.45s
by TL Long
Prelude.: Gotham and Wayne Tower Property of DC comics. Everything else belongs to me.
Earnest Keene walked into the foyer of the apartment, and closed the door behind him. The brass hinges creaked under the weight of the mahogany as the door closed behind him. The smell of burned lasagna hung in the air from the night before. He was home.
Setting his keys on the table in the hall, Earnest walked past the small kitchen and into the living area. He draped his coat over the back of the couch. Walking over to the book case he looked over at the city below. She had always considered Gotham the most beautiful city at night.
"The lights make it look like a city of fallen stars," she had said looking down at the city from Wayne Tower. It had been only a few weeks after the cataclysm. A week before his world came crashing down.
Turning back to the bookshelf, Earnest's hands rested on the rosewood case. He lifted the lid and pulled out his father's police .45. The light from the window fell over the gunmetal surface and was absorbed by the heirloom. Polling the release lever, he let the magazine slide from the hilt, and into his left hand. Good, it was sill loaded. The weapon clicked at he pushed the magazine back into the pistol, and chambered a bullet. Tonight he would do this.
He loosened his tie, walked around the glass table, and sat down on the couch. The black leather squeaked, as his weight settled into the cushion. It had been three months… it had been three months.
She seemed serine on the sterile, silver slab. Her lips blue, skin cold, as one who had slept in the soft deep snow. They asked if it was Haley, and he nodded. He stood there numb until they shut the silver door. Damon placed his hand on his shoulder and took him home. He wanted to be alone, but Damon wouldn't let him. He knew about the .45. "We'll get the bastard, I promise."
The bastard was still loose. Earnest placed the barrel of the gun underneath his chin and closed his eyes. The phone rang. Releasing the safety with his index finger, he took a deep breath. A red light came on in the bedroom, and the answering machine picked up.
"You know what to do," the recording played.
"Ernie. Its Damon, put the damn gun down. You need to come down to the station… we got a lead."
Earnest's index finger relaxed on the trigger. He set the gun down on the table, and cried.
