mirror of https://github.com/nealey/Horrors2
82 lines
2.7 KiB
TeX
82 lines
2.7 KiB
TeX
\chapauth{Quovak}
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\chapter{A Cursed Memory}
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My name is Luke Bavarious. I am a policeman. Recently my wife Vixie
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Bavarious committed suicide. I've been sent in to deal with
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Jack Rogue. He was supposed to be at the courthouse. I walked up to
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the 162nd street mansion where he lived in New York. I slowly
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walked up the dark creaking stairs slowly. I drew my trusty
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Beretta. I knocked at the man's door. ``Open up!''
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I said.
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``What do you want?'' He said.
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I screamed. ``It doesn't matter. If you don't open
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this door, I'll shoot the the lock off with my
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Beretta!''
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``Fine. Hold on a second.''
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``Too late!'' I shot the lock off with my Beretta. The
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sharp kick of the gun was like a wave up my arm. It felt good. I
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opened the door and went inside. In the entryway I saw a thirteen
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year old boy standing in the middle of the room.
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``Why weren't you at court?'' I said.
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``You don't want to find out what I know.'' He
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whispered.
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``I think I do.'' I said, aiming my Beretta.
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``My parents are getting a divorce. I don't want to have
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to choose who has custody.''
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The memory of my girlfriend killing herself rushed back to
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me.
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``Did you see your dad kill your mom? Or did you only hear the
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shot?'' I called.
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The kid screamed a bloodcurdling scream and ran upstairs. I raised
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my Beretta and fired the first shot. He pulled out a gun and shot
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me in my eye. The pain stung as the blood pooled onto the floor. I
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couldn't help but vomit. The fluids mixed in the pool. He
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shot again.
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``Why are you doing this?'' I screamed. The blood kept
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running down my face. The bullets tore it open. I fired again. The
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bullets from my Beretta took the kid's balance. He screamed.
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I heard the kid scream as he fell off the balcony into his rose
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bushes. The thorns cut through his skin. His blood oozed out of
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their holes. I walked over. ``You were subpoenaed. That means
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you should have been in court.'' I said. My wounds were still
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terribly dripping rusted blood from the wounds.
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The kid was screaming and vomit left his torn lips. As he died he
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called out. ``Vixie Bavarious didn't kill herself. Your
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wife was killed{\ldots} by you.'' He knelt to the floor and
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screamed again as he died.
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I looked back at a mirror. Past the blood. And the scars, And the
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vomit. And I remembered. The sound of the bullet I fired into my
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girlfriend's chest. I remembered her blood falling onto the
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carpet. Her spine snapping from the force of my Beretta. Her cries
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of pain. Her corpse hitting the ground.
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I walked past the kid's cut up body. His blood had dried up.
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The vomit had caked on his torn vomit-stained pants. A chill rose
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up my back. I started sobbing. I would turn in my badge the next
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day and become a private detective. Anything to stop my
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grief.
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