The dark angel looming overhead, watching, judging. The light shines bright enough to jar me from my sleep. I feel morning cold grip me. The pale blue light pours in through the window blinds and hits me hard. My head is pounding, my veins ache and I just remembered what today is:
Today is the day…
Today is the day that my integrity pays off. Today is the day that my commitment is fulfilled. Today is the day that justice is served. Today… that bastard will be sent to hell where he belongs.
I’ve seen many things in my life. In my line of work I have come face to face with more then my fair share of atrocities. Few people have ever seen the true ugliness that life has to offer. No one will ever know the truth of it.
It all started with the Wake Point Murders. I was one of the detectives assigned to the case. As heinous as those murders were, the real terror started in a cheap motel room. There, a man who lost everything he had in his life took his heartache and loneliness out on a prostitute who reminded him a bit too much of his ex-wife. She died in the hospital a few days later and since then, he’s been on death row.
After I arrested him, I went down to the factory he used to work at to talk to some of his co-workers. They said that when she left him, he was never the same. Rumor has it, she left him for their drug dealing neighbor and now she’s a junkie who turns tricks on the side.
Then, I went to go have a word with his old boss, seeing as he was the one who fired him and sent him over the edge. He didn’t seem too bothered by the news of his former employee’s predicament. He was busy packing up his belongings, getting ready to move to the corporate office. Firing the lonely soul got him a big promotion. His lack of concern for the matter at hand was overwhelmingly absurd. He kept bragging about moving into a big house by the beach with his son and new wife. I left before he could crack open his wallet and show me photos of his family that he probably had taken at Sears or some such place. I had my own wife and son to worry about.
Three months later, he drives his wife and son off a cliff because they were having an affair. They both died, and he was in critical condition.
That’s when things started to connect for the first time. The factory that he worked at manufactured medical supplies. But, that was just one of the many things that the company who owned that factory produced. Many household items were made in other factories, making this a multi-million dollar company. Now, Laius here, he was being cared for in a hospital that exclusively used the medical supplies made by this company, which means they owned the hospital. So, acting on a hunch, I went downtown to Holy Redeemer to check up on him. And more importantly, his doctor.
I wasn’t surprised to find out that the doctor caring for Oedipus’ father was the same doctor who cared for the hooker from the motel room. I had a suspicion that I dared not to speak aloud that he might have euthanized her. One day he was telling me she was going to pull through. A few days later she flat lined. She was pretty banged up and the possibility of her losing the fight to survive had crossed my mind. And without any solid evidence that he pulled her plug, I couldn’t make any accusations. The only question left is if his patients conveniently die to benefit the company, or if he thinks of himself as some type of angel of mercy.
Next on my stop, the companies head office. I had to have a chat with the boss of this Greek tragedy. The promotion he had boasted to me about was some job as an assistant to the vice-president of sales for the company. Which means I had to have a few words with the vice-president of sales. And that’s when I met him. At first he came off as an arrogant corporate snake. A backstabber. Some sycophantic suck up who would slit his own mothers throat for the sake advancement. But to his credit, he hid it well behind a fake tan and a bleached smile. Needless to say, he gave me nothing useful about his assistant.
I couldn’t help but think there was something much more to this man. Something in his eyes. A blackness. I know now what I could have never guessed then. But my intuition was locked on him long after I left his office.
Seems like that case was wrapped up and done with. Then, suddenly a break in the Wake Point Murders had dropped into my lap. A few days after my chat with the corporate snake, I was cleaning blood off the floor of a church and waiting for a priest to wake up from a coma.
Three days later, he finally snapped out of it and told me that the dead man in his confessional had admitted to being the Wake Point Murderer. The powers-that-be deemed it necessary to leak the story to the press. The murderer had been murdered and the case was closed. I don’t know if they did that to make sure they had the real killer or not. Maybe if they didn’t have him, this would be his chance to stop while he was ahead. If no one was looking for him, then all he had to do was stop killing and slip into obscurity. But, to me, that wasn’t justice. Those girls deserved better.
Sure enough, my gut instinct was right. A limo driver came directly to me with a story just crazy enough to be true. So I had the case re-opened and I went after the real killer. The priest was off the hook for murder and the real Wake Point killer was in custody.
I know I did the right thing. Even after the driver’s warnings. Even after the death threats to me and my family. Even after they burned my house to the ground with my wife and son asleep inside, I did the right thing. I got justice for all those girls and their families. And today is the day I get justice for my family as well.
Today is the one year anniversary of my family’s murder. It’s only fitting that he dies today. At midnight, he will be strapped down to a chair in a six foot glass bubble and then gas will be forced into the ventilation system of that room. He will finally die for all of the misery and suffering he has caused this town. First thing I need to do today is visit my family. I need to let them know that they will be avenged. Their deaths won’t be in vain. The morning is cold and empty. The graveyard is pale, white on grey stone. Trees loom overhead, twisted and dark. All that was once green and filled with life has faded to brown and been covered over with snow, falling gently on the gravestones of the departed.
I walk over to the angel watching over my family. Wings spread, hands folded in prayer, head down in reverence. I stand over them, close to tears.
“I tried my best. I only wanted to do the right thing.” I take a deep breath and collect myself as the wind picks up and whistles an ominous tune.
“He dies today. And after I see this one last thing through… we can be together again.” My right hand grips the gun on my hip. I then begin to contemplate what awaits me in the next life. I close my eyes and face the heavens as the wind and snow sting my face and my life flashes before me. I begin to wonder, “What if?”
What if I had just left it alone? What if I would have listened to the warnings? What if I left it for someone else to clean up? None of that actually matters now. The only real question is how can I atone? The onus will follow me to the end, for it is mine to bare alone. The are no choices left.
Then I am jarred from my anguished serenity by the sound of approaching foot steps… behind me. My hand still on my gun, I turn and draw my weapon to face three men armed with assault rifles, all in black, and masked. The wind bites at my face while the snow loosens its grip on the air. He wasn’t done with me. Killing my family wasn’t good enough. He wants to have one last victory before his death. I won’t make it that easy. Before I can blink the tension finally breaks as the first shots are fired.
The weather is working to my advantage along with those masks narrowing their vision, as the first shots miss. I dive behind a tombstone as the others open fire. I then spot a forth man coming from my left. It was my blind spot until I decided to use the stone as cover. Before he can raise his rifle I fire two shots into his chest.
As he hit’s the ground, I get up and fire three blind shots as I make a run for better cover. One of the men had tried to flank me from my previous position, but he was struck in the gut with one of my stray bullets.
I could now hear one of the remaining two men had stopped to reload his rifle only a few feet away. Quickly, I dropped down to get under the other mans line of fire and peaked around the stone I was using for cover and shot him in the face before he could load the fresh magazine into his AK. As I get back behind my cover I narrowly avoided the wild and poorly aimed shots of the remaining man.
It’s hard to count the shots of a fully automatic weapon. If he hasn’t reloaded yet, he will need to very soon. He is careless. He has little concern for counting his shots or aiming precisely. I had to take a chance and go on the offensive. I had fired six shots from my 45, which means I have two left. More then enough. I doubled back and went around the other side of the tombstone I was behind. He sees me move, and I see him, but I don’t have a clear shot. I start to strafe to the right to get a better view as he fires in my direction. The wind was in his face as the snow began to intensify again.
In one brief moment, he blinked… and I fired.
The bullet casings glisten slightly in the snow. The suns rays struggle to break through the clouds. I was in front of the angel that watched over my family. The sun behind her, making her silhouette glow with a heavenly essence.
I dropped to my knees, unable to feel, finding it difficult to breathe. My eyes wandered to my hand as my gun falls to the ground, slide locked back. I see a small pool of blood being absorbed by the snow, slowly trickling from my chest. I look up to the angel again, wings open in welcome, consumed by light.
I didn‘t ask for much. I’m not a highly demanding person. I just wanted my last indulgence in the world of fine dinning to go well. So I kept my requests simple. Mostly because I knew they wouldn’t get all of it right.
I wanted to start off with a garden salad with a raspberry vinaigrette. That’s really not an unusual request, but the best they could offer was lettuce and carrot slivers you’d likely find in a plastic bag from the super market with some kind of horrendously cheap Italian oil that they tried to pass off and actual dressing.
Then after that disappointing entrée, the plat principal was meant to be a five pound Maine red lobster, which turned out to be not quite that. And I thought duck l`orange would have been a challenge. I would be lucky if that… thing was two pounds at the most, if you count the begrimed rubber bands they left on it’s claws. Looked as though they had fished that creature out of the sewer. Didn’t taste half as bad as it looked. However much of an insult to the culinary arts that was, the canned vegetables they used as a side dish were even worse.
And just when all hope was lost… they disappointed me yet again when they couldn’t even come up with a bottle of wine from Bordeaux. That pig swill that they must have bought from K-Mart for $15 was the final straw.
Just as they put on Beethoven’s “greatest hits” CD, likely from the ninety-nine cent bin at the same K-Mart… after I had asked for Bach, I poured the wine out in front of the cell door. I waited a few moments, then I called out for the guard. As he approached my cell, I grabbed him through the bars by the neck and broke the bottle. I then proceeded to carve off a piece of his face, but before I could do any real damage the other guards came to his rescue.
As one of the guards began to choke me with his nightstick, I coughed up the words, “Skin graft!” and chuckled a little as the medics rushed in and pealed his face of the floor and placed it neatly into a small Styrofoam cooler packed with ice.
After the they decided it wasn’t fun to stomp me into the ground anymore, I took a few minutes to regain myself. I gave some thought about the time I have spent in prison. Eighteen months, twelve after the trial. And since then I’ve killed one guard, injured six, no… seven now. And I killed… hmm… three of my fellow inmates. Small world, one of them happened to be my old assistant from the company. He killed his family or something. I remember his first day in here. Of course I remember, as soon as I saw him I bashed his throat in his a lunch tray.
Where was I? Oh yes, one guard, seven injured, three prisoners, eleven wounded. All in one years time. Other then pure boredom, I was hoping that it would delay my execution. New murder, new trial. Didn’t work out that way. Altogether… that makes fourteen dead at my hands. Hardly a world record. A little disappointing, actually. I think I could have done better. But that doesn’t count all of the deaths that have happened in my name. I have lost count. Everyone responsible for putting me here is dead… or soon will be.
The guards come to my cell again and tell me it’s time.
“Finally,” I reply, “Midnight already? Time flies.”
They put the shackles on me and shove a rifle in my back as I walk down death row. All the while some priest murmurs on and on with his hollow incantations. I can’t help but feel some relief in the way it’s going to end. I’ve been so restless, I’ve simply grown weary of life. Not that I didn’t try to enjoy it while it lasted, but this life wasn’t meant for me. I spent more time living up to the expectations of others… climbing the corporate ladder, spending hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars on my appearance… all meaningless.
As we arrive at the final destination, the priest stops his prayer. He looks me in the eye… now I remember him.
“May God have mercy on your soul.”
A smirk slips onto my face as I look away and walk into the chamber, “May God have mercy indeed.”
I know that I can’t expect much in the few moments I have left here… but I do expect one seat around the gas chamber to be empty. The thought puts a smile on my face as they strap me to the chair.
I feel like my head is splitting apart. I can’t focus anymore. I don’t know what I want from this world. I cant even begin to imagine what the fuck the world wants from me. There is something horrible inside of me. It grows deeper and deeper, consuming all the light that dwells within, until there is almost nothing left of it.
I wasn’t born special. I wasn’t given privileges that most people have. But I pulled my shit together. I became a relatively successful guy. I figure that where I come from, I was something of a success story. But to most people, I just haul around rich people in an overgrown taxi. They would think that, but they don’t know my boss like I do. No one knows him like I do.
He showed me a world of unimaginable pain. He showed me evil and hatred in their most honest form… and I liked it. I helped him clean it up. The terrible things I have seen… I can’t live like this. After what he did… to those girls. And what I did… to cover it up for money. I shouldn’t be alive.
I wish I wasn’t.
The last one… a blonde. That’s all I know about her. That’s all I ever seen of any of them. After he was done with them, that’s all I could use to identify them. I would drive, late at night. Drive around the Point and through the city. It wasn’t my job to find them. He would choose for himself. I could usually guess when he was gonna tell me to stop the limo. Whenever a girl was alone, not another soul in sight.
“Pull over,” he said.
And so I did. He rolled down his window. Whispered to her promises and lies. Then she got into the car. I wish I knew what he told her to make her trust him. But the condition of my services was that I, under no circumstances ask any questions.
After I buried the body last night, I fell to my knees and I begged God for forgiveness. I couldn’t take the guilt anymore. That night was all I could take. The pain… the sorrow. He was inhuman.
The next day, I went to my old priest, Father Mike. I didn’t know whether or not I would tell him about what I have done. I just needed to see a friendly face. I walked into the church and found Father Mike cleaning up after the 7:00PM mass.
“My goodness! I haven’t seen you in years! How have you been?”
“Not good, Father. I need to tell you something.”
“A confession, son?”
The words wouldn’t come to me. I didn’t know what to say, or where to begin.
“You know you can tell me anything. God loves us all, no matter what the sin.”
“What if God doesn’t exist?”
He was now at a loss for words. I was shaking and sweating. I couldn’t look him in the eye. I wanted to run.
“What I mean, Father, is… what if I did something so terrible… that… If God existed… how could he allow something so terrible to happen?”
“What have you done?”
He sounded like he wanted to help. But, the accusing stair of the priest was more then I could stand.
“I’m sorry… Father. This was a mistake. I have to go.”
I began to walk away. But he was walking behind me, whispering warnings… “Wait… please, stop! Tell me what you’ve done! What have you done?!”
I didn’t turn around. I got into my car and watched Saint Mary’s disappear in my rear view mirror. I decided to go to another church. I would go into the confessional, I would make sure the screen was up, and I would tell who ever was listening everything. My conscience was to heavy a burden to carry alone.
I walked inside of the church… it was late now. I went inside the confessional and I waited for the priest. All the while, thinking. I reflected on everything. Why did I do it? Was it just the money? Was it the power? I… remember. I remember the surge that went through my body as I hacked them into pieces. Oh my God… I’m just as bad as he is. My soul tore itself apart. I felt like there was no place in this world for me. I don’t deserve the life that has been given to me. The priest opened the door on the other side of the screen and sat down.
“What are your sins, my child?”
“I hurt them. I burned them from the inside with my pain… I ripped them apart… and I liked it.”
Just then I heard a noise as the priests door was ripped open and a loud thud as he hit the ground. And an all to familiar voice…
“A confession? You were going to sell me out. Is that how you pay me back after everything I did for you?”
I stepped out of the confessional, because I knew what was coming… and he was there waiting. Staring me down almost with a strange curiosity, but with an anger I haven’t seen in his eyes before. I don’t think it was quite so appealing for him to strike me as it was for him to hit those girls.
“Do you have any IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?! I trusted you! You wanted to ruin me. You wanted to RUIN EVERYTHING I WORKED FOR?!”
He stuck me once more, and I fell. There was no sense in trying to talk to him or even to fight back. I deserved this. He took out his knife. His favorite one. The one with the curved blade. Just then, I saw Father Mike… standing in the doorway of the church. Just as my boss was ready to tear me apart, Father Mike jumped on him. They struggled and fought over the knife. The priest was an old man. He couldn’t stop him, but he got the knife away from him. But that only pissed him off. He was an animal… I didn’t know a human being was capable of that kind of brutality. Father Mike didn’t even have a chance to scream before his throat was ripped out.
The events of that night will haunt me forever. The cop sitting in front of me seems sympathetic. It’s almost like he was there. It’s as if he understands the toll this has taken on me. I trust him, but I don’t know why. “I can’t remember what happened after that. I think you know the rest… detective.”
“Yeah. I got the picture. Why are you telling me this? A little late, don’t you think? The old priest, the one in the confessional, might sue us for keeping him in a holding cell for this long.”
“A little late… but it’s right.”
“Well, I never believed he could do something like that. And Father Mike O’ Brien… he doesn’t fit the profile for the Wake Point murderer. But, you don’t want to bargain? With your help… if we take this guy down, you could get a reduced sentence.”
“I don’t deserve it.”
He looked at me, still understanding. I believe he really wants to help me. I need to warn him of what waits for him.
“But, just know… he will come after you. He will come after everyone you care about. He has these… hired thugs. Paid killers. They do the work he won‘t even touch.”
“I‘ll take my chances,” he said with a smile. It looks like he doesn’t seem concerned. He doesn’t know what awaits him. Enough blood has been shed. I don’t want anyone else to die. Everyone who helps me… everyone who cares about me dies and it’s all my fault.
I looked him dead in the eye, to make sure he understands that his life… and the life of his family, depends on him taking caution and heeding my warning.
I had it all. Everything I ever wanted. The
wife, perfect. The son, my pride and joy. The house, white picket fence
suburban bliss. Everything was perfect. The way I dreamed they would
be. I was living the American dream.
But dreams have a nasty habit of going wrong.
I began to suspect things were going wrong.
Slowly but surely things began to slip out of my grasp. I became
powerless against the tide of change. I sit now in the wreckage. I
wonder what went wrong.
I guess things were going as well as they
possibly could. It took eight years for me to get over Alice's death.
My son couldn't accept it at first, but he was only seven. I think at
that age, losing his mother would stick with him. But I think the
therapy helped him cope. A year ago, I married Melissa. Adam was happy.
I even let him be my best man.
A few months after that, I got a big
promotion. I became the assistant to the vice-president of sales of the
company. But the promotion had it's down side. It meant longer hours.
Less time with Melissa and Adam. I was able to buy us a new house in a
great neighborhood just twenty minutes outside the city, south of Wake
Point. In the summer, you can smell the ocean. It's in that very
moment, late in the evening, as the sun sets that I feel content. We
would go out on the deck in the yard and sit and talk about what
happened that day. We would laugh and be a family. Life was perfect
during those moments.
As the distance between us grew greater,
they began to have an affair. My wife. My son. It started out small. I
would come home late from work and they would just be coming home from
the movies or dinner. I thought it was just bonding. How could I be so
blind? From a psychological point of view, it made sense. I wasn't
giving her the love she needed, and for him, well he needed a mother
figure to replace Alice. A Freudian nightmare… she's thirty-two… he's
almost sixteen. How could they do this to me?
I didn't know for sure until today. I
decided to play hooky and ditch work. I took an hour, got some
breakfast then came back home, knowing they would be surprised to see
me. We would go to the beach and go fishing, have a nice family day on
a bright summer afternoon. Maybe go take the jet ski I got Adam for his
birthday last year for a ride.
I came home and walked in the door. They
weren't downstairs. They must be in the kitchen. Nope. They were
upstairs. Maybe they went back to sleep? As I go up the stairs I hear
laughing, from my son's room. I stand in front of the door as a feeling
comes over me. I hear the passionate moans Melissa used to make when we
first got married. I backed away from the door until I hit the opposite
wall and my knees gave out. I slid down the wall onto the floor and I
broke down completely… quietly. I began to weep and shake. Time passed
and I could still hear them. I went downstairs and to the bar on the
deck. I drank a shot of whiskey, but I threw it up. I began to control
my shaking. My tears stopped. I was still, silent, calm.
Then I saw them come downstairs. I rubbed
the tears and vomit from my face with my sleeve and I went inside. I
went about the day exactly as I had planned it. They were surprised to
see me. They were happy, but not nervous. Why should they be? I
convinced her to skip work and him to blow off his friends so we could
have a family fun day.
We got in the car and I started driving… I don't know where. Adam was excited. He said, "Where are we going, dad?"
"I don't know. Where do you want to go?"
I finally broke. I started crying. Melissa put her hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off. "What's wrong, honey?"
"I'm just happy we are all together."
I turned onto the interstate. Traffic was light. It was still early. They looked with concern at me and I got a hold of myself.
"So, you guys decided to sleep in today?"
They had nothing to say. My son looked out the window. Melissa said nothing.
"We're going to the beach."
Adam said, "We didn't bring our bathing suits or towels."
"We won't need them."
The highway curved around the tree line and I could see the beach. I rolled down my window. I could smell the ocean.
I turned to Melissa and said, "Do you always do it in Adam's room, or do you fuck in our bed too?"
I jerked to wheel to the left to get a good
angle to go threw the guard rail on the right. When we hit the rail,
the car went threw it, flipped over and rolled down the rocks. I
couldn't hear their screams, I couldn't feel the glass cutting me, all
I could think about was how I was the only one with a seat belt on.
We landed on a remote part of the beach. Now we could be alone. Everything was perfect again.
The echoes stir around in my head asking all the questions that I can’t answer.
“What have I done?”
I try to convince myself I did the right thing. Why? Mercy, in any form, is the right thing. Debatable, but subject to opinion. And mine won’t matter if the wrong people find out what I’ve done.
I’ve killed before. Like the cop who was shot in the spine. His family was murdered and that bullet was the final revenge for the incarceration of a very powerful man. He had nothing to live for, he knew that so he asked me to cut off his life support.
The prostitute. Raped and beaten in a cheap motel for three days straight. She was mutilated beyond recognition. She didn’t want to live anymore, so I helped her.
But this… this was different. A child. A little boy. Cancer, malignant. Invaded his organs. It started in his brain. I see the pain on cancer patients faces. It’s something few people are brave enough to bare. But a child?
He never spoke. Never. The pain was too much, you see. He would only nod his head when I asked him any questions. The chemo therapy did nothing for him. Just made him feel worse. The cancer was unaffected. So, I stopped the treatment.
His parents begged me to save him when he was first brought in a few weeks ago. I did try my best to save him. I honestly did. After a while, they knew it was hopeless. Soon enough, they stopped asking me anything. They came everyday at the same time. Ten in the morning. It’s now five of ten. I’ve had to tell many people the same news. Now, in this time, in this situation, I find myself… empty. There are no words.
They we’re completely and utterly silent.
“I did everything I could to ease the pain.”
I came close to speaking the truth. He was still on the bed, sheet pulled over him. They didn’t look underneath. Just a few hours ago, he was very much alive. He even spoke to me for the first time… for the last time. This morning, I came in to follow the routine. Asking the same questions, but this time, I got a different answer. He uttered quietly only one word. “Please.” I didn’t know what he meant at first, until I noticed he was looking at the heart rate monitor. He was so weak all he could do was blink every time the machine beeped. I knew then.
“You want me to…,” he nodded his head slowly. He knew what he was asking me to do. I couldn’t let him suffer. I thought of my son. I remembered back many years ago, when he was the same age. I imagined what I would feel like as a father.
“It was very peaceful. He just feel asleep.”
They didn’t look at me, even though I saw the father wince at my words. The mothers eyes began to well up with tears. She didn’t allow herself to cry. They had already shed their tears.
Still nothing as if I wasn’t even in the room. I wanted to confess. But I didn’t know how.
“He spoke to me.”
They turned slowly and looked into my eyes, and I into theirs. I’ve never seen anything like that before. Sad, but… something else I can’t describe. Somewhere between curiosity, regarding his last words, and… relief.
The mother spoke, “Thank you, doctor.”
They didn’t want to know what he said. They turned back to look at their son. I looked at him too. I looked at all of the things he once was and I thought of all the things he could be. I imagined him running down the stairs Christmas morning, birthdays, little league games, report cards, playing catch with his father in the back yard, baking cookies with his mother. Yesterday he was alive, today he’s dead. Nothing could change that now.
“I hurt them. I burned them from the inside with my pain… I ripped them apart… and I liked it.”
Next thing I remember is waking up in a hospital bed, cuffed to the rail. Not the life I envisioned for myself when I left the seminary. The detective didn’t seem to be happy with my story. Maybe it’s the part about my black outs that bothers him.
“I’m afraid you going to have to do better then that, Father.”
“You can check my medical records. I’ve had black outs before.”
He had my file under his arm. He took it out and flipped it open, to a random page. He just wanted to make sure I knew he looked. I knew he had plenty of time to look through it. I’m sure he knew just about everything in there. After all, I’ve been out for three days, or so they tell me. Usually my black outs only last a few hours.
“… It says hear you haven’t had a black out in fourteen years.”
“Well that’s because…”
He cut me off, “The medication. Yes, I know. Did you take your pills on the day in question?”
I have not even been awake ten minutes and I’m getting these questions. They haven’t even bothered to tell me why I’m here.
“Yes,” I took a deep breath, “Maybe you could tell me what this is all about? Why am I hand cuffed? Is this about the Wake Point murders? I think the man in the confessional..”
“The man in the confessional? You mean this guy?”
He showed me a picture on a man. Fat, bald, glasses… a priest. I know that I met him before…
“Does he look familiar?”
“Yes, who is he?”
“Father Michael O’ Brien. From Saint Mary’s downtown.”
Now I remember him. Was he the one? The detective sat down by the bed, “Why don’t you tell us what happened that day. From the beginning.”
The day started off the same as any other. I woke up feeling about as empty as I have since my sister died. She took care of me when I was a child, even though she was only eleven years older then me. Our parents died when I was six, so she was all I had. She worked hard to feed us both while I went to school. I felt so bad when she had to drop everything at work to come get me if I had blacked out. When she died of cancer twenty-three years ago, I filled my life with God and went into the seminary. It didn’t help. But they gave me all I needed to live, and paid for my medication, so that was enough to stay.
All these years I had hated God for what he took away from me. The sheep followed the faithless Sheppard, without a clue. Each day I would wake up and read the news paper. I would see all the evil this world had in it. Everyday I wondered how anyone could believe in God. This was especially true of the Wake Point murders. Nine girls. Raped. Beaten. Butchered. And left in the woods, just past the Point.
After I had read about the latest victim, I took my pills, finished my breakfast, said a hollow prayer for them and mentioned them in the seven o’ clock mass. Only a hand full of seniors even bother anymore, especially that early in the morning.
Later that night, I had seen a man from my window in the rectory enter the church. It was too dark to see his face, but I assumed he was there for absolution.
“…So I had made my way to the church and went inside the confessional, where he was already waiting.”
“And then he confessed to you, about the killings?
“I’m not sure. All he said was, ‘I hurt them. I burned them from the inside with my pain… I ripped them apart… and I liked it.’ That’s all I remember before the black out. Was Father Mike the murderer? Did he get away? What happened? Tell me!”
“We found Father O’ Brien…,” he took some crime scene photos out of the folder and showed them to me, “dead. Next to you, who we found soaked in his blood, passed out on the alter.”
The pictures detailed a horrific sight. Father Mike’s body was not even recognizable. Blood was every where. Words were written with it… “No God.”
“You tore him apart, Father… with your bare hands.”
To have a day go like this one has… hell, to have a life go this bad, and still be able to walk into a sh*t hole like this one, sit down at the bar, have a shot and a beer and then lock eyes with an angel… and that smile. Miracles do happen.
I have to start at the beginning.
My wife was an angel. Then she f*cked the neighbor.
No, to far back. I could have lived with that. I think it starts with the b*tch leaving me for him. Somehow, despite the infidelity on her part, she still took half my sh*t and left with that f*cking drug dealer. I heard he was making her turn tricks, but I’d have to see it to believe it. I could tell she was using, but I didn’t think anything could be strong enough to turn her into a wh*re.
But now I have nothing. I’m living with my mother again, something I swore wouldn’t happen since the last time I had to live with the old hag, and I haven’t been with a woman in three years. And today my boss at the shop gave me a pink slip. Usually the bar is the first stop when I get done work on a Friday night.
Then I saw the most beautiful green eyes from across the bar and I felt like none of that other sh*t mattered. We exchanged glances for more then twenty minutes. I had lost count of how many drinks I had after a while… then that smile. Right then I knew that I wanted to touch her angel skin, to smell her long, soft black hair. I wanted to taste her sweet kiss and hear her soft sensual voice. I wanted to take her into all five of my senses.
I was starting to feel light headed by the time she ordered me a beer… and brought it over herself. I can’t remember her name, I can’t remember what I had said to make her laugh so much, I can’t remember who paid for the motel room.
All I remember is waking up on the stained mattress alone.
Now it’s coming back to me. She’s right where I left her. I get up and walk into the bathroom and see that she’s still in the bath tub. She looks a little pale. She must have lost a lot of blood. Well she isn’t going anywhere this time.
She’s so still. I brush her hair away from her face. I feel she’s still warm. I put my hand under her chin and gently lift her head. I kiss her softly and she opens those big, green eyes and looks at me. I think she’s smiling underneath the duct tape.
So on my Myspace profile I have a series of short stories I had started but never finished. I have completed 5 of 7 and I haven't worked on them in a while.
The basic premise of these stories is that I have several personalities in my head. I know, it sounds lame. All the stories are one person per story who is experiencing the worst day of thier life. Murder, Rape, Torture, Incest... you name it, I've got it. And don't worry about wasting your whole day on my little stories, I pride myself on being able to develope character as well as drive a plot in what would be considered a full story in 4 pages or less.
I have recieved positive feedback from several friends... but not nearly enough for me to believe that they aren't simply being nice. So, sooner or later I will post these stories here on UG and see how you guys like it. I might feel compeled to complete them if I recieve UG love.