The Writer – Part 8 – The End

writerGodlessmonkey will be away from the computer for a month on a much needed holiday. While I’m gone I’m rerunning some of my multi-part stories for the benefit of those who might not have read them the first time around or would like to read them again. I’ll be back with new stories from October 16th. Thank you all for your support.

Ivan woke up earlier than usual the following morning in a refreshed state. Matters would be settled once and for all today, and however it played out he knew he had done the best he could. He had considered every angle he could think of, the ball was in Randall’s court now.

He made himself a light breakfast and got dressed, tying his dressing gown at his waist and checking the right hand pocket for reassurance, then sitting down to await the inevitable. Twenty minutes later it came. The immediacy of the pounding on the door left no doubt who was out there. Ivan got up calmly and let Randall in, accompanied by Ellen, his girlfriend, who gave Ivan a quizzical look. They sat down on the sofa without greetings, Randall with a scowl on his face.

“Where’s the gypsy, Ivan,” he asked coldly.

“You tell me, Randall, you’re the one who found her.” Ivan was surprised at how calm he was feeling.

Randall leaned forward and snarled. “Don’t play me, Ivan. I want to know where she is.”

“If I knew where she was I would have gone to her, Randall.” Ivan kept his gaze steady and his hands on the arms of the recliner.

Randall stared for a moment longer, then reached in his pocket and brought out his pistol. “I’ll ask you one more time, Ivan. Where’s the gypsy?”

Ivan cocked his head and let a small smile appear. “Randall, has it occurred to you that if you kill me, you and your friend there will disappear like a puff of smoke?”

Randall face fell for a split second. “No way. The gypsy made me immune to your creating.”

“Yes, but still, I created you. What makes you think you continue to live if I’m dead?” Ivan waved his hand as if it were a fait accompli.

Randall’s face was writhing in confusion. “You’re bluffing.”

Ivan felt adrenaline coursing through his veins and went for broke. “Then shoot me, Randall. Or better yet, how about if I shoot you?” With that, Ivan pulled the gun from his dressing gown pocket and levelled it at Randall’s chest.

Randall, enraged, pulled the trigger and stared at the gun in numb surprise as the hammer fell on an empty chamber. He pulled it several more times with the same result and then stared in shock as Ivan pointed the gun at Ellen and shot her. She dissolved into nothingness as though merely a puff of smoke. He quickly retrained the gun on Ivan and grinned.

“So you did realize your error, did you? That’s why you want to know where the gypsy is. You forgot about Ellen. Well you forgot one more thing, Randall. I created you. Did you really think you’d be smarter than me? I had her take the bullets out of your gun while you slept last night. Game, set, match Randall.”

Randall jumped up and tried to make it to the door, but he didn’t even get halfway. He too dissolved into nothingness as the bullet pierced his skull.

Ivan dropped heavily back into the recliner as the wind went out of it. It was over. The nightmare was finished at last.

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2 responses to “The Writer – Part 8 – The End

  1. Nice writing! Keep up the work man!

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