Murderer.

short story.

The gun shot exploded, pounding its way through the still night. I knew I had to get out of there; I had to hide in the shadows behind the old warehouse and wait for my plan to fall into place.
     Ryan and I met at a conference for our business firm. We hit it off from the start, always meeting up for coffee in the morning or giving hints on a more affective financial plan. Ryan was normally really quiet, mysterious even and many didn't understand him, but there was one thing Ryan was really passionate about, and that was helping people. In my opinion, that was his downfall.
     We started losing money at our firm, and decided to chance our luck by gambling for big sums of cash. Ryan said he knew a guy named Luke Nixon, who had straightest poker face around and lived close to him. He was the one who could get us the money we desperately needed, plus Ryan thought it would be nice to let him earn some money for his own financial issues. So we gave him the large sum of money and agreed on the terms that when we made profit - which he guaranteed we would - that we would give him his share of twenty-five percent of the earnings.
     The following business day, I called to check up on the money. I dialed the number, heard two rings, and then that annoying recorded voice saying that the phone was disconnected. This sick, nauseating feeling started to creep into my stomach. Where was this man? Before I started to freak out, I decided to check first to see whether or not he went to the poker tournament the previous night. I called the downtown casino where Luke was supposed to have gambled that night and asked the manager, who knew Luke personally, if Luke had showed. The man told me that Luke was a regular, always showing up and staying, sometimes even more than 24 hours, but he did not see him that particular night. He also told me that Luke had been talking about a big sum of money he was about to receive from his friend and how he wouldn't be around anymore. I thanked the man for his time and hung up the phone. I knew Luke lived right next door to Ryan, and would have to go there before he left town. I knew suddenly what needed to be done, and with the way Ryan was involved, he would be the perfect cover-up.
     I figured Ryan, lying on his couch and watching television in his apartment as he usually did after a long day of work, would be startled from the loud bang. I watched as he made his way to the window and pulled back the heavy purple curtains clouding his view of the scene I had just laid out before him. From the glow of the lamp post, I was sure Ryan could see the eerie shadow being cast around the young man lying in the middle of the alleyway. His sight rested on the mysterious man, unmoved, unwavering. I watched as he stared; his lanky body stood frigid yet tired, with dark circles colouring black beneath his eyes. He was the man known to help anyone, no matter the circumstance or even his situation. Ryan then broke his concentration away from the window, grabbed his coat, and headed outside.
     As he neared the lamp post, his first impulse was to check to see if the victim was still alive. He bent down and grabbed the man's pale cold wrist to check for a pulse. Nothing, of course. He dropped the man's arm back to where it had been lying moments before and I knew he had to have felt the cool splash of blood lap onto the bottoms of his jeans. His eyes made their way to the man's face. I wondered if Ryan would notice the man's eyes; the eyes that were drained of their entire colour, left with only reflections of terror and memories no longer useful. If he looked further right he could see the gaping hole where the bullet had entered the man's skull and left a trace of blood; a stream of blood, draining to the even bigger pool of blood beneath his head. I watched as Ryan's eyes worked their way down the man's body, sizing him up, noticing the wounds, wondering whether or not they had ever been acquainted. His thoughts must have been running a mile a minute.
But why was he taking so long?
     My heart started to beat with the anticipation of bursting, my breath became shorter, and beads of sweat started to drip from my face. I needed Ryan to find the pistol, to touch it. I needed his fingerprints for my plan to succeed. I couldn't be tied down with a murder for the rest of my life. I just couldn't. I was an attractive, successful business man, with a family; two kids and a wife to be exact. The man had just, well, passed his deadline. I needed the money, and he just wasn't giving it up. I started to wonder where the cops were. I had called them five minutes prior to report a gun shot on the alleyway behind Fifth Street, but must have just had a lot of other crime they were dealing with at the moment. I mean, it is Boston, but still, five minutes? They had to show up soon, I reassured myself. I just needed Ryan to stay out a little longer, to leave his mark, to show his involvement. I just needed him to touch that gun.
     Right at that moment, as if my thoughts had signaled to him what I needed him to accomplish, Ryan looked down towards the pistol. I knew he was interested, curious even. He couldn't help himself. It was finally going to happen! I could see the deep fear in his eyes, as he studied the dark-black semiautomatic pistol laid so carefully before him. "Yes," I thought to myself, "just a little further. Just pick it up! All my problems will be over. Just reach down and pick it up!" Ryan contemplated what he was about to do, started to move his hand towards the pistol, but then retracted. I watched him start to back away from the gun, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. I knew he was about to call for help.
     "No! What the hell are you doing?" I yelled, surprised at the own sound of my voice. I knew this plan wasn't going to work. Ryan was too scared now, too out of his mind with what he just saw. Honestly, who wouldn't be after seeing a guy's brains blown all over the street?
     "Who's there?" he inquired frightened and frozen to the spot. I watched as Ryan looked around for the source of the voice, the source that had blown all the interest and wanting to help out of him. Ryan ran back to his house, not taking a second glance back until he reached the door. That's when I saw the light go on in the kitchen and his hand reaching for the phone. I knew I had to act now or I'd be done for.
     I stepped out of the shadow of the old dark warehouse for the first time since the incident. I had to grab the gun and run, as far away as I could, and not look back, just like Ryan. The thoughts in my mind started to fly at a hyper speed. What are they going to do to me if I am caught? What could I have gotten Ryan into? Maybe I should just turn myself in? Will my family leave when they find out?
     "Stop," I told myself, "just pick up the pistol and get out of here." I shot my hand down towards the gun and raised it to my chest. All I had to do was run, I'd be free, I knew it. But as I stood there, something stopped me. I kept fighting with my inner conscious, my stupid, stupid mind that told me to run, but I just couldn't. That's when the cops showed up, swarms of them in their little patrol cars, running towards me and yelling.
     "Step away from the body, drop the gun, and put your hands up!"
All the things I was worried about didn't matter now. I was no longer the successful business man with a great family or the great life. Now I'd only be known for one thing; the only thing that mattered.
I was a murderer.

Reviews

[bookishmuggle]

This is probably my favorite thing that you've written :). Nice job!