The Policeman

by Avera, Drew

  I swallowed bile and the burn in my throat brought me back to reality. I inhaled deeply before walking away, holding my side and grimacing in pain.

  "Are you all right?" Thom asked with concern coloring his face.

  "I'm fine," I lied. The only way I was going to get through this was to remove the emotional attachment that I carried with me always. I knew what needed to be done. I had to distance myself from my only surviving relative. I had to destroy my family before the monster inside of me destroyed it for me. "Can you file the report, Thom?" I asked in an effort to take some time to myself.

  "Of course, Serus," he said behind me.

  "Good. I've got something that I need to take care of," I said as I left the Taggert residence and reached for my communicator. Kara's number was the fourth one from the top, and I slide my finger over her name and waited for the sound of her voice to greet me on the other end. I had known for some time that this day was inevitable, it was for her own good, and mine. The part that hurt most was that I knew it would be for the last time. I had to let go of the past in order to survive the future. I just hoped that she could understand that and not hate me for it later. This genuinely was an act of love, even if it did not feel like it.

  "Hello," she said into her communicator. I hesitated, trying hard to delay the inevitable. The hurt and the heartache. "Serus, are you there?"

  I couldn't wait any longer.

  "Kara, it's me. We need to talk," I said finally. And that was how I was to put the past behind me. With death and depression.

  THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE AN EXCERPT FROM "MR. GRIMM" THE FIRST PART IN "THE TWIN CITIES SERIES"

  "MR.GRIMM"

  Chapter 1

  The labored breath of an old man escaped my lips as I sauntered over to an even older desk. It was perched atop three sturdy legs, the fourth was braced with an old Webster's dictionary. The damned thing still didn't sit level, but I honestly didn't give two shits about that. It was the ringing phone that drew me over to this side of the room, the side that I often neglected because of the window that was open to a street view. One never could be too careful these days.

  I picked up the receiver. "Yeah," I answered in my general gruff demeanor.

  "Mr. Grimm, I see you have returned from your last...contract," the French accented voice said with an air of superiority over someone of my class.

  "It's done," I answered in an attempt to end the conversation more abruptly.

  "That's good to hear, though it seems that you were not as successful as we had hoped."

  This was news to me. "What do you mean?" I asked, knowing that failure was unforgivable in this line of work and I had worked too hard, had too much on the line for failure to be an option. I thought of my daughter, the reason I had been so willing to take this life of punishment. If I failed and was killed, what did that mean for her?

  "I mean, my dear Alexander, that there was a witness this time and you have exactly two hours to silence her, or maybe I will let the appeals process take effect and we can renegotiate the terms of your sentence. I think we both know where that will lead, don't you?"

  Son of a... "I'm on it. what's the name?" I pulled out an old yellow legal pad and pencil to take down notes.

  "The witness is a black woman named Genevieve Le Fortier," he said over the line. A slight hiss of static punctuated his words.

  "Not a common name nowadays," I said. "She must be one of your kind."

  "Don't fail to silence this one, Mr. Grimm". He neglected to confirm my suspicion, but rather it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that I succeeded in removing this threat to my master's society, or else the repercussions were not going to be in my favor.

  I went to speak only to have my thought interrupted by a dial tone. It was just like him to hang up on me, treating me like I was beneath him. I guess the truth is that I was. I was nothing more than a food source for his kind. My only clout now was that I was good at killing them; that granted me just enough respect in his dark little world.

  I set the receiver back in place, pulled out my .38 and reloaded the silver hollow point bullets into the cartridge. Once satisfied, I rolled the cylinder and reengaged it so that I could pull back the hammer and be ready to discharge a round into one Genevieve Le Fortier. I holstered the pistol into my shoulder holster, which was hidden under a black suit jacket. My master required all of his minions to dress to the nines; this apparently included contract killers. My years of service had diminished the burden of my attire, still I felt ridiculous wearing it, since I was more of a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy.

  I walked over to leave my apartment behind yet again. I pulled the hard, wooden door shut behind me and engaged the three deadbolt locks. To say that I was careful was an understatement. I took obsessive compulsive to the next level.

  I labored down the stairs and felt each step ping the lack of cartilage in my knees. The bones rubbed against their neighbors with each step and no amount of medication dulled it enough to make me not care. That was a lie actually, Valium and vodka were my two best friends, but I'd have to wait until the job was done before having them over.

  I stepped out of my apartment building and into the negative twenty degree weather which stung my nostrils with each breath. I hated winters in Minnesota. I had never acclimated to it after moving up from Florida more than thirty years ago. I doubted that I ever would. The small blessing was that the Buick parked in my designated parking spot had never fully cooled after my last excursion into the night.

  I sat down with a huff and groan and cranked the engine. The defrost was already set at full blast and the cool air wafted up from the dash before the heat of the engine warmed it up enough to be useful. I sat in the driver's seat for about three minutes before putting it into drive and heading back towards the highway. I knew that any witness to my previous activity might still be lurking, waiting for the authorities to arrive. I would just have to beat them there was all.

  I punched the gas and the Buick fishtailed to the right slightly before I eased off of the gas pedal. Did I mention that I hated winter in Minnesota? Driving in snow and ice was a bitch. I looked at the clock on the radio and saw that I had an hour and forty five minutes to silence my next target. With that information I shrugged my shoulders and popped my neck. The stress of time had done a number on me, and my battered body suffered the most for it.

  I looked through the rearview mirror to see if I was being followed. The only thing looking back at me was my cold, blue eyes. My bald head with a gray stubble beard and the hard lines on my face showed just how weary I really was. I may have been dressed ready for the red carpet, but I felt like I would have been better off buried six feet under. If nothing else, I looked like a good candidate.

  I blinked and looked away from the ghastly form that I recognized as a former version of myself. I had a job to do and only a short amount of time to do it. I squinted against the light that reflected off the snow and drove on, with nothing else on my mind than killing.

  As usual the dark thoughts of mind were intertwined with the still images of my daughter, Angelica. She had once been a spitting image of her mother, before the monstrous acts of that night. I shook my head, but the images were burned into my mind, a penance for my sins. I often wished that the mercy of God would rescue me from my torment. I reached over to the silver rosary that dangled carelessly on my right wrist. I had never been a religious man throughout my life, but if God did exist, then I knew he probably hated my employer as much as I did. Him and all of his kind. It was the only hatred that burned brighter and hotter than the contempt I held for myself.

  Suicide would have been a much easier price to pay, I thought as I choked back a sob of sorrow which threatened my composure.

  I turned east on the highway and headed away from the city. The Realms waited; the mirrored image of a modern city, caught between St. Paul and Minneapolis. That was where the term "twin cities" truly originated, though most lay folk thought it was a refer
ence to those two similar cities. I had thought the same thing prior to my conversion. How I wished I could have that life back.

  The highway was sparse, save for a few vehicles headed in the opposing direction. One idiot traveled through the snowy terrain with his high beams on. I wondered if he fought the glare reflected back from the ice and snow as much as I did having it face me. I contemplated a middle finger gesture, but I knew he wouldn't see it, so I kept my hands on the wheel.

  The drive was only twenty minutes or so from my apartment, but the world was completely different. The gravel road that took me to the entrance was well hidden and neglected. There were numerous potholes that pitted the road. It was like driving on a collapsed mountain. I pulled forward and stopped at the gate which prevented the curious trespassers from crossing over by accident. The otherworldly beings on the other side had a rash way of handling those people... let's just say that they never set foot in this world again.

  I closed the car door behind me with a creak and stepped away as the engine cooled with the brisk wind. The snow bit at my lips and the cold air was hard to breathe, but I managed. I stepped over the closed barricade and walked forty yards to a weeping willow tree which stood out of character for this time of year. I ducked under its tendrils and looked up in the canopy of green which defied the cold wasteland of this place. That was when the emerald light covered my form and I felt the world disappear a second later. I was weightless for a moment before I felt my feet touch the stone pavement of The Realms.

  I was met by its watchman.

  "Good evening, how's my favorite human doing tonight?"

  "It's a shitty, cold night. And regardless of your affection for me, you realize that I hate every last one of you bastards, don't you, Remy?" My words would have stung anyone else but him.

  He smiled. "That's what I love about you, Grimm. Your hate runs so deep that it can be mistaken for love in this camp. Albeit a sinister, molesting love. I think we can both agree on that." Remy had a way of taking the words right out of my mouth. He was a decent guy, as far as vampires were concerned. He actually refused to kill any human life for his blood lust. He looked the worse for it; cheeks sunken in, emaciated and weak looking. Definitely not like the master whom we both served. If I was honest with myself, Remy was the only one who I tolerated with any kind of mutual respect.

  He was right though, my hate ran deeper than anything else in my soul. It was down right shameful to be honest.

  Remy shifted his body out of my way and let me proceed into The Realms unchallenged as it were. He knew as well as I did that I was nothing more than a puppet. The blood taken from me allowed me to be constantly monitored by my master, the one who called himself The Raven. That was why I used blood transfusions as often as I could. To break the chain, to silence the voices in my own head. He was not deterred by my hatred; in fact, I think it nourished him as much as blood did.

  I took a deep breath as I stepped onto the main street of The Realms. I had been here only a few hours prior, but the night sky was even darker here than it had been before. This was a place where sunlight lasted only four or five hours per day, just enough to enrich the plants, and short enough for the dark ones to do their bidding. A bidding that led to why I was here now. A bid for death.

  IF YOU ENJOYED THE FIRST PART OF "MR. GRIMM" THEN YOU CAN READ THE REST HERE: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00HWI0990

  I would like to thank you for taking the time to read this story. It is very important to me that you took the time to read my work and I appreciate it tremendously. If you enjoyed the story then I hope that you will take a few extra moments to leave an honest review of this book. Reviews help me to see what I am doing right as well as what I can do better in order to make the experience for the reader the best that it can be.

  Drew Avera (pronounced Avery)is an active duty Navy veteran and self published author. Originally from Mississippi, he joined the Navy at the ripe old age of seventeen to be an Aviation Electricians Mate. After completing training he was transferred to Virginia where he now lives with his wife and two daughters. His other interests include playing guitar and reading copious amounts of fiction. You can find out more about Drew at the following sites:

  http://www.amazon.com/author/drewavera

  http://www.facebook.com/authordrewavera

  http://www.drewavera.wordpress.com