Midnight Sounds Chapter 2

Only the faint hum of the air conditioner filled the living room.

Patrick's mouth hung open, his anger frozen on his face, slowly morphing into an expression of disbelieving shock. But quickly, something else began to churn beneath that shock.

"This…" Officer Ramirez also seemed taken aback, his tone softening. "Mr. Ellis, is this…"

"An accident, a few years ago." I pulled my pant legs back down, the fabric falling to conceal the cold interfaces. "So, Officer Ramirez, I truly can't be dancing in the middle of the night. My prosthetics are off at night; they're over there." I gestured towards the bedroom.

Officer Ramirez nodded, then turned to Patrick. "Mr. Jenkins, you see, isn't there some misunderstanding here? Perhaps the sound is coming from somewhere else?"

"Misunderstanding?" Patrick's voice climbed to a shriek. He darted past the officers, practically lunging at me, his finger almost poking my face. "Officers, don't let him fool you! Prosthetics! What about prosthetics? Can't you move with prosthetics? He's probably even better at faking it! Bouncing around with his prosthetics at night, then playing the victim during the day!"

"I heard it with my own ears, right above me, thump-thump-thump, like drumming! If it's not him, who is it? Is it a ghost?" His spittle nearly sprayed my face, his eyes bloodshot, fixated with a mad certainty that wouldn't back down. I caught a whiff of stale smoke and liquor on him.

Officer Ramirez and the younger officer exchanged a look, both appearing resigned. The younger officer spoke up, "Mr. Jenkins, please calm down. Look, Mr. Ellis certainly has a special situation. But since we're here, we can't just take one side."

"We brought a decibel meter. We'll leave it in Mr. Ellis's living room for now. We'll set a threshold, and if there's genuinely excessive noise tonight, it will record it."

"We'll also leave you our contact information. If anything happens again, you can call us directly, and we'll come check the recordings. That's fair to everyone, don't you think?"

Patrick's chest heaved, glaring at me, then let out a heavy snort from his nose. "Fine, let's see how long you can keep up the act! Officers, you better be fair, don't play favorites with the disabled!" He bit down hard on the word "disabled."

Officer Ramirez didn't engage with that comment. He had the younger officer retrieve a palm-sized white device, placing it on my living room's TV stand. After a few adjustments, a green indicator light glowed. He gave me some instructions, mainly about living normally at night but being mindful of truly loud noises.

They left, taking the still-grumbling Patrick with them. The door clicked shut, and the world abruptly fell silent, save for the faint power light of the decibel meter. I leaned back in my wheelchair, staring at that tiny light. Patrick's last glare, that line, "Can't you move with prosthetics?" He knew, he clearly saw, yet he chose a more absurd, more malicious interpretation. This wasn't a misunderstanding; it was a twisted animosity.

That night, I went to bed early. My prosthetics were off, resting on the specially made stand by my bed. I took a sleeping pill and quickly sank into a deep, dreamless darkness. I slept soundly.

I don't know how long passed, but violent banging on the door suddenly yanked me from the darkness.

"Open up! Kevin! Open the door! Police!"

I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. The bedroom was pitch black, only a sliver of hallway light visible under the door. The banging was urgent and heavy, mixed with Patrick's hoarse shouts and another stern male voice.

"Kevin! This is the precinct! Open the door and cooperate with the inspection!"

It was Officer Ramirez.