BURDEN OF AN ANCIENT OATH, Joshua Brown [books like beach read .txt] 📗

dark cases that seemingly had no end in sight, but never once did I believe I was bested. Maybe it was a sign of my age, or perhaps it had something to do with the fact that criminals were just getting too smart.

It was men like Aaron Hart who found a position in this life over men like me. Those who knew how computers worked, those who could solve a case from a mobile phone rather than out in the field. I never wanted that for myself. I prided myself on being an old-school detective, a man that knew how to use a gun and get a job done.

But I was an old dog, and new tricks didn’t work well with me.

And so, I tried finding an answer at the bottom of a bottle. When I eventually drank too much, I got into bed. The actual events of that night are nothing but a blur.

But what that evening led to was the most problematic solution I’ve ever achieved.

~

“Wakey-wakey, Jacky-baby,” a voice came, followed by a tapping on my forehead, just above the bridge of my nose.

The sensation pulled me from the gentle sleep, with only a heavy head and immense confusion surrounding me. I was greeted by three men standing in front of me, each one dressed in a similar maroon robe as the man in Jane Dench’s house.

These three, however, held weapons of various sorts. From what I could tell, no guns. One had a baseball bat, the other a sword, and the final a rebar pole.

“We’re going to introduce you to a world of pain,” one said with a gleeful giggle.

I looked at them while my mind kicked to life, and realizing the threat, a terrible, deep scream escaped my lips. I reached for the revolver I kept under my pillow, and without much hesitation, aimed and fired. The man closest to me, the one I struck, collapsed to the ground.

I continued shooting, though my aim off from the heavy-headed hangover. I heard another tumble to the ground.

“He shot me, man,” I heard him say.

“You’re on your own,” the third shouted, and not long after, I heard my door slam.

At this point, I was on my feet, replacing the six rounds of my revolver and approaching the door quietly. I managed to get the first attacker right between the eyes in my state of confusion and panic. He lay motionless at the side of my bed, with the sword still gripped between his palm.

“No, don’t do this,” the second man called. I heard him pulling himself along my fake wood floor, through the hallway towards the kitchen.

Peering out, I saw the trail of blood—the man who just managed to take the corner doing his best to escape. I trailed where he might have been with the barrel of the gun until I reached the island of my kitchen.

From there, I saw him on the ground. He managed to crawl his way towards the door, reaching for the handle with hopes of getting out. The baseball bat he held lying somewhere behind me now.

“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” I asked, the gun forever trained on his midsection.

“I’m just doing a job, man. Please don’t kill me,” his voice was shrill. I could tell he was younger just by the way he spoke.

I made my way towards the short corridor that led from my door into the kitchen and living room.

“Who sent you?” I asked. From there, I saw the wound—a shot on the upper thigh, shredding meat from bone. I walked over to him, grabbing him by the injured leg and pulling him back into the living room.

He shouted in agony as his body was forced back. He tried grabbing the leg, which no doubt shot terrible pain through his entire body.

With the night I just endured, I wasn’t going to mess around.

“Some freak who calls himself the Witchfinder General,” he replied.

Getting him into the living room, he spun around, exposing his face from beneath the maroon hood. He wasn’t a kid, but he wasn’t a man either. Barely had hair on his chin, yet he found himself looking for trouble in my house. I was perplexed and frustrated by it, all at once.

“What does he want with me?” I questioned, grabbing the front of his robe and pulling him up. I leaned him against the coffee table, and collapsed into my sofa. Knowing they weren’t boys made this a little easier.

“He just wanted us to rough you up a bit. We’ve been running with him the last while. He pays good, but he’s a bit nuts,” he said.

“What’s your name, boy?” I cracked my neck from side to side.

“Granger.”

“What the hell kind of name is Granger?” I leaned in close to him, making sure he stared deep into my eyes.

He didn’t answer, realizing the rhetoric behind the question.

“You know what your piece of shit boss has been getting up to lately? The hell he’s putting people through?” I continued my questioning.

“We’re just hired muscle, man. We don’t get involved in his business,” Granger replied, shaking his head. “Please don’t kill me.”

“I’m not going to kill you, boy. But what I am going to do is make it hurt, real bad if you don’t start giving me answers,” I pressed a finger into his chest.

“Who is the Witchfinder General?”

“I don’t know his name, man. He’s always wearing this mask, ever since we met him,” he shook his head.

“Why are you helping a man that’s threatening innocent lives?”

“It’s all for shits and giggles, man. He’s not going to do anything to these people,” Granger sniffed, trying to smile.

“Wrong answer,” I grabbed him by the leg, squeezing as hard as I could.

Granger clutched