The Second Coming by J. Fritschi Read Free Book Online

strengths as well as their motives. This guy is a candy-ass douche bag. Was the type of thing that rolled through Mike’s head upon meeting someone.
    He was always worried someone was going to sneak up behind him so he was constantly looking over his shoulder in spite of the fact that he was trained to kill and there were very few people who could actually pose a threat to him.
    His hands shook and he took medication for anxiety, but he didn’t like the way it made him feel so he drank excessively instead.
    He wasn’t afraid of dying. He didn’t have anything to live for. His head was so messed up that dying might be the only way to put it at ease. He didn’t believe in the afterlife so if he died, he would never know it. It wasn’t like he would be in the afterlife regretting that he was dead. It wasn’t some story that he could go back and change the ending after it happened. As he snuffed his cigarette out in the beer bottle, he wondered how close to death he came the night before.
    He got up from his stool and wearily stumbled over to where his dad’s gun laid glimmering in the morning light. He held it in his hand. It was cold and tormenting. There was only one reason he kept the gun and he knew eventually that he would use it on himself, but not before he had his affairs in order. There was still the case of Nurse Nancy that needed to be solved. It was his only unsolved homicide and he wasn’t going anywhere until he figured out who killed her and why.
    As he admired the power of the gun he wondered if he would have the courage to pull the trigger or was the thought of a searing bullet, tearing through the top of his mouth, shredding his brain as it exploded out the back of his head, too much? Would that split second be the most painful moment of his life or would it happen so fast that he wouldn’t feel anything?
    The gun was a constant reminder of the weakness that existed in his genetic makeup. Suicide was in his genes and he had an unrelenting suspicion that it was only a matter of time until he took his shame too far and in an act of callous drunkenness, would pull the trigger. He needed to find something to give him a purpose to live before it was too late.

chapter 11

    I T WAS AROUND 8:30 am when Mike let himself into Big Pete’s country style house and strutted through the hallway between the living room and dining room. As he entered the kitchen, he found Big Pete at the island reading the paper and drinking a steaming cup of coffee.
    Big Pete was a bear of a man at 6’6” and 320 pounds. At 6’4”, 230 pounds, Mike was built like a steel cable, but Big Pete dwarfed him. During his playing days, he was known for being a mean mother-fucker on the field and a big smoothie off of it.
    “Look what the cat dragged in,” Big Pete said as he looked up. “What happened to you?”
    “If I was a horse, they’d shoot me,” Mike replied as he grabbed a Gatorade from the refrigerator.
    “If you keep doing this to yourself you’re going to die.”
    “We’re all going to die one day,” Mike said as he snatched the sports’ page from Big Pete and sat down. “I’m just going to die on my terms.”
    “That’s what you said in college.”
    It was true. Mike got addicted to painkillers and was drinking heavily after he blew his knee out and eventually he graduated to cocaine. He was on a three day bender when Big Pete showed up at his apartment. Mike was sitting on his couch with his leg in a brace watching TV in a comatose haze. There was a pile of cocaine and a water bong on the coffee table.
    “What the fuck are you doing?” Big Pete bellowed.
    “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” Mike slurred with red, half-mast eyes.
    “It looks like you’re trying to kill yourself.”
    “What the fuck do you know?”
    “I know this shit isn’t going to help you.”
    “Who asked you?”
    “I’m not going to let you do this to yourself,” Big Pete said as threw the table against the