I'm a former police officer. I have another unforgettable story to share.

It?s Jay Miles again, a cop with a useless English degree, here with another story.
You may remember my last one here, but if not then that?s fine, as there?s no need to read these stories in order. They are my foggy accounts of events that took place many decades ago, and while some are difficult to remember, others are quite clear and very memorable.
My partner John and I were dispatched to a bar around 11:12 PM.
?There?s someone crying in the dumpster.? That?s what the caller told the operator.
John lowered the passenger window and stuck his hand out as I reversed our cruiser from the diner. ?This is what we gotta cancel our lunch break for? I?m calling it now: just some drunk guy.?
We arrived at the bar and saw a woman waiting by the entrance, smoking a cigarette, her shoulders to her ears. She took a last puff and pressed it against a brick wall. ?He?s over there,? she said, raising her chin towards the alleyway. ?I just wanna close the bar up and get home already. These homeless people, I don?t have time for their games.?
John seemed to agree as he leaned against the cruiser, arms crossed, yawning. ?Okay,? he began, ?we?ll take it from here. Head on home, ma?am.?
As she walked back to her car, the woman stopped and looked back. ?Oh, and by the way, he keeps apologizing ?bout something. I don?t even know, fellas. Probably drunk, but very emotional about whatever he did.?
The streets and sidewalks were empty, except for stray cats and dogs and a skunk or two. The stench from that alleyway was like moldy cheese, not to mention alcohol and urine. It all comes with the job, of course. Would I prefer the title of an FBI agent who battles white collar crimes under the AC of his cubicle? Yes. But this job had thrills of its own, ones that never bore.
I gave John a look. ?You wanna get in there? Do your job??
?Me? Come on, officer,? he joked, ?you?re supposed to take me under your wing. All those years of experience, I could learn a thing or two from your old ass!?
?Okay, okay. Fair enough. Just thought your bald spot would reflect the moonlight and blind the suspect for us. Make our jobs easier, you know??
We made our way between the buildings, where there was only black. The sodium street lights casted our shadows onto the wall, like a couple of armed men pursuing a burglar in a cartoon. John cursed when he stepped into a puddle and turned his flashlight at the ground.
?Wait,? I said, my hand on his chest. ?Hear that??
We listened in. Drops of water fell through a drain and splashed deep underground. A family of rats scratched somewhere in the corners. Crispy leaves brushed against concrete.
And a mysterious man sobbed.
That woman was right. This man was sincere in his cries. We couldn?t understand most of what he uttered, not least because he was hiding and speaking in gentle whispers. Still the words ?I?m so sorry? and ?God, forgive me? were audible, and repeated.
There was something off about the man?s voice. Perhaps it was slouchy because he was drunk. Each word was droopy, falling off his mouth like a bowling ball rolling over a cliff. I flashed my light his way and saw his hunched shadow, but not him. He pulled patches of hair from his head as he rocked back and forth on the ground, leaning his back on the dumpster.
His cries and wails, although low, were the stuff of nightmares. They stiffened my bones and put me on alert for any sudden movement on his part, and I could feel the same happening to John who was following close behind.
I tapped my shoes against wet concrete. ?Sir??
He ignored me and rambled on.
?We got a call from a concerned citizen. Said someone was crying in the alleyway,? I said.
Still nothing.
I looked over my shoulder. ?Johnny boy, now?s your chance. Go help the man, and let?s get outta here.?
John hesitated a moment, then flashed his light at the man and approached him. The man moved so that his back was to us, and we could see the missing hair from his head, but we still hadn?t identified him. All the information he gave us were his constant apologies for some crime he claims to have committed. ?I?m so sorry. God, please forgive me.?
John squinted and leaned towards him. ?You see that??
The man?s ear lobes dripped blood.
Suddenly, a scream. Not from the man, but from across the alleyway by the park. We rushed towards it, leaving him behind. We ran towards what we believed was an actual emergency, an actual situation that needed our attention. But the truth was that my partner and I were glad to have an excuse to get the hell out of that alleyway and as far as possible from that man.
When we reached the park, we found a woman, panting and crying with a barking German Shepherd at her side. Her hands cupped her mouth and nose as she retreated from the dead body on the ground. Some poor old lady lay on the park pathway, her face missing.
The jogging woman suddenly let out another blood-curdling scream as she jumped and pointed at someone behind us.
It was the man. He followed us from the alleyway. And when we saw him, we knew why his words sounded slouched and muffled. We knew why he apologized over and over again.
We knew now what he had done.
?Please, I didn?t mean to!? he yelled, grabbing at his eyes and limping towards us.
The man had somehow stitched someone else?s face over his own, and it looked like that of a woman?s. An older one.
We put two and two together and arrested him for the woman?s murder.
He cried and yelled and even charged the paramedics, proclaiming his innocence even after confessing. He said he was ?forced? to do what he did, claiming that if he hadn?t then the ?man in the sewer? would come for him.
When John and I finished our reports that night and got back into our cruiser, there was silence. I knew then that he was a changed man, this rookie. Myself? Not so much. But although I had experienced these things before, they never failed to petrify me. I knew of the sleepless nights to come from this experience.
I gave John a lecture with the side of my eye as I turned the key and drove us out of there, opening his window for him. ?Have some fresh air, buddy.? But he was expressionless, and with each streetlight we drove under, I saw the sweat on his forehead and around his eyes.
I didn?t tell John what I?m about to tell you. He wouldn?t have been able to handle it.
When we finally got in the cruiser and reversed out of there, I saw something. John couldn?t get in the car and slam the door quick enough, but I took my time, and by doing so, witnessed it. As I put my hand on the driver side door to open it, I caught a glow in the distance.
Down the street, I saw a pair of glowing eyes descend into the ground, back into a sewer, closing the cap over itself.


Source.