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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A simple business man loses his phone in the airport. Only to find out its been stolen by a mad man.

Submitted: October 07, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 07, 2014




Another Introduction.....

Hello whomever may be reading this, I am a young aspiring writer of 16 years. I'm hoping to someday to become someone who has the time and the talent to write good stories for people to read, hopefully as a hobby. (Maybe as a job too, but I feel crossing the border between job and hobby, could very well easily take the fun out of it) Well you may or may not already know this if you read my first piece "The Assailant". Which ether way I wouldn't think is, in any sense of the word, a masterpiece, but was a decent start to my writing. Now here's something I'm writing which I hope won’t turn out nearly as horrific as the last, which was slightly gore filled (given the fact I'm writing this BEFORE I actually start on the story itself, so don't knock me if it is indeed filled with gore). I also hope to improve my writing skills in general. So, If you are kind enough to give me a second chance or haven’t had the pleasure (or pain) of reading my first piece, then lets dive into the next story I've laid out for your merciful minds...

Part 1: Rickman

"Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap!” I whispered to myself as I walked through the huge crowd.

"Flight 32 leaving in 10 minutes" I hear the woman say over the intercom.

 "Dammit!” I scream to no one as I shove my way through. *BAM* I suddenly get knocked to my knees.

 "Oh shit!” I hear someone say.

 "Sorry, man. Are you Ok?” the guy asks.

He extends his hand out and I grab it. As I look up I see a guy with blonde short hair who was wearing a jacket with an AC-DC shirt under it.

"It's fine, but I'm in a rush, excuse me", I say,

I then walk past him. Little, to no, concern about his reaction or what he said after. I needed to make this flight, I had a meeting in New York at 10 AM tomorrow, and it was already 3 PM here in Chicago. I ran for the desk, checked in my flight, and ran to the plane. Barely making it with minutes to spare. I get on my first class seat, and nap as usual. It’s a dreamless nap. By the time I get up I've already made it to New York, Its 6:30. I get off and signal a taxi, which is surprisingly easy. It takes about 30 minutes to get to my Hotel, with the cab driver playing a bit of old rock, he even starts humming to it. Bohemian Rhapsody even comes on and he starts singing to it. I felt bad for not singing along, it would've made for a nice laugh. I get out, grab my stuff and pay him the money. I walk into the Holiday Inn, get my keys and I go up to my room.

I walked in, wanting to fall asleep, But I knew I had work to do. I look over at my clock and it was already 7:00. "To think I traveled so far, within such little time" I say to myself. I go to grab my phone to check for any texts from my wife or maybe my boss. It wasn’t there, I check the other pocket and I was hit with the same disappointing result. I look in my back pockets...nothing. I check my bags, throwing around paperwork and clothes, still not finding it. "Shit! Where is it?! Where is it?!" I say as I start to panic. I then take deep breaths "Oak, calm down, John. If anyone found it, I doubt they would instantly go rummaging through your info, at least I hope not." I say, trying desperately to sooth myself. "Why didn't I give it a lock screen?! The stuff I have on there...." I think angrily.The Taxi! I must've left it in there. I almost run to the side of my bed and grab the yellow pages...I dial the number of the cab company. A woman answers, "Hello, Charleston Cab Company, how may I help you?" she inquires generically."OH, Yea I think I may have lost my phone on one of your cabs" I ask with a surprisingly nervous voice. "Oh, Hun, we get those all the time, its fine. I'm sure it will come in the lost in found within the next day. If we find it, we'll try and contact you from this number" She answer in a very sympathetic tone. "Thank you, ma'am" I say in gratitude. "No problem". I put down the phone and walk out of my room, getting in the elevator down to the lobby. I approach the desk were a teenager dressed in a bell-hop uniform, sat reading Time magazine. "Hey, you wouldn’t have come across a phone in here, would you?" I ask. "I think I may have lost it in here earlier." "Sorry sir" He says in a scratchy teenage voice, "I didn't see a phone lying anywhere. But you could look if you want." He said, obviously more interested in his magazine. I suddenly see a pink page, creep from below the yellow time pages. Of course, and here I thought I was in the presence of someone with sense. As if on cue, he sees the page slip, he closes the magazine and hits the bottom against the desk, trying to hide the page. I ignore his awkward glare, and start looking. The room itself was very small, with a table and a sofa. I look outside the glass doors to see it was already getting dark, I look up at the clock, and it was 8:30. "Plenty of time." I think to myself, in an attempt to be cheery. I search everywhere, but find nothing. I walk back to my room, angry and worried."What do I do?" I say in frustrated distain. "Screw it, I'll try and call it" I say exasperated. Knowing it probably wouldn’t do any good anyway. I grab the phone and dial the number. It rings about 3 times. And finally it’s answered by a familiar voice, though I couldn’t remember it at the time. "Hello?" I hear him say, "Umm Yea, hello this is the owner of the phone you are using an-" I’m suddenly cut off, "Ahh John Rickman...Ya know I've been waiting for you to call. Did it really take you 3 hours to notice your phone was gone? are unobservant." He says in an almost mocking voice.

 "What are you talking about? Who are you, and how did you know-" I demand before being cut off again. "How do I know what? Your name? Your address? Every person you've come in contact with for the past month? Or how about your firm? The legal firm that earns you millions every year, and the firm that put you on a business trip to New York." He explained in a calm surreal manner. I was stunned to the point where I couldn’t even begin to fathom a response. "To answer your question, I'm that guy that "bumped" into you at the airport." He explained in that same calm manner. "My name is Bruce Matthews, since I know your name, I owe you that much information." "What do you want?!" I yelled into the receiver. "Ah ah ah, I don't like your tone-" "IDON’T GIVE A SHIT, WHAT DO YO-" "I think you are forgetting who’s in control of this situation Mr. Rickman. I'm much closer to your wife and two girls than you are currently. So I suggest you take every word you say into consideration." He explains in an almost spiteful tone. Neither of us say a word for nearly ten minutes, with the silent being filled with nothing but my tired but rapid breath, I suddenly started feeling a pain in my chest. "I'm glad we understand each other. Now what I want you to do, is go to your "meeting" tomorrow and then take a flight back to Chicago. Then call your phone, if I don't receive a call within the next 78 hours....Well I'm sure I can trust you, cheers" He finally says before hanging up.

I slowly put the phone down on the receiver, not being able to think anything coherent. I run to the bathroom and puke in the toilet. My mind was in a blur, worse than any hangover I've ever experienced. I took one final look at the mirror, seeing a sad broken man with sweat running down his face. I walk over to the bed and fall down, instantly falling asleep.

I had a black dream, a dream filled with nothing but the faint feeling of worry. It was perhaps the most depressing sleep I've ever experienced. I wake up, sweat streaming down my face, with every part of my body shaking. It felt like a fever, but it was probably just the intense stress that I felt. I look over to the clock, it read 7:30 AM. Good, I had time to think about what I did next. "Should I call the police?" I thought to myself. Then, as if a warning from Bruce himself, an image of my family that it had as my phone background came up in my head. It was a pictures of my wife Nancy and my two girls Jessie and Carly sitting on the front steps of our home. I shudder at the thought of him even being closer to them than him. "What do I do...?” I say out loud to no one. I had to think of something, what does he want? Why is he doing this? I guess it would figure it out. "Ok Bruce, I guess imp playing your game for now." I said again aloud. I got ready, cleaned up, got a shower, and put on a fresh suit. I had a meeting in a couple hours with my company's associates. If it didn’t make it, well it probably wouldn’t end well for me.

I work for a firm called Hardy & Matters, a legal firm. They sent me on a meeting with another firm called Bemidji, Lambert, and Locke. They controlled our business district in New York and most of the east coast. I had to go there and make arrangement for a few of the higher ups. I'm hoping it might end in a promotion, but at this point I wasn't really concerned about that. Throughout the entire meeting I wasn’t really listening, my mind was still all a blur. A blur full of fears and plans on what I should do next. Of course until my planned speech, which I had practiced so many times by myself in the mirror the past few weeks it was basically burned into my brain as second nature. Which took my mind off of it for mere seconds until I sat back down. The meeting last merely a few hours but it felt like a lifetime, seconds into minutes, and hours into days. Until finally we were dismissed, hands were shook, backs were pat, and champagne was indeed popped. Like you'd see in the movies I'd guess. I was gone before the champagne was even brought out. Before I made it out of the office, one man with a thin grey moustache and thin short hair, clapped me on the back.

"Where are you going, son?" He said cheerfully in a surprising southern accent. I guess he was one of those "Self-made" rich investors. Strange place to put your investments, old man.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just have somewhere I really need to be." I replied. His face suddenly looked slightly disheartened.

"Are you sure you can't stay just for one little sip? I mean, how important is it?” He then started to laugh, reminding me a bit of a bad Santa impersonation.

"It's pretty urgent, sir.  But thank you." I said and walked out. I nearly ran from the office, but I forced myself to walk out calm so I wouldn’t cause a stir. I walked through the hall and into the elevator that lead to the lobby. I checked my watch and it was only 2:00 PM, so I still had time. I jumped in a Taxi and went straight to the airport, first flight to Chicago. As I walked through the crowded airport, I thought of my family, and of "Bruce", if that was even his real name. I began to question why he even told me it to begin with. To be fair? This whole situation wasn’t very fair in the slightest. During this time of thinking, I was much more weary on who I bumped into and kept my hands on my pockets.


I made the 3pm flight, filling me with a slight sense on what I thought was hope. I usually I have to wait much longer to get a good flight. Maybe someone was watching over me. I doubt it was an angel, but something had my back so it was something. As I sat there in my comfortable seat with a cup of coffee by my side. (Or a Cup’s Joe. As my coworkers sometimes liked to call it). I began to realize what a sanctuary this usually is to me, coming home from a successful meeting. Getting prepared to take a long deserved nap after a nice coffee. It almost felt alien to be under such stress in this otherwise peaceful setting.

"Maybe I should relax" I began to think to myself, until my thoughts were interrupted by that same image of my family, sitting on the steps. But this time they were being stalked by this man named "Bruce". With that same smile and that same AC/DC shirt I saw back at the airport. It disturbed me and made me want to puke. Suddenly this "Cup’s Joe" didn’t seem very appealing, but I stayed in my seat and drank it anyway. The taste brought me a tiny bit of relief and helped drown out that uncomfortable watery feeling in my stomach. I began to feel a single bead of sweat come down the side of my face. I quickly wiped it away with my suit sleeve, trying to look as calm as possible. I then look over to see the man beside me had fallen asleep, thankfully. I really didn’t feel like having someone stare at me weirdly for another 2 hours. My thoughts after that just ran amok, with no real coherency until it fell asleep. I can say that my last thought wasn't of my wife, or my kids, but Bruce's increasingly disturbing smile...




Part 2

As I woke to the familiar sound of the pilot indicating our land, I almost instinctively looked towards my watch. It was 6:23, we made it a few minutes early it seems, there’s some good luck. Once I make it off the plane, through customs, and into the front of the building, I look for a payphone. I dial my number and all I hear are rings for what seemed like an eternity.

"Was I too late?....Oh god what if he-" I begin to think then as if on queen, I hear the familiar yet disturbing voice of my Bruce.

"I was wondering when you would call. I started to get a bit worried, maybe I startled you a bit too badly". He then proceeded to let out a very casual laugh, as if he had just made a pun.

"Ok, "Bruce". What the hell do you want? Is my family Ok?" I say forcing myself to at least sound calm.

"Why must you be so pragmatic, john? Why spoil the fun of it?" He says almost playfully, sending shivers up my spine.

"I just don't want you to hurt them." I respond in an unfamiliar voice. A voice full of fear and uncertainty.

"Well, I guess that all depends on how you respond then isn’t it?" He answers back.

"For instance, how do I know you haven’t contacted the police? How do I know imp not being traced right now?"

"well-" I begin to respond before being cut off by his increasingly disturbing tone.

"Wrong answer, I know because you aren’t that stupid to go to them so quickly and uncertain. Hell, I could have your wife at gun point right now and you wouldn’t even know would you?" He explains, with a bit of a chuckle at the very end.

"If you hurt them...” I start to threaten.

"Oh please, if I wanted them dead, they would be gone already and spread across the front porch. But that’s not fun is it?” he then starts to giggle, reminding me of a maniac.

"Who.....who the hell are you...”

"Bruce, of course. Now, what I want you to do is simple, I've come to notice while

Looking through your personals is you are quite a wealthy, man. Oh yes, with your two story house and 50,000 dollar cars. I want what you'd expect, money and wealth. Enough to leave the country after this, because if I know you like I know every other helpless sap in this city, you'll be calling the cops the minute you get the chance. And if that’s the case I’ll have to kill you. Which I don't want blood on my *Snicker* innocent hands, do I?" As he explains all of this, I suddenly feel sweat drip down the side of my face. The cold Chicago wind didn’t help much. I almost dropped the payphone twice, once when he talked of my personals and the second when he snickered.

"Hello, John? I haven't lost you to a blackout already have I?” Bruce says in a taunting manner.

"You're not going to get away with whatever you are planning...I hope you know this...” I mutter.

"Oh? Really, what’s going to get in my way? You? Or the cops? Maybe your family dog Chip? Which by the way is quite a cute dog, I could just.....well eat him up of course...” Again he starts to chuckle, I was beginning to get damn tired of his laugh.

"Ok, Bruce so what do you need me to do" I say in an almost defeated manner, trying to keep my rage tucked away inside.

"Well I thought you'd never ask. Well, first I want you to stay away from your home, no warning mama bird, or moving the nest...Next I want you to get into your fancy bank account, take out at least......hmmm....let’s say 500,000. You can make that back in a year. And bring it to a certain address. Place it in a certain spot, and then go on with your fine day."

"500,000!?" I almost yell into the receiver.

"What are you hard at hearing? But, don't worry, I have to make a few......arrangements, before it get the money. So just get the check and call me by tomorrow, and remember.......No talking to the cops...I'll know, ta ta." I suddenly hear the buzz of the receiver as he hangs up. Suddenly, I see a black van with tinted windows screech around a corner and off down the road. I catch three letters in the license plate KHG. But it’s gone before I can read the rest.


For three hours I sat in my newly rented holiday inn hotel room. Thinking long and hard what to do, twice I picked up the phone dialed 911 but didn’t call, three times I dialed the number of my bank but didn't call, and once I even dialed my home phone, but didn't call. Every time I look to take a step I see a mine ahead of it.

"What do I do?" I say in an almost sobbing voice. If I call the police I endanger my family, if I call my house I'm almost assured to endanger them. But, 500,000? I can't pay that, of course imp fortunate, but that much.... there has to be another way. If, I called the police how would he know? I quickly pace over to the window and look out. No black vans within sight, or any strange on lookers that I could see. But that still didn't mean much, I don't know anything about this man. He could be anywhere with any type of resource to know I'm lying to him. For what felt like hours my mind ran in circles, when in reality it was only 25 minutes. Finally, after taking a quick glance outside I pick up the phone.


Within an hour I was already in a cab, I started looking over my shoulder at almost at every block, but the traffic is so heavy, even during sundown. The radio up front stated it was only 7:00 PM, when the last hour felt like an eternity. The cab driver, like most, tried to spark up some sort of chat with me. I tried my best to sound social, not wanting to be rude and all, but It seems he felt my stress and left me alone. We rode along the busy streets for a while, I didn't bother to check the time. We finally stopped in front of a small house, in a suburb not far from the city, the old mailbox stated "Fuller". I pay the cab driver his fair and walk up to the mostly normal looking house. It was getting dark and I could only see one light on. I walk up the small steps on the porch, taking my time. I stop in front of the front door, reluctant to knock, not wanting to get anyone else involved in this awful mess, but knowing I had no choice. I finally knocked on the wood door that looked dark with age. After about 2 minutes of waiting I finally hear the locks coming off the door and hear a light hearted "whose there-" his eyes widened slightly when he first saw me. Suddenly the door opened fully and I see a man who is in his 30s but looks much older in jean shorts, a Beatles t-shirt, and leaning on an old cane. His hair reaches down to his chin and he sports a beard with a few white hairs.

"Jack? Bro, how are you doing?" He said, happily. We both hugged and he invited me in.


Matt Fuller, was my best friend, since freshmen year in high school. We even stayed together through the same college. Until, we we forced to go our separate ways when we both went into the real world. I went into law and he went into law enforcement. He was on the police force for nearly 4 years, until a few accidents here and there forced him out of work. He's still called up every now and then for detective help, but for the most part he just collects workers comp checks. I didn't want to drag him into this mess, but he's the closest thing to police I could come up with, and if anyone could help I know it was him. We walked into the house and into a small but surprisingly clean living room. There was a TV above a fireplace in the middle with two chairs, and a computer off in the corner to the right of them. We both sat down at the chairs.

"So, what bring you to this old cripple’s home? Can't be just a friendly visit can it? How busy you are...” he says light-hearted enough.

"Heh, yea sadly you're right. This isn't just a visit. As much as I've been meaning to get back to you and all."

"Ah, don’t mention it, bud. I understand, how's the kids? Uncle Matt has gotten to see them is so long."

"Well, that’s actually part of what I need to talk to you about...”

I then explain to him all that’s happened, taking my time with the details not wanting to dump it all at once. The way his face slowly went to a curious face, to sadness, to pure rage was almost terrifying. After I was done, we just sat there for a couple minutes, I let him think.

"So, you want me to help you find this guy without tripping any alarms? So we can stop him before he does anything too..major?” He asks cautiously.


"Does your wife know?"

"I haven't talked to Monica since I left...” I say with a sudden pang hit my heart. I began to realize how much I missed her at this point.

"Ok...I need a bit of time to think about this...he knows what he's doing from the sound of things...Does he know about me?"

"Umm...I wouldnt think so."

"What? You don't have anything about me on your phone?" He said, sounding comically hurt.

"Man, I haven't talked to you in nearly a year ok. It's nothing personal. It's not like you've tried to call in the past year."

"Well maybe if someone would actually give me their phone number." He said with a slight smile. Shaking his cane at me comically like a disgruntled old man.

"Oh shut up." I said, started to smile a little bit.

"Well, if that’s the case, I'm going to set something up, and we can try it tomorrow. Right now, it's getting late. Sleep in the guest bedroom, lord knows you need a rest."

"Alright." I said as I slowly walked towards the hallway.

"And Jack?"

"Yeah" I said as I looked over my shoulder.

"We'll find him." He said and smiled.

"I hope..."



Part 3


I wake up in a slightly cold, but comfy room. I looked around at the digital clock on the nightstand beside the small twin bed. 7:30 AM, Early enough. The room itself had little to offer, there was a small drawer with a mirror and a small TV placed on it. The room was filled with dust as I'm sure it hadn’t been used for years. Matt never liked guests anymore, unless they were from a local bar, and even then he preferred the main bed...or the couch whichever was closer. As I slowly got up and walked through the narrow hallway, nearly tripping over an empty can of soda, thrown from the living room from the look of it. I step into the small room, to see Matt asleep on the desk with the computer. It looks like he set up something on the computer that looked a bit familiar at first, but I didn’t recognize it. He was surrounded by soda cans of all kinds.

"Matt?" I said, poking him on the shoulder.

"MATT!" I said this time, yelling.

"What!?" He said popping up, nearly falling off his chair. "Oh, long was I out?" he then looks around and see it’s in the morning.

"Oh crap! I must've passed out. Did I finish setting it up at least?" He quickly turns to the computer and starts to mess with thing hooked up on the side.

"Umm...Matt? What is that?" I inquire curiously enough.

"Oh, this? Well last night, at around 11 I think, I had this idea, see? Well, you can call him, trace his call to see where he is and send the police after him. This is an old thing that I have from the force that might just work." He explained, using a lot of hand motions, knocking over a couple of the cans, but paying no mind.

"Are you sure this thing will work? I mean it seems kind of old don't you think?"

"We can test it, if you really feel inclined." He said almost in a stubborn tone.


He hands me his house phone which is hooked to the computer and dials in a number and hits call. I put the phone to my ear and start to hear a buzz from Matt's pocket. He picks it up and answers it.

"Alright, now you just got to keep me on the line for about 2 minutes at the most. So how was your morning?"

"Matt this is serious...”

"Who said I was kidding? You didn't look like you slept a minute. Also rude by the way, gonna have to be nicer to keep me on the line that way."

"I kept seeing that image of my wife and my kids. Hearing his voice, man. I just couldn't stay asleep."

"Damn.....Look, I'm sorry if I seem like I'm not taking this seriously...I am, you have no idea..."

"Look, its fine, ok? It's just how you cope, I understand. You act like I'm not your brother." I gave him a small smile and then we hear a beep on the computer. Suddenly a small map of Chicago pops on the screen, and we see a red dot pointing out his house.

"Wow, it actually works...” I hear Matt whisper under his breath, I could've made a smart comment, but I didn't.

"So when do we do this?" I ask.

"First, we need to plan this out. We only have one shot at this...”


After about 30 minutes of discussion, we begin to set up the plan. My fear intensifying as we went along. I had a feeling this wasn't going to work, but it was my only chance in sight.

"You ready?" Matt says, headphones on and ready at the computer.

"As ready as I'll ever be...” I said, trying to feel confident, but still feeling panic rising within me. It started raining outside, not helping my fear at all.

"Ok, just call your number and hopefully he will pick up...” Matt says, a little weary himself. I pick up the home phone and slowly dial the number into the receiver. There was a little clock up in the corner of the phone that said it was 8:20 AM. I then hit call, and I start to hear the familiar ring.


"Hello?" Bruce says, in his almost sicking "Innocent" tone.

"Bruce, it's me." I say, almost too shaken to talk.

"Ooooh, Johnny Boy...How are you? What is this a friendly call? Wondering how I'm doing? Oh you are such a nice guy, not many like you nowadays." I hear him pander, maybe getting in at least two minutes of conversation wouldn't be that difficult after all...

"Listen, I just needed to discuss a few details on the money..." I say, waiting for him to cut me off with his infuriating banters.

"Uh huh?"  He says quickly.

"Well, details like should I leave it by cash or check and where...stuff like that." I say, trying to take my time, but not trying to be suspicious.

"You can, leave it by whichever and I'll tell you where, when YOU say to me "I have the money" He explains quickly.

"Well, what if I do have it right now?"

"Well, then that’s great. But do you?

"Maybe I do. But maybe if you gave me details on what this process will require, I might give a more definite answer." I say. Suddenly, I start to hear him chuckle, it only made me more angry.

"How *chuckle* stupid do you think I am Mr. Rickman...I mean, tracing my call? Oh you are just Grande. Oh, I'll just leave the receiver on to make it easier for you. While I say hi to the Mrs. and maybe the two munchkins. Ta ta."

"NO!" I suddenly hear the drop of the phone on his end, and the beep of the computer.

I take one look and see it moving, he must be in a car and heading for....

"John? Are you..?" I bolt out of the house before I could hear the rest.

"JACK WAIT!" is the last thing I hear him say.


I take the keys off Matts counter, take his old Chevy, and almost speed out of the small neiborhood and into the city.

"Please don't let them be hurt...Please god please." I think to myself

"How could've I been so stupid dammit!" I say out loud this time.

Within about 12 minutes I make it to my house, there was that same black van almost crashed into my garage. I nearly lost my focus to panic, but I kept my head.

"Ok, I need to be careful....I also need a weapon...” I quickly check beside the seats and under the chairs, nothing but dust bunnies. I then check the glove compartment, there was a revolver and a couple boxes of ammo. I put the revolver loaded in my left pocket and filled my right with ammo.

"Ok...." I then step out of the truck and almost immediately start puking on the side of the driveway. After completely losing what little food I had the last couple days, I walk slowly to the front door.

I quickly but quietly open the door to the back, take a quick glance and walk inside. The back door was unlocked, but it doesn’t look like there was any scuffle in the kitchen which the back door opens to. I take a look around the corner into the hallway and slowly walk down to the living room. Before I even stick my head out to look in to the room itself, I hear him.

"Oh, Johnny is that you?” He was down to a quiet whisper for some unknown reason.

"Bruce, did you hurt any of them?" I say back, keeping my head concealed.

"Not, yet… But if I were you, I would keep your voice down...” He says, again in a whisper.

I cautiously look around the corner. I see him sitting in one of my recliner chairs, leaning back and forth, with my sleeping daughter, Rachel, in his arms.

"Poor girl hadn't woken up I felt it'd be rude if I woke her myself." He says, in his disturbing but calming tone of voice.

"You son of a bitch you let go of her-" I start to walk forward until he produces a gun of his own and points it at her head. It was a small pistol with a silencer.

"ah ah ah, I don't think so.." He says with an evil smile. For about a minute we just stood there, at an impasse. Me having a gun pointed at him and him having a gun on my 3 year old daughter.

"Where is the rest of my family?" I almost choke out from a pit of rage and sorrow.

"Why, in their rooms of course...your other daughter, Mary was it? Is in her bed, your dog is probably outside and your wife is still asleep in her bed...awaiting your return I'm sure." He says, smiling the whole way through.

"The only thing you need to worry about is if one of them gets up and "startles" me into pulling this trigger here" He says, still smiling almost maniacally. Suddenly Rachel stirs a little bit in her sleep.

"Aww look at that...Shes dreaming about nightmares...adorable" He whispers as he kisses her forehead. I had to hold back every part of my being to not try and shoot him right there.

"Now, where were we? Oh yes...We need to discuss a few things, Mr. Rickman...First pass me the gun....I said pass it. Now." He motions for the gun, and for a second I hesitate, as if he would shoot my kid right after I hand him the gun. But I just suddenly drop it and kick it across the hardwood floor to him.

"" He gets up, gun still pointed at my kid in his arms, and picks up the revolver. He masterfully unloads the gun with one hand and tosses it back into the chair. He walks toward me and I'm suddenly met with the taste of blood and severe pain in my nose as he pistol whips me.

"Who the fuck do you think you are dealing with?" He says in a monotone voice. I began to whine slightly in pain, but he then kicks me in the gut.

"Ah ah ah, wouldn’t want mama bird alerting the nest. That wouldn’t be good would it?" He then motions the gun pointing towards Rachel.

"Now, do you think I'm some sort of fool? Someone to trifle with? Someone to take lightly? That I would fall for some old trick? Really, talking in circles, playing dumb, talking slowly? You must peg me as an idiot. That hurts, ya know...” He then steps on my hand as I try to crawl away, making sure to grind his shoes onto my skin, like I was some sort of bug.

"Now where’s my money, Mr. Rickman? Hmm? I said by tomorrow, which is today isn’t it? But look, no check. Maybe I should break a finger? Would that help remind you? Like tieing a fucking string around one of your fingers? HUH?!" He exclaims almost yelling on the "huh" part. Suddenly the baby stirs a little bit more in his hands.

"Oop, I'm sorry pumpkin. Bruce got a bit mad didn’t he? I'm sowy, I'll try to be quieter" He says to the sleeping Rachel, in an almost terrifying change of tone.

"Ya know what, John boy? I'm afraid I'll drop this lovely child if I'm not careful. So, if you'll please let me set her down, and then we can talk business with fewer...restrictions." He turns around to put her down on the chair, I suddenly try and get up to rush him. He quickly turns around and shoots me in the leg. I quickly fall over and grab my leg in agony, I almost screamed. But when he motioned the gun at her head again, I somehow held it in.

"Again, with the condescending plans, Mr. Rickman. Jeez, give me some credit..." He says with a slight chuckle. He quickly, covers her up on the couch and pats her on the head. While he does this, I quickly crawl around the corner and into the kitchen. I didn't want to leave my daughter with that Psychopath, but at this rate he's just going to torture me until I finally scream. I need some sort of plan.

"Now, that you're done interrupting me." He then turns around to see me crawl away.

"Pff Coward...Am I going to have to chase you?" Is all I hear him say as I'm halfway down the hallway. I then hear his footsteps, slowly coming after me on the hardwood flooring. My foot was a burning flame of pain, but I knew I couldn’t stop, I had to get to the door. I almost reach the kitchen when I see him walk around the corner, with the gun twirling in his hand. He was also humming a familiar tune with a maniac smile on his face.

"Mister Sandman, bring me a dream. Make him the cutest that I've ever seen. Give him two lips like roses and clover. Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over..."

He gets about a couple feet away from me, he even motioned to stomp on my shot leg, until we both hear sirens from the front door. Matt had called the cops, it took them long enough. I grab a knife from a drawer in the kitchen, quickly stab Bruce in the side and tried to grab his gun. He screamed in pain, but didn’t give the gun up so easily. We fell to the ground and started to wrestle for the gun. I didn’t know where it was. It was somewhere between us, so I tried feeling for the metal to see who it was pointed at. Until someone pulled the trigger...



Part 4


I didn't feel a thing, apparently it hit Bruce. He just layed there after that.....

"Did I kill him? Oh god...oh god no....I murdered a man......Oh god" I started to feel tears of rage, happiness, and panic rise up. I then throw up in the sink. The sirens were still going outside, so ether they were waiting for someone to come out or they are about to send people in. I rush to my daughter and kiss her on the forehead and hug her. There was blood on my pants so I tried to keep her away from that. I run up the stairs with Rachel in my arms, kiss Mary as well and give her a hug. Finally I got to my wife and woke her up, gave her a kiss on the lips.

"Listen, babe. I can’t explain why just yet, but we need to get out of the house now. Us and the kids." I explain calmly.

"Honey, you're back from your trip already? What are you talking about..? Why are there sirens?" She asks in a drowsy state.

"I promise I'll explain later, but if you trust me, we'll hurry up and get out." I say still calm. Suddenly I hear here make a surprised noise.

"Why is there blood on your pants!?" She asks, much more awake this time.

"Honey....I love you more than anything in the world, so please...If you feel the same for me, you'll stop asking questions and get dressed. I'll explain everything when we are out of the house." After that, she just looks at me, for the longest time. But eventually starts to get dressed.

We grab the kids and walk out to the police. Matt indeed had called them, told them there was an intruder in my home. I told them what happened and they sent men in, but all they found was a blood stain on the kitchen floor and a short trail that leads out to the backyard. All they found, was my phone with the background being a picture of a note stating "Well played, but I always wear body armor under this AC/DC shirt." With a little play button on the side of the screen that would play "Thunderstruck" By AC/DC. I instantly panicked, but also felt relief that I wasn't a murderer in the process. I told them all what happened and they said they would give a Chicago if not nationwide search for the man. Saying they would find him and all that fell good stuff. I would like to think he would give up, that Bruce would just move on to the next unlucky man with a high paying job and a family. Someone else to get his 500K from, but I had that feeling Bruce didn’t like to be outplayed and he might be back. So they gave us protection, but even that had a limit.


6 Months later....


"Honey? Could you get the trash?" Monica says from the new kitchen

"Suuure." I say back from our new living room. I walk around the new house and get the trash and take it outside. It was dark and rainy, but that was ok, that weather felt good to me. Everything seemed pretty good ever since the incident, nothing really happened that surprised us since. We had protection, investigations, we were all questioned...even Rachel and Mary who had little to no idea what was going on. Not because they were kids, they were pretty smart kids. But because this all happened when they were asleep anyway, they didn’t see anything bad and had no clue on any of the specifics. I sure never told them the specifics, and said I had a limp because I hit my ankle wrong. Matt visited more often, ALOT more often. We had him over at least every week, he loves the kids and the kids love him. He even caught up with Monica, those two used to be like siblings, it was nice to see that back. I walk back in and sit down at my recliner, the one thing that isn’t new sadly. Until I hear a ring at the phone, I pick it up..


"Let me give you a piece of advice, Mr. Rickman...whenever you shoot someone...make sure they're dead."

Then the power cuts off.


The End.


Note: Thank you for whoever reads this, this took me much longer than I anticipated, but I felt it came out alright. It was originally going to be much longer, and about something a bit different. All in all I think it came out Ok. Better than “The Assailant"? Depends on the person. There’s this last bit I'm writing out, inspired by an idea in a Stephen King interview, so I guess you could say it’s a dedications to him, my inspiration for writing.



A year after the end of the story


My name is Matt Fuller, part time assistant Detective and part time cripple. (Yes I've been called Watson many times, and yes I take it as a compliment). A year ago a certain incident happened with the Rickman family....I don't and can't get into what happened. The past year I've been playing out my own personal investigation to find out who did it. Or not who...I know who...but where he is and if he'll strike next. If he’s striked before, and if we can bring him in for what he's done. John...Jack I liked to call him...was a friend of mine. His family was my family and I can't let "Bruce" get away with it, I just can't. But so far I've come up with little, apparently he's done similar crimes before John and his family. Twice, both identical situations, where he gets their personal info and using it on them to get money. It worked for the first guy, but it wasn’t enough for him apparently. The second guy made the mistake of calling the police, it didn’t end well for him...They were both rich men with families they cared for, but after John he quit. His trail has gone cold but I'm still sniffing for any sign of him. Many sleepless nights, hearing John and his family haunt me. Many night where I just cried myself to sleep over the guilt and the anger. Until one day, on the year anniversary of my friend’s death, I get a note with no return address. It was one of those 1990s style criminal notes, with magazine cutouts for the words. It read

"Dear, Mr. Fuller, I know who you are and you probably know who I am…I'm the man that killed you're best friend, and you're the man that called the police during my business. I know a lot about you Mr. Fuller, I know that you want revenge for Rickman’s death, I know you just want to find me and choke me till my eyes pop out of my maniac skull. Just like I did to poor Mrs. Rickman…oh my I can still hear the scream as she tried to suck air back into her beautiful head...and boy she did scream...Johnny boy must've had quite a good time in bed. Oh I wish you could've seen the look on her face. Or the children OH the poor children...But even I'm not about to open those can of worms, I opened enough with them...oooh did I write that? Well I'm too lazy to unglue the letters, so you can take that as you will. But Mr. Rickman? He got it quite the worst, I saved him for last, until he was broken mentally...oh I had a field day with him. Cut off more than the houses power, I did. But what was I talking about? Oh finding me. Well as most detectives or detective assistants I guess...and well cripples too I would think, know that criminals usually like to come back to a crime or do it again if they get away with it. Well, I think I got it out of my system, I'm done with that. The fun is gone, and I learned my lesson. So, not only has your yearlong venture been an absolute waste, but you'll never find'll never avenge your friend for what certainly was your fault. You'll never redeem yourself and will forever have their voices haunting you for the rest of your days. I just thought I would tell you that. So you don’t waste anymore time of your life. But before I'm done writing this and we make our final goodbyes....Let me give you a piece of advice, do something useful in your life for once. I know you've been saving that gun on your wall for me. The double barrel shotgun, loaded with the bullets that has you're friends name on them. You might as well just use it...make it a lot easier for yourself. Well, goodbye Mr. Fuller. Ta ta.

PS Have a nice day ( : "

I look up at the gun...I was actually considering it....I get up, walk to the gun and pick it up.



The End.


© Copyright 2019 Chase B. All rights reserved.

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