Errand Runners

Chapter 3

The gloved hands that hung over the bedside were limp, lifeless, and stained red with blood. The glasses were on the floor, the lenses shattered and frames contorted. Nole reclaimed them and gripped them with both hands as he gazed at his friend. Murphy’s body was sprawled over the bed like the countless patients he had painstakingly remedied. His eyes were closed as if in a deep sleep, but the bullet hole on the left side of his chest told another story. The familiarity of the face made Nole look away from the hideous sight before him. The dark red liquid was no longer oozing, but stained his white doctor’s coat and the sheets spread out underneath him enough to make it appear as if crimson was their original color.

Murphy?

He mouthed, not believing that the identity of the body before him belonged to his friend. Who would do this? His emotions blurred together.

Why?

The feelings of anguish and disgust overcame Nole. They were the same nauseating feelings he experienced exactly a year ago. His mouth hung open, but no words came out, only short, rapid breaths.

For an instant, Nole saw his mother there. Suddenly, the cellar was his old home on the outskirts of the city, and a two and a half-year old Caden stood in the corner as he cradled his newborn sister. Their mother, lying in a pool of her own blood, had multiple stab wounds all over her body. Their father, who was always away, stood over her corpse speechlessly. Nole remembered his own words clearly. “You should’ve been home! You left her! It’s all your fault…. I hate you!”

That very same day their father vanished, leaving them parentless. Nine years later, Murphy, the man he looked up to, the man he thought of as a real father, was murdered.

“He’s dead,” stated a voice behind him.

Nole spun around and faced the man that had spoken. He was taller than Nole, with tousled black hair that shadowed his eyes from the fluorescent lighting of the workspace. His sharp features were grimly contoured by the shadows that were thrown across the room. He guessed his age to be eighteen or so.

“Y-you killed him?” Nole stuttered, steadily regaining his composure. His company didn’t answer, only standing there silently. Although he could not see his eyes, Nole felt like he was being analyzed; like he was the suspect instead of the prosecutor in the twisted murder case in which he found himself.

“No,” the stranger responded flatly to the accusation. Nole saw small stains of blood on the man’s hands.

“You have the nerve to lie to me?” he snarled through clenched teeth. His hands squeezed the bifocals and the remaining pieces of glass dug into his skin. In a way, he fed off the pain. It distracted him from the gruesome reality around him, and allowing him to focus on the originator of his newfound misery.

The stranger didn’t budge. He didn’t even attempt to hide the evidence with which Nole had condemned him. Instead, he stared at him. His poker face was as good as Nole’s, maybe better. “What are you doing here then?” he yelled, his frustration boiling.

The man’s eyebrows flinched slightly. Nole bit his lip in anger and forcefully ceased his trembling. “What did you want with Murphy in the first place?” he continued. “Why are you here?”

He could feel his heartbeat speed up; the rapid thuds echoing in his eardrums. There were no replies, no excuses to hinder Nole’s raw emotions. Murphy, his best friend, his only friend, was dead, no, murdered and the only suspect wasn’t talking. Nole had had enough. He prepared a strategy of attack in his head before being interrupted.

“If you come at me,” warned the stranger, “you’ll get hurt.”

Nole was startled by the accuracy of his foe’s intuition. He anticipated Nole’s attack formulation immediately. He’s dangerous, Nole thought, analyzing him. But not like the gang members. He’s… strong. Nole looked over his shoulder at his deceased friend. The image still stung him.