The untitled story

The car reached ninety five miles per hour; this was only time that anyone could drive this fast on neighborhood roads. The moon lit the street perfectly; spotlighting it, allowing him to speed up even more. He pushed for 105, but knew a sharp turn was approaching. He slowed a little, getting ready to show off one of his most practiced tricks but, something distracted his attention. There was a man, or maybe it was an older boy; he couldn't tell in the darkness. He was standing, in the dead center of the road, with the moonlight shining down at just the right angle to shadow his face. No matter how determined Jackson may have been, it would never have been enough to avoid hitting the man.
Instead of wasting time trying to prevent the inevitable, he blared the car horn for as long as the closing distance gave him. Only an hour ago had he been an average, innocent teenager, just taking a night's cruise. In two seconds, all of that will change. He will be known as a murderer.
A man was faintly talking, a strong voiced, stern man. It wasn't clear of what he was saying, Jackson only knew that he wasn't very happy. His eyes started to adjust but it didn't help much; there was no light. It smelt of dirt and wetness. Using his sense, he finally figured out that he was lying on his stomach on the ground; somewhere outside. Trying to get up, he moved his arms to push himself off the ground but found it quite difficult; something was resisting his movements.

"This will work out greatly," said that same voice, only extremely loud this time. There was a single metal clicking sound as he spoke. Suddenly, the ground started moving from beneath him and he was put into a confined space; his arms still in resistance. It wasn't until the headlights flashed on that he realized he was lying in a cop car.
The police station wasn't but a few miles away from the turn in the street but the drive, to Jackson, felt like an eternity. He went through his mind all the things that he could have done; not remembering a single unlawful thing. They pulled into one of the only parking spaces left and the man got out. Jackson had the plan to knock the police man upside the head as soon as he opened the door but, him being about six foot, two inches was intimidating.
They made their way down a long hallway with doors of all the bureaus. Three doors from the very last was "Officer Timplan's" office. The boy was seated in a sturdy, leather chair across from a desk piled with papers. Among the stacks sat three coffee cups, along with Officer Timplan's. As the cop was being seated behind the desk, a few other men entered the room. They were also officers.

"Is this the boy who shot him," asked one of the men.

"Yeah. He looks awfully guilty, doesn't he," snickered Timplan.

"Am I being arrested?" Jackson had no recollection of anything.

"Yes you are! Anybody who would even think to kill another man deserves to be locked up," shouted another.

"But I didn't kill any-." He was cut off as a big muscled, administrative agent scooped him up and carried him away.
He was put into an empty cell, for fear of being beaten to death by any other cell mate. The door guard took his handcuffs off but made it clear that if Jackson were to go on a rampage and try to destroy anything or hurt himself, they would go right back on. He had to keel himself in good shape for court tomorrow.
"Why am I in here," Jackson screamed to the door guard. The man had to walk over to his desk to check the files.
"You are 'accused of shooting a thirty one year old man in the back with a .45 pistol.'"

"What?! I didn't do anything like that! I was just going for a night drive and..." He faded out because he couldn't remember what happened next. "Wait, how did I end up in here?"

"Officer Timplan brought you in."

"But how did I get in the cop car? I was driving in my own car."

"Timplan said he spotted you standing near the road right after he heard the gun shot and you tried to make a run for it," explained the guard. Jackson just stood and thought, his mind couldn't comprehend.
. . .
The door guard walked through the door to the right with a set of keys jingling in the air. He strolled up to jackson's cell and started to unlock it. The door swung open, letting freedom seep into the dark crevice.

"What?" Jackson was so astonished, he couldn't say anything more than a single syllable word.

"You are free to go, any charges will be dropped. Your plate is clear."

"I don't understand."

"We know you didn't kill that man."

"I told you! Who was it, then?" He determined to figure everything out. The guard sighed.

"Officer Timplan did it. He tried to set you up though. He needed somebody to blame.

"I still don't get how I ended up in the car with him though; the last thing i remember is lying on the ground with handcuffs."

"Well, I guess you were speeding and Timplan stood in the middle of the road, planning to stop the next car to drive by. You tried not to hit him and swerve but you fell into a ditch and flipped your car. He said you hit your head pretty hard and knocked yourself out, giving him the easiest opportunity to take you back here," explained the man.

"Wow. And he told you all of this, just confessed?"

"Not really. Some guys from the department heard him having an argument with himself in his office. He was yelling about the murder."

"Oh. The guilt got him."

"No, he was just diagnosed as being schizophrenic and mentally insane."