The Best Revenge
Maxwell smiled grimly as he climbed the steep track. He was panting a little before he spotted the ancient cabin, but he wasn't in bad shape for a man who'd retired ten years before. He'd left the force, yes, but a few of his cases hadn't left him.
He'd never forget the blood spattering that college girl's apartment. He worked so hard to find the killer it destroyed his marriage. When he succeeded, the man escaped prosecution on a technicality. Maxwell hadn't delivered justice then, and he'd needed ten years to find his quarry again, but today he would close that case.
He stepped out of the pines, opened the door, and darted inside. A dank, musty reek choked him. His Colt heavy in his hand, he turned slowly to study the fallen curtain. He glared at the rusty cans by the sink. He'd been so sure this was the end of the trail.
A board creaked, and he whirled to face a massive heap of quivering, panting flesh. A shotgun sagged in the man's hand. Maxwell quickly twisted it away.
The man squinted. When he thrust his head forward to peer into Maxwell's face, his breath stank worse than he did.
"Maxwell? Is that you? I thought...." He broke off, wheezing helplessly.
"I was going to shoot you. But I've changed my mind."
The man whimpered.
Maxwell stepped back outside. "Of course, I might change it again." He started down the path, whistling. Death was too good for him.
He'd never forget the blood spattering that college girl's apartment. He worked so hard to find the killer it destroyed his marriage. When he succeeded, the man escaped prosecution on a technicality. Maxwell hadn't delivered justice then, and he'd needed ten years to find his quarry again, but today he would close that case.
He stepped out of the pines, opened the door, and darted inside. A dank, musty reek choked him. His Colt heavy in his hand, he turned slowly to study the fallen curtain. He glared at the rusty cans by the sink. He'd been so sure this was the end of the trail.
A board creaked, and he whirled to face a massive heap of quivering, panting flesh. A shotgun sagged in the man's hand. Maxwell quickly twisted it away.
The man squinted. When he thrust his head forward to peer into Maxwell's face, his breath stank worse than he did.
"Maxwell? Is that you? I thought...." He broke off, wheezing helplessly.
"I was going to shoot you. But I've changed my mind."
The man whimpered.
Maxwell stepped back outside. "Of course, I might change it again." He started down the path, whistling. Death was too good for him.
Labels: fiction
posted by The Wandering Author | Permalink: 3:12 AM
4 Comments:
ahhha... gotta like the justice in that..
It's hard enough judging a competition, but I'm guessing it'd be harder to decide which of these 3 to enter! Another wonderful piece of flash...and inspiring too!
This reminds me of a Lehane classic.
Very well written.
Thanks, wolfbaby, Lehane. And, yes, it was hard making up my mind. I have no idea which one would be most likely to win; I just chose my personal favourite.
Susan, I'm overwhelmed. I've gotten so many very meaningful compliments on these stories. Thank you.
Post a Comment
<< Home