Eighteen Going on Dead

Chapter Twenty-Three: Swimming Demons and Deadly Love

I couldn't believe it... I didn't want to believe it. Sheriff Watson, the town's most trusting person, the father of the man I love, is the killer? "No," I shook my head to get the hallucinations out, to actually see the killer and not imagine anyone else; but that's the thing, it was the person I least expected- that everyone did not expect. "This can't be possible." I whimpered in disbelief. "This can't be. You can't be..."

Sheriff Watson slowly remove the hoodie from his hair to show his full realistic face that prove even more that he was not the man I knew for the past two years- the man I saw as a father figure. "Put the gun down, Zaire." His voice was calm, normal.

It only made me hold the gun tighter, aiming straight at his chest. "Back off! H-how can you do this? Kill the people that cared about you."

He scoffed, his lips turned into a small smirk. "The best targets are always the soft ones." Sheriff Watson or should I say John, looked down at Tanya's body as an example.

"Gabriel? Does he know?!" Please god... please say no. John did not answer, it was all a game to him; to see me suffer. "Answer me!" I cried out, my heart pounded faster than before, my eyes turned glossy in a sign of fear; not because of his presence, but because of my own emotions.

John still did not answer, instead he toyed with me with his eyes, those dark brown eyes that looked into my soul- tearing my heart out visually and eating it- that's what he wanted to do at that very moment. He stepped close, dangerously close that made me pull that trigger; fortunately for him the kick back made me miss just an inch from his head. One bullet left, use it wisely.

"This thing is loaded, you better start cooperating or one will go through your fucking chest."

The killer took my threat as a caution and a lesson, "No! He doesn't know."

I felt a form of relief, still I worried. With my gun at his chest, I reached to get my phone so I can call Aunt Joyce, the one thing I hated about the pool is the lack of service. "Shit," I mumbled. "Alright, we're gonna walk out of here."

"Seriously?" He questioned. "Like you said yourself, everyone cares about their Sheriff. What would you think will happen if they see you holding a gun at my head? They'll shoot you down with no hesitation."

"Not if I shoot you first. At least there would be two murderers gone from this earth." I was willing to kill, to get revenge on every girl that met his wrath (even Tanya). The blonde was a bitch, I can't deny that, but no one deserves the fate of death; especially not be a psychopath. I clicked the gun once again, oddly I did not panic when the thought of taking him down like a dog came upon me; it was a joyful sensation in the back of my mind; the sick part of humanity that no one wanted to endure.

I pulled he trigger with no hesitation, once again I forgotten about the kick back and hit his arm; no where that would cause true damage. "Shit!" I kept pulling the trigger as if bullies would magically appear, but luck was not on my side. I ran, trying my best not to fall from the slippery flats and equally as slippery floor. My plans touched the door, the smell of weed filled my nose and the loud music invaded my ears; I was so close to alarming them of the killer- but how could I if they didn't hear the gunshots and when his large bloody gloves hands covered my mouth before I could draw a breath.

****

I watched his every move, his lay minute plans and frustrating mumbling; he did not plan any of it. One thing I know about the old man is his way of planning everything, without his schedule he'll go nuts. In this case, I wasn't supposed to walk in on him doing his sinful deeds, nor was he supposed to kidnap me tonight. Either way, I was his hostage underground, I don't exactly know where- considering the killer managed to put duct tape over my mouth and clave a cotton bag over my head before he stuffed me into his trunk.