Just Shut Up And Take The Gun

Julie showed up late knocking on my door. Mascara streaks down both cheeks. Right eye swollen. Hands shaking. Words rushed. The longer she sat there, the worse I knew it was.

I — I — made a mistake.

What kind of mistake?

She fidgeted on the couch and refused to look me in the eyes.

This involve Jake? You’re still with him, right?

Julie buried her face in her hands and started crying.

I put my arm around her and tried to comfort her, but it was no use. She had to get it out of her system.

He’s a good guy. I should have told him I was running late. He gets jealous, worries about me. I know he loves me. Really.

That bastard. That piece of shit. Julie deserved a hell of a lot better. I didn’t say a word out loud. I just silently nodded my head and kept my arm around her.

Shit — I better go. I gotta go. if he finds me I know he’s gonna kill me. He’s said so.

No, you’re staying here.

What? You sure?

Yeah, I’m sure.

Let me just go get some stuff, and I’ll come back.

Stop that. We both know you’re going back to see Jake.

I locked him in the bathroom after he passed out drunk. I just wanna make sure he’s okay.

Here, take this.

I held out a .38 special.

What? Why would —

Just shut up and take the gun.

Julie slowly took the gun from my palm.

Stay here. I’ll go. Anyone but me comes to the door, use that. I’ll be back.

Julie nodded her head.

The door was open at Jake’s. There was a bathroom upstairs and one downstairs. He wasn’t downstairs. I walked up the stairs and put my hand on the door. I was ready for the bastard.

I swung the door open and the bathroom was empty. Shit. Could he have followed her to my place? I hurried home and tried calling Julie from my car. She didn’t pick up. Nothing looked unusual at home. I unlocked the front door.

Julie? It’s me. Julie. Jake wasn’t there. Julie?

Nothing. Shit. I went in each room and couldn’t find her anywhere. Shit. She was gone. Nothing more I could do. I did my best to help. I went to bed. The next morning, I woke to the sound of my doorbell. A police officer was standing outside.

Morning officer. Can I help you?

Do you own a .38 Special?

What — yeah, I do. I’ve got a permit for it and everything.

The officer drew a Glock. Step out and put your hands on your head. On your knees!

He cuffed me and stuffed me in the backseat of the cruiser.

Officer, I don’t understand. What happened? Why am I under arrest?

Nothing.

They moved me to an empty room and kept me cuffed behind my back as I waited.

Eventually a man with a thick black beard and a cheap grey suit comes in.

I’m Austin Wells, your court-appointed attorney. Your weapon was found at a crime scene last night. Your prints were all over it.

What crime scene?

The murder of Jake Wilson. His body was found inside a dumpster. He was full of bullets along with your handgun just a few miles from here.

I guess this is what I get for helping people. I’ll be damned if I ever reconnect with an ex on Facebook again.

Jim Woods is a fiction writer and freelance writer. You can connect with him at jimwoodswrites@gmail.com