For Love

by K. A. Williams

I combed Brenna's hair while she lay beside me on the bed. She stretched and love sparked in her green eyes. The unexpected sound of the doorbell startled us and we leapt from the bed.

I went to the door and opened it. Two uniformed policemen stood there.

"I'm Officer Drake and this is Officer Paulton. Are you Samuel Conover?"

I nodded, my throat dry.

"We have a warrant for your arrest," Drake said.

"What charge?"

"The murder of your brother, Robert."

Brenna distracted Paulton when she tried to run out the door they had left open. He stopped her.

While he was distracted, I stepped back quickly and grabbed my gun from behind the plant on the table. "Let her go!" I pointed my gun at him.

Drake must have drawn his gun while I was watching the other cop. The bullet caught me by surprise. Clasping my hand tightly over the wound didn't stop the blood or the pain.

Brenna came to me when I collapsed on the floor. Her long black hair brushed against my face and she cried.

I stroked her hair lovingly. "I did it … for you. He … can never … hurt you again." The words had taken all my strength.

The red haze before my eyes darkened. Brenna and the cops began to fade away.

"Call for an ambulance," a distant voice said, "and get this damn cat out of the way."

                                                                     The End

First published in Eclipse in 1995.

Also published in The Sixth Sense in 1996.

K. A. Williams lives in North Carolina and writes speculative, mystery/crime, general fiction, and poetry. Over 250 stories and poems have appeared in many magazines including Yellow Mama, Black Petals, Mysterical-E, Aphelion, and The Sirens Call.

She now has a Facebook page where you can read some of her stories and follow links to her self-published ebooks.

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100088596555838&mibextid=ZbWKwL

Apart from writing, K. A. enjoys music (mostly '70s and '80s rock), CYOA and word games.

If Charles Addams, Edgar Allan Poe, and Willy Wonka sired a bastard child it would be the fat asthmatic by the name of Michael D. Davis. He has been called warped by dear friends and a freak by passing strangers. Michael started drawing cartoons when he was ten, and his skill has improved with his humor, which isn’t saying much. He is for the most part self-taught, only ever crediting the help of one great high school art teacher. His art has been shown at his local library for multiple years only during October due to its macabre nature. If you want to see more of Michael’s strange, odd, weird, cartoons you can follow him on Instagram at mad_hatters_mania.