Sorry about the way this lined up but I copy/pasted it and well was too lazy to fix it. Enjoy






'He's in the last cell on the left. You just go down those stairs and the hall will

lead you straight to him.'�

'Thank you, Barney,'� Officer Carl Weber replied as the large warden pointed

towards the stairwell.

'I don't know why you want to talk to him anyways. The guy's strange, guess

you got your reasons,'� Barney said.

'He says he has important information. It doesn't hurt to try, and if it saves at

least one life, then it will be worth it. Don't worry, I can handle him,'� Weber
answered.

'If you say so,'� Barney muttered.

With that Carl headed down the stairs. The lighting in the hallway had changed

drastically from the room he had left. He could barely see in front of him. The
single

low watt bulb was hardly able to do its job. Had the illumination been better, Carl

would've seen his left shoe lace become untied. It didn't take long for the lace
to end up

under his other foot. Carl felt himself lurch forward, but it was too late. With
no rail to

hang on to, Carl lost his balance and began to fall down the stairs. It would've
been a

short ordeal had it been a straight stairwell. This one was spiral however making
it far

more dizzying. The fact that he was literally bouncing off the brick walls made it
that

much more painful. When he finally did land at the bottom, his briefcase followed and

cushioned its landing with his head.

'Hey copper, have a nice fall? Ah ha ha ha'� one of the cellmates sneered.

Carl was still dizzy from his fall. The pain wasn't even a factor, he'd taken

bullets before. He didn't acknowledge the heckling inmate and when his vision finally

did refocus, Carl simply got up, picked up his suitcase, and walked down the dank

hallway. The lighting was only slightly better then that of the stairwell. A
series of low

watt fluorescent bulbs hung from the ceiling that flickered on and off
intermittently.

Water dripped from the ceiling and landed on his head. The flickering only lasted a
few

seconds before the bulbs decided to stay on. One of the cell mates, this one much
larger

then the heckler, charged towards him and reached out between the bars. Carl quickly

backed away towards the center of the aisle as the prisoner screamed obscenities.
Saliva

dripped from his mouth as he said them, giving the distinct impression that that
particular

inmate was rabid. Carl shuddered before continuing his seemingly never ending hike

down the hallway of hell. Most of the inmates were just watching the small
televisions

they were accommodated with. Others sat in the corner of their cells in straight
jackets

staring at the ceiling.

Finally, Carl made it. There was a small steel foldout chair in the middle of the

hallway facing the left cell. He sat down and saw the man he came to see. Unlike the

other cells, this one used a kind of Plexiglas with holes in it. On the other side,
a man sat

with one leg crossed over the other. His hands were resting on his lap.

The man sat in a chair much like his own. He wore a blue jumpsuit, the shirt was

partially undone and he accompanied that with a white undershirt. What was left of
his

hair was dark. He seemed to take it with dignity as there was no attempt at a comb
over.

'Good afternoon, Detective, I've been awaiting your arrival,'� the man said. His

voice was very unusual, almost English but not quite. He also seemed to over
enunciate

and draw out every syllable, an eerie cross between Hugo Weaving and Ra's al Ghul.

'So you must be Timmy. I'll try not to take too much of your time. You don't

hear of too many criminally insane inmates named Timmy,'� Carl said.

'Yes, I know. Most have these esoteric names that sound really cool. Sadly, I

was not blessed with one. I was going to come up with an alias, but I blanked and

couldn't come up with a name that had that effect. I decided to just toss the idea
and go

with my own name. Do not worry about my time, detective, I have nothing but time.

You did not come here to make small chit chat about time and names though did you?

No, you didn't. You want my information on the serial killer,'� Timmy replied.

'You really have a way of cutting through the fat,'� Carl said.

'Coming to the criminal you've already caught to help catch one who's on the

loose, how'�original,'� Timmy said as an arrogant smirk appeared on his face. 'What

makes you think that I will help you so willingly? I'm not exactly known for being a

model citizen.'�

'I know, I read your file. You assaulted an elderly nun,'� Carl answered.

'She started it,'� Timmy snapped before giving Carl a chance to continue. He

looked off past Carl as if he was about to reminisce. 'I remember it like it was

yesterday'�'�

'It was yesterday!'� Carl answered.

Timmy's eyebrow went up. Carl assumed that he had become confused. 'Was

it? Wait which nun are we talking about?'� Timmy asked.

'It was the same nun,'� Carl replied. He didn't have time for this, unfortunately

this felon had information that he needed if he was going to stop the killer who was
still

out.

'My God, you're right. I remember now. I assaulted her the first time back when

I was out. She came back yesterday to tell me that she forgave me'� and I assaulted
her

again. You really did your homework, detective. I have to say I admire that. I,
myself,

never did my homework. I was a lazy boy, yes I was. When I grew up, though, I found

my true passion. From then on I found what is called my work ethic and I put in 110%'�

'The second assault, is that why you have this Plexiglas instead of bars?'� Carl

asked.

The direct approach didn't seem to work. Carl decided to change his strategy and

make this Timmy, comfortable with him. A more casual atmosphere would probably

improve his odds of wheedling information from him. He reached into his briefcase and

pulled out a brown paper bag. Inside was a sandwich he had made before leaving his

house.

'Yes, as a matter of fact. They pumped me full of morphine long enough to make

the switch. When it looked like I was coming out of it, they just injected me with
more.

It was the best day ever, even better then those days where I got to indulge my inner

sadist and smite a foe from my past. The incident with the nun, was an impromptu

ordeal. Being the sole survivor of my wrath, she brings new meaning to the phrase
'the

one that got away' wouldn't you say detective? What is that?'� Timmy asked.

'Oh, it's a ham sandwich. I hope you don't mind. I missed lunch,'� Carl replied.

Timmy seemed to become fixated on the sandwich. His eyes almost teared up as

he ogled Carl's lunch.

'Not at all, say, can I have your ham?'� Timmy asked. His voice had changed

from calm and collected to a sad and desperate tone.

'I suppose there's no harm in letting you have some of it,'� Carl replied.

'Not some, all, all of your ham,'� Timmy clarified.

'See, then I'm left with nothing but bread,'� Carl said with a chuckle.

'I see. You know, I'm drawing a blank. Come back tomorrow detective, with

ham, and I will give you the information that I have,'� Timmy replied.

Carl pondered the inmate's offer. He was hungry, was looking forward to his

sandwich. If it could save a life then there was no way he could not take Timmy's
offer.

'Ok, the sandwich is yours,'� Carl finally said. He was slightly unsettled by the

fact that he actually had to think about it. He brushed the thought aside however,
as it

was all going to pay off. 'How am I supposed to give it to you?'�

'Just place it in that tray over to your right,'� Timmy answered eagerly.

Carl could almost picture him salivating over the sandwich like some sort of dog

who's just been shown a treat. He placed the bag in the tray Almost instantly,
Timmy

reached over and pulled something. The tray was pulled onto Timmy's side of the
glass.

He almost seemed to lunge into the bag to get to the sandwich. It was only a matter
of

seconds before the sandwich was completely gone. When he finished, Timmy looked up

at him with a small smile.

'I like ham,'� he said with a childish glee.

'So I've noticed, you should've made it last longer,'� Carl replied.

'I'm content with my actions. It was delicious. It's been too long since I've had

good deli meat. As you can imagine, detective, the rations here are beyond sub par,'�

Timmy said.

Carl just shrugged. He couldn't comment either way on the food here. Even if he

could, the quality of food wasn't important. The casual approach wasn't working too

well so far, Carl had to find a way to bring the conversation back on topic. It
didn't

matter as Timmy beat him to the punch, bringing them a step closer of his own free
will.

'Where was I? Ah yes, the smiting of my foes and the nun. You see, detective, a

lot of serial killers are doing that random thing. They think it will make them
harder to

catch, leave less of a trail. Perhaps that was true a few years ago, but now with
all the

crazy sciences they use now it's moot. Don't get me wrong, I admire the bloodlust
that's

required to murder a complete stranger. For me though, torturing and killing someone

who you knew and hated brings so much more to it. There's so much anger and passion.

It really heightens the effect. I'm not one of those killers who makes their work
out to be

an art form. I just like to have fun with it. I mean if it's not fun, then what's
the point?

Though I do admit the revenge factor is an added bonus, for me at least. It's like
killing

two birds with one stone'�pun intended. To each his own I suppose, right detective?'�

'You're a creepy bastard, you know that?'� Carl asked.

There was a moment of silence. As if by some strange twist of fate, the lights

began to flicker at that very moment. It made the face on the other side of the
window

that much creepier. His smile grew bigger (not helping the creepy factor at all).
When

the lights did stop flickering, Timmy returned to his more serious demeanor. The
silence

lasted a short while longer before Timmy started to laugh.

'You have a sense of humor, detective. Not a great one, but any sense of humor

is better then none,'� he said.

'You know, you don't have to call me detective. I mean we've been chatting

awhile. I'd like to think that we can go to a first name basis,'� Carl replied. 'No
offense

or anything, but when you call me 'detective' it gives me the heebie jeebies. The way

you say it is just off somehow.'�

'Is that so? Are you certain that your reasons are the real ones? Perhaps that is

just your cover. Maybe you feel you don't deserve the title due to your recent
debacles

on the job. Oh yes, I know all about your history, just like you know about mine.
You

see, I think that you're so close to complete disgrace that being called a detective
makes

you sick to your stomach. It reminds you of what you could've been. Rather then
accept

the fact, you choose to live in denial. It's sad really. Think what you will of me,

detective, but I am self aware. Your life is a lie.'�

'What debacles? What the heck are you talking about?'� Carl asked.

Timmy's reaction threw Carl for a loop as it almost looked like the calm collected

(with the exception of the ham ordeal) serial killer was taken aback for the first
time. His

eyes widened for a split second before his face became more inquisitive.

'Aren't you'�'� Timmy started to ask as he reached into the pocket of his

jumpsuit. He fumbled around for a second before pulling out a crumpled up piece of

paper. Timmy straightened it out and squinted his eyes as if he was trying to make
out

whatever was written on it. There was a moment of silence before Timmy finally

finished his question, 'Steve Thompson?'�

'No,'� Carl answered. He wanted to laugh but thought better of it. He had

already called the convict creepy, if he wanted to collect any useful info, he had
to refrain

from insulting his interviewee.

'Well, what happened to Steve?'� Timmy asked.

Surprisingly, his tone wasn't angry. Carl almost expected him to lose it and

become infuriated. Instead Timmy's tone was curious. There was a hint of
frustration,

but much less then Carl expected.

'He was transferred like a month ago.'�

'Well, why didn't anybody tell me?'�

'I don't know. I assure you, next time someone gets transferred you will be the

first to know,'� Carl said.

'There is no need to mock me, detective whatever your name is. Nor is it in your

best interest. If you want my information, I suggest you be a good little boy and
play

nice or I walk over to my bed and go to sleep, leaving you with nothing except wasted

time.'�

'It's Carl. I apologize. I didn't mean to sound rude. You have to admit, getting

information on the wrong guy is kind of funny.'�

'You think I'm stupid, don't you Car-El?'� Timmy said, not even acknowledging

Carl's comment or apology.

'Not at all,'� Carl answered making his best effort to be genial. It didn't seem to

work, however, as the Timmy's tone took a step towards becoming hostile.

'Perhaps I should give you a glimpse of my intellect'�I read, and understood,

Crisis on Infinite Earths'�

'What's that?'�

'Only the biggest comic book crossover ever,'� Timmy said geeking out.

'No offense, but why should I care? Furthermore, why should I be impressed that

you understood some kiddie book?'� Carl asked.

Timmy uncrossed his legs and got up out of his chair. Carl noticed that he didn't

go anywhere at first. Timmy just walked in small circles stomping his foot on the
floor.

It took every ounce of will power Carl had to keep from laughing. When his leg
finally

did wake up, Timmy walked to his bed and reached under the mattress. He pulled out a

paperback book that wasn't too thick. On the front cover the word 'Crisis'� was
printed

in big blue letters with 'on Infinite Earths'� written beneath it. Timmy placed the
book on

the tray contraption that transported the sandwich and pushed it to Carl's side of the

glass.

'Read it,'� Timmy said.

'Ok, but after this I want the information on this killer.'�

Carl grabbed the book and got up. He walked down the hall and back up the

stairs to a room that actually had decent lighting.

Two hours later


Carl Weber once again walked down the spiral staircase. This time, he made sure

his shoelaces were tied before he started going down. This trip was without
falling, it

goes without saying it was much better.

The heckler had nothing to heckle and the large rabid inmate was asleep, possibly

due to sedatives. When Carl got to the foldout chair outside of Timmy's cell, he
sat back

down and tossed the graphic novel on the tray. Timmy was lying on his bed and didn't

seem to notice his arrival. Carl cleared his throat, nothing was in it, it was
simply a way

to get the serial killer's attention.

Timmy looked up and saw that his interviewer had returned. Very gracefully, he

got up off of his bed and walked over to his chair. He sat down again. It looked
like he

was going to cross his leg, but he didn't. Carl figured he didn't forget the numb
leg and

didn't want to go through that again.

'Ah, Car-El, welcome back, what did you think about the Crisis?'� Timmy asked.

'What the hell was that?'�

'It was the Crisis, cleansing DC's 50 year slate.'� Timmy replied.

'Was that supposed to be a coherent story? I had no idea what was going on half

the time. A convoluted piece of nonsense, that's what it was.'�

'Don't feel too bad, it took me at least two dozen readings to understand it fully,'�

Timmy said. It actually sounded as if he was trying to be reassuring. This tone of
voice,

in Carl's opinion, was even creepier then the tone he used when describing his love
for

avenging whatever wrongs he think he suffered in his past via cold blooded murder.

'Do you see the height of my intellect?'� Timmy asked.

'That doesn't concern me. You proved your point, this comic is a lot harder to

fathom then I originally gave it credit for. Now I gave you my sandwich and read your

graphic novel. Now, can you please give me the information that you said you had.
I am

in a race against the clock here,'� Carl answered in a matter of fact tone that tried
its best

to compensate for the desperation. Lives were hanging in the balance after all.

'Ok, Ok. I have been dicking you around a bit haven't I? Yes I have. A deal's a

deal. So here is your precious information'�the crow flies at midnight,'� Timmy said.

Carl sat, waiting for more. Certainly 'the crow flies at midnight'� was not all this

man had. To put him through all the nonsense he endured. It just didn't make sense.

Then again, Carl had been exposed to this inmate's personality. The idea of putting
him

through the nonsense that Carl went through only to give him some vague clue that
didn't

help at all, if anything, just made it worse, wasn't too farfetched.

'You couldn't, by any chance, elaborate on that could you?'� Carl asked.

'Oh, no, no, no, that wouldn't be kosher. I'm not going to do your job for you. I

just do what I can to better society,'� Timmy replied. 'Besides, you're the sleuth.
You

figure it out.'�

'That's it, I'm done. You're an idiot. I'd ask for my sandwich back, but the only

way I'm going to see it is in a form that is'�less then desirable, so I'm going to
leave and

never come back to this rotting hell-hole ever again.'�

Carl got up and began walking back down the hallway. He could hear Timmy

saying something, but he wasn't listening. If anything, it caused Carl to walk
faster. He

almost made it to. The stairs were only a few feet away when a high pitched voice
cried

out. Carl turned around. A large part of him wanted to just ignore it and leave.
The less

time spent down here, the better. He couldn't do it. Carl turned around and walked
back

down to the end of the hallway yet again.

When he got back to Timmy's cell, Timmy was keeled over in his chair, one hand

holding his head. He was writhing and screaming as if some unseen force was attacking

him from the inside.

'What is it this time?'� Carl asked.

'Vision,'� Timmy mumbled.

'I don't understand.'�

'Psychic..vision'�I get them from time to time,'� Timmy said.

'Oh this just gets better and better,'� Carl said as he rolled his eyes.

'Write this down! S'�sunshine..l..lol..lollipops..rainbows,'� Timmy's head shot up

to look at Carl. The killer's face had become quite flushed, his eyes glassy and
his hair

and face was covered in sweat. 'Yeah..rainbows.'�

'Sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows? That's your vision!? You'�bah!!!'� Carl

screamed as he stormed out of the hallway for the second time. This time there was no

cry from the other end and no obstacles. Carl raced back up the stairs and out of the

asylum with the hope of never having to return there again.


Field Report of Detective Carl Weber

Stephen Crowe was arrested last night for breaking into the house of Edward

Dent. From what has been gathered, Crowe broke in with the attempt to murder Dent.

The intended victim, was a bit more paranoid then the would be murderer anticipated

and had cameras placed all over his house. When Dent saw someone coming in, he

notified the authorities. The break in occurred at approximately 12:45. Using

Mapquest, it was discovered that Crowe lived approximately 40 minutes away. The same

technique was used with the other victims and it was confirmed that the times of
murder

coincide with the amount of time it would take Crowe to drive from his house leaving
at

midnight. As if the video and time evidence wasn't enough. In his car, Stephen Crowe

kept a notebook with the names and addresses of over 150 people including his victims

and Edward Dent.

So, in his own bizarre way, Timmy did prove to be useful after all. Regarding his

so called psychic ability, I arrived on the scene and distinctly heard the song
'Sunshine,

lollipops, rainbows'� on the radio that was playing in Dent's house. Whether this is a

mere coincidence or not can not be determined. I would not rule out the possibility

as quickly as I did back in the asylum.

Though there are a few slightly loose ends, I am proud to say that this case is

officially closed.

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