Camouflage by Wendy Cooper

     His finger twitched, poised on the trigger. He adjusted the rifle’s scope a couple of millimeters to the left. In complete stillness, his breathing became the only perceptible movement. He lined up the shot. Held his breath and pulled. 
     The gunshot startled the deer and it fled. Birds cawed and flapped their wings furiously, flying out of the trees. He ran towards the mass slumped on the ground. He checked for a pulse. Nothing. He reached for his phone and, with trembling hands, dialed 911. 
     “Hello. Paramedics, please,” he said, panting. “I've just shot a man… it… it was an accident.” He stumbled over his words, “I was trying to shoot a deer.” 
     He agreed to meet the paramedics and Sheriff Hawley back at his house and lead them into the woods. They didn't try to resuscitate the man. The gaping hole in his head was the obvious indicator he couldn’t be saved. The police took the shooter into custody.
     He sat in a cold, sterile cell. The overpowering stench of bleach did little to mask the underlying human unpleasantness. With nothing to do, he picked his fingers raw. Why did I pull that trigger?
     ​The door creaked open, and they escorted him to the interrogation room. A mirror hung on one side, reflecting his ashen skin tone. Hitting the record button, the officer reminded him of his Miranda rights.
     “We've spoken to his wife,” the Sheriff said. “And apparently, you and the deceased were feuding.” 
     Shifting in his seat, he stressed, “Yes, he kept trespassing on my land, but I'd never harm the man. You gotta believe me.”
     “His wife reported that you said if he kept trespassing, you’d shoot him.” 
     “Yes, but I didn't mean it,” he said, his response quick. Sweat started to bead on his forehead and top lip; his cheeks flushed at the line of questioning. “I said that when we were arguing. It was the third time in January I’d caught him again. He didn’t even apologize. Said he’d do what he wanted. His attitude made me furious, but I wouldn't kill the man. Please, I'm telling the truth.”
     “She said her husband loved birdwatching. You had a problem with him documenting wildlife for conservation purposes on your property?”
     He hesitated. “Well… it's my property.” 
     “And you did say you’d kill him?”
     “But only because I was so angry,” his voice quivered as he continued to fidget. “Please, I’m not lying. You saw him. Wearing a camouflage jacket. I literally couldn't see him for the trees.” 
     The officer paused, observing the man’s state. “His wife also said he never leaves the house without the orange vest and cap.” 
     “But you saw him without any reflective gear.” His hands were clammy and animated. “I told you I had a deer in line of sight, but somehow I missed. Check the area, I promise they'll be deer tracks,” he pleaded. Desperation oozed out of every pore as his eyes darted between the officers. “Yes, the trespassing incidents annoyed me, but I would never hurt him. I would never hurt anyone.” 
     They kept him in custody for the next three days while they continued to analyze the crime scene, search for evidence, and interview those known to the pair. He cooperated throughout. Once they completed the preliminary investigations, and with no evidence of intentional harm, they let him out. Advising him they would continue to investigate. 
    Exhausted, he thanked Sheriff Hawley, grateful to finally be leaving. Stepping out into the crisp, cool air, a weight lifted off his shoulders. 
     Back home in his yard, he threw a few logs of chopped firewood in a barrel. He poured in gasoline and struck a match. The flames roared and cackled. He pulled out the orange vest and cap, ripped off his neighbor's body, and threw them into the fire. An acrid smell of burning fabric rose up. He watched them disintegrate as he warmed his hands and face.
     ​He let out a laugh and said, “I did warn you.”

​