How long have I been here?  Is it night or day?  Andy’s elbows went numb some time ago, the side effects of resting them on a cold, metal interrogation table with the weight of his head bearing down on them.  I shot a cop.  The thought sent a chill racing down his back.  He never identified himself.  He never said he was a cop; just laughed at us, called us rookies …and pulled a fucking gun on us.  Hell, he fired the first shot!  His hand flew from its position, balled into a fist and slammed down on the metal surface.  A resounding bong echoed through the room.  I didn’t do anything wrong!  He returned his hand to its former position. 
           A loud clunk, followed by the squeal of metal, alerted him to the detectives return.  He didn’t bother looking up.  The last thing on Earth he wanted to see were their faces, their eyes … their accusations.
           “Officer Arkine?”
           “Yeah?”  He spoke to the table and listened while wooden chair legs shifted across the smooth concrete floor.
           “Do you need anything?  Something to drink, maybe?”
           Andy shifted and shook his head.  “No.”
           A sigh came from the left.
           “Well,” the one across the table continued, “You’ll be happy to know, the man wasn’t a cop.”
           Andy’s head jerked up, his eyes wide.  They settled on the detective across from him; a well-built black man.  The man’s short-cropped hair was showing signs of thinning on top.  Deep brown eyes studied his reaction.  Andy considered this news.  “But his wallet, the badge.”
           The detective shook his head.  “Didn’t belong to him.”  He licked his lips.  “But we have yet to locate the detective that it does belong to.”
           His heart sank, but not as low as it had been for the last few hours.  At least, I didn’t kill a cop.  He pulled in a deep breath and nodded.  “Can I go home now?”
           “Soon, we have a couple more things.”  The detective slid some papers across the desk.  “We need you to you sign and date these.  The packet is for you.  It has information about officer-involved shootings.”
           Andy raised an eyebrow.
           “Hey, it ain’t us, the shrink has us hand them out.  There is a card attached to it in case you need to talk to him.”
           He nodded and pulled his statements over.  A quick scan let him know they read exactly as he had said.  Movement in his peripheral vision grabbed his attention, he glanced at the man to his left.  The detective was middle-aged with a permanent scowl and light brown hair that showed the first signs of graying.  Connelly was his last name and he was a sergeant within the unit.  He held out a pen.  Andy accepted it and scribbled his signature, then slid the papers and pen back to him. 
           The detective across from him smiled.  “Hey, you did what you had to do.  It was a clean shoot.”
           Andy nodded again.  It still didn’t sit well in his stomach, especially since it had triggered his PTSD–Post Traumatic Stress Disorder–though; he’d neglected to mention that in his statements.  He hated it, the sickness, mostly because it was the only time he could recall anything from ‘Nam.  Repressed Memory Syndrome, that’s what another shrink had told him.  What was worse?  A lot of his memories before the war were blocked too.  He only had bits and pieces of his past and most of them weren’t very pleasant.  He could live with everything, except for the damn nightmares.  He knew they were real, every fiber of his being told him so, but the images faded so rapidly after he woke up–all he could remember was the intense fear.
           “Hey?  You sure you’re alright?”
           Andy forced a smile.  “Yeah, I’m fine.”
           The detective nodded.
           “You’ve got one hell of a cheerleading party out there.”  Connelly spoke for the first time since they’d re-entered the interrogation room.
           “What?”
           “A couple rookies, some gal and a guy that she’s clinging to like shit on stink.”
           Andy blinked.
           Connelly grinned, hardened blue eyes taking on a glimmer of amusement.  “Yeah, I know what I said.  I like it better that way.  Throws people off.”
           “Oh.”
           Andy leaned forward.  “The girl, is her name Sandi?”
           Connelly grunted.  “No, she’s the one from the jewelry store.”
           “Can I go now?”  His gaze shifted to the no-name detective.
           The man nodded.  “Yeah, don’t forget your packet.”
           Andy stood, as did they, and shook their hands.  “Thanks.”  He took the packet from the table. 
           “Hey.”  Connelly’s voice stopped him as he reached the door.
           Andy turned back. 
           The grizzly detective nodded.  “You did good.”