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#1 2009-11-24 18:18:34
- wolfblood17
- Member
- From: Insane Asylum
- Registered: 2009-04-14
- Posts: 695
Deathbed
Author's note: All right folks, think about the question at the end of this sad story. It should mean something. If it somehow doesn't... I honestly won't know what to say to them.
P.S.- It doesn't involve werewolves....
The Deathbed
A painting of swirling reds, pinks, and orange decorated the horizon behind me. I could only see it through the reflection of the large window frames five hundred yards away from me. My Colt AR-15 SP1 rifle was leaning against the roof’s ledge a foot away from me. Strapping the Bluetooth into my ear, I was ready to kill. The time and atmosphere was perfect, room temperature air and no wind or rain to speak of. It was an excellent day to end someone’s life.
My target walked into the bright room behind the window. A tall man in his fifties with balding and graying hair, he was well fit for his age. His skin was pale, almost like the complexion of a ghost. His face was rounded from age with heavy crow’s feet and dark bags under his eyes. They were too bloodshot and watery to see his original irises. He squinted against the light.
I leaned towards the rifle and watched through the scope, steadying the rifle in my hands. I watched him steady himself into a high-back computer chair. Picking the cell phone out of my jeans pocket, I dialed the number I was given by my employer. The phone rang on the other end of the Bluetooth. I watched as a red light blinked rapidly in tune with each jangle.
My target’s name was Carter, a child rapist and murder. His father was on life support, a large crime syndicate of a small local town nearby. He wanted me to kill his son.
One day ago…
When I met the old man in the hospital, he was fragile. His voice though, was strong. “My son has broken the laws of my… my…” he broke into wracking coughs. I picked a tiny plastic cup of water off the bedside table, handed it to him.
“Take your time,” I said soothingly. Unlike the youths I’ve seen walking the street’s these days, I respected my elders. I knew to be patient with them.
Samuel Drakes, the old man, took slow sips of water. He was in a sitting position in the bed. “He broke the laws of my house, he must pay for his crimes!” he rasped.
“What crimes did he commit?”
“He raped and murdered a small child; she was to gently caressing young for that to happen.”
I closed my eyes and jerked my head in a quick burst of anger. “How old was she?” I asked, looking back at the old man. My throat tightened in rage.
He stayed quiet for a moment, shaking his head. “Ten,”
“gently caressing hell,” I hissed. My fist clenched, I could feel my veins and knuckles run against my skin.
“I want you to kill him; I can’t link this to my granddaughter. She is the only rightful heir to my syndicate. I’ll give you ten million, a mere half fraction of my revenue.”
“I’d only take fifty thousand; I only want vengeance, not blood money.”
The old man balked at my low price, maybe he was expecting higher than his offer. “Why so little money?” he wheezed. He went into another fit of coughs. Then he sipped some more water.
“Two reasons. First of all, your son isn’t worth ten million dollars. He’s worth the dog shite people clean up in their yards. Second, money isn’t going to help me sleep at night. Blowing your son’s gently caressing head off will. This Earth doesn’t need scum like him.”
Carter picked up the phone. “Hello?” he slurred. I was watching him through the scope, he nearly lost his balance. He slid himself into a chair.
“You should have known better than to rape and kill a ten year old girl!” I snarled.
“What? Who is this?” he burped when he finished. I rolled the eye looking through the scope.
“Answer me one question and you might live. What is your name?” my hands clenched tighter on the grip, my index finger brushed against the trigger.
Despite my anger, my grip was steady. “Carter Drakes,” he said.
I pulled the trigger, twice. The first shot tore straight through his throat, releasing an arc of blood. The second bullet completely obliterated his head in a mist of blood, brain matter, and bone. It was too fast for him to react. His headless body slumped in the chair, dragging blood down the wall. The phone crashed to the floor.
I pulled my head back from the scope and stood up. Hanging up the phone, I tore out the SIM card and threw the pieces over the ledge. The crash was distant. Silently, I packed my rifle in a large duffel bag. I then headed for the back edge of the warehouse and climbed down a rusty ladder.
My truck was waiting like a giant red mountain.
Samuel Drake’s room was at the end of the hall in the intensive care wing. His door was open, sterile white light brightening the room. A small lamp on the bedside was glowing weakly, sending its rays over the old man’s body. Samuel was sipping water from the same cup from yesterday. He looked weaker. His voice was still sharp though.
He noticed me and waved me in. “Is it done?”
I nodded, “Yes, he is definitely gone.”
Samuel nodded, sighed. “Your money is on the chair over here.”
I walked to the piece of furniture and picked up a large envelope. It was heavy, felt like more than fifty thousand dollars. “It seems like more than our agreement,” I said, cocking my head and frowning at the old man.
“That is because I have one more job for you.”
“Yes?”
“I want you to listen to my confession before I leave this earth,” he rasped, coughing again. He directed me to sit in the chair. “I will make this quick,” he said after shakily sipping some water.
I leaned forward in the chair, envelope cradled in my hands. It was loosely dipping to the floor between my knees. “Go on,” I whispered.
“When I was a younger man, a strong leader for my syndicate group; I did horrifying things to people. One girl, like this little girl my son killed, was the daughter of a rival group. When I figured out who she was…” he shook his head, tears starting to roll his cheeks. “I kidnapped her and took her to a cave deep in the woods. I didn’t know what I was doing until afterwards…”
A long pause, the old man shaking his head; he finally continued. “When I kidnapped her she never stepped screaming, so I killed her. The next thing I remember were wolves licking the blood off of my face. I looked over… and there she was, cut to pieces by me. They never found her little body!” he sobbed. Putting his face into his hands and crying.
“I am the essence of evil,” he sobbed again. I sighed. “I never gave that little girl a chance! Why does it have to be the children that suffer our wrath?”
“Samuel,” I said loudly, “you aren’t evil, I am.”
The old man looked up at me; I stood up and walked for the door before he responded. I walked down the hall, stuffed the envelope in the inside pocket of my windbreaker. Thoughts of the little girl I killed years ago started flowing through my brain.
I spotted a phone at the corner, put some coins in and dialed a number I’ve never bothered to use.
The phone rang three times before a thick Russian voice answered. “Hello?” it answered gruffly.
“Vladislav Arkady?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, who is this?”
“It’s your old pal Dave, from the experiments. Remember them?” I asked in Russian.
“Dave, my old friend it’s been long time no?” he practically yelled into the phone.
“Very long time,”
“How are you doing?”
“I could be better, listen. I have to tell you something about your sister Zhanna,” the tears started in my eyes. I tried blinking them away but they ran down my cheeks anyway. I could hardly speak.
Zhanna was the little girl I killed years ago. On the second I pulled the trigger, she wasn’t the only one to die. The question the old man asked floated in my head.
Why is it that children with no chance must suffer the wrath of a war or battle between to others?
(with fangs!)Offline
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