Brian

Chapter 3

            It felt good to kill again. I had to do it again. “I was stupid to stop, Brian let’s leave a message to our friends.”

               My pants and jacket were saturated with blood, and I was going to use it to tell my friends I was back. “Ha, ha, ha.” I go to the study and leave a friendly message on the walls.

               I then grabbed a shoulder bag from the closet and stuffed al the folders and photos into it, except the note. Careful not to drip too much blood onto it I wrote “Still think that?” at the bottom and tacked it to the wall. I admired my work.

               “I shouldn’t have stopped, so I’m back! Let’s play!”

               With my new bag I climbed down the fire escape. As I headed back to my alley, again avoiding main streets, I passed some homeless people with a fire going and threw the bag in. They seemed surprised at first but it caught and the fire burned brighter, had they not known who I was they may have thanked me. I pass through an alley and strolled through one of the gang territories. As I started seeing the individual groups of people I saw the men hiding the women behind them. They were all afraid of me. They knew what I liked to do to girls before I killed them too; I’d done it to enough of their women. Some of them have challenged me; many just want to kill me because they don’t want a single man to be stronger than them. Every challenge I’ve received I killed without mercy.

               I stopped walking and held out my blood soaked hands. I smiled at their gasps and clenched jaws as I licked my fingers and slid two in my mouth and sucked. After my little show I waved goodbye and let out a wicked laugh and continued home. Home. That alley has been my home for five years, since I was fourteen.

               I get home ten minutes later, pleased to see I’ve received another gift. How they get these gifts I’ll never know, but why should I care? Tonight it was a fifty year old bottle of Dalmore scotch. I pop off the top and down a couple mouthfuls. I lean back against the wall and stare into the street.

               At this time nobody walked around this part of the city, so I just sat drinking my scotch and staring. I pull my sweatshirt off and lay it next to me. The liquor was already starting to affect me; maybe it was too strong; although, I have had half the bottle already.

               “Brian.”

               I turn my head towards the voice, giving myself a bit of a head rush in the process. I saw the blurry form of a man. I take a big gulp of scotch and stand up leaning against the wall from support. “What’re you? Who- who’re you?” I take a step towards him straining to see his face.

               He pulls something out of his coat and this time he steps towards me, “this is a challenge,” I hear a click, “one you won’t be winning.”

               “The hell-?”

               Bang.

               “Ngh!” the bastard shot me! I instinctively grab my arm.

               Bang.

               I fall to the ground; the second shot got my thigh. “Those were only warning shots.” Though the pain was immense and I knew it could be worse, he had only grazed my arm and thigh; I grit my teeth and look up at him. “I want you to get your ass up and go. I’ll kill you if you refuse.”

               I’m still not able to recognize him from any gangs, but I didn’t care now, I was beyond pissed. He could not tell me to leave my home, even if he does have a gun. “Listen up asshole,” I slowly reach for my knife, “I’m not going anywhere, and you aren’t going to kill me-“ I throw my knife “-Bastard!” it meets its mark in his chest. I sway on my knees, the alcohol and pain clouding my mind.

               He coughing spitting blood splattering onto the ground in front of him, “N-no,” he grunts dropping to his knees and pulling the knife out of his chest tossing it aside. His hand still around the trigger he lifts it at me and fires one last round before we both pitched forward.

               “Unh…” my head was pounding, I tried pushing myself up only to get a searing pain in my arm and collapsing again. “Shake it off Brian,” I use my other arm to get myself into a sitting position. “Shit Brian, your leg.” The skin on my leg was torn by the angle the bullet hit; I’m surprised I didn’t bleed out while I was passed out. The way I was laying must have kept enough pressure on it to slow the bleeding. I rip the bottom off my shirt and tie most around my leg and the rest around my arm carefully. I stand up slowly thankful I had dropped fast enough to avoid the last shot, and hobbled over to the dead man.

               He looked nothing like any of the gang members. He was too neat looking, he was wearing a suit and the gun he had looked expensive. His hair, though now bloody, looked recently cut; he couldn’t have lived on the streets. I pick up his gun and shoot him until the remaining rounds are gone. I left two holes in his chest and one in his head. That’s what the bastard gets for shooting me. I drop the gun and weakly bend over and pick my knife off the ground.

               With my clothes now torn and soaked, I knew I had to replace them, the nights were cold here. Regretting my messy kill I made my way to the shopping district, and after hours of me having to stop and rest then keep going. By the time I reached the shop I was looking for, the sun was already setting.

               I approach the back door listening for any noises coming from the back room; satisfied that he wasn’t in there I stumbled in. I rip open boxes and search through them until I find my replacements for my old outfit. By the time I’ve gotten an outfit identical to my last I’m exhausted from moving from box to box and trying to be quiet.

               “Brian, are you backing there?” I must’ve made too much noise even with how careful I was being. I bend down to pick up my stuff and my leg finally gives out on me.

               “Shit,” I tried to pull myself out of sight but couldn’t do it fast enough.

               The door to the shop swings open and he sees me, “Brian!” he runs and kneels down next to me about to pull me into an embrace.

               “Get the hell away from me!” I hold up my knife but he hits it away, my right arm was the one that was shot. He continues to wrap his arms around me, “Parker stop, Brian’s fi-“I wince as I push him away.

               “Stop the act Brian, you’re my little brother.” He helps me up and this time, I let him. He sees the blood seeping through my makeshift bandages, “you’re hurt let me help you.”