1 One Last Memento
……... Leonard looked at the blood on the floor. Leonard looked at the dead corpse on the floor. He looked at the glasses that had come of this man's head. He looked at the bullet casing on the ground. He looked at the gun in his hand. He looked at him. The man who murdered his wife, John G. He felt satisfied as he pulled the picture out of his Polaroid. He looked from the picture to the man. He shook his head.
"No one can hide forever you damn son of a bitch."
He patted himself down. He was looking for a pen. He was sure his memory was about to go and he needed to get this written. He patted all his pockets. No pen. No pencil. No writing utensil.
"Damnit!"
He began to rush back to the car but he felt something strange. A feeling of Déjà vu. Something didn't feel right. Wait no… Something felt too right. He felt overly satisfied with killing. He felt as if killing was easy but to his knowledge this was the first time he had ever shot a man. Or was it? He looked at the way he held his gun. He held it like an expert. It's not normal for a man of his trade to be so expertly trained in weapons. He looked at his hand right below the thumb. He saw a scar. He knew what it was. It was the scar of a person who had never fired a gun before. It was "a snakebite". The top of the gun comes back and cuts an amateur no matter how much they think they know. This didn't happen to Leonard. He already had a scar and now knew how to fire a weapon. He knew how to shoot. The shot he took on this man. It was a well-placed shot, not some erratic shooting by a beginner. He knew how to fire a gun. He looked down at his clothes. These were not his clothes. He never had anything like this, anything this expensive. He had killed people before. He had made others suffer the way he had suffered.
"How many innocent men have I killed looking for this man?" Leonard queried himself
"How many have I killed for the crime of murdering my wife?!"
It was inconceivable. Could this not be the first time he had killed John G.? How many John G.s have there been? He looked at the notes on his body. The notes on the pictures. How did he know how old some were? How did he know if these people betrayed him or took advantage of his illness? How was he to know how many men had died by his own hands?
"No!" he cried "NO! This is John G.!! This is the murderer! He's right here! He's dead! I can rest!" Leonard screamed
Inside him something was telling him this was all a lie. That this was not the first time. He may have already killed the murderer or he may not have. His quest was endless. He kept killing. He became the monster that made him this way. He was now an emotionless killing machine
"NO! THIS IS JOHN G.!!!" Leonard desperately screamed
He looked around franticly. He had to find some sort of pen. He had to try and remember. He could not let more die. He could not let any more wives, children, or girlfriends somewhere know some raging mad lunatic killed their "John G.". This killing had to stop here.
He kept looking at the dead body in front of him as he searched for anything to write with, even a sharp piece of metal to carve something on the wall.
"This is John G. This is John G." he kept repeating to himself trying to give himself hope.
"This has to stop here… This has to stop here." He chanted like in an apostolic church
"Never again… No more killing." He said encouraging himself that this was the last time to ever kill for the same crime
A flash of his wife right before she died flashed through his mind and he fell to his knees. He thought of he last breaths. He last minutes. He was helpless.
He was on the ground clenching his head in his hands. He was frantic. He had nothing in his car to write with. Nothing was on this "John G's" body. No pens. No pencils. Nothing in this whole accursed house. He had now given up. He sat there, face in his hands.
"This is John G. This is the end. I am finished. This is John G. This is the end. I am finished."
……… "Where am I?" Leonard asked himself looking at his surroundings.
He looked at the bloody corpse in front of him.
"Who or… What is this?" Leonard wondered
He got up and looked at the blood soaked picture on the ground near his feet. It was from his camera of the dead man in front of him.
"This must have been important… Somehow…" said Leonard
He examined the gun next to the body. He just looked at it. He didn't touch. He couldn't make out what the man looked like. He had shot him in the head. It was impossible to tell. He wondered how he had gotten here. He wondered why he had come here. He wondered why he had taken a picture of this man's corpse. All these things were going through his mind.
"This must have been important." He repeated
He saw his wife's final seconds in his mind. His fists clenched.
"This must have had something to do with her death."
He became angry. He was also tired. He thought it was better for someone else to handle this… not him… yet.
"I may as well go to the cops. See what happened here. It may just lead me in the right direction." He muttered to himself
He then walked toward the open doorway from the basement out over plastic wrapping on the floor and walked outside. He was in a dust driveway and pulled out a stack of photos. He saw the one with a black jaguar in the white square. It had "My Car" scrawled under the picture in black ink. He got out his keys and got into the car. He slammed the door and drove toward the police station.e He
……... Leonard looked at the blood on the floor. Leonard looked at the dead corpse on the floor. He looked at the glasses that had come of this man's head. He looked at the bullet casing on the ground. He looked at the gun in his hand. He looked at him. The man who murdered his wife, John G. He felt satisfied as he pulled the picture out of his Polaroid. He looked from the picture to the man. He shook his head.
"No one can hide forever you damn son of a bitch."
He patted himself down. He was looking for a pen. He was sure his memory was about to go and he needed to get this written. He patted all his pockets. No pen. No pencil. No writing utensil.
"Damnit!"
He began to rush back to the car but he felt something strange. A feeling of Déjà vu. Something didn't feel right. Wait no… Something felt too right. He felt overly satisfied with killing. He felt as if killing was easy but to his knowledge this was the first time he had ever shot a man. Or was it? He looked at the way he held his gun. He held it like an expert. It's not normal for a man of his trade to be so expertly trained in weapons. He looked at his hand right below the thumb. He saw a scar. He knew what it was. It was the scar of a person who had never fired a gun before. It was "a snakebite". The top of the gun comes back and cuts an amateur no matter how much they think they know. This didn't happen to Leonard. He already had a scar and now knew how to fire a weapon. He knew how to shoot. The shot he took on this man. It was a well-placed shot, not some erratic shooting by a beginner. He knew how to fire a gun. He looked down at his clothes. These were not his clothes. He never had anything like this, anything this expensive. He had killed people before. He had made others suffer the way he had suffered.
"How many innocent men have I killed looking for this man?" Leonard queried himself
"How many have I killed for the crime of murdering my wife?!"
It was inconceivable. Could this not be the first time he had killed John G.? How many John G.s have there been? He looked at the notes on his body. The notes on the pictures. How did he know how old some were? How did he know if these people betrayed him or took advantage of his illness? How was he to know how many men had died by his own hands?
"No!" he cried "NO! This is John G.!! This is the murderer! He's right here! He's dead! I can rest!" Leonard screamed
Inside him something was telling him this was all a lie. That this was not the first time. He may have already killed the murderer or he may not have. His quest was endless. He kept killing. He became the monster that made him this way. He was now an emotionless killing machine
"NO! THIS IS JOHN G.!!!" Leonard desperately screamed
He looked around franticly. He had to find some sort of pen. He had to try and remember. He could not let more die. He could not let any more wives, children, or girlfriends somewhere know some raging mad lunatic killed their "John G.". This killing had to stop here.
He kept looking at the dead body in front of him as he searched for anything to write with, even a sharp piece of metal to carve something on the wall.
"This is John G. This is John G." he kept repeating to himself trying to give himself hope.
"This has to stop here… This has to stop here." He chanted like in an apostolic church
"Never again… No more killing." He said encouraging himself that this was the last time to ever kill for the same crime
A flash of his wife right before she died flashed through his mind and he fell to his knees. He thought of he last breaths. He last minutes. He was helpless.
He was on the ground clenching his head in his hands. He was frantic. He had nothing in his car to write with. Nothing was on this "John G's" body. No pens. No pencils. Nothing in this whole accursed house. He had now given up. He sat there, face in his hands.
"This is John G. This is the end. I am finished. This is John G. This is the end. I am finished."
……… "Where am I?" Leonard asked himself looking at his surroundings.
He looked at the bloody corpse in front of him.
"Who or… What is this?" Leonard wondered
He got up and looked at the blood soaked picture on the ground near his feet. It was from his camera of the dead man in front of him.
"This must have been important… Somehow…" said Leonard
He examined the gun next to the body. He just looked at it. He didn't touch. He couldn't make out what the man looked like. He had shot him in the head. It was impossible to tell. He wondered how he had gotten here. He wondered why he had come here. He wondered why he had taken a picture of this man's corpse. All these things were going through his mind.
"This must have been important." He repeated
He saw his wife's final seconds in his mind. His fists clenched.
"This must have had something to do with her death."
He became angry. He was also tired. He thought it was better for someone else to handle this… not him… yet.
"I may as well go to the cops. See what happened here. It may just lead me in the right direction." He muttered to himself
He then walked toward the open doorway from the basement out over plastic wrapping on the floor and walked outside. He was in a dust driveway and pulled out a stack of photos. He saw the one with a black jaguar in the white square. It had "My Car" scrawled under the picture in black ink. He got out his keys and got into the car. He slammed the door and drove toward the police station.e He
