Anyway, the challenge of the week was pretty simple. Use the theme "We're all human, even when we're not' in the story in some way. I had a few ideas, some pretty generic things like a werewolf or other monster fighting the curse, etc etc. But then the image of Don holding a gun to someone's head and having to stop himself from pulling the trigger came to mind and this story grew from there.
Came pretty close to the word limit this week too, I might have done more with this, but it's been a busy week. I think this piece stands strongly as is. There are some pretty obvious things I'm trying to convey here and I'll let you figure them out. But mostly I wanted to have a story where...Well, you'll see.
B & B - Humanity
Don looked up from his desk when
a shadow fell across the office door.
It had been a quiet
morning. He and John had been enjoying
the downtime between cases to finish some neglected projects. Well, Don was taking the opportunity to work. John had spent the morning lounging on the
sofa with a cup of tea, ruffling through the morning paper.
The figure hovered outside the
door, raising their hand to knock on the frosted glass window only to hesitate
and back away.
Don called out, "The door's
open."
John tossed him a glare which he
returned with a quick mimicking squint as the door cracked open just enough for
a young woman to slip in.
"I'm sorry," she said
in a quiet voice, face downcast. "I
was hoping- I mean, I'd like to hire you?"
John rose from the couch and led
the woman into the office. He swept the
desk clear, ignoring Don's indignant squawk of, "I was working on
that!"
"You can work on your
jigsaw puzzles later," to the client he added, "I think we can pencil
you in."
John took her coat as he settled
her in front of the desk, bustling off to make a fresh pot of tea. Don leaned back in his seat and took a closer
look at the client.
'Lank
hair, only enough makeup to push color into pale cheeks and lighten shadowed
eyes. Outfit picked in a rush, buttons
half-done, coffee stain on skirt.'
Her hands shook as she took the
teacup from John with a muted, "Thank you."
They waited as she settled
herself. Don twitched together a few
pieces that had escaped John's callous attack, John leaned against the wall as
innocent as if he hadn't ruined a morning's progress.
She finished her tea and set the
cup down. Her voice still quiet but no
longer as timid she said.
"My name is Rebecca Walker,
and someone is trying to kill me."
John's name showed on the ID, Don
had his phone open before the first ring finished.
“What’s wrong?”
“I lost her,” John hissed in
pain. “Someone, white, 5'8", black
hair, dark hood. He jumped us. She ran off as I was fighting him.”
“You alright?”
“I took a hit when he slammed me
against a wall. I was disoriented long enough for him to run after her.”
“Don't move, I’m on my way.”
“You don’t even know where I
am.”
“Then shut up and tell me.”
“I’ll be fine Don. You need to find Rebecca.”
Don’s hand shook as he fought
the urge to put a bullet in the bastard’s face.
His jaw ached as he ground out,
“Where are they?”
The son-of-a-bitch just grinned,
teeth stained red from where Don’s pistol had split his lip.
The room stank of decay, fetid
and bloated corpses of young women ‘Victims!’
piled in corners.
And the man kept grinning that
red-toothed grin.
The storage locker felt more
like an animal’s den. Don kept his aim
steady and tried not to breathe too deeply.
“Where. Are they?”
The grin widened as the eyes
flicked to the far end of the room. The
dim light from a single bare bulb only served to highlight the shadows
surrounding a covered work bench.
Don edged around the bastard and
pinched the sheet, tugging it off the bench.
As the white fabric fell to the
floor he held back a fresh swell of rage and bile.
Rebecca lay screaming in
fear. Her torn throat still dripping
red.
“I wanted to,” Don’s hands still
shook slightly, dropping ash from a lit cigarette he had yet to touch. "I wanted to."
John set down a pair of teacups,
Don couldn’t bring himself to make the usual snark of ‘Tea, again?’ Looking at the
cups he saw the chipped rim of the cup Rebecca had used.
He gripped the smooth wood of
the kitchen table, looking at anything but the tea.
Don closed his eyes with a sigh,
“I wanted to kill him. I still do.”
John’s warm hand on his wrist
made him twitch away but John held firm.
“But you didn’t.”
John took the cigarette and took
a long drag, coughing slightly as he exhaled.
"Give me that," Don
said, taking the cigarette from John.
"You smoke like a novice."
He said, finishing the last of it.
John smiled as he sat down and
took one of the tea cups and nudging the other towards Don.
Don ignored the tea and lit a
fresh smoke, the match steady in his hands.
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