's apartment was quieter than usual. But, as usual, not empty.

Detective Gunn, newly promoted, sat by the window, staring out at the dim city skyline. His expression was heavy, but his presence filled the room. Sam hovered near the desk, arms crossed. Marcus leaned in the corner, silent as ever. It was Gunn who broke the silence.

“Alvarez… he was a good cop. Even before that, he was a good man. I knew him before the force. We grew up in Harwaven. A quiet New Jersey suburb touched by silent crime. We wanted to fix the world,” the detective declared, voice cracking. Faint, but noticeable. “I was partnered with him for years. We didn't choose it. It just played out that way. He was honest. Solid. Genuine. But, wanting… it sneaks up on you.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably. “You think that’s what happened?”

“I know it is,” Gunn admitted, sighing heavy. His inexpressible lament exhaling with his breath. “I saw it starting. Little things. Ambition. Frustration. Greed, maybe… greed for more than the badge could give him. The same thing that flips every cop who isn't careful. An awareness of the power and the things they can get, and get away with. It never starts that way, but you see the shift when it happens. Try to ignore it. Tell yourself it's just a moment. It's just a one time thing. Then, it becomes the normal behavior. Even if they don't become Plot People, every corrupt cop goes idle—enslaved to the motive they cling to. Alvarez's just happened to align with the plot. Just happened to literally turn him into a plot person.”

Sam didn't know what to say. He usually had a question or a quip. The silence steeped, until Gunn brought up other plot-related occurrences. "Fortunately, and unfortunately, Alvarez wasn't the only one the past few months."

Detective Gunn and Sam talked for a while—Judge Rudd, Eden, all the recent cases spiraling toward the same conclusion.

“Judge Rudd was always a spiteful degenerate. He crossed the street whenever someone of color walked on the same block. He cringed and scoffed at people like me. People like Alvarez. He was a mess long before the Plot got to him,” Gunn admitted, tracing the rim of his coffee cup with one finger. “Small man. Smaller mind. Too much reach. Bad combination.”

Sam nodded. “How well did you know him? Sometimes people are more complicated. Anyone can go hollow. Idle. Did you know him personally for a long time?”

“Professionally,” Gunn clarified. “Didn’t like him. Never hid that. But his wife? A good, but profoundly ignorant woman. Doesn’t deserve to deal with what comes next. But, at least she gets his will and pension. They're treating it like a homicide to take care of her financially, even though, from the outside, it's a missing person's case. No one liked Judge Rudd, except his equally racist and spiteful direct reports, but the idea of letting his wife's life shatter because he's gone is another thing.”

Sam hesitated, weighing the words in his head before saying them. “You seem… relieved he turned idle.”

Gunn didn’t flinch. “I am.”

Sam frowned. “I’d prefer not to judge people who call the Plot or turn idle, Gunn. Like I said, things can happen to anyone… at any time. People have stories they don’t even know how to talk about. That judge’s downfall? His problem. But celebrating the consequences? That could be any of us. Even you. Even me. Probably not Marcus. He's better than us. I hope.”

Gunn shrugged, unapologetic. “Maybe you’re right about that. You're definitely right about Marcus. He has that look. He's tiptoed where he shouldn't. I smell it on him. The knowledge of things you shouldn't know, but can't tell people. The silent, suffocating loneliness. He's seen the crack in the wall of existence. Probably feels responsible for something he buries," Detective Gunn declared.

Sam sat still. He wanted to say something, but knew he wouldn't be able to hide it from Marcus. From himself. Before he could think, Gunn continued.

"But," Gunn added, "I’ve been around long enough—newly promoted detective or not—regarding ignorant wrathful corruption in the system, like Judge Rudd, I reserve the right to praise justice that doesn’t end in death, violence, or jail time. A bitter old racist losing his seat at the table is a win for society. No one died. There was no publicity. He chose to feed his inner demon and disappeared from reality. With any luck, he was the final remaining head of a Hydra from a bygone era where self-reflection expressed itself outwardly.”

Sam listened, but didn’t interrupt. He wasn't used to speaking with Gunn alone. The detective reminded Sam of his grandfather. A pool of knowledge that expressed itself with subtle, introspective self-respect and awareness of a bigger world.

“Anyway, to me, Rudd was already a corrupted Plot Person before he turned idle,” Gunn added. “His only saving grace was influence. If he’d never craved a title, a position of power he could hide in, and if society hadn’t enabled him, I doubt even his wife would’ve made excuses for the man. He would've been put in his place multiple times over.”

Sam pondered. “Maybe, but I still can't say I agree, Detective Gunn. The world’s made up of all kinds of people. You never know what tiny difference could’ve changed his path. I don’t think it’s so simple. Sometimes people can't see that they don't even know what they don't know. They're comfortable in the familiar routine of their thoughts, actions, and all that. But, I’m not a cop. I don’t see the patterns you do. And, if I did, I don't know what I don't know, so I might not even handle them properly.”

Gunn smiled faintly. “That’s a solid perspective, Sam.”

They sat with that for a moment, letting the tension breathe.

“Where’s Serling, anyway?” Gunn asked, noticing Sam's mind turning.

Sam shrugged. “He wrapped up helping people escape the Rooms Between. He needed time to reflect and decompress. Sit with his thoughts.”

“The what now?” Gunn asked, eyebrows lifting.

“Rooms with No Ceilings. Rooms with No Corners. Rooms with No Doors.” Sam sighed. “The list goes on. It's hard to explain, but…”

"No need. Thanks for telling me at least that much," Gunn said, exhaling. “It sounds terrifying. There's enough terror on the streets, even without the plot and these plot people. The mysteries just keep piling up.”

“Yeah…” Sam said, leaning back in his chair. “Seems like when it comes to the mysteries, things just… the plots.... the plot, I mean... it just...”

Sam let the sentence dangle, looking expectantly at Gunn. There was an awkward, but comfortable, comedic silence. "Come on, Detective. Don't leave me hangin'. The mysteries pile up, and..."

Detective Gunn smirked, his voice dry, but sure. It was the first time he smiled in weeks. He looked at Sam, somewhat energetic, optimistic, and with a bit of appreciation. Gunn sat up, crossed his arms, and said:

“The Plot Thickens.”

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