Tag: Microfiction

Living

“What? No, I won’t be long, I’ve just got to do one last thing, and then we can go. I love you too,” he says as he hangs up the phone. He looks out of the car window, biting his bottom lip, staring at the rusted gates that lead into Pine Crest Cemetery. He sucks in a deep breath, grabs the single black rose that sits on the passenger seat, and quickly opens the door, stepping out into the cold night air. The wind blows through the small graveyard, screaming, calling. His ears prick up, his eyes widen in fear, and he takes a step backwards, leaning against the car.

“Get your shit together, Duncan. It’s your imagination playing tricks on you. It was the wind, nothing else. It wasn’t her. So stop being an idiot and just get it over with,” he says to himself as he clears his throat and takes a step forward. He heads through the gates, along a path, and after a few nervous minutes, he comes to a stop, turning to face an overgrown gravesite.

He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. “Sorry, it’s been a while, I know. But a lot of things have happened, are still happening, and I wanted to come and say, well, goodbye,” he says, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I-I-I don’t know why it took me so long to come and see you. I meant to so many times. I’ve driven past, but I haven’t been able to stop, I haven’t wanted to. I-I-I just, I don’t know.”

He places the rose on the headstone and takes a few steps backwards. It’s then that he feels the cold breeze rip into him. He clenches his teeth, clenches his fists, takes a deep breath, and slowly turns around to face her, how sad she looks.

“I won’t do it. I’m not ready. I’m not done living!”

“Duncan,” she says softly, reaching a hand out towards him.

“Please, Bianca, let me go. I can’t do this. I know I promised. But I’ve found someone else, someone new, who makes me happy, like you did back in the beginning.”

“I know. I’m always with you, Duncan, always watching over your shoulder. I’ve seen your happiness,” she says.

“Then why this? Why?”

“Why? Why is the sky blue? Why is the grass green? Why do we die, if not to live first?”

“I-I-I don’t understand what you mean. I just want you to leave me alone, let me live my life. I don’t want it to end, not now.”

“Then why make a promise that you refuse to keep?”

“I… I never meant to break it. I never wanted to not be with you, but I can’t, not anymore.”

“Then do what you must,” she says, lowering her arm. For several silent moments, they both stand there, staring into each other’s eyes.

“I’ll always love you, you know that?”

“Are you telling me that, or trying to convince yourself?” she says as she drifts off into the night air like smoke, disappearing, and leaving him alone once more. He turns back to the headstone.

“I-I guess that’s why I’m here,” he says, wiping away his tears. He raises two fingers, kisses them, and places them on top of the headstone. “I will always love you,” he says as he turns away and walks back down the path to the gate, then climbs into his car. The engine starts with a thunderous roar, and within seconds, he’s back on the highway. His phone screeches to life, and he fumbles with it for a few moments before finally answering.

“Yup, on my way now. Twenty minutes or so. Okay, I’ll see you then. Love you,” he says, tossing the phone on the passenger seat and smiling. He looks into the rear-view mirror and catches sight of her sitting in the back seat.

“I love you too,” Bianca says as the car veers off the road, slamming violently into a tree.

A Pale Discussion

He steps out into the night air and takes a deep, long drag on his cigarette, playfully blowing the smoke into rings as he exhales. Some people can smoke their whole lives and never master the technique, so he always likes to proudly display the skill that took him countless hours to achieve—none of them wasted, as far as he’s concerned.

“One day, those things will kill you, you realise?” a voice hisses from the darkness.

“What? Does it make you jealous?”

“Far from it. The word I would use is curious, more than jealous.”

“Why curious?”

“It’s a simple curiosity, you see. You risk your life, fighting against so many unknown entities, defending your friends, lovers, and from time to time, enemies, from the things that lurk in the darkest places mankind turns a blind eye to. Yet, for all that bravado and passion, you suck those things into you, those killers. It just seems humorous that someone such as you will eventually die in a hospital bed, succumbing to your own body’s defences. That is why I use curious rather than jealous.”

“I’m sure you didn’t come here out of concern for my health,” he says as he flicks the cigarette into the darkness. It lands at his feet.

“Bravo. Do you feel pleased with yourself?”

“Don’t waste any more of my time. What do you want?”

“I want what I always want. I want everything. I want it all. And this time, I want to offer you a deal you cannot refuse.”

“Go away! Don’t try to convince me of some great plan that you have, one that’ll not only make you super rich and powerful, but will also give me all the things I desire—things I can get myself if I really wanted to.”

“Then why haven’t you? I’ll tell you why: because you’re a goody two-shoes, and you need to take a step back and embrace what you were born to be.”

“And what exactly was I born to be?”

“A motherfucking king, of course! Not some sappy hero who saves the day and gets a cheer from people who never give back. Join me, and I’ll give you what they should be giving you: riches, respect, loyalty, and above all else, utter servitude.”

“It’s not going to happen. So you’ve wasted your time coming all the way out here to ask,” he says, turning back towards the doorway and taking a step inside.

“Don’t you want what should be yours? You shouldn’t have to want like a normal man—you should take, like you can. Like you were born to do. Together, this world would be ours, and no one, not even the darker so-called heroes, could stop us. I know. I’ve seen it. I know how it all goes down, and together, we rule.”

He looks over his shoulder and smiles. “I’ve seen it too. And we do indeed rule—for a long time. But eventually, one day, something happens. I don’t know how, but I guess that’s why it happens the way it does. But that’s not important. What is important is that sometime, well after we’ve ruled this world together, I’ll remember something—something from my past, something from this conversation. The part where I swore what I’d do to you if this ever came about… and then, I’ll rip your head from your body.”

Tears in Thy Eyes

“Run, little man!” a voice yells from out of the darkness. “Run, but you won’t escape. I’ll find you and gut you like the pig you are!”

He feels the pain rip into his lungs, burning his throat, as he pushes himself forward—faster, harder. His stomach twists and turns, agony rips through him, sweat pours from his skin. This night—what was to be a celebration of his deeds—has fallen into decay. Nothing has gone the way he planned, for all his grand schemes, his wants, his desires. He knows his time is running out, and soon, he will face his judgment. He darts a panicked look over his shoulder as he continues to run through the deserted, filth-ridden streets of the once overpowering city—once flooded with life, now a wasteland. A perverted nightmare, a nightmare that is coming for him. No, not a nightmare—a she. She is coming for him.

He sprints around the corner, slipping, sliding, losing his balance on the sludge-covered concrete, and smashes headlong into a wall. For a few frantic moments, the world spins uncontrollably; black and white flashes invade his vision, screams ring in his ears, and then the shadows seem to dart towards him. He feels the pain, he sees her eyes, and he lets out a scream of terror. She pulls the blade back and thrusts it forward again. The knife tears into his stomach, and he screams out in pain.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, gripping him by the face, then begins to greedily lick up the tears that run down his cheeks. Once she has her fill, she shoves him back and laughs as he crashes to the ground in a heap.

“Are you going to cry some more?”

“W-W-Why?”

“Don’t be foolish, this isn’t the time to ask, you pathetic screwball. You think it’s all over. You think the night is just going to end and you’ll be back in your basement pulling your tiny cock to internet porn, or whatever weird shit you like to fondle yourself to,” she says as she straddles him and pulls his head from the ground by his hair, digging the blade against his throat. “Well, fucker, do you?”

“P-P-Please, just let…”

She slices the knife across his face, and he screams in pain.

“Please what? Please let me go? Are you fucking serious? Are you really asking that!” she says as she slices his other cheek open, then digs the blade into his shoulder. He screams out in agony.

“I’M SORRY!” he yells out.

“Is that supposed to make me forgive you? Did it work for me? Did you let me go? Should I keep on going, or should I just feed you to your maker!” she yells as she pulls the knife free and drives it through his left eye. “No, you kept me locked up in that cage for months, you piece of shit, meet your end!”

He twitches uncontrollably as she twists the knife in his socket, and then he goes still. A muffled gargling noise comes from his throat, and for the first time in months, she allows herself to smile.

The Hunt

He looks up, his heart beating furiously in his chest. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he smiles. “As many times as it takes us. Until we track him down, that’s how long.”

“It’ll just keep moving. Six months, Cole. Six months, and we’re no closer than we were when we started all this shit!”

“Bullshit. We’re getting close. The fucker’s panicking, can’t you sense it?”

“All I see is more innocent lives lost. That’s it. We’re not getting closer. We’re doing shit all—cleaning up his mess.”

“You’re wrong, Wesley. We’re close—closer than we’ve ever been before,” Cole says, wiping the knife’s blade on his trousers before sliding it into a pouch dangling from his belt. “You see, he’s choosing random victims now. He doesn’t have the time to select his prey like he did before. We’re fucking with his mojo. Soon, we’re going to be standing in front of him. Then we’ll gut the son of a bitch.”

“What if you’re wrong? What if he’s playing with us? Baiting us into a trap?”

“He’s not smart enough. You’ll see. We’ve got him on the run. You can take my word on that,” Cole says, getting to his feet and wiping his blood-drenched hands on his trousers. “Besides, even if he was, he’d be so weak we’d be able to overpower him fairly quickly.”

“You seem sure of yourself?” a voice says from the darkness of the street beyond.

They both turn quickly as a man walks out of the shadows. He smiles, nodding his head towards them before looking down at the torn, bloody, dismembered body of the young girl lying on the ground.

“Such a pity. She was such a sweet girl,” the man says, turning his attention back to Cole and Wesley.

“Is it game time already?” Cole grits his teeth and pulls his knife from its pouch again.

“Game time? I don’t follow.”

But Cole doesn’t reply. He charges at the man, swinging his knife viciously in front of him. The man in black moves quickly, easily evading the blade, and grips Cole by the throat, pulling it back powerfully. A popping sound echoes, and Cole goes limp, crashing to the ground in a heap, lifeless. The man looks up at Wesley, who stands frozen in place, sweat pouring from his forehead.

“Hello, Wesley. It’s been some time since we stood before one another. How’ve you been?”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you? Really? Is that how it’s going to be? Like we’re enemies and not brothers?”

“You fucking killed Cole! What do you expect me to say? He was my friend.”

“Wesley, we don’t have time for friends. You know that. After all, we—”

“Fuck you, Porter. Fuck you and all your little fucking children. We’ve been cleaning up your shit for the last two weeks. Cole and I—we had something. A bond, one I didn’t have to fucking manipulate him for. And then you show up, doing your fucking self-centred shit like you always do, and kill him without checking first. He was marked, with my mark, you piece of shit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I-I-I didn’t realise you two were that close.”

“Of course you wouldn’t. You never pay attention to anyone except yourself. So why don’t you just go and get in the car? Daddy’s going to be pissed when we get home.”

“But I don’t want to go home, I wan—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish as Wesley slaps him across the face.

“I said get in the car. This is over.”

Pockets Full of Sin

He drops to his knees and screams in anger, clenching his hands into fists and slamming them into the ground.

“I’ll fucking kill you, Drake!” he yells, as tears stream down his face. He looks up, into Drake’s eyes; anger burns within him, and Drake smiles.

“No, you won’t,” Drake says as he steps towards the bars of the cell. “You won’t be doing a lot of things, not anymore. I’ve beaten you. I’ve won. Now, you can rot here in hell, like you deserve to, you piece of shit!”

“I swear, whatever it takes, I’ll get out, and I’ll make everyone you love pay. Then I’ll make you suffer for a long time before I slice you from ear to ear—like I did to Jefferson,” he snarls, spittle dripping from his mouth, blood seeping from the grazes on his knuckles.

“Good luck, but you better move fast. Or haven’t they told you yet?”

“Told me what?”

“I guess they haven’t, then,” Drake says, his smile broadening. “You’re being moved to F block in a few hours, and next Monday, you’ll face the chair.”

“Bullshit! That’s not going to happen, not while I’ve got plenty of fucking things to do. Not while you’re still breathing, you slimy piece of shit.”

“Please, Lucas, let’s not get stuck in muddy stupidity. You butchered forty-eight women, acting out demented fantasies from your favourite films with their bodies—videotaping it. And after all that, you put it live on YouTube for the whole world to see. So, really, what the hell did you think was going to happen once I caught you? Did you think you were going to be allowed to keep breathing? Did you think Hollywood was going to come calling? Fuck, if I’d had it my way, I would’ve put a bullet in your brain. But Martinez was with me, and it would’ve been more trouble than it was worth. So, you’re going to die the right way, and I’m going to watch. Then I’m going to go home and fuck my wife until she cums on my cock.”

Lucas hangs his head and begins to laugh slowly.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

“Too many things, pig. But you haven’t been home in days, have you?”

“What?”

He looks up at Drake, smiling dementedly. “I said, you haven’t been home in days, have you, pig!” he yells.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What have you done?” Drake yells as he grabs at him through the bars. Lucas latches onto Drake’s arm and snaps it. Drake screams in agony. Grabbing a handful of Drake’s hair, Lucas pulls him to the bars and licks his face as guards run towards the cell.

“Boo!” Lucas yells, biting down on Drake’s nose, severing cartilage and flesh as the guards force him away. Drake stumbles backward, clutching his face, his other arm hanging limp.

Lucas spits the severed piece of Drake’s nose at him from within his cell and laughs. “Run home, pig, run home and see what I left you!”

Only Me

“Through the darkness, I have fought; through the cold, I have battled, until only I stand here before you, ready to finish this war,” he says, his heart pounding in his chest. He grips the hilt of his sword tightly and readies himself as the gigantic beast charges towards him. He drives his shield into the beast and swings his sword valiantly. The beast whips its tail at him. He lunges forward, using the shield as protection, and plunges the sword deep into the beast’s side. It screams in pain, in agony. It knocks him to the ground, then retreats a few yards away, dropping to the ground with a low growl. He scrambles to his feet, gripping his sword once more, and tosses his dented, now useless shield aside.

“I will defeat you, beast. It is my birthright; it is my destiny. I have battled my whole life for this moment. I have killed many men, women, and beasts to stand here before you. So come at me again, you vile thing, for I will take your head back to the village when I remove it, and I will be a hero.”

“You have battled only to die!” the beast screams, its voice like the sound of smashing glass. It leaps forward with another low growl, rushing towards him again, only to stop a few feet away and smile. “Tell me your deepest fears. Tell me what makes you cry. Confess all these things, and I will take them from you. I will free you from their burdens, and I will let you live. All you need do is look into my mirror, for it will grant all you desire. It will free you from your weakness and make you a true hero.”

“Don’t try to tempt me, beast. Your mirror is as wicked as you are. What fate would befall me if I were to look into its depths? What foul quest would I have to accomplish to rid myself of the demons that inhabit it? No, beast—I choose none. I choose your head on a pike!” he says, glancing at the mirror. From the corner of his eye, a twist of light flickers to life and then disappears, as his eyes widen in fright.

“I can smell the fear on you. I can smell urine seeping from you. Are you scared, Roman? Are you now waiting for what will be your undoing?”

“I am not scared to die. I am not scared of you. I have defeated all that you’ve put in my way. I have slain every vile creature you summoned to protect you. I am not the one who is scared—it is you, the one who hides behind the mirror. The one who waits to pick off the scraps after others have done your dirty work. No, beast, I am not scared. I am ready to rid this—” He feels the blade tear into his chest, feels it pierce his heart, and then nothing.

As the darkness takes him, his body collapses to the ground with a lifeless thud. Standing over him is the mirror image of himself—unburdened by life’s fears.

Just Over the Border

“It’s entirely possible, I mean, at this stage, anything is,” she says, running her hand down the frame of the mirror.

“At this stage? We’re not in one of your supernatural horror movies, Shelley. This is the real world; shit like this just doesn’t happen.”

She turns to him and smiles. “Why is it suddenly my supernatural horror movies? You’re the one who introduced me to The Evil Dead and Phantasm.”

“Years ago, when we were kids. You went all science geek on it and built this, this fucking thing.”

“The looking glass is not a fucking thing. It’s a doorway to another world, bridging the borders of our world and the world of…”

“The world of fucking nightmares!” he yells out. She looks at him with a wry smile. He feels a cold shiver run down his spine and looks to the ground, biting his lip nervously.

“Scared?”

“Of course I am. None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for that fucking thing. Whatever it did, it fucked everything, and nothing’s been right since. Nothing.”

“It only fed on what you asked it to. You knew that before you hooked yourself up to it.”

“Hey sister, I only did what you asked. Your fucking mirror did the rest.”

“Stop it! Stop blaming the mirror! It’s what came out of it—out of you—that caused all these killings. When you were hooked up, I detected something huge. Something with enough juice to keep the city running for a thousand years tore through the doorway,” she says, throwing her arms left and right, overly animating herself. He takes a step back, raising his hands in the air.

“Calm the farm. There’s no need to lose your shit.”

“Who’s losing their shit? You’re the one who keeps ignoring the facts. Everything is right here, and the only way to stop it is for you to cross the fuck over. Hopefully, whatever it is will ride back with you, and then we’ll—”

“You’ll do nothing. I’ll be stuck over there with whatever it is, and you’ll be safe. That’s the deal. Destroy the mirror as soon as I’m through. Promise me, like we’ve planned.”

“I promised already. I’ll destroy it, even though I know I could fix it, I could save you. I’ll keep my word.”

“Then let’s stop fucking around before I change my mind,” he says as he steps towards the mirror.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” she says softly, tears welling up in her eyes. He reaches out, cups her face in his hand, and smiles.

“Don’t be,” he says. Tears run down his cheeks as he takes a deep breath and steps into the mirror. The room vibrates as the realities’ seals are broken. His world flashes before his eyes—whites, blacks, reds, and blues—everything falling, disintegrating, and then reforming into something the same yet different. He steps into the dark grey otherworld, falling to his knees. His body feels twisted, torn, and broken. Tears cascade down his face, and then he feels it in the core of his soul—the connection to his world being severed. Slowly, he turns until he sees the cracks in the mirror behind him.

“Good girl,” he says softly.

“How touching,” a voice says from within the room. “Can I vomit?”

“When I stepped through the gate and crossed the border into this world, I knew the killings would stop. But I didn’t expect it would be…” He looks up at the shape hiding in the shadows.

“You didn’t expect it to be you?” she says, stepping from the darkness. “Is that what you were going to say?”

“Why?”

“Because of you. Don’t you see that? Haven’t you always seen that?”

Look at Me

You’re going to ask, I know, so instead of waiting, I’ll tell you how my life got so fucked up. It started pretty ordinarily. One moment, I was waiting outside for Sam, my girl, to finish work. Anyway, we’d made plans to pick up a two-five on the way home and spend the next few hours watching season two of Rick and Morty. That’s when he came up to me. Had I known what was going to happen, I would’ve told her to meet me at Bagan’s, but instead, I waited.

At first, he was just standing against the building, acting like I wasn’t there. Then he asked me if I was interested in testing out a new super herb that was coming onto the market, guaranteed to blow your mind. I said no. I mean, I didn’t know him—he could’ve been an undercover D for all I knew. Then he came up to me, looked me dead in the eyes, and said he wasn’t a cop. The crazy fucker pulled up his shirt, spun around, showing me his gaunt, pale frame, proving he had no wires, and repeated his question. I said no again—it wasn’t my thing—and told him to find somewhere else to peddle his wares. That’s when he pulled out the bag, and my eyes couldn’t help but widen. There was at least a couple of ounces in there. He smiled and asked again.

I stammered the same response from before—that I wasn’t interested, that I was waiting for my girl and we’d be going home soon. He opened the bag and pulled out the biggest, stickiest bud I’d ever seen and held it toward me. I looked around and told him to put it away, as people would see. He laughed, saying he didn’t care who saw him. He pushed it right under my nose and told me to take a whiff. I had to—you have to understand—there was no real choice in the matter. I mean, if some guy came up to you with a bud that big, you’d do the same.

My nose ran, my eyes watered, my mouth became dry, and I swear, I had the munchies—it was instant. He placed the bud back into the bag and passed it to me. I said no again, but he pushed it into my hand and said it was mine. All I had to do was call him tomorrow and tell him what it was like. Then he handed me a card and said not to forget to call him. I promised. Then he was gone.

Five minutes later, Sam knocked off work, and we walked home. I told her all about the guy, the bag, the bud, and what he had said. She said I was crazy and there was no way she was going to touch that stuff. She suggested we call in and see Bagan and ask him about it.

That’s pretty much where the story ends. I mean, well, it ends here, because that’s where we’re at—surrounded by DEA agents and Bagan telling me I’m going to be dead real soon.

Broken Conversations

“How many years has it been now?” Dan asks as he hands the bottle towards the headstone. “Oh, that’s right, you can’t answer,” he says, taking a large mouthful and looking up into the sky, disenchantedly.

“Twelve years, brother. It’s been twelve fucking years,” he says, looking back down at the headstone. “I feel stupid, but I guess you know that. Every year, I think maybe this time you’ll be here—sitting, waiting for me with a bottle of something cheap and nasty. But you’re never here, are you?” He takes another mouthful.

“Debbie is still remarried. Happy, apparently. I called her yesterday, but he answered the phone and told me not to call again. He lectured me about how she’s moved on from you, and that every time I bring up the past, she’s a wreck for days. I told him where he could stick his opinions, and he told me where I could stick mine. Then the piece of shit hung up. She called me later and told me not to call again—that the past was the past and she needed to move on. Apparently, me calling her every year wasn’t helping her get the space she needed to do that. I tried to talk to her, but she just shut me down and hung up when I wouldn’t let it go,” he says, swaying from side to side before taking another mouthful from the bottle.

He wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his creased shirt and gasps for air, then coughs violently. “You know what the worst thing about it all is?” he says, fumbling with the fly of his pants. He pulls out his penis midstream, wetting his trousers in the process as he pisses over the headstone. “You always had it easy, even in death, you were a fucking her—” His sentence is cut short as something hits him in the back of the head, and he crashes to the ground, hitting his face on the headstone.

Dan pulls himself to his knees, using the headstone to brace himself. He tastes the saltiness of his blood, feeling around in his mouth with his tongue and touching the broken roots that remain from where his teeth once were. He swishes saliva around in his mouth, then spits a wad of blood onto the ground.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he sneers, spinning around to face the darkness behind him. Slowly, as his eyes adjust, he sees a figure move forward towards him.

“I have more, but we’ll get to that a little later. I want you to be coherent for this conversation. The others, you can scream your way through,” she says, crouching in front of him with a smile.

“Y-Y-You think I’m scared of you?” he stammers.

“I don’t think anything. I know you’re afraid because I can taste it in your sweat,” she says, grabbing his head with a powerful grip and licking his forehead. “And your sweat tastes divine,” she whispers, her smile growing wider.

Bludgeon the Story

He pulls the hammer back, blood dripping from its face, and brings it down onto the man’s head. Blood sprays from the impact point, and the man poorly attempts to shield his face. Once more, he pulls back, and again drives it into his skull.

“Fix that one, handyman.”

“DEREK! M-My GOD! What’ve you DONE?”

He turns around, shocked. “F-Fi-Fiona, I thought you’d gone?”

“I-I-I forgot my phone and came back to get it.”

“It’s not what it looks like! I can explain everything!” he says, scrambling to his feet. He drops the hammer in the process and rushes toward Fiona.

“I don’t want to know, just stay away from me!” she says, thrusting her palms toward him in a futile attempt to keep him away. He grabs hold of her wrists, gripping them tightly and pulling her close.

“It’s too late for that. You need to listen to what I’ve got to say, I need you to. I can’t let you walk out—not after seeing this,” he says, foam forming at the corners of his mouth. His eyes dart wildly around their sockets. “You have to listen to me. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to do something to you that I won’t be proud of. Not that I’m proud of this,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder at the mangled body.

“P-Please, D-D-Derek, don’t do this. I promise I won’t tell anyone, I swear!” she pleads, tears streaming down her face.

“I can’t take that chance. I have to know I can trust you. If not… well, I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, ‘you don’t know’? What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“Really? Am I gonna have to spell it out for you? I’m gonna kill you. Is that what you want to hear?”

“WHY! DEREK, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” she screams, struggling to free herself from his grip. He squeezes harder and pulls her to the ground, driving a knee into her throat.

“He was making me look bad—fixing everything, laughing about it, making jokes with everyone. It was like he did it on purpose. So I decided to confront him. That was all. It was never meant to go the way it did. I just wanted him to stop,” he says, wiping tears from his face. “He laughed at me, told me to grow up, to take it like a man. Then he said, ‘If you can’t fix your wife, I’m happy to help with that too.’ That’s when I lost it. I grabbed the hammer and hit him. At first, he just sort of shrugged it off, called me a cunt. Then I hit him again. And I kept hitting him until he was dead.”

“I-I-I believe you, Derek, I really do,” she whispers softly. “Can you let me up now?”

“I’m sorry, Fiona,” he says, biting his bottom lip as he looks down at her. “But I’ve got no choice,” he says, pulling back the hammer and driving it downwards.