Other Worldly

Chapter 14

*LAST TIME, ON OTHER WORLDLY...

THE NAME OF THE MONSTER HAS BEEN DISCOVERED, AND IT IS JUST AS EVIL AS KORRIC COULD EVER UNDERSTAND. IT CAME TO THE GANG IN THE SHADOWS AND TOOK LIAM. FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS TONIGHT...*

It had been a week since that night that we lost Liam. The whole group was even more on edge, and Margret was pushing herself to find more information on the Wendigo. I had fallen into my despair after we put him in the ground beside Nora and the kids. Only Margret, myself, and the officers that were in our gang knew what happened. To the public, Liam had passed away from a heart attack, and that was just to make sure no one went snooping in places they didn't need to be in.

The following days after that bastard took Liam, I had taken to finding out anything about the occult, searching through the library, hunting down contacts that I used to have who could help me, and even got into a back alley brawl with a man who claimed to be able to summon demons into the realm of reality. The hard truth was that he was a con man, and on my short fuse, I sent him to hell with a right hook and a broken bottle. I didn't just kill him for what he was trying to con me out of, but because the kid he was using to play this charade wasn't much older than Liam's girl, and she had been beaten on. I wasn't about to let that son of a bitch live and made sure that no one knew. I took the kid to the Catholic church that Liam and Anthonio went to each Sunday. I figured I should take time to pray myself, even though I had given up on God, I still wanted to be forgiven for what happened to Liam.

Before we laid Liam to rest, I took the silver rosary beads from around his neck. I kept them on me at all times, if nothing else, they were my reminder that I had to put an end to this. I still didn't know what I was going to do but I was going to figure something out, even at the cost of my own life. I had read over that diary entry dozens of times, maybe even hundreds, analyzing every single thing in it to figure something out. I felt like I was running in circles, constantly chasing that nonexistent tail, falling further into madness with every passing minute. A few times after Liam was gone, I had gone into the depths of slowing time, looking for more clues that could be there, but all I ever found was that damn symbol where Liam was killed.

Margret had tried to comfort me in her way, holding onto me, trying to play pool, even asking to have a drink with her. I wasn't interested in much of it, deciding to be a recluse in my room, for fear of getting her killed too. We got into an argument a couple of days ago, mostly about how I need to stop feeling sorry for what happened, and that Liam would want me to move on and do my job. I wanted to fight back, but I knew she was right, and it pissed me off even more. My best friend, my brother, was gone and I couldn't feel anything but regret and rage. I hadn't spoken to her since that argument, and although I see her looking at me with those gorgeous eyes, I just wish I was dead. I've been alone with my inner thoughts for what seems like years, and every once in a while I hear Liam telling me to get up and start living again, but I can't. I'm obsessed, devoid of anything, and in need of a chunk of lead in my head.

Even now, as I sit on the bed in my room, spinning the cylinder of my revolver in my hand, listening to those inner voices telling me so many things. One says I need to just man up and do it, to play a lovely little gambling game of Russian Roulette. Another tells me that there is more to life than doing my job, and Liam would have wanted me to go on, even at the cost of everything else. There's one more in the far distance, that tells me to go to Margret and be there for her because she will be there for me. That I need to let go of humanity and just let instinct take over, and lay with her like I would have with Elizabeth. Everything that happened years ago, feels like it is happening all over again, and I blame myself.

As I spun the cylinder on the revolver again, I heard a knock on my door and looked up at it over the bridge of my nose. Margret leaned in, looking at me with saddened teary eyes, looking at the revolver in my hand. She asked to enter and I permitted her, but still kept spinning the cylinder, feeling the contemplation in my fingers. She walked over to the bed and carefully sat at the foot, gently holding her hands in her lap as she sat there and looked at me. I stared into her eyes, feeling the shame on my face, and stopped spinning the cylinder to focus on her. I mapped out the contours of her face, the smoothness of her cheeks, the puffiness of her eyes and lips, everything about her that I could take in as a memory. I felt something for her, but now was not the time for it, even if we weren't being hunted like deer in the meadows.