The Gunslinger

Chapter 2

     When September came around, Morgan's mother, Viviane, had grown hollow and cold, leaving her husband to take care of their oldest, and now only child. She had lost her job and had begun drinking to cope, to try and drown out the endless list of questions. Today was September fourteenth and she would be handing him divorce papers when he got home from work; she just couldn't do this anymore. The daily reminders of their daughter tucked away in every square inch of this house were wearing on her sanity. By October she was living alone in a condo downtown by Union Station. By November, drinking had stopped doing it for her, and due to a minor back injury and a prescription happy doctor, she soon found that Vicodin helped where the alcohol couldn't. As almost every other story of this nature goes, it only took her about nine months until she moved into low-income housing and only another three months before she was on the streets. Vicodin turned to Oxy and Oxy turned to heroin, and the only thing she cared about was forgetting; she needed to forget the image of her child's cold, empty body lying on that table, the words of the coroner when he spoke of his findings, the uncertainty of who would have done something like this or why? Why Morgan? Why her little girl, why her family?

It had been a long year for Viv, and she had finally reached a point where she had given up, this life, feeling like this was too much for her. She looked down at her dirty and broken fingernails, the crusty, greasy clothes she was wearing, and she knew that today would be the day. She put on her nicest shirt, and a pair of jeans. She tried her best to clean up a bit, and then she took her last fifty dollars and headed down to her favorite bar, where she used to pick up work for a few bucks here and there. She walked in hearing the familiar ding from the bell above the door, she took a seat at her favorite stool and she ordered a double vodka soda, preparing to fully enjoy herself one last time. She was only halfway through her first-round when she heard a familiar sound, two knocks on the bar. She looked to her left and right, finally making eye contact with a handsome enough gentleman, who looked to be in his early thirties. After they made eye contact, he turned and walked off to the bathroom. She thought about it for a moment, on one hand, she wasn't looking for work, on the other, she was hoping to enjoy herself. Viv quickly finished her drink and scurried off to the bathroom, unaware of the three individuals watching her.

By the time she approached the far stall, his pants were already around his ankles. He told her not to say anything, and she just slunk to her knees. The floor was disgusting, it was sticky and smelled of urine. He ran his fingers through her dirty red hair as he entered her mouth, he leaned his head back, and she quickly found that he was the only one having fun, as she choked on his girth. She struggled a little bit but he seemed to only enjoy it more, and that's when she heard the door open, followed by the sound of boots on the floor. The steps were delicate, but what the hell was a woman doing in the men's room?

"I don't think Morgan would want you doing that, sweetheart."

Viv heard those words and began to panic. He wasn't letting her go, but instead was choosing to swear at the woman who had just walked in. It only took a moment before Viv began to get bitey, and he responded by hitting her, and then he hit her again as he howled in pain.

"Do not touch her, just get the hell out here, prick."

The man let Viv go, throwing her aside by the hair, and in a growing rage, he pulled up his pants and tore open the stall door. He was breathing heavily like he was about to tear this woman apart. Viv had crawled to the stall door, watching as violence soon erupted. A very disgruntled man with his belt still unclasped left the stall. Just as soon as he walked beyond the stall door, a deafening thundered echoed through the bathroom, causing a shock to jolt through Viv's bones. Suddenly there was just a pink mist that hung in the air, as bits and pieces of him covered almost every surface in the small dingy bathroom; this woman with blue hair and black lipstick, in a leather moto jacket crossed the bathroom to help her up off the floor. Viv was scared and hesitant at first, not wanting anything to do with this maniac, but then she spoke up.