The Good Fight

In a dark apartment in the middle of no where, a man sat crouched in the corner with a bottle. The only light in the room the light from a near by street lamp. The window was wide open, it was the middle of winter and it was freezing, but anything for him to not smell her. The smell of happiness, the smell of he’s life. It was all gone, he would rather freeze then smell her again.

The walls were plastered with her smile, every photograph they ever shared, stuck to the wall, a part of him died every time he saw one, but at least she was still there in some way.

Somewhere out there, her killer was. Still alive. Still breathing, and he would find them, and kill them. He used to be a believe in peace Citizens for out betterment was he’s life. There life. Every one is equal, it shouldn’t matter who you are or what you can do. Deep thought was interrupted by a phone call he lifted he’s head and pressed accept.

“yeah what do you want.”
“Brendon?” Pete’s voice questioned
“yes”
“Um…Lucy…she’s here, and I think you should get some answers.”
“Just kill the little bitch she’s no good she wont know anything”
“Brendon she has the tattoo on her lower back.”
“what? are you sure!?”
“Yes, she knows what happened to Grace, I’m sure of it”
Brendon winced at her name.
“I will be there by sunrise”.