Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller Read Online Free PDF

had.”
    “I’m listening.” Jeff’s
pleased. He’s won the upper hand, and now dominates the interview. “Please
continue.”
    “Black ice, isn’t that
ironic? Thankfully the streets were clear, not many fools out in a blizzard.
Yet there I was, and I just kept sliding until I hit that curb. I knew
something wasn’t right from that moment on, but it was too late, I’d already
blown a tire.”
    “Something wasn’t right?”
    “A knowing. I might sense
hours, days, weeks or years before an event, or simply a few seconds, but I
always know.”
    “A premonition?”
    “Yes, when you’re dreaming a
dream, how do you know that you’re in the dream? What’s the difference between
the dream and reality? How do we know we’re not in the dream now?”
    “We experience reality.
Objects fall to the floor, lights come on at the flick of a switch. It’s our
sensory organization and stability, our experience that is our basis for
knowing.”
    “Incoherence in thought is
then the difference between the dream and the waking state?”
    “Possibly.” Jeff’s heard
these elementary arguments for years, even his students can whittle together a
deeper display of intelligence than this. “But if I’m dreaming then you’re
simply a figment of my imagination.”
    “I do love a man who enjoys
philosophy. However, by the time I jacked the car up, and managed to unscrew
the wheel nuts, my hands were numb. Rubbing them made no difference. I had the
strange urge to run, to run as far as possible, away from that dark location. I
was tired, cold, and like an animal, trapped.”
    “The urge to run?”
    “Wrong time and the wrong
place.” Casey studies Jeff’s face, unsure if his skepticism permits him to
believe any of this. “It didn’t take long for fate to show its true hand, when
the cops pulled in behind me. I smiled as they shone that torch in my face.”
Jeff notes Casey recalls this like a true memory. “But then my heart sank. This
is what went down:
    '“Looks like we got
ourselves a nigger stealing wheels.”
    “No sir, I just got a flat
tire to fix and I’ll be on my way.”
    “I wasn’t talking to you
boy.”
    “Yes sir, I’m almost done
here sir.”
    “What do you think, Bo,
neighborhood going to shit these days?”
    “Good folks place their
trust in us to keep them safe.”
    “Please give me a break,
guys.”
    “A break, nigger wants a
break.”
    “Best we give it to him
then.”'
    Casey’s eyes are distant as
he recalls the conversation, word for word. In any other circumstance, Jeff
wouldn’t doubt this as the truth.
    Casey breaks off his
reverie, meeting Jeff’s eyes again. “I remember coming round in the snow whilst
they beat me. They had tasered me in the back.”
    “I’m sorry that happened to
you.”
    “Why? You could never
understand what it’s like, ducking authority all your life. Innocent men behind
bars, shot or beaten to death because of the color of their skin. I knew I
would die, face down in that snow. It was me or them.”
    “How did you know?”
    “ Déjà vu .”
    “ Déjà vu ?”
    “My life flashed before me,
a movie of long forgotten memories, every single detail perfect. Then I saw
myself laying beaten, panting like a dog, dying.”
    “What did you do?”
    “I reached for the gun
strapped to my ankle.”
    “And then?”
    “Then it was raining blood
and the snow lost its purity. The prosecution called it an execution, but they
lay there twitching, wheezing, each breath spewed blood. You wouldn’t let an
animal suffer, would you? It was for mercy that I put a bullet through their
heads.”
    “I see.” Jeff welcomes the
reinforced glass between them. He has no doubt that he’s dealing with a
psychopath.
    “You don’t see.” Casey
senses Jeff’s intuition. “It didn’t happen to you, it wouldn’t happen to you.”
    “I’m not the authority here,
I don’t create the injustices of this world.”
    “Crazy cop-killing nigger.”
Casey speaks with a