Discovery
Over There
“So, tell me again how you came to be in Elemore Bank at this hour, son.”
Jake sat in the back of the police car, heading towards the station, when the fat police officer with the tendency to call Jake “son” asked him the same question for the third time.
“I’ve already told you,“ Jake said, “One second I was on my way home from school, the sun was up, and the next I’m in that bank, at the dead of night.”
“Right.” The police officer, who’s name was Matt said. And then he asked him another question for the third time that night, “Are you sure you haven’t taken anything, son?”
Jake just sighed and then the police car pulled up at the station and Jake was pulled out, his hands cuffed behind his back.
He was guided up the stairs and into a holding room. He waited for at least an hour, a plate of donuts were on the table in front of him and he couldn’t help but laugh, despite his predicament.
Cops and donuts? My life is a sitcom.
As Jake sat there he couldn’t help but let the thoughts in the background of his mind creep to the front. Where was he? How did he get here? What was even happening?
And then the door opened and Officer Matt walked in. He sat across from Jake at the table and picked up a donut, inspected it, pinched it, and then put it back.
Jake gave him a quizzical look and Matt said, “stale.”
And then he spoke again, “so you break into a maximum security bank… and steal nothing… explain.” Jake could see him staring intently at the donuts, wondering if it was worth it.
Jake felt utterly frustrated, no one would listen to him, but he knew better than to talk back to a police officer.
“I didn’t break in to the bank.”
“Then how did you get there.”
“It just happened.”
“What drugs are you on, son?”
“I’m not taking any drugs.”
Matt sighed heavily. “What’s your name and address, son? I’ll call your parents.”
“Jake Bishop. Apartment 2, 61 Bentley Street.”
Matt got up and left the room and Jake wondered what his mum would think. Would she believe him? Or would she be just like all the others?
Matt was gone for about fifteen minutes and then came back, looking annoyed. “Okay, I’ve had a long day, son, and I’m not gonna do this charade with you. Now, you tell me your real name and real address or I’ll put you in the cell for a night.”
Jake was taken aback, he didn’t understand. “Wha- What?” He stammered.
“Your real name. Now.”
“Jake Bishop is my real name, sir.”
“No it’s not. There is no Jake Bishop at Apartment 2, 61 Bentley Street. 61 Bentley Street isn’t even an apartment building. Jake Bishop doesn’t exist.”
Jake couldn’t comprehend what the man was saying. Of course 61 Bentley Street was an apartment building, he had lived there all his life. Of course Jake Bishop was his name, it had been his name all his life. How could he not exist? Where was he?
Jake sat in the back of the police car, heading towards the station, when the fat police officer with the tendency to call Jake “son” asked him the same question for the third time.
“I’ve already told you,“ Jake said, “One second I was on my way home from school, the sun was up, and the next I’m in that bank, at the dead of night.”
“Right.” The police officer, who’s name was Matt said. And then he asked him another question for the third time that night, “Are you sure you haven’t taken anything, son?”
Jake just sighed and then the police car pulled up at the station and Jake was pulled out, his hands cuffed behind his back.
He was guided up the stairs and into a holding room. He waited for at least an hour, a plate of donuts were on the table in front of him and he couldn’t help but laugh, despite his predicament.
Cops and donuts? My life is a sitcom.
As Jake sat there he couldn’t help but let the thoughts in the background of his mind creep to the front. Where was he? How did he get here? What was even happening?
And then the door opened and Officer Matt walked in. He sat across from Jake at the table and picked up a donut, inspected it, pinched it, and then put it back.
Jake gave him a quizzical look and Matt said, “stale.”
And then he spoke again, “so you break into a maximum security bank… and steal nothing… explain.” Jake could see him staring intently at the donuts, wondering if it was worth it.
Jake felt utterly frustrated, no one would listen to him, but he knew better than to talk back to a police officer.
“I didn’t break in to the bank.”
“Then how did you get there.”
“It just happened.”
“What drugs are you on, son?”
“I’m not taking any drugs.”
Matt sighed heavily. “What’s your name and address, son? I’ll call your parents.”
“Jake Bishop. Apartment 2, 61 Bentley Street.”
Matt got up and left the room and Jake wondered what his mum would think. Would she believe him? Or would she be just like all the others?
Matt was gone for about fifteen minutes and then came back, looking annoyed. “Okay, I’ve had a long day, son, and I’m not gonna do this charade with you. Now, you tell me your real name and real address or I’ll put you in the cell for a night.”
Jake was taken aback, he didn’t understand. “Wha- What?” He stammered.
“Your real name. Now.”
“Jake Bishop is my real name, sir.”
“No it’s not. There is no Jake Bishop at Apartment 2, 61 Bentley Street. 61 Bentley Street isn’t even an apartment building. Jake Bishop doesn’t exist.”
Jake couldn’t comprehend what the man was saying. Of course 61 Bentley Street was an apartment building, he had lived there all his life. Of course Jake Bishop was his name, it had been his name all his life. How could he not exist? Where was he?