"Abode Of The Damned" Installment #1

"Abode Of The Damned" Installment #1

It had been a long day, too long. In fact, it had been a long week. Samuel just wanted to go home, shake off the stresses of the week. He would head home, take a long, hot shower, maybe call and check in with Vanessa, just unwind and decompress. He walked out of the City of Austin Sanitation building, and across the parking lot to his shiny, black Dodge Ram 1500. The job stunk, most of the time literally, but it paid well. Field supervisor for the city sanitiation department, basically boss man to the garbage men. He set routes, checked up on the field workers, and listened to their complaints. But, the pay and benefits were good. He slid in behind the steering wheel and started the engine. He sat there momentarily, thinking about the drive home. It was about 15 minutes to his apartment, but in Friday evening Austin traffic, it could take an hour or more. Several areas on I-35 bottleneck, and everyone is trying to get somewhere all at once. Realizing that waiting isn't going to help matters any, he puts the truck in gear and heads out of the parking lot. Normally, on the ride home, Samuel would have the radio for company. Driving in downtown Austin traffic, it was usually a necessity for maintaining your sanity. However, this was not one of those days. He drove along in silence: he had a killer headache. He just wanted to get home, and relax. Then, suddenly, and certainly not as part of his after-work plan, he turned off the highway, and stopped into a liquor store parking lot. Samuel wasn't a heavy drinker, but was known to have a drink or two from time to time. It helped to ease his mind when things got heavy, which was quite often, considering the choices he made in life. It was his escape, just wasn't a daily habit. He knew on some level the impact his choices must make, but he felt that his actions were justified. For the most part. He crosses the parking lot to the store. He enters, and the clerk doesn't pay much attention: he's inventorying items kept behind the counter: cigarettes, airline sized bottles of various types of alcohol. The small items not kept on the shelves. Samuel's boots squeak on the hard tile floor, but the clerk still doesn't look up. The store has a faint, dusty smell, along with the unmistakeable smell of alcohol. Naturally, over time, more than one bottle has hit the floor and broke, and that smell seems to last forever. He heads straight for the bourbon aisle, grabs a fifth of Jack Daniels, and heads for the counter. As he approaches the counter and the unobservant sales clerk, the bell on the front door rings, and a man walks in. Samuel takes one glance, and instantly recognizes what he is: an addict of some sort. Slight build, but wiry, full of pent up energy that almost emits a low hum. The scars and sores on his face tell the story of being a meth addict. He takes in the immediate front of the store, scanning the aisles. He tries to appear casual. He walks up to the counter, where the clerk is crouched down, back turned to what is unfolding in his store. The guy reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a pistol, and delivers two shots to the clerk, one in the back, and one to the head. He falls instantly to the ground in a growing pool of blood. He never saw it coming. Samuel knows he should react, but he seems rooted to the floor. He can't move to flee, or to try to stop the guy. The shooter jumps over the counter, attempts to open the register. After a few tries, he looks up, and it seems like he sees Samuel for the first time, standing there, frozen. He lifts the gun swiftly, but to Samuel, it seems to be in slow motion. He pulls the trigger once, and the bullet hits him dead center of his forehead. The last thought he had before everything went black is, this guy has amazing accuracy for an addict.