The Past

About a month earlier....



I drove away in silence, probably way over the speed limit, but I didn't care. Now I understand why people ware black to funerals. It suits the way you feel, empty, dark, deppresed. Leaving the funeral was just as bad as being there. My father, healthy and happy one day, tearfully helping me pick my wedding song. The next, gone, all because some idiot went through a red light. I'd kill him myself if he hadn't died in the accident too. I had decided against going home with Tommy; my fiancé, no matter how much he begged me not to drive. I needed to get away from all of the men in their uniforms, offering their condolences. My eyes started to fill with tears so I pulled over to the side of the highway. I reached over to the glove box and pulled out the M9 pistol I kept there for protection. It was my dad's. I started crying and held on to it. It is the last piece of my father I have. I remembered that he had given it to me after mom was murdered. Only ten short years ago. He told me to use it only when i understood what guns were really for. Well, I do now. Guns are death, cold, emotionless, ruthless death. I wanted to die. Right now, I could make it all go away with one bullet. I stared at the road ahead and looked at the beautiful sunset. IT reminded me of Tommy. I couldn't do that to him, I just couldn't.

I put the gun back into the glove box and drove to the one place me and my dad always loved, the gun range. It's probably because I'm a detective, but it's the only place I get any peace. Where i can show my dark side, without judgment. I took the gun into the range and let lose. The owners of the shop knew my dad very well and said they were sorry he was gone. I answered their apologizes with an unemotional thank you and imagined their heads as the targets. Dead center every shot.

After about a half hour Tommy found me, as he usually does. I think that's why I fell in love with him; he always knows exactly how I feel, and all my little "hide aways". It's also the reason I hate him sometimes. Like now. He watched me until I put the gun down, until it was safe to touch me. Then held me by my waist and pulled me close. "You're safe Emily" he whispered "It's okay to be sad, don't hold it in anymore." I stared into his eyes, the same dark green as my fathers, and I didn't hold anything back. He picked me up the same way my father used to, which made me cry harder, and took me and my father's gun to my car. Tommy put me in the passenge seat and the gun back in the glovebox. siting down in the driver's seat he said "I'll pick up my car tomorrow morning". The owner nodded his head. I must have fallen alseep on the drive home because the next thing I knew I was laying in my bed. With his arms around me he gently stroked my hair as I cried myself to sleep.