More than a month ago, I quit being a nightcrawler in a city down south. It wasn't because I didn't like the job. It was pretty enjoyable. I didn't mind the late nights. I'm a night owl. Besides that, I'm somewhat of a degenerate that the crime scenes didn't affect me. I'm not bragging about that. It is what it is. But, ever since I ran from it, I can feel something slowly creeping back into my life. Something's changed. I've seen it at my new job. I don't want it to be this way, so maybe if I get it off my chest it will go away. Or maybe one of you here knows what I'm talking about. Let me explain.
For those who don't know, a nightcrawler is a term made popular by the Jake Gyllenhaal movie of the same name. The way I made money was by spending nights listening to the police scanners and waiting. When something went down: a murder, a car crash, you name it, I was the first one at the scene. I had to be. If I didn't get the shot, I didn't get paid. So, I was a first responder in a way, but my role was strictly observational. I did NOT get involved, and for good reason.
I'll spare you the details, but I've seen some pretty gruesome stuff. Nothing like New York or Los Angeles, but there was still a crime problem, and there was a lot of it. I was happy to make money as a young guy with no degree and no connections. I also felt like I was pretty good at it too. The local assignment editors would hit me up asking if I had anything new.
The night that ended my career was quiet. Like every evening, I was sitting on the hood of my 2015 Impala listening to the airwaves. I had made an abandoned mall parking lot my base of operations. It allowed me to focus. The scanner was tame. Chatter was a minimum between the dispatchers. Weekends could be slow, but I remember thinking it was odd how quiet it was. I hadn't shot anything all that week, and I was strapped for cash. The last thing I had sold was a head-on collision between two drivers. It hadn't been my most explicit shot, but it had gotten the job done. Still, I didn't get residuals if it played for consecutive nights.
I got off the hood of my car and began to pace. The silence was killing me. I couldn't sit still, and I knew if I did I would end up driving aimlessly around. I never did that since you never knew where an event would happen. The channels in my area were always reliable, but not this night. I needed to search for other channels.
Lots of static came through as I twisted the knob. I went end to end on the frequencies. I even tried to see if I could get the next county over, but there was nothing. It was looking like I was going to have to end the night. I hated going home before the sun was up, but what could I do? I knew if I was desperate I wouldn't get what I wanted, so I decided to call it.
As I approached the driver's door, a loud bang echoed through the night. I knew it was a gunshot. I'd heard them up close before. I waited a moment to see if there were any others. As soon as it went quiet, I flipped on the main police frequency.
"331 calling all units. 331 calling all units."
An all-unit call meant the shooting was of high importance. I thought it was strange since it was only the one gunshot fired, but what did I know?
"331 this is squad 271, over."
"271 possible 10-91 reported at Beverly and Overton, what's your status?"
10-91 confirmed the shooting. At the sound of that, I ripped open the driver's door and started the ignition. Beverly and Overton; it was close. Probably 15 minutes with the way I drive. My nocturnal business had helped me indicate which streets had red light cameras. I could be there in less than five minutes. I shut the scanner off and shifted into drive.
I arrived at the location to find it empty. There wasn't a soul in sight. Not unusual for this time of night or this part of town. I thought they might've misreported it, but I knew that wasn't the case.
I parked on the side of the road and prepared. I pulled out my camera, checked battery life, and white balanced. I began to survey the area panning from behind to front. Sometimes, I'm able to see better through the camera. I tend to pick up things easier whether I can zoom or brighten the view. As I came around the front, I finally saw it. My thumb instinctively hit record.
There was a body, about 10 yards in the distance. I hadn't seen it when I first arrived because it was in all black - a suit from what I could tell. It was lying halfway in the bushes on the sidewalk. As I held the shot on it, I watched the wind ruffle the fabric. I felt my free hand reach for the door handle but froze. The leg in the street stretched out.
It was alive. I'd never captured anything like this before. I just sat and let the camera roll. I'd get paid well for this one. I could see the dollar signs. The stations would eat it up. My mind fell into the bliss of finally having a paycheck again. I could feel my shoulders fall. I sank back into my car's cloth seats.
Bang! Bang! Bang! A fist hit against my door's window. I jumped and looked over. A woman, in a red dress and streaky makeup, was staring at me. She looked worn out like she'd run a marathon. Her voice was muffled as she kept screaming for me to turn the camera off. I didn't recognize I had it pointed at her. Old habits. At first, I didn't think to put it away, but then I noticed her gun. It wasn't aimed, but I lowered the camera. I rolled down my window to hear her better.
"I need your help!" she shouted.
"Cops are on the way," I said.
"You don't understand. They can't help."
"They can. Just let them do their job," I said. She gripped the snub-nosed revolver in her hand so tight her knuckles were white. I might have seemed a little too calm here, but this is just how I remember it. In the corner of my eye, the red light was still lit on the camera. It was going to be one helluva shot.
"He's not going to die from this," she said and waved the gun.
"Are you sure?"
"Unless you run him over."
I was speechless.
"Please," she said. Her voice softened. "I need you."
"W-what?"
"He's not a man. He's - something else."
Clearly, this woman was out of her mind. The two of them had probably gotten high on some pills or something, and now she was having a psychotic break. It sounded more plausible than the man being something else. I knew I had to keep calm and try my best to keep myself out of trouble.
"I think you should wait for the police," I said. I gently released the camera and let it fall into my crotch. I didn't make a move for the gear shifter, but I was preparing. It seemed like the barrel of the gun was coming my way.
"Please," she begged. "It can't live."
I should've driven off, but I didn't. I wished I could've helped her. For a moment, I thought about letting her sit in the car. But that thought died to my selfish need for survival. I wasn't getting involved. I couldn't break my rules.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I can't help you. I shouldn't even be here." I said. My hand crept to the gear shifter. My foot hovered over the gas pedal. Click. The woman raised the gun to my head.
"Get out," she demanded. I immediately raised my hands.
She came over to the door and pulled the handle. It was locked. I never unlocked my doors unless I was leaving the car. I'd been carjacked before. She tried to force it open, but it was not happening. I remained motionless.
"I will shoot you! I'm not afraid!" I watched as the barrel met my direct line of sight. The darkness was deep down the nozzle. I could see each of the bullets in their chambers and the one empty pocket. I understood that my miserable life could be ended right here. I would be shot by some random, unhinged woman. Seemed like a fitting end, but that was halted by flashing red and blue lights.
The woman turned to the police. I heard a shout while she raised her weapon. A barrage of gunfire was unleashed. Soon she was on the floor. Somehow my camera had made it back to my hand. I captured the whole thing.
The police rushed up to the woman and began assisting her. One shouted at me to see if I was okay, but I pointed at the body in the distance. I panned to see if he was still there, and he was. However, he was standing. He looked normal like he hadn't been shot, but there was something sinister on his face. I don't know if it was in his smile or his eyes, but the way he was staring at me - gave me the creeps. He knew I was watching, and he seemed happy I was. As we held each other's eyesight, his eyes flashed red. I'm not kidding, and It wasn't from the police lights. His eyes literally glowed bright red.
The cop banged my open window with his flashlight I looked over with the camera.
"Step out of the car!" He said. He was a heavy-set guy with a big beard. No gun was pulled, but he didn't look too happy.
"You have to help him." I pointed over to the man standing and smiling. The cop looked over. He looked back.
"Are you high? Get out of the car!"
You probably saw that one coming.
But still, imagine my shock when I panned over once more to find that the smiling man was gone. The area was empty. The cop opened my door from the inside.
The two officers interrogated me. They took my camera, searched my interior, and breathalyzed me. They weren't sure if I was a dealer or this woman's pimp. After telling them everything, and then checking the video, they sent me on my way home. They kept my camera obviously. On any other night, I would've been upset, but I knew this was my last.
The next week I moved. I surprisingly found a job as an archivist at a newsroom. It's simple and boring, but I operate the same hours as before. It's steady, which I'm thankful for, but it's gotten strange. Sometimes I'll see some footage that I thought was mine and it makes me chuckle. But I'm beginning to worry. I've been seeing the smiling man.
At first, I thought it was just hallucinations from the long hours. Nope. He's in all the videos. The cameramen don't notice him, but I do. I even brought one of my colleagues to see, and he confirmed. I have photos on my phone as well. The smiling man is there wearing the same black suit as the night I saw him.
He's at every crime scene and he's always smiling - always watching. I've done my best to not watch the videos because I can't stand to look at his face. One day coming home from work, I thought I saw him in my reflection. I'm beginning to believe the woman. He's not a person. He's something else.
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