Backstab Chapter IIIA Chapter by NickAbo ‘Welcome back, Dresden,’ the killer said, a big smile on his face. ‘I’m sure you remember everything Miles and I talked about.’ ‘I do. Let’s play your wretched game.’ ‘Why can one part of you be so nice while the other is so mean? I must assume you’re the real life equivalent of Yin and Yang. Why else-’ ‘I don’t have time for this. I know you’ve been hired by Alexovitch. There’s no reason to try to small talk your way out of this.’ ‘Don’t worry, Dresden, your secrets are safe with me. My coach here hasn’t heard anything. Though, of course, if I do say that you won’t trust me. Do you remember the way back here? It’s quite long, but I think Miles’s memory won’t fail you.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Oh, that’s great then!’ the killer said as he pulled out a revolver from under his suit and opened the carriage door. ‘Mister-’ the coach tried to say but a bullet rang out. The murderer pushed the dead man into the grass and went back inside. ‘Now your secrets are one hundred percent safe. Let’s try everything again, shall we? I know you hate me �"I’d even say despise though I don’t like words that strong. I only did what I was hired and paid to do. Just like how a banker is sometimes made by his boss to add some debt to some guy’s account. Just like how you try to meddle in my payment.’ ‘It’s not the same. I don’t murder people.’ ‘You may.’ ‘I haven’t yet,’ Dresden said, his frown turning into a grimace. He was on the edge of his seat, ready to jump at him if he needed to take the gun from his hands. ‘What makes you think you won’t? What if you caught me jumping from the window when I killed Miss Hailey and you had a gun in your hands? Would you have shot and killed me?’ A few seconds of silence went by. ‘Well, now that that’s over, this is how we’ll-’ ‘No.’ The killer looked left and right, as though checking if someone else heard what Dresden said. He looked at the detective wide eyed, letting the gun next to him, on the seat. ‘Do you really mean that?’ he asked, no more than a whisper. ‘Yes.’ ‘I think I’ve found someone that’s worthy of the insane title. You know, I’ve heard about your piteousness but… really? You wouldn’t? Is there something wrong with your head? What if I was an actual maniac and went on a murdering spree that night, without you being able to catch me? What if I had done it every night? I basically showed myself to you, you never caught me. I kept you alive back in that street because I thought I saw someone… someone interesting in you. Now I see you’re either an idiot �"which only means all your past detective work was child’s play- or you’re a madman.’ ‘I’m not either. I wouldn’t have shot you.’ The killer frowned, his eyes a sharp gaze into Dresden’s. He tilted his head this way and that, rubbed his eyes and sighed into his cupped hands. He picked up the revolver and aimed it at the detective’s head. Then, suddenly, he put it back next to him. ‘People like you,’ he began, pointing a finger at him, ‘don’t belong out in the wild. You’re some kind of fanatic, aren’t you? A crusader for justice, eh?’ Dresden didn’t respond. ‘I’d shoot you right now if it weren’t for Miles. Poor thing. I’d hate it if I had to work under your wing, no wonder Parsley left.’ The killer continued to mumble something as he emptied all of the bullets from the gun and handed it to Dresden. ‘Are you serious?’ the detective asked. ‘This? This game? And you’re calling me insane.’ ‘Fine, that makes two. Just spin it already.’ ‘We can’t let things end because of some random chance. I refuse to.’ ‘What’s the matter? Your intellect is too good to be defeated by random chance? Okay, I’ll show you it’s not chance. Give it back. I’ll make it shoot with the first try.’ When Dresden gave back the revolver, the killer turned his head away from it, looking out the window and spun the cylinder. He aimed at the opposite window and pulled the trigger. The bullet zoomed past the broken window and somewhere deep in the woods with a loud bang. The crash of glass soon followed. ‘How’s that for a chance?’ ‘I still don’t want to do it,’ Dresden said, crossing his arms. ‘If this sack of garbage game is why you brought us here then I’m surprised at how bad of a player you are.’ ‘Insulting my sanity is one thing, insulting my game �"you’re on thin ice.’ ‘I have an idea,’ Dresden said, picking up the gun. ‘Give me a bullet.’ The killer stopped, looked up at Dresden and smiled. ‘You just gave me an idea for a game,’ he said, putting the bullet in his pant pockets. ‘I need that gun and you need my bullets.’ ‘Let’s do this outside, at least.’ ‘Would be a shame to mess up this poor carriage…’ As the killer got up, Dresden heaved in a big breath and jumped towards him, pinning him back down on his chair. The detective’s raised fist fell like a boulder on his supple face, who, in turn, aimed for Dresden but hit his left shoulder. The detective hit him in the abdomen as hard as he could, his enemy thrashing and screaming, pulling and clawing at whatever he could, until Dresden’s third punch in his stomach. With a heave and coughing, the killer fell on his side, gasping for air and clutching his middle. Dresden tried his best to stick his hand inside the killer’s pocket, grab as many bullets as he could. He gripped the fabric thinking it was a bullet and pulled it inside out, sending bullets flying everywhere, one of them hitting him in the eye. He faltered back and the killer got back up, still holding his stomach but breathing properly, grabbed a bullet and held it in his closed fist. ‘Let’s test our chances,’ the killer said, panting, and rushed at Dresden. He raised his hand and, as he was about to slap him with the bullet in his open hand, Dresden lifted up his arm and blocked it. The bullet didn’t explode, making the latter feel the metallic bump in his arm and was knocked to the side, trying to go after the dropped ammo that was now next to him. When he reached for it the killer’s other hand hit him in the cheek, making his head go back, his hand feeling around him without seeing anything. He felt the metal of the bullet, picked it up as fast as he could and brought it close to his chest, kicking with his legs as fast as possible in the general direction of the enemy, trying to knock him done only once. He caught him in the chest with his second try, making the killer falter for a few seconds before rushing at him again. “Too late,” Dresden thought and lifted the now loaded gun, aiming at the killer. Before he could pull the trigger, though, the latter knocked his arm in Dresden’s, smashing the window with his fist and dropping the gun, small pieces of glass digging into both of their skins. ‘Damn it!’ the killer shouted, pulling a piece of glass out of his arm. He heard a soul gripping wail from behind, as though Dresden’s life was sucked out of him. When he turned around, he let his arms go limp at his sides.
Miles was sitting there, staring wide-eyed and crying at a small piece of the window stuck in the back of his hand. There was barely any bleeding, just a small streak running down his arm. Miles edged his other hand slower and slower near the wound, but every time his fingers touched the glass he would whip his hand back and start all over again. It happened three times until Doug sat down next to him and offered to pull it out. ‘I’ll be gentle,’ he promised, motioning for Miles to come closer, which he did. Doug slowly held his hand as he looked him in the eyes, and swiftly pulled out the glass and threw it on the other side of the carriage. ‘There you go,’ he said, pressing on the small wound, ‘good as new. Don’t cry now, Miles,’ he continued, helping him clean his tears. ‘You have to get used to things like these if you want to become a man. Come with me.’ Still holding Miles’s hand, he slowly stepped out of the carriage and pointed at the gun. ‘Do you see that? Pick it up, go on. There you go. Now, point it at me.’ ‘What?’ Miles asked. ‘And then, with your thumb, press that thing backwards-’ ‘I’m not going to shoot you!’ Doug stopped and sat down on the carriage steps, looking gloomily at him. He looked down, at the bright green grass, at the shattered piece of glass further along the way and at the revolver. ‘It’s you or me, Miles,’ he said, smiling. ‘How much do you think a human life is worth? In money.’ For a few minutes neither of them said anything, the sounds of Miles’s sobs and the wind going through the trees and grass filling the silence. ‘It’s priceless,’ Miles responded, as Doug got up. ‘Anyone who tries to buy a person doesn’t know their true value. Feelings, experiences, potential can’t have a price tag on them.’ ‘So you’re saying that mine and your life are worth the same… which is at the same time infinite?’ Miles didn’t respond. ‘But it can’t be… I’ve killed people and you haven’t. My life can’t be worth the same as you. I’m stained. Saying I’m the same as Dresden is like saying a rusty saw is as useful in a fight as a gun. Human do have a price, they must. However else would have I agreed to be paid to end them?’ ‘You’re not too different. You’ve just made mistakes. Bad people are a necessary evil. Without people like you Dresden wouldn’t be who he is. I wouldn’t be who I am. I probably wouldn’t even exist if you think about it like that…’ ‘I refuse to think so. There is no way we are the same. I can’t save anyone, I don’t want to.’ ‘Why did you hand me the gun then?’ ‘You’re different, Miles. I think only a few people really are priceless. And the rest are scum, or worse.’ ‘I don’t think you’re scum.’ ‘Stop with this. There’s no reason to do anything. Either shoot me now or make Dresden do it. I’m giving you thirty seconds until I rush at you,’ Doug said, getting up from the carriage. ‘We can settle this! Why have you killed?’ ‘Enough.’ ‘Is it because you think their lives weren’t worthwhile? What makes a person priceless?’ He said nothing. ‘I want to know! Tell me!’ Miles shouted as the gun trembled in his hands. ‘Please…’ Doug stared at him, took in a deep breath and sighed. He sat back down on the carriage. When he looked up, he smiled. ‘Hello and goodbye, Dresden.’ The gunshot echoed into the woods, making the birds flee. The killer’s head jolted backwards, blood flowing into his opened mouth. Dresden looked up at the sky, checked his watch. Four thirty PM. He didn’t know how to drive a carriage but he supposed it wasn’t that hard to do. After picking up the bullets from inside and putting them, along with the pistol, in his pockets, he sat down next to the dead killer and took in a few big breaths of air, heaving them out as he tried to calm himself. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and looked at his victory once more. Strangely, it didn’t spook him nor did he feel bad for what he’d done. It was a struggle for life and death, brought into it without his wanting it, and he won �"that was all. He grabbed the body by the collar and threw him in the carriage, closed the door and went up to where the coach sat, now doubled over, dead, in the grass. He picked up the reigns, lifted them into the air and let them fall on the backs of the horses. They lifted their heads, neighing, and he pulled hard to the left, hoping that would make them go where he wanted. Thankfully, though, for the most part, there was only one road from where they came from, so he didn’t need to remember much. When he was back in town and saw the strange looks the people gave him, he thought it was because nobody had expected him to drive a carriage, completely forgetting the fact that there were cuts and blood on his clothes and body, the window of the carriage was broken, and if one was to look inside they would see a dead body. He somehow managed to make his way through the streets, pulling the reins back whenever he thought the horses needed to stop, then to the left and right at corners. When he’d gotten a good bit inside the city �" and with the help from passersby that thought he was utterly lost- he could map out where City Hall was, taking the carriage there. As he arrived, he saw officers moving around the masked man that had assaulted them �"he had completely forgotten about the incident- and his friends. He had a bit of trouble stopping the horses, as they kept thinking Dresden wanted them to go backwards whenever he’d pull them to stop. In the end, a few officers came and held them at a stop. ‘Good day, chaps. There’s the body of a murderer in the back,’ Dresden said, pointing with his thumb backwards as he got off the carriage and made his way inside City Hall. There, he bumped straight into Landen, hugging him. ‘I’ve caught the killer,’ Dresden said. ‘Alexovitch hired him to kill Dmitri.’ ‘Alexovitch?!’ Landen asked. ‘You’ve caught the killer? Where is he? Can we get any information out of him?’ ‘He’s in the carriage I came on, dead. We had a shootout. It was either him or me, Chief. I nearly died,’ he said, showing his friend his wounds. ‘Jesus Christ, get yourself to a hospital!’ ‘Not before we catch Alexovitch. Where is he?’ ‘He’s out in front. Let’s go and get him’ he said, motioning to a few enraged officers to follow him. ‘He’s been throwing tantrums all day long. We’re going to have a word about everything after all this is over, you understand?’ ‘Of course.’ Landen pointed at Alexovitch, shouting how he was under arrest for hiring a killer and plotting against his own brother, along with disturbing the peace and trying to bend the law concerning the money. Alexovitch cried and trashed around, even though he was told and knew he was digging his own grave by doing so. In the end, they brought him to a carriage and carried him off to the police station. There were distant shouts that promised revenge and about how Landen and Dresden hadn’t seen the best of Alexovitch. ‘You know,’ Landen said, taking his hat off and exposing his shiny, bald head, ‘I had my suspicions about this case, but I’m glad we finally ended it. There is a problem, though… I can’t keep him locked for long �"or at least without him being able to bribe his way out- without a proper crime, and we’ve only the word of a deceased, insane criminal to go on. ‘Unless there’s some proof of purchase. There must be a letter sent between the two who could sabotage everything. We should search their apartments. The killer’s name was Dough Doe. Why do murderers always have such strange names?’ ‘Strange names go hand in hand with strange people.’ ‘Guess so. Hello there Parsley!’ ‘Oh, I’m so, so happy you’re alive,’ his friend said, hugging Dresden and kissing his forehead. ‘Everyone’s been so worried! Elena especially,’ he added, nudging his shoulder. ‘I wanted to rush after the carriage when I saw you get in… I was proper scared for you.’ ‘Right!’ Landen said,’ the masked man. We can get some information on Doug that way. When my officers took him by surprise he began shouting this way and that about how Alexovitch and Doug would save him and would bring the whole police department down.’ ‘Shame to have lost someone today, though,’ Max said, coming with the others. Elena came slowly, looking at the ground. Her face lit up when she saw Dresden smiling, mostly unscathed. She felt too awkward to rush to him and was content with embracing him like the others and telling him how she was happy that he wasn’t dead. ‘You are not far from dead!’ Parsley said, looking at the cuts on his arms. ‘All right, I may be exaggerating, but those aren’t good for you, not at all. Especially now with your other pains. I recommend you should take it easy from now on. No more cases. Not particularly violent ones anyway. Let’s go now, to the hospital.’ ‘First we have to look through their homes…’ Dresden tried to say, but after the others stared him down he just swallowed his words and agreed.
Doctor Mitchell was both pleased and mad at Dresden when he saw him. He said that he was proud of his own bandage work and that Dresden was healing well �"and, of course, that he wasn’t dead- but wanted to slap him for getting himself hurt once more, promising to do so after he’d get better. The hospital stay took two days, because the cuts and punches he’d received were more dangerous than at first sight. He had bled a lot too, even though he hadn’t realized it because of the adrenaline rush. Miles wouldn’t respond either. He was thankful of and concerned about his alter ego, thinking it all might have gone horribly wrong if it weren’t for him. Parsley was with him most of the day as well as Elena, though the former gave the two their alone time, while Landen visited throughout the days. Barbra even came and wished him the best. On the second day, Landen came to tell him everything that happened in Dresden’s absence. The police had searched Alexovitch’s house and found a note under his desk about how much he was going to pay Doug for killing Dmitri: twenty thousand pounds. They also found the killer’s file, though it said his house was the one where Lucio was found dead, the police unable to find the place where he’d lived for the past few days. Alexovitch was charged with everything Landen had arrested him for, with a total of thirty years in jail. At the end of the trial the former couldn’t help but shout things about how he’d get his revenge sooner or later on the detective, who smiled as he heard all of the news. The city folk all thanked him after the case came to light and the process of solving it, regarding him, the Chief and Parsley as heroes once more. When Dresden was let out of the hospital, his arms bandaged even more, Mitchell stopped both him and Elena that was carrying him and gently tapped his palm against Dresden’s cheek. He later said he couldn’t slap a hero, though he hadn’t forgotten about it. As he stepped out, the sunlight and wave of hurray’s and praise gave him a slight headache. There were plenty of people he had seen before on the street waiting outside the hospital to welcome him back into the world and wish him the best. After a long walk, shaking hands and enduring the pain from the strong pats on his back he got in Adam’s carriage with Elena. “Good job,” Miles’s voice echoed inside Dresden’s head as they drove off. © 2018 NickAbo |
Stats
38 Views
Added on July 18, 2018 Last Updated on July 18, 2018 |