Self Inflicted Pain

"Smoke?" the detective across the table asked, getting out his pack. Philip took one and accepted a light with an unsteady hand. The detective placed a tape recorder in the centre of the table and hit record. Without air conditioning, the air was dry and hot - the wobbling ceiling fan above them, running at full speed, only serving to enhance the illusion that they were slowly cooking in a giant convection oven. Their sweat didn't even have a chance to bead and just ran of in streams from heir faces - they didn't even bother to wipe it off now.

"So..." the detective began, leaning back in his chair. "You say that there is going to be a murder... that you can see this in the future." The detective chuckled a bit.

"It's more complicated than that." Philip said.

The detective took another drag from his cigarette, keenly noticing that Philip had not yet taken one off his, "oh.. please... go on."

"It's more of a premonition, but there can be multiple paths and..." Philip took one big drag off his cigarette. "I can't control it. It's not always clear either, kind of like a dream."

"I'm going to be straight with you here Philip. The girl that you say is going to be murdered has already been missing for a week now. So it's kinda funny you come prancing in here telling us that she's going to be murdered. You know what I think?"

Philip said nothing.

"I think you're a sick man! You knew details that you couldn't possibly have known, unless...." The detective paused. "Unless you kidnapped her."

He snapped his fingers and one of the men standing in the corner came up next to Philip holding a club, "You're going to tell us where she is."

The detective said and then nodded his head to the guy with the club.

Club-guy took a swing at Philip's right leg. Philip bent over in pain. "You don't want to waste my time here Philip." The detective said. He gave him a moment to answer.

Philip looked up and noticed the wall clock behind the detective. It was twelve o'clock on the dot, but the second hand, just continued to tick in one place.

Philip began laughing. "Not again." Philip said to himself. "It's not real is it?" Philip took another drag from his cigarette and rolled up his sleeve. "What do you think you're doing?" asked the detective angrily. Philip held the cigarette up to his arm. "I'm getting the hell out of here." Philip pushed the cigarette into his arm and screamed in pain.

He dropped the cigarette and let it fall to the floor. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his arm and sighed. He was no longer in the detectives' office. He was standing on a dock at the lake. He looked over to his left to see a kid and his grandfather fishing, staring at him in shock. "Well... " Philip said to himself. "I guess going to the police isn't an option."