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Prolife

October 20, 2011

“All that we see and seem is but a dream within a dream.”

The crime itself was typical of late on its face. This one, though, was particularly heinous given how it had played out.

An out of work truck driver shooting his wife with a shotgun was not unusual these days. However, the details—where the Devil lives—well, that was something else. This was the topper.

The patrolman who got the call, no rookie but rather with seven years on the force under his belt, had met the detectives outside the house. The perp was cuffed and waiting in the back seat of his patrol car and had, despite what he had done, made the 911 call himself and surrendered peacefully. He had however been weeping uncontrollably and alternately muttering and shouting about “the spider.”

The first thing the detectives noticed was two—no three!—puddles of vomit. Two were near the rear of the patrolcar. The third was just to the left of the sidewalk just outside the front door.

Given the patrolman’s pallor, it was no difficult task to figure out who it was who had regurgitated. Whatever was inside must be something to behold.

When the detectives made their way in, they found bloody footprints for both the perp and the patrolman. The patterns lead to the kitchen.

“Twelve gauge. Remington.”

The older detective noted the weapon on the floor of the living room as they walked carefully towards the kitchen. The weapon had some blood on the barrel. It had been used at close range.

There, they found the vic on the floor along with a lot of blood and pieces of flesh. Among the gore and meat they could see some metal balls, probably #8 birdshot. The man’s wife had a horrified look on her face that even death did not wipe away. There was little wonder why: she had been shot twice in the stomach with the shotgun. Additionally, she had been pregnant.

The elder detective flipped through the union calendar on the side of the fridge. Between the logo at top and the magnets, it seemed clear that the husband was a member of the union.

“Ah! Due date: February 3rd. So that’s…”

“About six and a half months pregnant.”

“Yep.”

Detective the Elder walked over to some dishes and cups. Among them, a half empty bottle of Jack. He clinked it with his pen.

“Drinking.”

“Depressed. Out of work. Drinking. A lot like the others.”

“Yeah, except…”

He left the obvious unfinished. The first shot was surely enough to have killed both the woman and the baby. Why the second one?

“What did he say again?”

“A large spider on her stomach.”

“How big?”

“A foot or more.”

The Younger scribbled some notes on his pad. The elder took a closer look at the mess.

“Well, if there was a spider here, of any size, it’s either gone or blasted into tiny pieces.”

“Yep.”

“He said the spider was trying to get to the baby?”

“Yeah. Crazy.”

They finished up with their initial search and went outside for a smoke. No stranger to these recent strange cases they seemed to have similar dark, comical thoughts at the same time.

“What do you think it is? Something in the water?”

The Elder snorted quietly, “Why not something in the air?”

High above, a large metallic object made its way across the sky invisible from the ground. Though it was not conscious of the fact, it had been busy lately and had more work to do this day. Its masters required much of it.

“You wanna grab some lunch while we wait for forensics?”

“Sure.”

“Seems open and closed, yeah?”

“Yep. These are dark times we live in.”

“You said it.”

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From → NKINTRA, Short Story

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