Not so a while back, I posted a short story from the first-person view of...somebody. This somebody did... something to a certain... um, someone, and all was very spooky and dark and got my ego warmed quite a bit after I posted it on a_soc_k
Also, because of that posting more ideas came to me through others. Ideas I probably would have liked not to have, because I can distract myself with countless little nagging ideas all by myself, thank you very much.
But no, a few took root. The nameless, faceless protagonist now has a face, gender, and almost a name (I can personally aim my hate towards seraphania
for her gender ;p), as well as some background.
I cannot produce in words how much I wasn't planning on continuing this. I was shocked to have the original as well received as it was, and had hoped to ride on it's coattails for a short time, while letting it stand on it's own for it's own merits. These are things I am no longer allowed. Because I have ideas
. And these are ideas that are sharp beaked and clawed and peck at me like I'm tasty. I am not. And so to appease these non-existent peckers, if that first part was the opening chapter, I give unto you the ending of whatever story it may have told.
We just stared at each other for what seemed like too long.
He said it.
I couldn't believe it had actually came out of his mouth, but this stupid, intelligent, thoughtful, stupid, sexy bastard had actually said what I just thought he said. He just sat there, shirtless, with my silken red bedsheet the only thing hiding all of him from the world, staring at me and waiting for an answer. I couldn't believe it. And of course he had to say it when I was in little more than a thong and bathrobe. Damn it.
I was lucky and got to my gun before he did.
"Don't even. Leave it."
He stopped moving. "It's true then." He didn't need to say anything, but he was probably in some form of shock. "You run the Rebekah Corporation."
"Not so much run as built
," I said. "Named after my grandmother." My pistol was leveled at him, and his hand was already away from his holster. He wasn't going anywhere. "The fact that you found out is a testament to your skill. You really are a damn good detective." I motioned to the chair by the desk, and he slowly moved to it, keeping his hands up. I knew he wouldn't try anything. He was too sweet to.
"Why are we- why is this happening?" He looked around, his hands still raised. God, he was cute when he was confused.
I gestured to put his hands down, and wondered if I should even say anything. Grandpa's videos always had the mobster in this position who started monologuing be the one who died first. Expect for Scarface; different kind of climax though, not really what we had set up here. His face, however, was clearly hurt and confused; he really didn't know until right then. Jesus, I couldn't keep him like that.
"We," damn it, my voice cracked, "We are here...because you walked into my bar one day and were a gentleman. You never asked about my work, and accepted the lies I gave you. You cooked me dinner and left without wanting more. You- we are here, because I love you, and you had to go and just fuck this all up sideways."
His eyes didn't glance around; he wasn't looking for an out, not some way he could turn the tables on me. He couldn't reach me from the chair, and there was too much distance between us cover that fast. He wasn't hiding anything on himself; obviously. The only thing within reach that he could even try anything with was my letter opener, and that was about worthless; he'd given it to me after all, he knew it was cheap and stupid and kitschy and that's exactly why he had got it for me.
I was proud of myself for keeping an indifferent face on while we talked. It was all show, he knew me too well to think I was that detached. I was working things out; looking at the odds and variables, seeing how things would turn out, and trying not be distracted by how much my body still wanted him. He might've been doing the same. But your options are more limited when you have a nine mil staring at you from near point-blank.
"You don't have to do this." Please don't. "You just said you loved me. Which is amazing, because- well, it's not the phrase I would have expected in this situation."
"And what did
you expect, Detective? What scenario did you envision when you pictured me holding your life in my hands?" I didn't want the sad smile be seen, didn't want this to be any harder but allowed him the charity of showing emotion. "Please, tell me."
He gave a short little laugh, that same one he gave when he was embarrassed but still thought it was funny. "Can't say I really pictured this exactly, but... you... you don't
have to do this. Really. Neither of us does."
I laughed myself, too shrill for my ears but it was getting harder to hide. The gun never waived, though. "And what you would have me do, oh white knight? Give up my life? The people, the deals, the money, the lies
, the fear, the whole scha-bang and all for what? For a man, a handsome man, mind you, the man I love, the man I had actually
dreamed about leaving with forever like I was in high-school, to ride off into some sunset? Is that how you pictured this? With me doing some little turn on my heels," amazing how you can spin around and never have the barrel go off target, "face the world a new woman, where we live together on some beach and forget we ever lived this life?"
"...it does sound nice when you say it like that."
I laughed again; it was getting harder to hide the sadness in it. "It does, doesn't it. It really does." We let the silence deafen us, allowed everything we knew to just fill the room. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough to guess at the rest. I did know everything, which didn't help the least bit. It was almost over. I knew it, he maybe suspected, and we both just wanted to know who would cave first.
"It doesn't have to end this way." Damn. "I don't have to tell anyone. Hell, you have cops already on your payroll, you can always blackmail me into not saying anything. Hey, I think I'd make a pretty good patsy."
"Liar," and even he chuckled when I called him on it. "You're too much of a straight arrow to ever let something like personal feelings stop you from doing what's right. You'd do what you know you had to, even if you knew it'd hurt you too. That why you do what you do. It's why you're as liked as you are. You're a good man. Good for me."
Another unbearable silence.
"You don't have to do this." I considered his words, felt them out. He was a horrible liar, which is what made the truth from him that much more hurtful. Because you knew he was right. And he wouldn't have said otherwise.
But we both know that isn't how this story ends."
He was gone before the chair even fell backward. Two in the chest, same as I'd always practiced. I walked up to his body, looking down at what was gone. I didn't follow up with one in the head; this wasn't an execution. This wasn't even murder. This was a loss.
The tears threatened to come hard and fast. I squeezed my eyes tight, refusing to let any tears go; there was business to handle first, I could cry like a baby later in the shower. My nails dug into my palm, felt the skin break, but it did the trick and I gasped out at the pain. No tears. Not now.
Martin and Jessie broke down the door in their rush to my aid, bless those guys, fifteen seconds late. Forty-fives, with silencers, stared at me from my now broken entry. Like that could intimidate me right now.
"It's alright guys," I said, setting my own pistol down. "It's all done."
"Boss?" Martin started to ask, lowering his gun, before Jess nodded past me to the floor. He moved quickly over the body, gun drawn like he thought zombies were real, or about to be. Martin cleared the bathroom, returning with the small first-aid kit, taking my hand as I supported myself on the dresser.
"What now, ma'am?" Bless Jessie and his focus on the details. Let him take care of the little things.
"Call Donaldson, get a report going. A city detective was found shot tonight, on the way home from his girlfriends'. Mugging gone bad. Something, just make it believable, he wasn't stupid in life. Keep things in house, I don't want this handed down to some rookie who's not under us. And wake Kellser up, we need a cleaner in here." I looked back over to him, the red puddle growing bigger. "Find out how to get a hold of his parents, they're up in Chesterfield somewhere. Make sure we take care of all funeral arrangements. They aren't paying for anything."
Jessie nodded, and was on his cell halfway through the list. Martin let my newly wrapped hand go, just staring at me; he'd been around longer than Jess, he could read me better. "Anything else we can do?"
I looked around, finally remembering to pull my robe closed. Still reasonably clean, to tell the truth. Nothing broken, nothing overturned; hell, it could've fooled me that nothing had just happened. The window wasn't broken; two inches higher would've changed that, need to remember to get that fixed. The bed was still messy; we never had gotten to that shower. The bedsheet trailed from the mattress to the downed chair, just now beginning to soak up blood. His picture smiled at me from my desk just a foot over, taken just a week ago.
"Find me a new roof. I don't feel like living under this one anymore."
There's a lot I want to change. Things to fix, little bits that don't flow right for me. But that's for later. I think I want a hug now.