Part of my 500 word Iron Author daily challenge series.

A madman takes that which is most precious.


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Comments and critiques welcome.




The Final Victim

The glock would have been enough to keep a normal man at bay, but still Chamise Danden took tentative steps forward. The wielder of the gun, with his blond fur and wild eyes, was a man to be feared given the things he had done; even now, in the half-dark warehouse, he was dangerous. Most of all for the man he had bound and gagged at his side.

“I said stop!” the madman squealed, freezing Chamise in place.

“We can talk...just...put-” the tabbycat said slowly and evenly.

“QUIET!” screamed the insane dog, hunching and putting his paws over his ears. “All I wanted was quiet! All I wanted...” With trembling arms, the golden retriever took a half step back, downcast head turning towards his captive. It was black cat and Chamise's husband; his muzzle was held by duct tape and his limbs were hog-tied behind his back. The cat didn't even try to speak but merely looked upon the mad dog.

“I can hear them....always...loud and chattering and unending and close! I want the voices to stop...and that's what I've been doing.” the canine admitted, showing that his namesake tooth was missing, adding a gap to his grin and a faint slur to his words.

Chamise had started creeping forward, paws open and out to her sides. Her glances switched between her husband, the crazy, and her discarded gun two yards away. It was so close and yet completely beyond reach.

“I go...I seek...finding the voices and silencing them. Mr. Danden here has a voice. Even now I can hear him.” The retriever snapped his arm forward and his head up, face devoid of emotion again, catching Chamise mid-step. The tabby had gotten three steps closer, but was still a dozen feet away from her husband.

“We can put an end to this...just put the gun down,” she said flatly.

The golden retriever's head dipped and his outstretched arm lowered several inches. His face broke into a silent sob. He scoffed.

“An end...” he repeated.

“Yes. You have nothing to fear, Charlie...put it down,” she said, having every intention of killing his ass the first chance she had.

His head lifted his head, and the eyes that looked back...they chilled her to the very bone. The fur on the back of her neck lifted.
“ 'The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind' ,” the gunman quoted. His arm swung wide and down, muzzle and gun turning to point at the captive husband.

Chamise took half of a breath while the 9mm fired, it's crack reverberating in the enclosed space. The black cat moved like he was struck and dropped limp, a rosette of crimson ichor appearing instantly on the cement beside his head. Her husband had died so fast she couldn't even scream for him, and by the time the shriek ripped past her lips, everything was already so still. Butcher Charlie fled the warehouse, his final victim claimed.