Sir Alex Walter awoke with a throbbing in his head. He sat up and rubbed his head while taking in his surroundings. He was in an alley again, like he had been for the past week. He tried to stand up but quickly fell back. The headache was killing him. “I really need to cut down on the drinking!” He thought to himself.
He sat there for about twenty minutes before finally trying to stand again. He wobbled up out of the alley and into the busy streets. As he entered the bustling walkways, he covered his eyes. “Bloody hell it’s bright,” He said.
A few people gandered at him, some had looks of perplexity, others with consternation, but most with abhorrence. Most of them knew who he was, he was one of the bravest men who ever served the queen. Was being the key word here, now everybody knew him as the drunkard. Every other day he would wake up in some new alley, sometimes bruised and beaten, sometimes with things missing.
He staggered home. When he finally got back to his house an hour later (he had stopped multiple times due to the headache he had), he found the door was locked. He sighed and knocked three times, letting his wife know that he was home. “Coming!” He heard a male voice from inside.
The door opened and a man in his late twenties stood there. “Hello, sir, how may I be of assistance to you?” He asked politely.
“You can get out of my house,” Walter growled.
“I apologize sir, I had no idea you lived here. May I say, the female which you are acquainted with is quite the pleasure.”
Sir Walter just gave the man a skeptical look. “Get out now.”
The man quickly obliged. Sir Walter stepped into his house and called out, “Dear! I’m home!”
A loud sigh was heard from inside the house. His wife called out, “The...postman was just here.”
“Postman? He seemed like a soldier.” Walter said, walking back to the kitchen.
“Yes, the postman.” She stated plainly.
Walter knew what was going on, and he didn’t like it at all. “Why was he in the house?” He asked suspiciously.
“He was helping me move a big delivery.” She said, thinking on the spot.
Still questioning the sincerity of his wife, Walter went upstairs. He opened the door to his son’s room and saw that it was empty. He closed the door and stepped back into the hallway. He grabbed his head as he fell, another migraine disorienting him. With a ringing in his ears, Walter crawled to his room and up onto the bed. As he lay there, he thought about the man he had talked with, the “postman”. There wasn’t any logical justification that a postman would come to their home at this hour.
He felt his eyes get heavy and he drifted off to sleep. Once Walter awoke once again, this time in his bed, he pushed himself up and out of it. It was a deep hour into the night, probably around 10:00, he assumed. He put on a new set of clothing and walked downstairs. He saw his wife slumbering on the couch and he went over and planted a kiss on her head.
He went back into the kitchen and grabbed his glove, which had a little compartment in it that held a knife. He put it on his right hand and pressed the button which released the knife. The knife sprang out and he swung his arms a few times. His swing was a little off, and he pushed the button again and the knife retracted.
He walked out into the empty streets and slowly trudged over to the bar where he usually went. He walked in and a few of the other “regulars” greeted him. He smiled and sat down at the bar and the bartender looked at him.
“Sorry, sir, you still haven’t paid what you owe us from last night.” The bartender told him, “No money, no drinks.”
Walter sighed, he really needed to pay off those debts, or he was a dead man. The owner of the bar had ways to make people “vanish” if they didn’t pay their debts in time. He looked around, spotting a drunk man who seemed to be unconscious. He inconspicuously shuffled over to the man and reached for his wallet.
Just before he had a firm grip on it, the mans hand grabbed his arm. “Now hold on a second.” The man said, in a rough gravelly voice. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
Walter only had to think for a brief nano-second to come up with a response. “Collecting funds, mate.”
The man growled. “Yeah? Well, collect this!”
He threw a punch at Walter, who reacted just in time to cause the fist to smash into the side of his face instead of straight in the nose. Walter fell back, clutching his face, “You punch like a young little girl fresh out of grade school!”
The man got up, but he was in no shape to fight. He staggered into an upright position and put his fists up. Walter sighed, he didn’t like when he had to get rid of potential soldiers.
“Lets take this outside.” Walter said.
The man nodded, and they both walked out back into the alley. Only a few followed. The man got back into his horrible defense position and tried to assault Walter. Walter easily side-stepped and grabbed the man’s arm. He pushed down on the elbow until he hear a satisfying crack and the man below him screamed in pain and agony.
“Stop! Stop! I beg you!” He pleaded, but Sir Walter was just getting started.
He let go of the man’s arm, before grabbing the man's face and pulling down, thrusting his knee up at the same time. The force of the blow knocked some of the man's teeth out, burst his lip, and broke his nose. Walter did this a few more times, and when the man was lying on the pavement with blood trickling down into the sewers, Walter leaned down. And, like a hunter with it’s prey, slit his throat with the knife in his glove.
He took the man’s wallet out his back pocket and put it in his own. “Thank you for your generosity, sir.”
Walter strode back into the bar and sat down. He pulled out what was in the wallet and found a fortune. Must have been a really rich guy. He thought to himself. He didn’t know and he didn’t care how the man made this much, all he cared was that he could drink again. He put down the money in front of the bartender.
“Sorry again sir, we don’t serve cold-blooded killers.” The bartender said with a hint of smugness.
Walter slammed his hand down on the bar, “FINE! I guess I’ll go take my business elsewhere!”
He barged out and angrily strode towards his home. Just as it was in sight, he saw his front door open, and the man from earlier glance out. He walked out into the street before turning around. Walter saw his wife lean out of the doorway and kiss the man. Walter felt his blood bubble with pure rage and hatred. This man had to be ridded of. Walter stayed back in the shadows, waiting for the man to leave. When the man and Walter’s wife finally said their goodbyes, Walter took his chance to follow the man.
It was very difficult, for it seemed as if the man knew what was going to happen if Walter caught up to him. When the man finally did stop at a house, Walter hid. He waited for the man to enter and close the door, he waited until he saw the light’s turn on upstairs, then he ran across the street to the man’s house.
The man had left the door unlocked. ‘Easy prey,’ Walter thought to himself. He slowly and carefully opened the door. Upstairs, he heard the man whistling to himself as he walked around. Walter looked around for the staircase before finding it in the back of the man’s house. He ascended the stairs, making sure that he didn’t emit a sound. When he reached the top, he looked around. Walter saw a light from the room at the end of the hall, and started inching towards it. When he finally reached it, he waited a few seconds before deciding what to do.
Walter kicked the door open, and saw the man looking at him with a look of uninterrupted horror.
“Oh god! Please don’t kill me!” The man begged for his life.
“Oh don’t worry,” Walter grinned, his sanity fleeing, “I’m going to bring you to the brink of death, and the fall from the window will be your demise.”
The man backed up and stumbled over his own feet, falling to the ground. He let out a cry of horror and pain as Walter lunged at him, landing on his knees, which effectively broke the mans legs. The man had tears in his eyes, a sight that caused Walter to laugh. This man, who was so strong and powerful before him earlier, was now begging for his life. Walter pressed the button on his glove, springing the knife forward. He brought his arm back, before thrusting it in front of him, sinking the knife deep in the man’s stomach. Blood leaked out of his mouth as he screamed in pain like the man in the alley. Walter relished in the feeling of a fresh kill, something he had not felt since his military days.

As he dug the knife deeper and deeper, he twisted it back and forth, slicing up more of the man’s insides and causing more pain. He smiled as he took the knife out and watched the blood flow out of the man’s mouth and gut like a river out of a pond. He picked up the man’s bleeding corpse and shoved it out the window, into a dumpster below.
Walter rushed home after the job was done and pulled off all of his bloody clothes. He wasn’t horrified with what he had done. No, he was happy, he hadn’t felt more alive in his life. He was going to bring sorrow to his wife for seeing that man behind his back. Walter was going to kill her like he killed the man. If she wanted to be with him, she could be with him in the afterlife. He smiled at the thought, then he heard in his head. ‘Do it Walter, kill your wife like you killed me! Kill her! KILL HER!’ Walter nodded, he was going to kill the woman who betrayed him.
He walked back up to his room, where his wife was waiting. She looked at him with an expression of disgust.
“And just where have you been?” She asked.
“Busy.” Was the reply.
“Doing what?” She inquired.
“Not much.” He responded.
He walked up to her and put his hands around her. “Dear, there’s something that I want to tell you.” He said.
“Oh?” She asked, looking at him.
“Yes.” He said, pushing the button which activated the contraption that had already taken two lives that day, which drove the knife into her back. “Sleep tight.”
She screamed as the knife penetrated her soft skin. He let go of her, letting her fall forward. As she fell, she put her hands out to slow her descent, but he slashed at her arms, aiming for the arteries. Striking one of his wife's arms on the wrist, the poor woman cried as blood flowed down onto the carpet, staining the ornate rugs red. As she tried to stop the bleeding, he put his foot on her head and said to her, “Tell the ‘postman’ I said hello.” He shoved his foot down, smashing her chin onto the hardwood floor. He heard a crack as it broke into thousands of little pieces. She cried out in pain. “Goodbye,” He said the next words with a venomous like tone, “my love.” He kicked the side of her head, snapping her neck as easily as twisting open a bottle cap.
Now he had to dispose of the body. He picked her up like he did the man, and dragged her down into the basement. He looked around before spotting the furnace. Walter dragged her over and opened the furnace and heaved her body into the flames. Just as he closed the door down to the basement, he heard a knock at his front door. He heard his wife’s voice calling out to him, ‘Kill your son’s lovers! Put them through as much pain as you did to me, make him suffer!” Walter nodded.
He opened the door and, just to his luck, saw one of the medical girls standing in the doorway. She saw that he was covered in blood and immediately tried to run, but he grabbed her and pulled her inside before she could get away.
His knife, still extended, dragged across her face. “What a beauty,” He said to himself, “I think I’d like to keep it.”
He dug his knife as deep as he could into the side of her face, and dragged it upwards, tearing the skin off of her skull. As the blood poured down, staining Walter’s hands red, the girl screamed and grabbed at her face, to which Walter kicked her hard in the gut. “Now, now, I don’t want to mess up this artwork.”
He started back where he began, cutting her face off little by little. When he finally could, he got a grip, and tore her all the skin on her face from her skull. She screamed one more time before falling over, dead. He took the girls face in his hands and dragged her body to the basement. He threw the face on a table and dragged the body back to the furnace. Before he could throw her in, he heard a door slam. Then footsteps.
“Hello?” He heard his son’s frightened voice, “Who’s there?”
‘KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” Walter heard the girls voice yelling.
Walter’s son slowly walked down the stairs and back to the furnace, where he saw his dad standing there with his lover’s dead, bleeding corpse. “F-father?” The son asked warily.
“Yes son?” Walter replied, a madman’s grin plastered on his face.
“What have you done?” His son asked, his hand reaching for his gun.
“Oh just some tidying u-” He was cut short as a bullet entered his shoulder, blood spurting out like a geyser.
Suddenly, Walter wasn’t in the basement of his house anymore, but in the battlegrounds in a war. And there was one enemy left. Walter lunged at the opposer, bringing his knife down, digging it deep into the skull of his son, blood bursting all over both of their faces. Walter pulled the knife out before stabbing his son in the eyes, blinding him. His son fell to his knees, screaming and writhing in pain. Walter stomped on his chest, fracturing ribs and crushing his lungs. His son gasped for breath, and slowly but surely, died.
Just then he heard a pounding in his head. ‘Look at what you’ve done! Look at all the death that follows you! You are a monster!” Walter looked around him, he saw blood that stained the floor, his dead son lying on the ground, his blood soaked hands, the face on the table. He fell to his knees. He couldn’t live anymore, not when he was responsible for the death of five people. He took his glove off and turned it around. “Et nunc historia conficiatur” He whispered, an old saying that he was told when somebody close died. It was latin for, “and now, the story ends.” Walter drove the knife deep into his own chest, puncturing his heart. Walter’s story, was over.