Premonition

“Don’t you understand, I’ve seen it; seen how it all ends. Two weeks, maybe less… the whole world… I had to spare them that, had to save them from it; it was the only way.”

Sighing, she closed her eyes, trying to retain her composure, hang on to her professional detachment. She’d heard more than her fair share of paranoid delusions since she started her role with the Prosecutor Fiscal, but this was one of the toughest, most harrowing cases she’d ever had to deal with.

Vincent Maclean had been a seemingly normal, mild-mannered accountant, a devoted, loving, family man, until one day last week, he’d bought a gun, taken it home, and murdered his wife and two pretty young daughters in cold blood. Then, according to police forensics, he’d turned the gun on himself, but had somehow managed to miss, merely grazing his temple and knocking himself unconscious. It was quite common in murder-suicides, the perpetrator often had some lingering, subconscious instinct that prevented them from completing the act. But the reason he’d failed to kill himself wasn’t her concern: her job was to determine whether he was fit to stand trial.

“Vincent, can you please tell me again why you bought the gun?”

“The gun doesn’t matter, none of it matters, don’t you see? When they come, nothing will matter, nothing will stop them. I didn’t want Suzy and the girls to suffer that, I saved them, don’t you see?”

“Saved them from what, Vincent?” she decided to humour him a little, see what it might reveal.

“I dreamed it, all of it, a premonition, I know what’s coming. It’s the Russians, they’re losing, getting desperate, they used it, the weapon. But they couldn’t contain, it. They tried a bomb, but it wasn’t enough, wasn’t soon enough… it was spreading quicker than they knew… no stopping it. Some survived, took it home, gave it to their families. Neighbours gave it to neighbours, turns everyone into animals, savage crazy beasts, biting, tearing, ripping, not people anymore. Please… please… I need the gun back, I can save us, all of us… it’s the only way. Please, you’ve got to understand…”

She sighed again as she got to her feet, nodding at the orderly standing by the locked door, “I’ll take a break there, I think; give him some time to calm down. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. You might want to sedate him again in the meantime.”

The orderly let her out of the interview room. She walked down the corridor, mulling over what she’d heard, trying to make up her mind about Vincent Maclean. His delusions seemed genuine; yet, in many ways, he appeared perfectly sane. Deciding to grab a coffee, she headed for the staff lounge. The TV was on, a news bulletin had just started. She half-listened as she picked the coffee jug up from the hotplate, started looking for a clean cup.

“… denied rumours of a nuclear explosion two hundred kilometres east of Kyiv. At present, there is very little reliable information on conditions in the area, although it is feared casualties could number tens of thousands. Unconfirmed reports are coming in suggesting there may be some sort of outbreak, a virus, possibly of man-made origin. Ah, wait, I think we’re getting some pictures through now.”

She turned to face the TV screen. The coffee jug fell to the floor. She hardly noticed the scalding hot liquid splashing back, over her legs.