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The Darkness Of Today
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M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

May-23-2010 09:30

Every second that is wasted on the battlefield in a war, is every second that a wounded soldier is bleeding to death. Every chance a medic got to save a life, they got killed. As I sit in a bar and reminisce about the days in the war, I realized just how much my life changed.

I watched in horror as people died. I held people as they died in my arms. I came home from the war. And no one, not one person, knew the horrors that me and my fellow brothers in arms saw. No one even thanked us for serving our country when we came home. So here I sit, inside this bar with my flask in my hand drowning myself with pure alcohol flashing back to the war.

I start to feel the alcohol taking affect as it runs through my body. Someone comes in and sits down next to me. It is a scum bag of the streets; a scam artist who steels what little money the poor and those in poverty have and keeps it for himself.

"How 'bout it?" He says as he sits down next to me. I merely stare at him and look away. He orders a drink. Gin. He orders shot after shot as I gulp the whiskey from my flask.

"You might want to slow down there, chief." The bartender says.

"Oh shut up!" I snap. I can't even remember his name or the name of the bar I'm in. I then look over at the dirt-bag next to me. How neatly dressed he is. With his crisp hat and pressed suit. I compare myself to him and realize I am dressed no different and smile to myself. But as I sit and stare at him, something in me changes. I become angry. A little voice in my head starts to talk in a dark, deep whisper.

"Do it," it says to me.

"No," I say to it. "I can't do it."

"Yes, you can," it says to me, "you know you want to. He's scum. He won't be missed."

An argument starts in my mind. My pure thoughts fighting that little voice. The small whisper wins.

Something in me snaps and I crack my neck with the turn of my head.

"Hey buddy, you okay?" the scum bag asks.

"I'm fine," I snap.


M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

May-31-2010 08:42

Marc awoke to the feeling of being slapped. When he opened his eyes, he realized that he really was being slapped awake.

"Hey you," Molly said slapping his face. "Wake up a**hole. Hey." Marc opened his eyes to find the palm of her right hand flying at his face. When she smacked him it stung slightly for a moment, or so. "I don't like you anymore. You better start explaining."

Puzzled, Marc looked around. Grace, Riza, and Molly were standing all around him. "Start explaining? How about you start explaining what you're doing in my f**king room!" Marc yelled back. SMACK! Molly slapped him across the face. "My apologies," Marc said quietly as he straightened him self back up.

"Start talking, Marc." Molly said.

"What are you talking about."
"You killed my brother. Marc, did you try to shoot me last night?"
"Molly, you are getting ridiculous by accusing me of killing him. I told you before, I did not kill him. I'm even trying to find the killer."
SMACK! Molly slapped him again.
"LIE!" she screamed.
"I watched you come out of the alley behind that bar! I heard the gunshots! I saw Dr. Falcone!" Molly yelled at him. Then she slapped him again.

Marc eyed Riza who stood nearest to the door, twirling a knife in her fingers. "Don't look at me," Riza said. Silence filled the room. Marc looked down at himself. He noticed the rope tied around him. At the time he saw the rope, a sharp pain spiked through his shoulder from the knife wound last night.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Marc said again.

"My, god, Marc. You are a compulsive liar!" Molly screamed. She ripped out her pistol and pressed it against his head. "Start TALKING!" Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Allow me to explain to you, Marc, what I've noticed." Grace said stepping up.

"For the last three days, I have watched and listened to you. You have changed. Something is inside of you making you snap. You've killed one person already-"

"Grace, that is completely absurd." Marc said. "I-"

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

May-31-2010 08:52

"Let me finish," Grace said. "Marc, do you remember anything?"

Marc thought for a second. In truth, no he didn't. "I remember seeing the body of my friend Vinny Gambini fall from the sky. I remember drinking two days ago. And well, frankly, I remember waking up here."

Molly shook her head in disbelief.

"'ve completely snapped." Grace said. "We have someone here who may be able to help."

A tall, brawny man stepped out of shadows wearing a charcoal gray suit. His hair was slicked back. "Allow me to explain, Marc. Last night your friends here," the man said pointing to the girls, "contacted me. They told me what has happened to you. I can explain in terms that you would understand."

"What's that supposed to mean? That I'm an idiot?" Marc snapped.

"No..but using medical terms, I highly doubt you would know what I'm talking about. So I'll tell you in English.

Brian Flannigan
Brian Flannigan

May-31-2010 09:08

" killed her brother. Grace, told me about these small episodes. When you saw that body of Mr. Gambini, you blacked out. You lost your temper, in other words. You can't remember because you let it take control." Brain said. "Marc you have been hearing a small deep, dark whisper. Haven't you?"

"I don't-"

"Think Marc!" Flannigan snapped. "Think! You lose your temper and you let something else take control. Have you heard that whisper?!"

Marc felt every ounce of life drain from him. As he thought about it, he could vaguely remember the small voice, telling him to kill.

"Marc, you killed her brother. And you tried to kill them last night." Flannigan said. "I can help, and it won't interfere with your work as a private detective. I deal with this stuff a lot Marc." Flannigan continued.

But silence filled the room.

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

May-31-2010 09:19

"You killed her brother. And you tried to kill them last night."

Those words echoed through Marc's head as he tried to figure out what to do next. "Oh my god.." Marc whispered to himself.

Silence filled the room.

Molly opened her mouth to speak but hesitated.

"Someone please untie me." Marc said. No one moved.

"Someone untie me, now." Marc said again. Again, no one moved.

"NOW!" Marc yelled. Molly looked over at Riza and nodded. Riza opened her mouth to object but stopped. With a swipe of her knife, she cut the rope.

Marc stood up and walked out of the room with those words spoken from the doctor. He walked out side, still covered in his own blood as well as dried blood from Gambini's body.

Marc sat down on the sidewalk. And for the first time in months, Marc broke down and cried.

Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

May-31-2010 10:26

It was a tense moment as they watched him go. Molly ran a hand through her hair, every nerve she possessed on edge. Yet she still turned to the man at their side.

"Thank you very much, it Dr.? Thank you, Mr. Flannigan." She sighed, and was surprised when he took her hand, clasping it warmly, comfortingly in his for a moment. Somewhere there was a clock, resolutely ticking away.

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound had never been more apparent to the woman, wherever she went.

"I wish...I wish I could help him, that I could understand. But my brother. The only tie to my old life, to the family I had. Dead, because of him. For no reason. No reason at all. I don't know if I can forgive. I'll never forget, that's for certain."

Abruptly furious, she took her hand from Brians and dashed away the tears that had collected.

"Honestly, I'm tired of crying this much." she said crossly. "You'll have to take it from here, my friends. There is someone at my apartment I've agreed to meet, and I've kept him waiting long enough."

And saying so, she exited the door and walked away into the night, not sparing a glance at the sunken form on the sidewalk.

Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

May-31-2010 14:16

He caught her scent long before seeing her.

This thought brought a lazy smile to his lips. He had been taught once, long ago, perhaps by his father, perhaps his uncle, that the key to a mans strength was his ego. Cogito ergo sum. He prided himself on being a predator, and so he was. A mastermind? Cold and bloodless as they came when exacting business. On the flip side, he believed he could charm any woman he saw fit to, and so he could.

The only flaw, he reflected, was the woman walking into the room.

Blue eyes swept over her, taking in her disheveled hair, blood-stained clothing and the dark shadows under her eyes.

"You look terrible." he informed her.

"Thanks." she shot back, but tiredly. "Look, if you aren't going to try to light this place on fire in the next 10 minutes, help me get this off, will you? I can't move my arm much."

He laughed, but rose, moving behind her to ease her jacket off one arm, then the other. He did it carefully, so much so that she looked at him incredulously when he tossed it on the couch.

"I figured that would hurt a lot more when you did it." Molly said wryly. He smiled that curious little smile again.

"I know, I could feel your tension." he said matter-of-factly. "You ought to let me look at that, you know. Its still bleeding."

Molly looked up at her husband with narrowed eyes. "It's quite alright." she said stiffly, drawing herself up and leveling her chin. "I think I'll survive."

"Don't be vapid and ridiculous." he told her in infuriatingly calm tones. "I'm not going to salt it or twist my finger around in it, if thats what you're afraid of. I just want to see."

"That requires me removing my blouse, and you aren't that lucky, Billings."

"I would remind you that there isn't any part of you I haven't seen unclothed at one point or another," he shot back, grasping the front of her shirt and flicking open the first button.

"Hey, hey, hey!" she snapped, brushing his hands away. "Don't push your luck pal. Turn around."

Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

May-31-2010 14:16

(oh, nuts. I forgot to log in as Billings. Sorry, thats from Jacks perspective.)

Jack Billings
Jack Billings

May-31-2010 14:25

Jack waited patiently, and when he turned around she was clasping her shirt in front of her self-consciously. The flash in her green eyes told him that if he said a word, she'd shoot him, so instead he took her forearm and looked at the bleeding wound there.

"Grazed by a bullet, were we?" she nodded, and he wandered over to the hall closet, where he had ascertained there was a medical kit some hours ago. "Who shot at you?"

He returned and bandaged up her arm with a length of gauze, poking it experimentally when he was done. She hissed and glared at him, and with a smile he released her.

"I didn't want to completely disappoint." he said, then sat back down. She seemed to forget her state, because she released the shirt she was clasping to her front and shot up, stomping back to her room.

"Who do you think?" she called, and returned a minute later wearing a nightgown.

Jack nodded musingly, his eyes following her as she went to the cupboard and pulled out two glasses. "And what do you propose to do about it?"

M. Lacrimosa
M. Lacrimosa

May-31-2010 15:19

Marc watched Molly leave. He did not expect her forgiveness. When he came to realize that she may never forgive him, he decided he didn't care any more. If he lost a friend because of this, then so be it. He could make more friends.

The man stood up and walked to his car. Whether or not the others were still in that room, he didn't care. He got inside and with out a word, he drove to his house, where he cleaned up. He took one last look at the bloody gray suit that he wore.

Out of the wardrobe, Marc pulled out a black suit. One that he often wore. He put on his shirt and tie. He pulled out his shoulder holster and put it on. He reached into his closet and took out his newest toys; two pearl white .45 caliber automatics. He pressed the release button on both guns and the magazines fell out, both revealing a full metal jacket. He slammed the magazines in the gun and slid the charging handles back, charging a round in the chamber. He holstered both of them.

He checked to make sure he had everything he needed before walking back to his car. He got in. Only he knew where he was going. There was one last thing to do. Before the night would be over, someone was going to be dead.

Molly Maltese
Molly Maltese
Old Shoe

May-31-2010 17:02

"I honestly don't know." Molly said quietly, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear as she poured some champagne into the glasses. It was an unspoken gesture; she remembered that it was his favorite drink of choice. "It's gotten so very complicated."

"Champagne?" he raised one aristocratic brow. "Are we celebrating?"

"No." she said softly, thoughtfully. "I'm just being ironic."

She came and sat next to him on the couch, placing both glasses on the low coffee table before them. Immediately, the familiar electricity crackled through the air, burning through her blood and charring her senses. Briefly, she closed her eyes, then picked up the glass, knowing alcohol would probably make it worse, but after todays events, she just needed a damn drink.

After a moment, he reached for his too, and she couldn't help the smile that twisted her lips. So he was feeling it too. It was such a strange thing, she mused. The pure magnetism between them, charging each breath like a stick of dynamite, until it seemed the very air they breathed could explode at a seconds notice.

Hate was as strong an emotion as love. Maybe when they mixed together, this is what happened. Strangely, they spoke, but Molly couldn't remember what they were talking about, she was merely noticing how they sipped their respective glasses and slowly, cautiously closed the distance between them, until with a muttered curse, he lost a hand in her coppery hair and dragged her mouth to his.

Well, Molly thought to herself dryly before she closed her eyes, some things never change.

Around her 5th or 6th glass, and a fresh new bottle, she led him to her bedroom, sufficiently intoxicated not to dwell on the repercussions. And when she accidentally tipped the bottle of champagne, and it poured over her satin sheets and pooled in a small lake of bubbly liquid, she decided to let the maids worry about it in the morning; she was busy.

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