A Study in Gas - Ch. 2 (January 2025)

Tisha Reems took about a week to fully recover from her bloated state. Despite this, she clearly suffered from random explosive bouts of flatulence – far louder than normal. This proved to be quite awkward during the interview.

            Margo interviewed her with Harry at her house. They figured talking to her in a safe, comforting place would be better than the station. Like most victims, Tisha was low-income. She lived in a shitty, noisy apartment complex with thin walls and a lack of air conditioning. They were sweating a little sitting there in Tisha’s living room. She held a cup of tea and looked embarrassed to be talking about this, but still told them everything she knew.

            “I went there and the hotel guy gave me my key. I didn’t ask about anything else. I just wanted, you know, to get some money. I wanted to act as casual as possible. I went into the room and I had, uh, bought some Chinese food to do…you know…the thing.”

            Harry said casually, “The farting video.”

            Tisha averted her gaze. “Yeah. That. So. I started doing it and then I heard a knock on the door. I looked through the peephole and saw this guy in a sweatshirt, hood up, baseball cap, didn’t really get a clear look at his face since he was looking down. Just kinda white. I dunno. Very generic. I figured it must have been the guy because he told me that if it was okay with me, he’d like to stop by and direct the video. I know he’s thin at least. I opened it and he didn’t waste a second. He…chloroformed me or something and next thing I know I’m tied up on the bed. I thought…I was going to die or worse…”

            Tisha was getting emotional. The teacup shook in her hands. Margo shifted in her seat, trying to appear more relaxed for her. Tisha said, “But…thankfully…it didn’t come to that. I mean, what he did was still weird and fucked up and wrong. I just wasn’t expecting it. I woke up already…swollen. I asked him what happened but he didn’t say anything. My vision was a little blurred but I saw him putting away some glass vials. I think he injected me with something? I dunno. My body feels…different.”

            “Different how?” Margo asked.

            As if on cue, Tisha farted obscenely loud. It was deep and messy and clearly sounded as if she had had no control over it. She clearly looked ashamed but used to it, eyes downcast.

            Harry looked down too. Margo caught his smirk and instantly knew he was trying not to laugh. She sighed heavily, indicating her disappointment. With a straight face, she asked, “Does it hurt?”

            “Not…really. Sometimes it’s so big it like…kind of hurts coming out? Like this slapping feeling? Not sure if that makes sense. But like I never feel it coming, you know? I can be totally fine and---”

            PPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRP!

            Tisha jumped a little. “And that happens.”

            Harry bit his lip and looked out the window in a desperate attempt to prevent himself from laughing.

            Tisha was about to speak when she suddenly belched as loud and long as she farted.

            BRAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRP!

            She huffed, patting her chest. “And…that too.”

            Harry was beside himself now. It became apparent that he was holding in his laughter. Margo sighed heavily again and said aloud, “Anything to add, Sergeant Harry?”

            Harry shook his head, looking down.

            “Do you remember what brand of clothing he wore?” Margo asked.

            Tisha reminisced for a few seconds. “I want to say…Adidas.”

            Very small lead. But anything was helpful at this point.

            “What color?”

            “Blue. Like a navy blue.”

            “Zipper? No zipper?”

            “Zipper.”

            As Margo wrote down these details (she was old school like that), she glanced at Harry and said, “Any other helpful questions, Sergeant?”

            Harry still looked down and shook his head, suppressing laughter. “Nope.”

            “Very well then. Thank you for your time, Tisha.”

#

            On the ride back to the station, Margo had a talk with her subordinate.

            “Are you really so childish? That woman was KIDNAPPED and injected with some kind of chemical that made her lose control of a couple basic bodily functions.”

            “I’m SORRY! A fart’s a fart.”

            “It’s no different than any other embarrassing dysfunction. Do you laugh when a kid has Down Syndrome? Tourette’s? Or when someone has a tic?”

            “No.” Harry glanced out the window. “I mean. There was this one kid in school who made a weird noise every time he—”

            “Shut up.”

            Margo wasn’t thinking about how hard she was pressing on the pedal. She had been in a mindless fit. When she noticed a red light at the last second, she skidded to a halt to avoid running it over. Harry shot her a look. “Whoa, easy there! Why are you so worked up about this?”

            “Because this case has been taking me longer than normal. It’s been seven months. Almost a year.”

            “This might be your one I guess.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You know. Every inspector has ‘the one’ case. Maybe this is yours. The one that never gets solved. The one that got away.”

            Margo huffed with exasperation. “Do you really think we won’t find this guy?”

            “If forensics can’t even trace the chemical, I think he’s a ghost. Like you said, he must have an insane amount of money. Money can do a lot to hide things. You can pay services to hide things about you.”

            The light turned green. Margo drove carefully this time, not wanting to admit that anger got the better of her. After parting ways with Harry at the station, she returned home, again feeling empty-handed on this case. She would follow her vague library idea tomorrow, or maybe even the day after tomorrow, if she wasn’t feeling too exhausted over this.

            Margo made herself dinner, ran on the treadmill for thirty minutes to wind down her remaining energy, and took a shower. She stared at herself in the mirror for a good five minutes as she waited for the steam to fill the room. Just months ago, she was a prim and proper blond with striking short hair and clear skin. Now this case’s toll had clearly taken a hit on her with baggy eyes and a few nights of forgetting to moisturize.

The shower could have been her second office. She had major breakthroughs in cases when standing there letting the water hit her.

            But she had yet to have that moment with this case. She didn’t so much ponder over the case as she did have existential dread about police work and the perp. Like, what was so appealing about what they did anyway? They clearly didn’t sexually assault the victim. Their gratification came from something else, something voyeuristic or some kind of power imbalance. But why farts? Why burps? A perp always had a psychological profile. This one was so niche it was difficult to understand.

            While lost in thought, Margo casually farted out loud. Farts sounded different in the shower than anywhere else. They sounded grosser and louder, the latter due to the acoustics in the bathroom. The former because she was typically relaxed in the shower. But what she hated now about it was that she was becoming more and more conscious of such a basic bodily function. Before, burping and farting came by as natural as breathing. Sort of. There was a general societal expectation to do it in one’s privacy. Mindless but mindfulness behavior. Need to fart? Go to the bathroom. Okay. Done. Back to life. But now, this “mad gasser” had already infiltrated her mind. Making her think about it, making her aware of it every time she did it – alone or not.

            She banged a fist on the wall.

            She needed a good drink.