Down The Barrel of The Gun, S.M.T [read after txt] 📗

Chapter 1

I hadn’t expected to be ending my shift at the restaurant, Lombardo’s

, so late. My boss, Mr Lombardo himself, had asked me to cover for an absent co-worker. I would have declined as it was forecasted to rain, but I was strapped for money these days, and with the upcoming rent, some extra cash flow was welcome.
So I found myself driving home along dark but quiet streets. Fortunately, the rain remained only a lingering promise within the dark, looming clouds above. I hoped it stayed that way until I got home.
I hated driving in the rain.
In fact, until several years ago, I couldn’t even see myself getting behind the wheel of a car. When I was thirteen, a car accident with my mother had left me physically and emotionally scarred. We had been driving home from the hospital, where my grandmother had been admitted after a nasty fall. Her frail hip hadn’t the resilience in its old age to tolerate such frivolity, and she’d thereafter been in need of hip replacement surgery. Needless to say, such was a costly effort.
Unfortunately for my mother, money didn’t grow on trees for us. Nor did it justify her long hours as a cashier in Woolworth’s. We were constantly battling financial demons, and this particular one was going to be a vicious bastard.
I think her mind had been preoccupied with that current stressor, so I suspect it's why she never noticed running through the red light.
“Mum! There’s a tru–”

I never did get to finish. By the time she processed the round headlights approaching from our right, the wet road refused the friction needed to break in time.
I felt the familiar tightening in my chest as old feelings emerged at the memories that followed the event. Waking up in a stale, white room. Nurse. Doctor. Concerned, but familiar faces.
Where was mum’s?

The pain in my chest was a little overwhelming at that point, and I urgently tried to re-suppress it. I reached for the volume control knob; hoping music would provide an effective distraction. However, the moment my eyes moved for a microsecond from the road, something flew in front of my car.
I screamed as the car swerved and reared off the road. I vaguely recall acknowledging the man sprawled on my window shield, and as we rammed into a tree, he flew forward into it at the impact. My seatbelt restrained me from doing something similar, but the car was less recent than the standardizing of airbags, so I bashed my head into the steering wheel.
Miraculously, I was relatively okay. Severely dazed, and in a noteworthy amount of pain, I still managed to prioritize my concerns.
I had run someone over.
On that sluggish but panicked thought, I crawled out of the car. My movements were indolent and stiff- and I had to fight off the strong urge to throw up- but I persisted and worked my way towards the figure lying at the base of the tree.
He wasn’t dead, and for that I was ever so grateful. In fact, he seemed to be recovering and was pulling himself to his knees. I saw his forehead was bloody, and there was a large bruise forming on his cheek.
“Are you… alright?” I rasped.
God, my head hurt.
He craned his neck to look at me, and appeared to regard me thoughtfully before his gaze flickered to over my shoulder.
A smirk formed on his lips.
“Right as rain,” He answered, in a smooth British accent, and suddenly I was being held upright, my back against his chest, and facing inwards towards the ominous forest.
A figure emerged from that darkness; a man in black attire. I could only vaguely make out his features, though he was still too far away.
“A human shield, William,” the man drawled. His tenor was unbothered, but there was a power and a threat behind his voice. “How droll.”
William replied, "What can I say? I never let an opportunity pass me by."
The figure took a few steps forward. "What makes you think I'd let something so meaningless stand in the way of me killing you?"
My heart was racing in overdrive as I tried to process the situation. What the hell was I caught up in? I tried to break free of the man restraining me, but he only tightened his hold. As the man continued his approach, I was reduced to a whimper, watching as his face was finally revealed with proximity.
A look of recognition crossed his features as his hard eyes made contact with my fearful ones.
The exchange didn't go amiss to my captor, the supposed William.
"Well, that's just my luck!" he laughed. "Fucking brilliant

!”
And with that he thrust me forwards, the force of it giving me a cruel whiplash, and into the very solid form of the other man.
He caught me and supported me by gripping my upper arms. My head swam, my stomach stirred, and my body ached. He glared at me, glanced in the direction William had fled, and then resumed glaring at me. His upper lip rose in a snarl, revealing two threatening fangs.
“Fuck

,” he cursed, right before I passed out.

Text: This work is completely and utterly my own. Cover image: a photograph by an artist who goes by the name 'indiae' from deviantart.com NOTE: Story is unfinished and in process of being written. Updates regularly.
Publication Date: 02-24-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
"The course of true love never did run smooth." ~ William Shakespeare To my wonderful four grandparents, who are largely the reason I so cherish my childhood memories.