Story with a twist!

Story with a twist!

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“I want that man dead!” Herbert Bortmann yelled from across the desk; veins throbbing along his face and his hair now becoming so ruffled that you could make out the fact that his golden mane was not his own.

Bortmann was one of the top architects in the city and he had an image to take care of. Judging by his artificial hair, his professional appearance wasn’t his only concern. He wore a very fancy suit that was probably very expensive, and a stylish red tie was adorned around his neck. He did not look like an approachable man.

Today he sat in the office of Private Detective Jeffrey Winters, a man with a great deal of talents, but very few opportunities to put them to use. A lot of that had to do with his reputation. Not the cliché reputation where the man in question does, well, questionable things, and proceeds to get results. Rather, it was one where he did questionable things, but often lacked results. It was bad for business.

“Please, calm down.” Winters tried to appease the will of this man who had now spent the better part of the last ten minutes rambling about a man named Greg Martinez. “You need to slow down; I don’t need to know about Martinez’s weird eating habits or about how he farts when he leaves your office.” He stumped a cigarette in the ashtray on the desk. “What I do need to know is what went down.”

“Detective, I already told you! Did you not listen?” Herb’s response was harsh.

“I did, Mr. Bortmann, but that cannot possibly be the only reason you came to me.” Winters quickly shot back.

Herb leaned forward in his chair. “Greg Martinez designed our newest properties. He was chosen to do so because his design impressed us, but he lied and cheated his way to get it.”

“Yes, because you went to his home for dinner,” Winters interjected.

“And he had completely copied the design of his own house!” Herb loudly finished.

The notion of a man who had copied his own house, then trying to pass it off as his own work seemed humorous to him, but it wasn’t exactly a crime. He had perhaps gained a story one would tell on a party, but this man was wasting his time. On a separate note, Jeff hardly attended parties.

“Mr. Bortmann, I understand you are upset, but this is not a criminal offence. There is nothing I can do. In addition, the fact that you want this man dead is troubling me.” Winters stood up from his deep office chair.

“Nothing you can do? This man is a menace! He needs to be stopped!” Herb also stood up, his hands clenched in anger.

“Sir, please get the hell out of my office. Before I force you out.” He started rounding the desk to get to Bortmann.

Before he got within arm length, the man scurried out the door, his loud footsteps booming throughout the corridor.

“Thanks for wasting my time, detective!” Was faintly heard through the crack of the door before it shut.

Yeah, time was being wasted alright.

It was at that very moment, when Jeffrey Winters felt like a total shithead, and most of his morning had been wasted on silly stories, that his phone rang. Closing the door fully behind him and locking it, he quickly dashed over to the phone and picked up the receiver. On the other side, finally, there were opportunities.

Opportunities to get paid.

Later that day, Winters walked into the office of the Chief of Police, eager to hear what he had called him in for. Though he did know a lot about Police Chief Irwin Anderson, this was the first time they would meet alone; face to face.

He walked through a half empty office filled with cubicles before going through a completely empty corridor leading to the office of Irwin Anderson. He stood for a while, smoothing the black duster he wore and slicking back his dark hair before he finally took the initiative to knock on the door.

Instantly, a voice commanded him to enter from the other side.

Opening the door and stepping inside, he was greeted by the Police Chief, sitting neatly behind his desk. “Hello Detective Winters, I’m delighted for your visit. Please, take a seat.” He motioned towards the chair in front of the desk.

Though a bit taken aback at this man’s openness, seeing as his reputation had solidified him as quite a hard man in his mind, Winters took the man up on his offer immediately and sat down.

“Um, why did you insist on seeing me this soon?” He inquired.

Anderson opened a drawer on his desk and withdrew a single photograph. “This, this is why I called you, Winters.” He put the photograph on the desk and quickly pushed it to the other side, revealing it to him.

In this photo, there was a man. More specifically, a man who Winters had recently had contact with. The man was Herbert Bortmann. He lay in a pool of his own blood, his guts spread out across the pavement and his eyeballs forcefully removed from their sockets. Jeff winced.

“What the hell is this?” He exclaimed profoundly.

“This is your handiwork, isn’t it Jeffrey?” Winters looked up from the photograph and straight into the barrel of a gun, aimed squarely between his eyes.

“What? No!” He slightly pushed himself back in the chair, wriggling his head back and forth, trying to avoid the barrel.

Anderson walked slowly around his desk, only to stop right before Winters and pressing the gun against his temple. “I know what you did, Jeffrey. You murdered this poor man just to get his toupee.”He quietly eyed Winters’ dark locks, which were carefully slicked back.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Why would I kill this man just to get his toupee? I don’t even need toupees. Have you completely lost it, man?” Winters desperately pleaded, his legs quivering beneath him on the chair.

Anderson now positioned himself behind him on the chair, grasping his hair tightly and jamming the gun to his back. “Tell me how you did it.”

A deep fear had begun to form within his gut now; this man was obviously not all there. “How could I even have done it? He was leaving my office when my phone rang; he was alive when you told me to come here!”

“So you admit you were with the deceased? Your story is full of holes, Jeffrey!” Anderson was almost jumping behind the chair, barely able to contain his apparent anger.

“What story? I haven’t even told you any story. This is insane!” Winters now struggled to get out of the chair, but the larger man was forcefully holding him back.

He could feel the man’s breath on his neck now. “Don’t you realize, Jeffrey? I’m setting you up. It’s time to die.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Why are you setting me up? What have I ever done to you?” His pleads were now almost hysteric. His cool, calm demeanor was long gone.

The faint sound of gritted, grinding teeth made its way to his hears. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret; I am your older brother, and you killed our mother!” He could hear the distinct sound of the hammer of the gun being drawn back.

“What? No! I am an only child, and my mother is alive and well!” Jeffrey Winters desperately whined his last few words.

“No she’s not, Jeffrey. You are your mother. And you are not well.” Irwin Anderson laughed.

Two shots were fired through his skull, killing him instantly.

“I love you, mom.”

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Written by M. Night. Shyamalan