Chapter 1 of my story (untitled)

The bullet pierced through Jeffery Matchen’s head as he tried to flee. No one would miss him. After all, he had killed six people, two of them children. Jeffery’s body flung across the concrete sidewalk and faded into the darkness. He was a wanted man in three states. Well, only his six year old son would miss him. It was just an accident, he didn’t mean to kill her. He was drunk and angry; she slipped off the balcony. He decided to drive away, but he was still drunk. After driving for fifteen minutes, Jeffery’s motor skills began to decline more. He tried to keep the car in a straight line; however he didn’t see the father and daughter walking on the sidewalk. Glass flew everywhere and there was a loud scream before the silence engulfed the night. He slowly got out of the car and saw blood everywhere. Wiping off the blood from his head wound, he wobbled away. In the coming months, three more people would die from accidents as he fled from place to place. All he wanted to do was go home and hold his son. To tell his only joy that he is sorry that he screwed up so bad.

Now he would never see his son. He lay on the cold cement, nothing of worth to this world. The news would say, “Criminal receives fair death.” After all, six people were dead because of him. No one really knew the full story, especially not the man who had just killed him. The wind slowly died down as footsteps rang against the pavement. A silver haired man stepped closer to examine the small hole behind the head. A perfect shot, few could have done even better. Especially considering it was night. Even though it had been fifteen years since he left the Secret Service, he had kept his remarkable speed and precision. He lifted his Beretta 93r back into his chest holster.

He smiled to himself, happy that the sinner was dead. “God doesn’t need to look at your life anymore,” he said to himself, “I did Him a favor and made Judgment Day arrive for you.”

He kicked the body, and zipped up his jacket as the cold wind blew against him. In the dark, only his silver hair could be seen. It was an army style cut. Wearing a black coat, boots, and gloves, he looked almost invisible. He turned his head and began to walk away, but stopped suddenly. Across the street, stood an old man leaning against the building in seer shock. The old man had seen his face, and worst, recognized him.

The silver haired man stayed quiet for a moment. He knew who the old man was. His name was Robert Gale. He had lived alone for the past 2 years since his wife had died of cancer. He was in Robert’s house the night she died, holding him and telling it would be alright. He wanted to walk away and not kill him. But if he ran away, Robert would tell the police and his plan would be ruined. He closed his eyes for a second and wished it could have been different. He lifted his gun and aimed it at Mr. Gale.

“I am sorry you had to see this,” the man with the gun said, “And I wish with all my heart that I could let you go, but you know who I am. But it will be alright, I am not killing you in vain. I will tell God to let you in, maybe this will cleanse my sin of killing you. Goodbye.”

“Please Father, don’t kill me,” begged the old man. Then there was a loud bang as the frail man fell against the wall, griping his chest. Blood flowed across the pavement and the man with silver hair quietly walked away from the scene. Only one man was supposed to die, but it seemed fate had called for two deaths in one night. He took up a quick pace after leaving the crime scene. Avoiding cars, he went through back alleys and jumped fences, making sure no one was following him. After running for ten minutes, he slowed down to a brisk walk and straightened out his clothes.

He returned to his home near the Lake of the Isles. One had to be rich to live there, and his house proved it. A Spanish Revival home, it was two stories tall and circular with a large porch holding different types of flowers. He looked up to see snow begin to fall. He walked up the steps and opened his door. Taking off his coat, he went straight to his room. He turned on the light, laid his Beretta93r on bed, and pulled out a suitcase. He was packing his clothes when the phone rang. He picked up the phone and was silent for a few seconds. “That is perfect,” he finally said, “I will be on the plane in four hours. I trust you received the packages and formed the key. Yes, it will be done in five days.”

The silver haired man hung up his phone and continued to pack. He stared down at a picture of a beautiful woman. Memories flashed through his head of a time when things were simple. Tears started to flow out of his eyes as he began to hear screams in his head. He grabbed a cup on his bed stand and threw it against the wall. Pieces flew everywhere as he sat down on his bed. He wiped away his tears and silently said to himself, “I swear to God, I will spread justice everywhere on this earth. I will tear this country apart and create a kingdom that will never fall. And when I go to D.C., my goal will be achieved.”