"Well, it's very exasperating when you can't get it right."
Donald Rudd

Killer

I had thought that I'd gotten away with it; I was in the clear; no one had a clue as to how and why I committed my crime. I had the authorities scratching their heads. I was careful not to leave a trace of myself behind.

Then came along Cindy, fucking, Powell. Why an administrative assistant to a real estate company is up in my business is beyond me. I followed her after work after I got a message that she was looking into the murder that I so carefully illustrated and committed. I had flagged several accounts to give me an email notification if someone opened them.

Imagine my surprise when I looked up the address she pulled her car up to and found that the house belonged to Detective Sam Kidwell. I quickly scratched out a message, Mind your own business, Bitch. Consider yourself warned. I left it on the doorstep for her to find in the morning.

I was sure that would be enough to scare the ditzy blonde, but no, she had to bring her father, retired Detective Jerry Powell, into her witch hunt.

Luckily, I placed a tracking device on her car the day I followed her after work. That leads me to today. I always follow through with my threats. If the bitch is not going to give up her investigation, I'll give her some incentive. I placed another note in her father's mailbox. You will regret ignoring my warning.

After placing the note in the mailbox, I drove another mile, pulled into a field, and parked behind a group of bushes. I grabbed my rifle and made my way back towards Powell's home. At the left side of the property was a row of trees within the deep brush.

I struggled through the brush and climbed up a full-grown maple tree. I felt confident that the thick branches could hold my weight. Once I get myself into place, I realize that I have scratches all over my exposed skin from the damn brush. One of the scratches is bleeding a little more than the others--fuck.

I ignore my injuries and pull the scope of my rifle up to my eye. I catch Detective Powell entering his home. I assume either Cindy or her father found the note I left, and she's already inside. I sit and wait.

Almost an hour later, I saw a car enter the driveway. The house door opens, and out comes Cindy. Detective fucking Kidwell exits his car and runs to Cindy. The way that he embraces her tells me that she called him after getting my note. I smirk at the revelation. Another vehicle turns down the Powell driveway. I wait to see who else has joined our little party. An older gentleman gets out of his car. Cindy approaches the older man and hugs him. She releases him, and she seems to be introducing him to Kidwell.

I decided to take my shot. I'm nowhere near a sharpshooter, but I know my way around a rifle and pride myself on being a good shot. I have no intention to kill anyone. My goal is to scare the shit out of Cindy so that she leaves me the hell alone.

I look into my scope and aim towards the ground where Cindy stands. I squeeze the trigger and am shocked to see Kidwell and the older man dive in front of Cindy. Kidwell tackles her to the ground, and the older gentleman lands just short of Kidwell.

I can't wait around to see the outcome. I haul my ass down the tree and sprint the mile to my car. I hear gunfire in the distance and am glad I got out when I did. I toss my rifle in the backseat, jump into the driver's seat, and start my car. I put it into gear and press the gas pedal before shutting my door.

Adrenaline is pumping through my veins. I take deep breaths in an attempt to calm my ass down. I continue down the road with no damn clue of the direction I'm heading. Ten minutes pass before I feel safe enough to pull over and set my GPS to home.

On the ride home, I process my decision to shoot my damn rifle in the direction of two known police officers. What the hell was I thinking? I should've made sure that Cindy was alone before I shot.

I have a terrible feeling that this decision is going to bite me in the ass. If only that bitch would have backed the fuck off. It's her damn fault. Why couldn't she just quit after my first warning? Fuck!

I need to get home and regroup. I hope that'll be enough to deter Cindy Powell from continuing her search into the murder that I'm responsible for; unfortunately, I don't think this woman will give up. Because of my stupidity tonight, I now have two detectives wanting to know who I am. I'm sure these two will stop at nothing to find me, the man who dared to come after their girl.

This whole damn thing is getting out of control, and I'm exhausted. I rub my temples as my head begins to ache. I have to make a decision. How far will I go to keep Cindy Powell from exposing my sins?

I pull into my driveway and sit briefly before exiting my vehicle and plaster a smile on my face as I enter my front door.

"Daddy!"

I pick up my daughter. "Hello, girly. How was your day?"

My wife approaches and can see right through my fake smile. She takes my daughter from my arms.

"It looks like Daddy had a rough day; let's give him some time to unwind."

I don't miss the look that she gives my injuries.

I shrug and kiss my wife's sweet lips. I give her a look of appreciation before I head upstairs to change and attend to my wounds.

When I return downstairs, my wife hands me a bourbon on ice.

"Thank you, Babe. This drink is just what I need."

"Dinner is ready whenever you are."

"Now is good; I'll be right there."

She smiles, and I'm so happy I have this amazing woman to ground me.

I go to my daughter and hug her. "Dinner is ready. Would you like a ride?"

"Yes, please!" she giggles as she jumps into my arms.

It's at this moment that I realize I'll do whatever it takes to avoid paying for my sins. Fuck Cindy Powell!