A Silenced Whisper

<div align=center>
Chapter 1: Tragic Endings </div>
Throughout the forty three years I've lived on this earth I've come to grips with one simple outlook on life. Life has a bad habit of stabbing you in the back when you least expect it. A perfect life can suddenly become that worst nightmare you fear when you go to bed at night. The nightmare you struggle to awake from with all your might, only to find out like an unlucky poker draw, that you played the wrong cards and you are still trapped in the virtual hell thats around you.

To my dismay, those nightmares have been what I've lived with for the past 2 years. Only, unlike other people, my virtual hell isnt virtual anymore. Those two years ago it became, a terrible reality that I find myself forced to return to on today, the anniversary of that fateful night. The night that till this day, I still feel is my fault.

It was the last Sunday in October two years ago, I had been working late hours at the construction yard downtown. Since the economy was in a pit I found many of my pals hanging up thier uniforms in trade for the dreaded pink slip. Less workers meant more hours and as much as I longed to be around my lovely wife and beautiful baby girl, my job was my job, and I had no choice but to work or be fired.

That Sunday felt like the hardest I've ever worked since I applied for a job at the construction yard, four years earlier. My eyes stung from sweat and my muscles literally felt like they were torn apart piece by piece till they were tiny strips of ripped sinew. Greatfully punching out I slid into the seat of my rusty old Nova and cruised to the soothing melody of "Stand By Me" by B.B King.

Despite working late many days of the week I had what many could call the American dream. With a fair sized home, beautiful wife and decent income, as well as a new baby daughter, I felt it was the start of something perfect..soon I'd be heading to a much better job a half an hour away and soon I'd be able to support my family financially as well as spend more time with them, it was perfect.

But like I said, a perfect life can stab you in the back when you least expect it, and on this fateful night, it stabbed more painful then a 3 foot blade.

I looked down at the clock. "9:30PM" were the numbers illuminated in the LCD, as they glew in a neon shade of blue. Stepping out of the car my home seemed to have a slightly different atmosphere. The lights were pitch dark with not even a light from a tv shining in the living room. "That's strange" I thought to myself, as I had grown used to my wife sitting on the couch when I came home, watching old re-runs of Law & Order.

I approached the door..it was unlocked and creaked open slightly letting the cold breeze from the night air creep into the house at a quick pace.

"Elaine! You left the door open, and the heater is running..that's a waste of gas, you know we cant afford to have our bills sky high like this!"

My words echoed in the pitch black darkness. Calling out her name once more I found I had no response.

"She must be sleeping" I said to myself as I flicked on the lights and hung up my coat and uniform slowly dragging my self up the seemingly long stairs, that seemed to get longer with each step.

Cracking open the Nursery door just a pinch, and peering in I found my baby daughter was sound asleep, her slumber more quiet then usual. "Sleeping like a little angel.." I pushed the door shut as those words exited my mouth heading to my bedroom and my terribly missed bed.

Perhaps I was too tired that it did not strike me as weird that my wife was sleeping in complete darkness.

I opened the door and flicked on the lights and felt my face go flush as my hand lost its grip on the doorknob, my body falling to its knees...

<div align=center>Chapter 2: Your my Sacrifice</div>
There it was in front of me, a vision that would be tattooed into my retina for what will probably be the rest of my life.

My wife dead on the floor, her neck slit, body beaten, and her night robe torn to shreds as if a lion got a hold of it.

"ELAINE," I said as I rushed to her side, "Who did this to you? Who hurt you like this?"

Once sweat around my eyes it now made way for tears as I looked down at my hands, realizing they were dripping in her own puddle of blood. Screaming I shook my hands off, and looked around in a fit of panic for any clues as to how this happened. Struggling to my feet, and wiping the tears from my eyes, I knew exactly what had happened.

Someone had broken in. The sliding door that led into our bedroom was shattered, its doors stuck from being pushed off thier tracks. As for our belongings? Gone. Even those with emotional value to them, were nowhere to be found. All that I had left was a wife, dead on the floor, and a mind full of rage against the thief who committed this horrible deed.

Instinctively I ran through the door of the nursery. Remember how I had said she was sleeping quieter then usual? She wasn't sleeping at all, she was dead from what seemed to be a single shot to the back. The sick b*stard who had broken into our home killed a defenseless little baby girl. My stomach started to churn and before I knew it I fell on the floor and threw up, almost falling into my own regurgitation.

There was no use calling the cops now, the thieves were long gone and the last thing I needed was to be put in the slammer for a crime I didnt commit. You know the drill, innocent man finds a crime, reports it, then gets locked up by the half-ass police department who put him to blame since they are too busy eating doughnuts to actually search for a proper suspect, this was my responsibility now, my life wasn't important anymore, my mission was to hunt down this devil lover and take what he took from me, regardless if it meant my own life in the process.

Tucking my baby in and carrying my wife's body to her bed where I pulled the covers over her, I headed downstairs.

The burglars may have been smart but they had no clue about my hidden gun closet. Retreving the key from a little door behind my wife's buddha statue (hey she loved those things, what can I say?) I went downstairs to the basement.

The house I'm living in is what you could call "old". It's this two story home built around the 1930's and besides being very victorian it had another little surprize I was quite interested in; a "pocket door".

A pocket door is a huge wooden sliding door, named that because of how it would slide into a small 'pocket' when completely open, and also were hard to lockpick because of the type of key it used. Unlocking the door I pulled it across, pushing it in it's little pocket.

Behind that door was rows of gun cabinets, I had been collecting guns and ammunition for the past couple of years as much as my wife didn't like it, and now finally in death she could find a use for them; to avenge her slow and painful death.

I grabbed two 9mm pistols, a Standard Police Issue Double Barrel Shotgun (told you I've been collecting) and a Desert Eagle in which i stuffed in my back pocket. (I wouldn't have much use for it, it had a slow rate of fire and only held twelve rounds.) Making sure all guns were loaded I slid the door shut, locked it, and trudged back up the steps and out the broken glass door, the glass crunching underneath my shoes.

Following the deep shoe-prints in the mud that left the scene, all I could think was "payback's a b*tch."....

<div align=center>Chapter 3: Say Hello to My Little Friends</div>
Sweat formed at my brow and dripped over my eyelids as my boots sunk into the freshly made mud. I cursed the ground I stepped on as I found my feet occasionally getting stuck as I struggled to set them free.

"Damnit," I said shaking my left boot as it was coated in mud, "I can't walk fast with this damn mud under my shoes!"

I reached down and grabbed a bunch of leaves in which I scattered across the trail to help me walk better. Still slipping but only a little, they helped me to move faster as I continued my search.

To my dismay I was soon faced with another challenge, when the footprints eventually stopped, and stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Now where the hell are they?"

A small opening, evidenced by a few broken twigs in a shrubbery nearby, cleared so people could pass through, caught my attention.

Upon investigating, the footprints continued. Deciding this would be the best bet, I walked on through, following the footprints as the ground was now barely mushy since the trees had shielded the ground from most of the rain.

I then faintly spotted a light out in the distance, one which appeared to be a small fire.

"Gotcha..."

Slowly, yet carefully I snuck towards the fire, afraid that if I went too fast the sound of my footsteps would be heard and would lose me my chances of finding who killed my wife. While sneaking I heard a chatter and stopped in my tracks. Gun drawn, and heart pacing I listened in on the conversation nearby, getting ready to make my move.

"Dumb b*tch bled all over my clothes!"
"Well what the hell do you expect? You cut her you stupid sh*t."
"Yeah but I didn't think she'd bleed on me like this."

Hearing that was enough for me..

"Freeze you sadistic sons of a b*tches!"

Startled they turned around quickly, my gun fixated on them both. Glancing down I noticed the one pulling out a gun. I ducked behind a tree as a shot fired off in my direction, tagging the side of the tree as splinters flew off from the force of the bullet.

I got myself into a firefight, and I wasnt ready to lose either.

Pulling out my pistols and sucking in a breath I jumped out from the side of the tree, and pulled the triggers..

<div align=center>Chapter 4: Only The Beginning </div>
Sometimes you feel as if your life is a drama movie that’s predictable in every scene. You always know there's something more going on. That right when you think the job is done, the unavoidable plot twist you knew was coming, punches you smack dab in your face. It’s a wonder why my life hasn’t become a full length movie; I bet it would sell with all the twists that came along with it.

That exact thought passed through my mind as I peered out the window, watching the cars drift by the cafe window, the brightly lit sign for 'Matt's Steaks' gleaming through the slight fog that enveloped the early morning hours. I sipped from my coffee mug, its rich taste and hot temperature, circulating through me like blood to my veins, giving me the short lived rush they call caffeine. It felt wonderful to my senses which sharpened as I let out a quick yawn.

Energy...the only thing I needed to survive the past couple nights leading up to the anniversary of their deaths. It was the same deal each year...me being unable to sleep because of memories of what happened that last Sunday in October, a story I find painful yet also hard to re-tell time and time again, although I learned over time that its just a part of life, a curious soul who read my name in the newspaper, wanting to know what had happened to that man, from the horse's mouth itself.

I glanced down at the newspaper the spill around the cup having caused a small ring of coffee on the paper.

"Armed Robber Kills Family of 3, Sets Fire To Home. Suspect Still At Large."

I gagged under my breath as the headline crossed my eyes. These sick people, in the world today. All they want is money, even if it means the lives of an innocent family, more then likely enjoying Family Night in the security of their own home, never expecting that the alarm would fail and their lives would end in a heartbeat.

Dwelling over this terrible story the flashback came back to me like a bad itch, its images playing in a million colors.

Everything was a blur, I could hear the whiz of the bullets and the wind from their projectiles as they flew by my head, my hands jolting with each bullet from the guns I held in front of me. Like a good day at the gun club, it didn't take help for the bullets to hit their intended targets.

Bang. The bullet did a kamikaze into the armed man's neck, his blood shooting out like a broken water mane as he fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

I landed on my side, rolling on to my feet where I holstered my guns, aiming my desert eagle at his unarmed accomplice.

"I sit here wondering, set you free or murder you for the piece of sh*t that you are.”
“C’mon man, be reasonable. I-I wasn’t even a part of this, it was his entire fault he, he- chickened me into it, honest,” He said in a stutter, “Oh f*ck, don’t kill me man, I’m a young man, I’m too young to die. Let me live, man, I never did anything to you!”
“What about my wife and kid? Did you let them live? You think that wasn’t doing something to me you demented pile of sh*t?”

The man’s demeanor started to change, looking down he let out a laugh, almost as if possessed by old Lucifer himself.

“You really think you got this figured out don’t you? Oh yes, kill the assassins, Blam, pow, dead. Mission Accomplished, game over, doesn’t it all just seem perfect, can’t you see what’s right in front of your face?”
“What the hell are you going on about?”
“What you’re too afraid to accept. Your wife wasn’t a mindless killing. She was a sacrifice.”
I stepped in, slamming him to the ground, gun pressed to his forehead.
“A sacrifice?! FOR WHAT?”
“So that the truth wouldn’t be revealed. So that the secret she discovered would follow her to the grave.”
The gun dug into his forehead deeper, the area it was pushed in, going red from the stopping of it’s circulation.
“What secret?”
“You’re not anybody special, you’re not going to get anything handled to you on a silver platter, jackass.”
“Tell me now or kiss your ass goodbye.”
“Read my lips: F-U-C-K You.”
Kneeing him in the crotch I gave him one last chance.
“What, secret? Yeah don’t feel so strong now huh,” I said grabbing his thumb pulling it back so fast I dislocated it, “tell me the secret or this little pinky goes to hell.”
“You b*stard! You, go to hell!”
“Wrong answer,” I said shooting two of his fingers off of his hand, his mouth screaming in pain, “Oops looks like two little piggies went to hell.”
“I’ll never tell you, you freak. You’ll have to find it out yourself. The only thing I can tell you is…”
“What?”
“Come closer..”
“Now?”
“Even closer..”
My face merely inches above his I asked again.
“Now?”
He opened his mouth for a whisper.
“You really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“I did your wife.”
Punching him so hard I heard his jaw break I stood up and stepped on his neck right as he attempted to get up.
“Tell the devil, he’s going to be a busy man, in the next few days.”
Firing a shot to his lips, his body went limp, the blood from the shot forming a puddle behind his head.
I grabbed his cell; “TC” was illuminated as the last text message received. "Jean, get me some pizza, will ya?".
I let out a laugh.
“Pizza. Your face is going to look like pizza after I’m done with you.”
I followed the trails back to my home, the mud splattering under my feet as the rain began again, as if on cue. Washing the blood away from the bodies of those who committed sins in the name of Lucifer. As I shivered I felt my breaths become visible. It was starting to get cold. Cold, miserable and dreary. I couldn’t find a more suitable weather pattern for how I felt right now, even if I tried.

Grabbing enough ammunition from downstairs to last me for a few days, I stuffed them in my pockets and slid into my car where I pulled out, tires squealing and laying rubbing while in reverse. I pulled out the CD my 15 year old nephew had burned for me and slid it into the CD player I had installed last summer and hit shuffle. The hard driving riffs from “So Long Ago” by Dry Cell blared out of my speakers as my car skidded in the rain, its lyrics matching me too well. Hey maybe this metal stuff isn’t too bad after all, I thought to myself as I cranked up the volume a few notches.

“TC, get ready for a delivery you won’t forget. Two pies of my foot in your ass, coming up.”

<div align=center>Chapter 5: My Tea's Gone Cold..</div>
My tea's gone cold,
I'm wondering why i got out of bed at all,
The morning rain drops on my window and i can't see at all,
And even if i could it'd all be gray,
with your picture on my wall,
It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad.

Mudrock City. The worst town when it comes to weather, it's a wonder they didnt call it Mudslide.

The rain slammed on my windshield. Rain, enter stage left. As if on cue, the rain started the minute I drifted out of the driveway. Whether it could be considered a foreword to what was to come, or just a concidence the rain was a calling card for what was headed my way, a thousand pounds of pressure.

The LCD clock called out "11:30PM". It had been two hours since I stumbled in on my wife dead. Two hours, that felt like an eternity.

I picked up the cellphone I stole off of Jean and dialed a number.

Her nickname was "E" a former FBI employee in phone intelligence. She had made a living tracing phone calls to nail everyone from drug lords, to big guns in the mob making sour deals in exchange for blood.

One ring, two rings, finally eight rings and nothing, just her voice greeting me on the answering machine. My one link to finding where this number came from was severed. I'd have to find this "TC" myself.

So I decided to play it bogart. Up came TC's number. One press of a key and TC's cell was ringing.

"Hello, Jean? Where in christ's name are you? I asked for that god damned pizza hours ago."
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid Jean wont be making it tonight."
"What? Who the hell is this?"
"Likewise. I was about to ask you that same question."
"Look, I don't know what you want but I can get it."
"And who are you, Santa Claus?"
"I work for the FBI. Well used to rather."
"Used to, eh? Share. I'm the mood for storytime."
"What I'd say could cost me my life."
"What your men said cost them both thier lives."
"My men? What are you talking about, the cellphone you are on belongs to deputy Jean Carter."

My face went flush, I now officially had no clue who the killers names were, nor who they worked for. I was exactly where I was at the minute I stepped out of the broken glass door and into hell.

"Hello? Sir are you there?"

I paused for a second..

"Yeah I'm here."
"Obviously these two men got a hold of his phone somehow, so we might not be safe. We should set up a place to meet, lets say..Baby Dolls?"
"A strip club?"
"Well, if I'm going to meet up with you I might as well make it worth my while."
"Baby dolls it is then."

I hung up the phone. Great, I bet my wife would be happy to know I was going to a strip club a mere two hours after she was brutally murdered. I could always use a drink I suppose, anything to drown my sorrows away and numb my senses more then they already are.

The front of Baby Dolls was unassuming. A big pink sign with a porcelain doll and "Baby Dolls" written in cursive. You'd almost think it was a doll store if there wasn't a huge "Budweiser" sign in the window.

I walked in, the club glew a neon pink and green, a young looking brunette riding the pole in the middle of the bar, top off, g-string loose on her waist. The sight would of made a young man blush.

I scanned the bar for the infamous "TC". There at the bar table sipping a mug of beer was a man that seemed to be in his mid 30's, in cheap looking street clothes. At first glance the man didn't look like much. Just a troubled mid aged man, drowning his sorrows in a cup of beer while looking at naked women. Typical.

"Are you 'TC'?"
"Yes 'Tom Copper', here. And your name?"
"I like being anonymous."
"...Whatever you prefer, so what happened to you? You look like you just got beat up and pissed on."
"Just about. Two men broke into my home while I wasn't around, and they..."
"It's ok, you can say it. I'm not really in the FBI anymore, I got a few dirty cops on my hands. Not the nicest Police Department to call home."
"They shot and killed my wife and baby daughter."

Tom's manner changed immediately to that of shock.

"Holy sh*t. Did you call the police?"
"Why should I? From what you said they aren't the nicest people to trust, besides I'd just be f*cking framed for it all."
"Well, we're too peas in the same pod."
"I beg your pardon?"
"My mother is dead..I was supposed to investigate who did it before I got into this mess with Officer Tiny, who framed me for the sh*t."
"Tiny? What a name."
"I think he's called that because of his-"
"Say no more, I don't need visions."
"Well, perhaps I can help you. You recall anything strange about these men?"
I sat there for a good five minutes, thinking about it.
"Well now that I recall, both had a tattoo. The same exact one."
Tom pulled out his police notepad and set it on the bar table with a pencil. I slowly sketched the tattoo as it came back to me. A woman hunched over, impaled on a stake with her "Wings" tattered and torn.
"Not a pretty tattoo to have, I'll have to run a test on this tattoo, see if I get any matches on file."
"I thought you said you we're no longer a cop?"
"I have my ways...Exy!"
"Exy? Jesus christ!!"
"You two know eachother?"
"Yes," I said blushing as she walked over to me topless, "E!..I didn't know you worked, at THIS place!"

Exy: "Don't be so quick to assume you got me figured out hun."
Tom: "Did you just call her E?"
Me: "Yeah, she used to work for the FBI under phone tapp-"
Tom: "FBI Exy!? You didn't tell me this sh*t!"
Exy: "Some things are better kept secret for our safety, hun."

I hated to interrupt thier little revelation session but I had a mission.
"If you don't mind, I need to get going."
"I wouldn't recommend it, you have no leads. Stay tight at a hotel or something, and I'll contact you on that cell when I get a lead."
"Understood, I suppose I'll be meeting up with you then."

Just then Tom grabbed pulled a stamping ink pad out of his pocket and grabbed my hand.
"What the f*ck do you think you're doing?"
"Getting your name." He said as he stamped my thumb onto the pad and onto his notebook.
"I never should of underestimated you Mr. Copper."

I walked out of the strip club pulling out of the parking lot with a squeal of the tires.

E, a stripper of all things. My night just becomes weirder by the second...

<div align=center>Part 2

Chapter 6: Too many times..</div>

When you are in desperate times, you hang on to whatever help you can get. You trust the first friendly face you see, and I for one did just that, I fell face first into my own stupidity.

11PM strikes on the clock and Mr. Copper is unavailable after several phone calls, and text messages to his cell phone. Backstabbing b*stard.

It was back to the way it should have been. Me, and only me. Me, against the world.

I picked up my things, including my car keys and my last pack of cigarettes. I had been trying to quit before all of this, but now they we're the only friend I had to keep me sane. A friend that with my luck, would end up killing me if I kept up the habit.

Walking down to the office I found out I had a note for me waiting. Seems Mr. Copper didn't forget about me after all, how touching. The note was short and quick to the point. It gave me the address of some underground club of some sort, whose membership card was the gruesome tattoo I had drawn for Copper a few hours earlier.

My ears could almost hear my guns screaming from the trunk of my car. They had been waiting to come out and play, and here was their chance. Their chance to deliver a few bullets into the chest of a few faceless targets, targets which I would have to track down myself.

The tires squealed like a pig being butchered at the farm, I had no care for making a scene; my worries had died with the bodies of the killers a few hours back. Now it was just me, my guns and a mission. A mission to kill, a mission to avenge everything in the pull of a trigger.

I was in for a long drive. The club by all aspects was rather well hidden. It took a sharp eye to find a entrance to the place. Lucky for me, my nerves made my eyes sharper then the tip of a freshly cut blade. I parked my nova in a dark alleyway and popped open the trunk. My guns stared up at me like they had missed me for ages; happily sliding into their places, waiting for their call to action. Little did I know, their wait wouldn't be so long.

I snuck through the alleyways, my body a swift shadow drifting through the midnight air my footsteps quieter then the leaves dragging down the street. I reached the back entrance of the club, my back pressing against the brick wall so hard it could have made imprints in my jacket.

I groped around for the door handle and once I had a good grip on it, I pulled out a pistol and threw the door open. I chuckled to find out that I was greeted by a bunch of stairs heading downward. Some enemy that was. Holding my gun down by my side I walked down the steps, carefully listening to the conversation behind the door in front of me.

“So I have the guy begging for his life right?”
”Right.”
”And I have my gun pointed right at his face. Guess what I did?”
“What did you do?”
“I blew his face off! The son of a b*tch didn’t even expect it, I painted his walls blood red.”
“You’re really gruesome Tommy.”
“Hey it’s me you’re talking to. I’ll blow the head off of any mother loving b*stard that gets in my way!”

My cue. I kicked open the door with a thud.

“Even me?”

The card playing gangsters reached for their guns only to find out they didn’t have any. They looked over at the table at the opposite side of the room, where they had dropped off their jackets that contained their guns. They started to get up when I fired a bullet right past them.

“Don’t even think about it. You’re not going anywhere until I get some answers. Who’s the head of this crappy joint?”
“Go f*ck yourself.”

I shot the smart mouthed thug who decided to mouth off to me. He fell to the ground with a thud. The look on the gangster’s faces turned to one of shock.

“Now you can either answer my question or you can join your now deceased buddy to the left of you.”
“He’ll whack the both of us if we utter a word.”
“Well then, you can either die now or later. Your choice, personally I’d like to live a few more hours.”

Scared, they both looked at each other and agreed to tell.
“His name is Steve Cabella.”
“Steve-o, eh…interesting.”

I grabbed the both of them by the necks and duct taped them up with the duct tape in the storage closet which I also happened to toss them in.

“Sorry, can’t risk getting my head blown off.”

I grabbed their guns and stuffed them anywhere I could, the more ammo the merrier, I say. I walked out the door opposite the one I came in from with guns drawn. It was time to find this infamous “Steve”.

The club was dead, its interior decorated in a tacky run of the mill, techno fashion. Colored lights, a bar that looked like it was made of metal and a fair sized dance floor. I was never one for partying alone so the opportunity to get my groove on to the really high pitched techno wasn’t my idea of a good time. I took a chug from the non-drunken glass of foul tasting beer and threw it at the wall…its liquid and glass flying everywhere.

Someone was here before me, and I had a good feeling that someone would be coming back soon, to find their precious drink splattered across the wall. Hearing an angry shout I dived behind the bar as a few bullets flew into the glasses above me, sending their fragments all over the place. Looks like I pissed someone off. Good, I always loved kicking some ass....

<div align=center>Chapter 7: Answers Money Can't Buy</div>
It came as no surprise that Mr. Cabella had his place crawling with tighter security then Fort Knox. He knew somebody was after him, and that somebody would have to be me, seeing how this was his party; and I was the only soul invited.

Judging by the chaos quickly surrounding me, it was apparent I would have to dispose of a few of his armed thugs beforehand. It was nothing but a few small bumps in the road to a much greater prize. Answers money can't buy.

Closing my eyes and taking a heavy breath I pressed my back against the back of the bar table, my leather jacket creating a crunchy thud as I slammed against my cover, the sound of their footsteps looming closer as I prepared for war. What I had originally thought of as a single armed foe, turned out to be half of Cabella's army of masked thugs. Steve knew his days we're numbered and he was prepared to sacrifice every last one of his men to protect himself. Too bad for him. All he managed to do was slow me down.

I raised myself to a low crouch and ran around the bar as the thugs reached my former hiding spot. Squeezing the triggers before they had a chance to react I managed to peg a few of them right then and there. There was no time for fooling around as they would soon be firing in my direction. Ducking behind a cement divider I took a breath as a few bullets slammed into the area behind me, dust flying everywhere from the frequent impacts.

The protection bought me some time, but very little. Dropping the used cartridges and replacing them just as quick I ducked out from behind the wall and held the triggers tight, a stream of bullets whizzing in whatever direction I pointed them to, my surroundings a blur and my fatique blinded by one massive adrenaline rush. In a scene almost like a game of tag, I ran around firing as my enemies pursued me, my bullets slamming into the chests of my pursuers. I must be a natural at hitting a moving target as before I knew it the current body count was at 5 down and two to go. I couldn't have asked for anything this easy.

Running up a pillar used for decoration I jumped off of it backwards, firing a couple rounds into the two confused thugs below. They fell to the ground with a thud quicker then the speed of my bullets, groans coming from their mouth as they collapsed into a pool of their own blood.

The sound served as an exclamation point to all that had came so far. Stuffing my somewhat burning pistols back into their holsters I cleaned up the area of any useful ammo. My enemies would have little use for it anymore, being dead on the dance floor, swimming in a pool of their own blood.

My victory wouldn't have been so short lived if the question didn’t ring in my head like an annoying pop tune. All I could hear were the words "What now?" as I asked myself that same question over and over again.

I was drunk. Drunk by my own confusion. My head feeling groggy as I found myself barely able to think or see straight. This nightmare would have the best of me before this was all over. I knew that soon I wouldn't even have a brain to use. I'd be working solely on instinct and gut feeling. My mind was of no use to me anymore, all it did was get in the way of my mission at hand. It was time to follow my heart, and all my heart felt right now was to kill. Kill until it’s over. Blinded by love, I was soon becoming the one thing I didn't want to become. The same type of man as the killer who killed my family. I was becoming a merciless killer, killing anyone in my path. My heart quickened and my skin tightened, my eyes widened and my legs started to get heavy. I started to shake as everything became a blur, my hands trembling as my whole body followed in quick rhythm. I was going crazy. Biting my lip I slapped myself as hard as I could, knocking some sense back into me. It hurt, but it cleared my thoughts. I wasn't a killer. I was a vengeful bastard, damned to a life I didn't want nor choose. I got the sh*tty end of the deal, the impossible parts of the puzzle.

This was all becoming a game of self reflection rather then revenge. My mind wasn't set on finding Steve so much anymore, now more then ever I just wanted answers. I'd have to be a good detective to find out where my answers were hiding, but who was I kidding. They already beat me in a sense. They took the two things I held most in my life. My wife and my beautiful baby girl. Elaine always was a preacher of the right thing. Time and time again through this all, I often questioned if she understood my motivations behind these killings. I wondered if in her mind I was still the good guy in this all. All I could ask in all of this was why.

As I sat there on the bar stool I looked down at my pistol, wondering if I should join her rather then go through more pain with each passing minute. I laughed as I stuffed the pistol back in its holster. I wasn’t even myself anymore. I had become a shadow of my former self. I needed help in this; I couldn’t go on by myself anymore. I wasn’t cut out for any of this.

Some may consider this one of the biggest mistakes I could have ever made but I feel it was the right thing. Walking back up the stairs I came from I got back into my car. I knew Cabella wasn't here. Others would spend time looking for him but something hit me like a point blank shot to the face. Cabella wouldn't be here. If he was half as smart as I figured him as, he would have been gone at the sound of the first shot.

My tires squealed as they raced out onto the streets, my car zooming through the seemingly empty streets. 1:00 AM in the morning. I was hungry from not eating straight but I knew would be lucky to even find a quickie-mart open at this hour, it was worth a try, I figured I’d try to eat before I continued on. I would need a sharp mind for the task at hand.

I was through with monkey business, it was clear that there would be no ways for me truly handle this by myself.

I needed to find Copper, and fast....

<div align=center>Chapter 8: Shady Acres </div>

The sun rose up behind me, with the midnight sky scurrying out like spiders of the dark. The streets were enveloped in the shadow of the morning hours, with the cheap signs of motel rest stops flickering and pulling me in like a fly to a bug zapper as I passed them by.

Instead of sleeping and getting some well needed rest, I chose to keep my eyes wide open; searching for any clues or closure I could get. I had made over a dozen men fall before me yet all I received by killing them was nothing, not a thing in the least.

Any smart person would know that my best bet would be to hang around Mr. Copper, he was a former police investigator and if I had any chances of getting somewhere in this ongoing struggle, it would be through him.

I pulled my nova to a slow yet noisy halt, “Shady Acres Motel” flashed on the sign above me. I remember Tom had scribbled his note on one of their stationeries, and it appeared I had finally found the hiding place of the illusive ‘Mr. Copper’. The clerk at the desk was anything but ordinary. He held a blunt in his hands and appeared to be a young man in his 20’s, marijuana probably wasn’t his worst crime as the redness around his eyes that his thick rimmed glasses did little to hide suggested he experimented with much more then just simple pot.

“What the fu...can I help you…mister?”
“I don’t know if you’re in the state to help anyone right now…Lee.”
“Er,” He said sniffling like he had just came down with a cold, “I can handle…it.”

Somehow part of me didn’t believe he could do anything that well, but I had no choice.

“Yeah…Tom Copper? Have anything on him?”
“Eh,” he said grumbling under his breath not wanting to get off his ass, “hold on a tick.”

Sliding out of his chair he waddled back to the computer slowly, punching the keys on the keyboard with one hand as he didn’t want to drop his precious marijuana cigarette.

“Woo, whadaya know, he’s in room…room,” He adjusted his glasses as he had trouble making out what the screen said, “whoa I am so f*cked up right now.”

I rolled my eyes and hopped over the desk for a closer look, causing him to accidentally burn himself from his cigarette.

“Ay, a**hole! You’re not supposed to be back here.”
“Eat it, ‘puffy’.”

I read the screen, Tom Copper had a room registered under 213. Looks like tonight was my lucky night.

I walked out of the door slowly as I heard the guy snorting up behind me.

“You might want to break those habits, ‘puffy’. Drugs don’t help people who are already stupid.”
“Eh..f*ck you.”

I walked up the stairs to room 213, knocking on the door slowly in case Copper was trigger happy. From inside I heard a groggy voice tell me to come in so I did, surprised at Mr. Copper’s current condition.

Copper had been a busy man, with pictures of unknown faces and documents scattered across his bed as he carefully examined each one with text book precision. On the outside he looked like he had just pulled a couple of all night shifts, his appearance hardly complimenting.

“Busy?”
“Eh you know, just investigating some things for you.”
“Oh how kind of you Mr. Copper, anything of possible interest to me?”

Smiling he slid a picture of a middle aged man, taken from afar with what appeared to be the zoom of a 35MM camera. Someone had been playing espionage and judging by the distance that these pictures were taken from, playing with his life.

“That man right there is your real target.”
”Sorry to say I don’t know his name, Mr. Copper.”
“Lewis DiMaggio, Mud rock city’s biggest druglord.”
“You know I’m trying to quit right?”

Laughing he passed me a close-up of Lewis’s left arm.

“Aha, the tattered angels tattoo. Nice work Tommy.”
“No problem, Lewis runs a fast food joint down or 45th street, you might want to start your search there.”
“Fast Food? That’s hardly notorious…”
“It’s a cover-up obviously. Don’t you ever pay attention to movies?”
“No because that’s exactly what they are movies.”
“Pfft,” he said shaking his head, “Some people never change I guess Mr, hey what’s your name? You still haven’t told me.”
“You’re the fancy detective, find it out yourself.”

Running down the stairs I hopped into my trusty Nova and sped off, preparing to pay Lewis a visit. Wow, I’d hate to be the guy who messes with me....

 

I want a strong demand for chapter 2 .

 

Hmm Im not convinced, I need more then three people

(I lied...it's a hard chapter to write because of what happens..)

 

Which is what brings me to the idea that I think im gonna wait a little longer between episodes guys. Maybe a week. I know that's a LONG time but I want this story to last, and keep suspense stirring instead of revealing more parts of the plot so soon yanno?

The only reason I posted chap 2 right after was because I was getting a lot of IM's to post Chapter 2, so I was like "Well alright heh, its part of the backround of the entire story so people should see it."

 

Omg you surprizing illegitimate offspring of unmarried parents you.

That cover image u made for my story was exactly what I wanted!!! I'm not worthy! *bows*.