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Writer
Join Date: Mar 2006
Gender: Male
Posts: 30
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Billy Thirteen: Chapter One - The Murder of the Store Owner
Billy Thirteen
Chapter One – The Murder of the Store Owner
Who is the most unlucky man in the world? That would have to be Billy Thirteen.
Bill just lost his job, a low paying, minimum wage job, for reasons that were held from him. He wanted to know, but he was used to this sort of thing, so he didn't exactly push for that knowledge.
He was used to rejection, from his girlfriends, his three children, all of which were had with a previous girlfriend of his, who then refused to so much as mutter that they ever went out. Even his own father, his last living relative, was still long disappointed in Bill's exciting sex life - perhaps the only hint of luck left in the man - and hated him for it. All of Bill's other family members had died someway or another, but before that they had hated him.
He was a much hated man.
Something about this day seemed odd, he thought as he left his house, leaving the key in the doors knowing that if anyone thought about breaking in, they would be able to, keys or no. The air on that particular Monday morning was especially cold, the apparition of winter becoming ever more real around him. All the leaves had left the trees, and the few moments of pretty left in autumn were gone now, and he was left with little or nothing to look at on his walks in the morning, unless of course he felt like marveling at the sight of long dead trees.
Even the sun was coming out later, so soon enough he would be walking in the dark, or not at all.
He hated the cold, so he wore a trench coat and black gloves on his hand. He was a very handsome, well trimmed man, who kept his face freshly shaved, and not for any particular reason but to complete his morning routine. Routine's helped him keep life in order when order seemed to not exist. His hair was black, and his eyes the same. Despite the fact that he hated his white skin growing so pale on these cold mornings, he never wore any form of headgear, not even a hood.
When he reached the corner at the end of the street, he stopped and hit the button on the lamp post for the crosswalk sign. While he awaited it to turn green, and the seemingly endless traffic to subside, he excavated his pockets for a cigarette, found one, and lit it up. With a blow of hot air, eagerly combating the coldness around, he smiled and made way across the walk. The annoying chirp seemed more like relief. It was a cold morning. His walk would be short.
Then something happened when he got halfway around the bend, about a half mile from his starting point. He heard a gunshot.
It appeared to, however, not have aroused suspicion by any of the other people on the street. He must have been the only one to hear it, however loud it was.
Surely it had come from the store just on his left, where the sound of a ricocheting bullet seemed to echo even a few moments after the blast subsided. Lights were out. That must have been a sign.
Do I go in? He wondered.
He finally decided yes.
Inside it was cool, like somebody had forgotten to click on the heat. But that wasn't right. Bill was a family friend, or used to be, of the store's owner. His father had gone to school with the man, and he never seemed the forgetful type. Something had definitely gone wrong.
Quietly, for fear that the man with the gun had not yet left; he crept along the counter, his hand just barely touching the cool metal trim around the countertop. There was no sound.
Suddenly, his hand came into contact with something far colder, and with a more distinct feel to it. There was a thud on the floor. He had pushed something off the table.
Sure that nobody was around after the thud made no noise, he found a light switch and flicked it on. Slowly he made way around the counter again.
On the ground lay the storekeeper. Dead.
Bill had never seen a dead body up close before, in movies sure, but that just didn’t prepare you for the real thing. Here lay a man with a single bullet wound in his chest, one arm resting by his legs, and the other on the ground over his head. It must have been his dead arm that Bill had pushed from the table before.
After another moment to take in such a site, Bill shuttered. The man didn’t appear to have any particular look upon his face, unless of course the look of death could really be counted as an emotion. His eyes were wide opened, staring up at Bill accusingly.
Bill dropped to his knees beside the man and held his face up. No pulse, but had he really expected one?
No.
This doesn’t make any sense. He thought, what would anybody want this man dead for? He carries nothing of value…
But the register…He thought, turning around quickly and running back around the counter to the register. There would be a code to get in, but that was obvious enough. Bill was a family friend.
He entered in 12-18-90 in the register, the storeowner’s date of birth, and it crashed open. It was full with money.
So they hadn’t come to rob money. Then why would they shoot the storeowner?
Suddenly, a shot was fired. Bill dropped to the ground, and listened as a clanging echoed throughout the place, and an empty shell dropped to the floor not one hundred feet away. The shooter was close.
He knelt down low, and made his way to the light switch in near silence. The protective force of the counter was long enough that he was able to reach the switch without getting in the open. That was probably a safety design in the first place. He flicked the switch.
The place went pitch black.
Bill hopped over the counter and ran quietly to the other end of the store, slipping off his shoes as he did so. The man with the gun would certainly make an attempt to get to the light switch now, so Bill had a pretty good idea of where he was, giving him an edge.
Okay, I have to get out of here, he thought, but how?
He looked to the door. It was too far away. He’d never make it that far, at least not before the lights got back on. His only option was to take out the shooter. That would prove to be a tedious task without a weapon of his own.
Damn it! I have nothing! He thought
He looked around anxiously, his eyes scanning the dark carefully but quickly, like a cat’s eyes watching birds through a window. They settled on nothing.
“Who are you?” A voice called out from the dark.
Bill paused. It was the shooter, he knew that much.
“Speak, damn it! I know you’re in here.”
He had to say something or else the man would just get fed up with him and shot wildly. He couldn’t risk that. “I’m a friend of the store owner’s. I came to see what the sound was.”
A footstep appeared close to Bill, the man knew where he was. He had to keep moving.
“Why do a stupid thing like that?”
“I was curious.” Bill said as he crept around some of the aisles of the small market place. “Are you going to kill me?”
“I’m giving it hard thought. You haven’t seen me. Damn it. I shouldn’t have missed that first shot.”
That was the one Bill had ducked. “I’m glad you did.”
Come on, Bill…Find something!
“Shut up boy,” The killer was quick to say.
“Why did you kill the store owner?” His hands found something metallic and cool…it was an iron bar, probably one that the store owner had slipped in there after it broke off of something, far too lazy to repair it. That would do just fine.
“He got in my way.”
“Your way of what? What are you doing here?”
“That’s none of your business!”
Bill just needed a few more seconds to get lined up. If he was right, he was standing just left of the killer, separated by an aisle full of cheap toys and kid stuff. All he had to do was get one good swing…
When the killer didn’t get a response, he got worried. “Where are you?”
Bill beat him to the end of the aisle. He swung down hard on the man’s arms, and a gun dropped to the floor. He kicked it away.
The next instance seemed like slow motion, everything was black, but Bill felt like he could see the man staring up at him with fear in his eyes. He was trembling. Afraid.
Bill let him have it.
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Now that I have MS Word I can really start writing. This is my complete chapter one. I've decided on thriller but again, that could change if I decide to change it.
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If I Were To Die Today, I'd Want You To Have My Memories...
Last edited by Zeppelin Crazed : 03-04-2006 at 10:06 AM.
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