The courtroom set him free, but the shadows of the city aren’t quite as forgiving.
Writer’s Prompt
The newsprint felt filthy under Tim Watson’s thumb. He re-read the headline for the twentieth time: Dr. Ira James Acquitted of Murder.
The ink didn’t bleed, but Tim’s memory did. He knew the type. He’d grown up under the heavy, predictable fists of an abusive father—a man who broke bones behind closed doors and wore a smile to church. In Tim’s mind, the universe had a specific architecture for monsters like that: Dante’s eighth circle of hell. The court had let the good doctor walk, but Tim was going to make sure James booked his one-way ticket down tonight.
Rain slicked the pavement outside the brownstone, reflecting the neon hum of a dying city. Tim waited in the belly of the shadows, the heavy, cold weight of a snub-nosed .38 pressed against his ribs.
At 11:42 PM, a yellow cab splashed to the curb. Dr. Ira James stepped out. He looked immaculate, adjusting his wool coat, entirely unbothered by the ghost of the wife he had systematically destroyed.
Tim stepped from the dark. “Doctor.”
James froze, his eyes narrowing as he took in Tim’s raised hand—and the steel glinting within it. “If this is a robbery…”
“It’s an eviction notice,” Tim hissed, the phantom aches of his own childhood fracturing his voice. “For Malebolge. The eighth circle.”
James didn’t run. Instead, a terrifyingly calm smile spread across his face. He stepped closer, right into the barrel’s path, reaching slowly into his coat pocket. “You think you’re the first righteous soul to corner me in the dark, kid? Go ahead. Pull it. Let’s see if you’re a killer, or just a boy crying for his daddy.”
A click echoed in the alley.
How does Tim’s crusade end? Does he pull the trigger and become the monster he hates, or does Dr. James have a trap of his own waiting in his coat pocket? Finish the story in the comments below!
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