"Shoot me..." I whisper, clutching my stomach and staring at the love of my life.
Fuck.
I don't care anymore.
I really don't.
"I have to give you your card first," he says, and presents it to me, like it's a fucking Christmas present.
WILLING.
The Killer sighs, and turns me onto my back. Despite the badassery I have gained throughout my years, I'm as helpless as a baby whenever I'm met with a bullet. I can't even struggle, he overpowers me.
He wraps a bandage over the wound.
"What the hell?" I ask.
"If you bleed to death, then you wouldn't be dying willingly. I'd rather you beg for it," he says.
"I'm not too proud to beg. I'll do it," I say. "Kill me."
"Not good enough. On your knees, soldier," he says.
I slowly try to move, and the stabbing pain screams throughout. Shaking, I'm on my knees, labored breath.
His laughter rings through my ears.
I'm crying like a wuss.
Quinn's eyes are open. She died with her eyes open. They glimmer with drying tears.
Just looking at her makes my chest swell up and I can no longer breath.
"Shoot me, dammit!" I yell.
The Killer shakes his head, and reloads his revolver.
And instead of blasting my brains out, he just shoots Quinn again.
Shooting a corpse.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask.
"That's not for you to find out," the Killer whispers, and his eyes shift downwards. "Kiss her."
"What?"
"Kiss her. Kiss the dead girl," he says, gesturing towards Quinn with his gun.
I crawl on my knees over to her, and gently envelope my lips on her cold, lifeless ones. I clutch her hand in one of my own. I slowly pull away, shutting my eyes.
"Kill me next to her. I want to see her again," I whisper.
"You may not. Maybe she went to the place you call Heaven. And you might be going straight to hell, Noah," the killer says.
"Don't you think I know that?" I snap. "Shoot me now, or I'll do it myself."
The Killer laughs. "You're bluffing. If you kill yourself, I don't think you'll go anywhere."
I make a lunge for the gun, and the killer quickly jumps back.
"Hey, stop that. Killing yourself isn't in the cards," he says, shaking his finger at me.
"Please tell me that dying is," I say. "I can't stand it. Whenever I try to get close to her, or anything I love, The Jewish God just rips it right out of me." My eyes meet with the killer's. His eyes are seas of brown, searching for something. What, though? "Hey, Killer dude. Can you do something for me before popping off my soul?"
"Depends on the 'something'. I can be nice, in some ways. Kind of," he says, rubbing his chin.
I shakily fumble around in my right pocket, grasping my hands on a piece of paper in there, folded into neat squares.
"Me and Quinn wrote this a little bit ago, on the train. Deliver it to Beth, if you can. In an envelope or something. Write on there that it's for Beth's eyes only, and she has to wait until she's 16 to read it. Uh...do you know where she is?" I ask.
He takes the paper. "Before I went after you guys, I did some research on you. So, yes. I do." he sighs. "I shall do what you ask, as a parting favor," he says, sympathetic.
"Well, you aren't so bad. As long as you shoot me, right now," I say.
"Very well."
He raises the gun, and the cold barrel is pressed against my forehead.
"I've seen your frown
And it's like looking down the barrel of a gun
And it goes off
And out come all these words
Oh there's a very pleasant side to you
A side I much prefer..." The voice..so familiar.
I'll be happier Quinn, I swear.
With you.
Bang.
Dear Beth,
We have no idea if you will ever get this. If you do, we hope it's when you are sixteen, and looking at the responsibilities of your life. We're your parents, never forget that.
Don't ever think you are worthless, or a mistake. The moment you were born was one of the happiest days. We couldn't be happier that you've found a loving mother. Beth, know your roots. You'll be as beautiful and capable as your mother, and strong and stubborn as your father. It's a good thing, we swear.
You're in highschool now, we hope. Don't make the same decisions we did.
You should know that if you get this, we're probably dead. If anyone has told you that it was because of a reason other than that we were brutally murdered, it's a lie.
Don't let any guy get in your pants until you're 40.
You've never met us, or seen us. You can't picture our faces, never shared a memory. Look in the mirror, though, and you'll see some parts of us. You have your father's eyes, we know that.
We wish we could have met you as a young, strongwilled adult.
We love you. Please know that.
Love,
Your Parents.