[ WP ] When someone is murdered , their name appears on the skin of the killer . You wake up with a name on your arm and no knowledge of how it got there .

[ I revised the story added a much better ending. It was late last night and I was tired! Part 2 is in the replies ] 
 
 [ Part 1 ] 
 All things considered, it was a pretty normal morning. I stretched when I woke up, looked at the clock, regretted how quickly minutes passed and then climbed into the shower. I checked the completely foggy mirror after I had once again successfully conquered the morning grogginess. I made a mental note about the dark patch across my chest and told myself to prioritize follicular maintenance sooner, rather than later. Running my hand across my chest to see the extent of the damage, I found that it was nearly entirely bare skin the entire way. Eyebrows furrowing, I looked to confirm which had failed me more, my sight or my hand. It seems I needed to make an appointment with the eye doctor instead, because what I found was a large tattoo, boldly strewn arm to arm across my chest. A tattoo of the name of my former landlord, John Kikaner. There's two unspeakable ways to get a tattoo, one is by hiring a black market tattoo artist and supplying exorbitant amounts of `` insurance'' money... or killing someone. 
 
 I stared and stared, wondering if I could maybe remove the tattoo piece by piece or maybe I could find some kind of flaw, somewhere. Minutes ceaselessly rolled by, my skin getting more and more red as I began rubbing, scratching, clawing at the pitch black words etched into my chest. Blood began running and I came to my senses. Thinking back on the events of the last few hours, I could n't find anything I did that could have even inadvertently killed a man. 
 
 *Surely my friends did n't do this to me. They do n't have that kind of money and even if they did, while I was asleep no less, it would be hurting right now, would n't it? I did n't even notice it until I saw it myself. I guess Patrick ’ s surveillance cameras would have caught something, even. * Patrick was my neighbor, he was as paranoid as can be. He recently moved in and immediately set up cameras in corners everywhere thinking no one noticed. 
 I have the same routine every day and I did n't notice any tattoos yesterday, so it must have been yesterday. *What happened? What did I do? * The fear built on top of itself, more and more every second I thought about it. 
 
 *I need to know what happened. * 
 I decided to call off work for the day for extraneous personal circumstances and take the matter into my own hands, before some police officer hands it to a lawyer. I had no legal connections, I'd be doomed if I set foot in a courthouse. I put a medical bandage on to cover my broken skin and made damned sure my chest was fully encased in clothing, taking on my leather jacket over my usual shirt on this fine Summer day. 
 
 I drove over to my former landlord ’ s house and found the police had already started an investigation. It was a rural neighborhood where people very kindly concern themselves whenever something might be happening to a neighbor. A murder in a place like this would draw out every neighbor. Someone must have seen something. A crowd of five people had begun forming on the opposite side of the street from Kikaner's house. I walked up to them and asked, `` Hey, what's happening here? Did John finally lock himself out of his house?'' I made up something as fast as I could. I made a plan, but I did n't know what the steps were. It had also been two years since I met the man, so it was better to be vague. 
 
 `` Did n't you hear?'' said a woman standing closest to the police tape barrier. `` John's dead. Someone killed him in his sleep. I heard the officers say it was a vicious stabbing. Ten stabs to the chest! Can you even imagine who could do such a thing?'' 
 
 `` My god, I had no idea'' I replied. `` When did it happen?'' 
 
 `` Last night at around 3 AM. I never even thought someone like that could be in *this* neighborhood.'' 
 
 It seems I did n't need to do any investigating, she had all the answers I needed. *I wonder if she'd suspect me if I ask too much more* I contemplated. I could have passed myself off as the nosey type, I'd have fit right in. I decided to play it on the safe side and not risk any more questions. I wanted to have a plan, with steps, and a proper goal this time. I saw two police officers exiting the house and start talking behind an ambulance. I walked around as stealthily as I could to the other side of the ambulance from them and did some eavesdropping of my own. 
 
 
 The first officer was already describing the scene of the crime, ``... bloody hand prints on the walls and doorknobs, should n't be too hard to get some prints. Whoever this guy is, he does n't seem like he planned it out too well.'' 
 
 `` Let's just hope he did n't skip town then'' contributed the other officer. `` Well, if he does, at least some other county has to deal with him. Say, did you really wake up with a tattoo on your chest? Right where the knife wounds were on the victim?'' 
 
 `` I did'' began the first officer. `` It was a hell of a time trying to calm down my wife. Even after I confirmed with other officers I had been working all night when Kikaner was killed, she still insisted on spending the night at her brother's.'' 
 
 *What? He ca n't be meaning he has the same tattoo as me. Of John Kikaner's name across his chest. * 
 
 The first officer's radio chimed in with a crackling female voice, `` unit one-four come in, please, over.'' 
 
 The first officer replied, `` uh, please restate the request, did you want unit one-four alpha or beta, over?'' 
 
 The radio crackled, `` Mark Steinsman, quit the joking and give the radio to a real officer. Maybe one that...'' 
 
 I trailed off, losing track of the conversation. That name she said, the officer's name, *Mark Steinsman. * That was my name, too. *But he has a tattoo as well? He said he had a bullet-proof alibi and is n't guilty, surely that must mean I'm not as well. I could n't have done it! Someone else did, undoubtedly, but... if there are two Steinsmans here, how many more are there? * Nearly reeling from the thought that I may not be guilty after all, I bumped into the concerned lady I had talked to before. She told me to be quiet or get out of the way. 
 
 Unfortunately, her talents do not include stealth or silence or honesty. The policemen had instantly stopped talking and I heard the sound of gravel crunching under shoes, getting louder very quickly. The lady must have been a great athlete seeing as she was already half way back to the crowd by the time they rounded the ambulance and found me standing there. 
 
 Annoyed, the first policeman confronted me, `` Hey, what are you doing? Were you eavesdropping on us? Are you a reporter?'' They strategically surrounded me to pin me against the ambulance's side, giving me no choice but to answer. 
 
 `` No, of course not, I was just out for a walk.'' I explained. 
 
 `` That's an interesting choice of clothing for a walk this time of year. What's your name?'' 
 
 I suddenly wished plans were easier to make and thoroughly regretted not making more of them. I stuttered for a second and hesitantly said, `` M-Mark Steinsman.'' 
 They both looked shocked, but only for a second. 
 
 The second officer, the police Mark Steinsman, said, `` That so? Do you happen to have your ID with you, sir?'' 
 I pulled out my wallet, one thing I finally managed to do right today, and handed him my ID, complete with everything one would need to know my name. 
 
 `` I see,'' he said, thinking for a second. `` Can you come with us, sir?'' 
 
 I went with them, into their car and they began driving away. I looked back and saw the lady peeking around from the other side of ambulance again at me. 
 
 They took me to a courthouse. It took a few dozen minutes to get there, but the awkward silence between us all was almost comforting. In all its craziness, the day seemed to be quite humorous, in its own way. Two Mark Steinsmans in a police car. Going to court. Ha ha. 
 
 They escorted me in the main doors and walked for another five minutes down a huge hallway, fitted with ornately crafted mantle pieces around every one of the spaced out doors. All of them court rooms. All of them in use. We reached our designated room and I was deposited in a large box filled with chairs where the defendants were supposed to be, directly in front of the judge's podium. The police Steinsman entered as well, leaving the other officer to join the witnesses. 
 
 `` A little early, are we?'' said the imposing judge whose stare made me forfeit my will to answer.
