Then the image of Kerghan murdering his parents crept into his thoughts.
All doubt of whether this man deserved to die was instantly swept from his mind.
With his finger poised on the trigger, all he had to do was squeeze and this man’s tyranny would end; the hope of rebuilding the country from the wasteland it had become would be restored. He must pull the trigger.
BANG! The bullet hurtled towards Kerghan. It struck him in the chest.
He clutched his wound; blood trickled over his hand. As he collapsed, the crowd of horrified people started to scream and shout. The police were frantically looking around for the shooter.
But Dmitri hadn’t fired. He had not killed Kerghan.
He scanned the area; he could not see the shooter. When he looked up, he saw a dark figure at the window of the apartment block opposite him. Through his scope, he could see that the figure was holding a rifle. His first thought was to flee from the scene. As soon as this thought crossed his mind he noticed something. The man at the window had a scar over his left eye. It was Dmitri’s brother Ichiro!
The police had spotted him; they were shooting up at the window with pistols. Ichiro was fighting back; he had wounded two of them with his rifle. Dmitri had to make a decision: he could protect his honour and help his brother fight off the police, risking certain death, or he could run away and have his brother’s incarceration on his conscience forever. Without a further thought he started assembling his assault rifle.
Luke Ferngrove
Ten Years Later
The dead leaves crackled under Dmitri’s crudely-made shoes as he strolled through the dingy, run-down neighbourhood. The buildings around him were falling apart; most of the windowpanes were smashed. No one had lived in this part of town for years, no one but homeless people trying to find shelter in the abandoned structures. But now, as Dmitri ambled along through the winding streets of downtown Vendigroth, the area was completely empty, and silent. Across the street was a set of stairs that led down to the basement of a block of flats. Dmitri knew that building well.
Grey clouds screened what was left of the late afternoon sunlight. With a loud clap of thunder, rain began to pour onto Dmitri’s untidy, unwashed hair. He quickly made his way across the road and down the small flight of stone steps that led to the door of the basement.
As he opened the door, the smell of cigarette smoke immediately hit his nostrils. He was in a drab, lackluster bar; a light bulb suspended by a thick wire hung in the centre of the ceiling, dimly illuminating the small, rectangular room. A row of four barstools lined the counter, which appeared very dusty. Behind, a man of medium build stood, cleaning a beer glass with a cloth and whistling a dispiriting tune. Behind the barman was a large selection of coloured bottles. Near the far corner stood an old pool table; the netting of the pockets was torn. The air around Dmitri was hot and damp, and smoke was rising from a small ashtray on a counter.
The barman looked up. ‘Hey, D, haven’t seen you in while,” he said.
‘I’ll have a beer, please, Ed,’ Dmitri replied.
‘Sorry, pumps broken, I’ve only got the bottled stuff. Is that all right?’
‘Yeah, that’s fine,’ he said as he took a seat. Ed popped the cap off with a bottle opener and handed him the beer.
‘Thanks,’ said Dmitri, without any emotion.
Five minutes later, just as Dmitri finished his beer, the front door swung open and in stepped a man, probably in his fifties. He had a neat haircut, and was wearing a smart business suit.
‘Hi Ed,’ he said as he took a seat next to Dmitri, ‘I’ll have the usual.’ Ed took several bottles from the shelves behind him and started mixing the contents of them into a glass.
The man looked Dmitri up and down, as if appraising him from his appearance.
‘Hey, you don’t look so good, you OK,’ he said to Dmitri.
‘I’ve been better,’ Dmitri replied. ‘I haven’t been able to get a job for over two years,’ he added.
‘Why’s that? You’re young and strong, there must be plenty of jobs you’d be good at,’ returned the stranger.
‘Well, after you’ve been in the slammer for 8 years, people and employers just don’t want to know you,’ said Dmitri, with a clear tone of self-pity in his voice. ‘What happened?’ the man inquired.
‘Do you remember, 10 years ago, when Kerghan was assassinated?’ said Dmitri. This seemed to pique the stranger’s interest. He straightened his back and stared at Dmitri. ‘It happened in this part of Vendigroth.’ he added
‘You were involved in that?’ said the stranger, appearing to be more intrigued with every word.
‘My brother shot him,’ Dmitri said slowly, breaking eye contact and looking at the floor. ‘He shot him from this building.’ The stranger stared at him, open-mouthed and astonished.
‘From this building? Wow!’ He was dumbfounded.
‘I was on the roof level of the car park at the end of this street,’ Dmitri continued. ‘I had a rifle aimed at Kerghan…and I would have been the killer if my brother hadn’t gotten there first.’
After a moment’s silence the stranger asked ‘Why did you go to prison if you didn’t kill him?’
‘I had to help my brother escape by assisting him in fighting off cops. The man I shot survived but I was sent to prison, my brother was executed.’ Dmitri replied in a depressed tone.
He and the stranger continued to talk and Dmitri continued to unravel his tale of power, domination and murder.
