WARNING: The following has graphic language and violence. This is a work of fiction. Reader discretion is advised.
My Final Entry
I turned to look behind me just in time to see someone escape into a hidden chamber behind one of the paintings. It must of been Alexander, or at least one of his little henchmen who will know where he would be. I was down to my last weapon. I pat my ankle holster and grinned. This is the part in movies where the hero would promise that just one more person would die. But I knew better than to lie to myself. If Kenny, Chato, whatever the hell he wants to call himself, would betray me then I know for a fact Alexander is going to pull something fierce to stay alive.
I look at the cut on my arm; I have no idea how much blood I lost. I ripped my pants leg and wrapped it around my arm to stop the bleeding. I took one last scan of the massacre around me. My eyes landed on my sweet Catherine. It tore at me worse than any sting of a blade.
I pushed past the painting of Alexander Hamilton to see a large hole in the wall. It was a secret passage! I slipped through and shut the painting door behind me, leaving all the pain behind me. Dimly lit ceiling lights dance on top as I slowly walk down the tunnel. I could hear voices in the distance so I start to speed up.
Looking down I could see a trail of blood droplets and dust. With all these different routes, it’s how I knew I was on the trail of my prey. It’s just like hunting in the woods again.
These tunnels must have been here for decades with very little renovation. Secret tunnels for our government officials to escape, it only made sense. I clenched my fist, to make sure I could still feel. I was ready for anything that scumbag could throw at me.
A single door was the destination, a single door that was closed. It finally has come down to this. I kicked open the door with force. There he was, his back turned to me. “I’ve been expecting you,”
“No you weren’t. Your time has come to pay for your sins.”
“How religious of you, Shane. But your God isn’t going to save you here.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t me who needed the saving. Alexander finally turned to me, he still looked like a spoiled pretty boy. I reached down to my ankle holster and pulled out my last weapon. A screwdriver. Not fancy, but it is sharp enough to get the job done. Alexander thought it was amusing as he let out a chuckle.
I start for him but he simply wagged his finger at me. Something made me stop in mid stride. But it wasn’t Alexander’s cocky attitude. A fragrance of my teenage years, a smell that brought certain needs.
Emerging from an opening at first was two silhouettes. I cocked my head in confusion but all was clear when they walked into the room. It was Mary! Her beautiful features hardly scorned with age. Next to her was a young boy who had her eyes. It had to be my son! My knees went weak but I didn’t stumble. Alexander has thrown a huge trump card on me now.
“M-Mary?” I breathed out her name.
“The white nigger speaks,” she spat venomously.
“You left me for some spic! And now you return to kill my man?”
I shook my head, I was so confused. “You’re with Alexander now?”
“Now? I been with him,” she glared.
My eyes laid on the young boy. Something doesn’t seem right. “What about–“
Alexander stepped between us. “What about Alexander Jr.?”
“A-Alexander Jr.?” I blinked. “But… he’s mine.”
Alexander laughed, “How dumb are you? He’s MY kid. Mary has been my little sex puppet since Tom brought her down here. You were just a front for old Uncle Tom.”
I was being used? That was enough for me. I charged at Alexander, knocking him down. The snake triedto pound on my back and Mary kicked me. I rolled off of him and to my feet. I lifted up my screwdriver, it fit perfectly in my hand as I dashed to him again, but Alex quickly went behind Mary and Alexander Jr.
“Coward! Move away from your woman and accept your death like a man!”
“I’d rather live, thank you!”
“You wouldn’t kill him anyway. You don’t have the balls!” barked Mary, letting go of her son.
“Get out of the way, Mary!” I ordered
Alex threw a punch at me while I was distracted. I stumbled back, I was surprised the pretty boy gotten power over the years. I threw the screwdriver at him, but he ducked. The driver got stuck in a book on a bookshelf. I made an advance towards Alexander but I stopped. I felt a sting in my leg that started to burn. Junior, their bastard son, stabbed me with the fire poker from the fireplace! I eased off away from them, nursing my wound.
Alexander took the fire poker for himself and charged at me. I stepped to one side and let him crash into a wall and smashed an elbow across the back of his head. I then threw him into the fireplace in his moment of weakness. Mary charged at me but I side stepped her. I used her momentum and slammed her head against the stone wall. I could hear her skull crack. I limped to the bookshelf and ripped the screwdriver out. Their son ran to me but I just shoved him away. I walked back to Mary, who was barely conscious, breathing heavily.
“You will never get out alive!” warned Alexander when he got out of the fireplace, badly burned.
“Neither will you,”
My screwdriver lost its silver beauty for crimson brutality.
The yellow rays of the sun peered through the opaque windows and mixed in with the bright white of florescent lights. The strong smell of hand sanitizer filled the hallway with soft sounds of multiple feet walking in unison. As the head doctor of St. Joseph’s Mental Hospital, Dr. John Black has grown use to the smell and the near silence of the afternoon. The patience were either in their rooms heavily medicated or in the rec room only slightly medicated. He walked the silent halls of his mental health hospital with a new group of interns. Fresh graduates of and still young enough to mold into his liking. Dr. Black wasn’t a bad doctor, he was just very strict on what he viewed the current system. He smiled as the patients waved to him while walking past.
“You see, here at St. Joseph’s Mental Hospital we don’t discriminate our patients because society thinks lowly of them. We do medicate our patients but we also try to help them reach their goals. This is more of a hotel, not a home,” the doctor chuckles. His interns snickered lightly as they took quick notes. “Some even come here on volunteer basis for help. Ah, here is a perfect example.”
The doctor and his group of interns stop in front of a darkened room with the door unlocked. A single light from the barred window shined through. The doctor gently opened the door and the dark vanished as light intruded on every corner of the room.
The room was spotless, as if hardly used. The bed was kept neat and tucked. The floor nearly shined with light and the closet was open and every clothing attire was hung perfectly. At the window sat an elder woman, with a mane of white hair, pale and slender, sat under the light holding a book, not acknowledging the interns or doctor.
“This is Mrs. Magnar. She came to us years ago shortly after her husband died saving her son. The death caused a lot of media attention and not everyone is able to handle such fame. She attempted to poison herself but a relative got her to the hospital in time to save her. After surviving the incident that nearly took her life, she came to us for help.”
A young male intern raised his hand, “She came by her own choice? So that means she can leave at any given time, correct?”
Dr. Black shrugged as if conflicted on what to say next, “She can but we strongly recommend her to stay until her survivors’ guilt is treated. Recently, she’s been vastly improving and we’re predicting her to leave by the end of the year,” The doctor looked back to the old woman, “Mrs. Magnar, want to say hello to the interns?”
She didn’t move.
Dr. Black walked to her and picked up the journal out of her frail, pale white hands, “I’ve never seen this book before. ‘The Journal of Shane Magnar’. This isn’t in our library. Has your son visited you recently?”
Dr. Black placed his hand on her shoulder. He felt no pulse under his firm hand. Dr. Black stooped down to see her face. She wasn’t breathing! He did notice a pen in her hand and subconsciously opened the last page of the journal. A single sentence was written. Different penmanship and color than the others on the page.
I forgive myself.