Revelation

Revelation
1.

Sam looked in horror upon the deceased corpse of his wife Anna. In that single moment, he felt more emotions than 10,000 human beings could possibly ever feel in their entire lives. He wanted to puke. He wanted to run but something inside of him locked him in place, unable to move. There he stood, looking in horror upon the body of the woman he loved. 'What could possibly possess someone to do this to a person?' he thought. The visceral sight of her face, eyes still wide open, gazing at him was more shocking than anything he had ever experienced. For the first time in his life, he could feel the blood pumping through his veins. The moment was almost like a surreal bubble, just sucking him further and further into Anna's dead, glaring eyes. When he finally jumped back into reality, the sight was unbearable. He ran outside of the room, but it was still too much. He had to get out of the house. The beautiful house that he and Anna had shared so many memories in. He couldn't understand why. It was just the matter of why. 'Why would somebody take her from me?' None of this made any sense. As he sat down outside on the hood of his car, a 1974 Dodge Challenger, he decided to have a smoke. Smoking was his way of thinking expressively, for when he needed an idea to put into one of his scripts. Sam was a Hollywood screenwriter. Movie scripts, remakes, comic book adaptations. All his thing. He had written over 15 scripts, ranging all genres. Romance, comedy, horror. He had just finished up a promotion tour for his latest film when he returned to find the real horror story. He sat on his Challenger, smoking a Marlboro Red cigarette and thinking. 'This couldn't have happened too long ago.' he thought. 'The house didn't stink. If she had been killed longer ago, the house would surely stink.' He was familiar with several aspects of death and autopsy. Being a horror writer, he studied several aspects to capture a sense of realism in his scripts. But the part of all his writing that he always had the most trouble with was the motive. He always had trouble figuring out why his characters killed, and it certainly didn't change in real life. He couldn't conceive why someone would do this to Anna of all people. She was just so innocent. As he flicked his fourth cigarette into the driveway, he opened the passenger door of his car. Inside were several large sheafs of paper, which were his current film scripts. He reached into the middle console of the car and retrieved a cell phone. He then proceeded out of the car and walked back over to the hood of the car.
He dialed 9-1-1...


2.

Sam Taylor had always been a weirder type. He fit the classic working stereotype of a horror novelist, except his problem was lack of commitment. Writing a novel is much harder and longer than cutting the corner of the American screenwriter. Sam always had a lack of commitment, and it showed in his relationship status. He and his first wife Jessica had failed due to Sam's lack of interest in the relationship. During his marriage to her, he really buried himself deep into his writing, and within one year, produced seven completely drafted scripts. In a way, he made up for his lack of commitment in success, but success doesn't save love. His first marriage soon failed. After that, he moved to Maine for a few years to delve further into his career without as many interruptions. Maine is a writer's dream state. Quiet, beautiful, peaceful, and it comes with just a certain vibe that can get even the most blocked writer to at least write a page. It was perfect. He was making a VERY comfortable living, his writings improved with every page, and most importantly, he was happy doing it. But one day, he went into town just like he would on every normal day, except as he went into the office-supply store to pick up more paper and computer ink, he ran into a beautiful woman, dressed in the most stunning outfit he had ever seen. Her name was Anna Strode. He couldn't help but stare at her. The sight was almost like the first time he had ever seen The Texas Chain Saw Massacre as a kid. In that moment, he felt amazing, but at the same time, he felt as if the past three years of his life were a waste, and had he known she existed, he wouldn't have spent them alone. He was now standing there in the store debating whether or not to walk up and talk to her. He didn't exactly know if he'd ever get another chance. He'd never seen her before which made him wonder if she was just stopping through town. He studied her hardly to see if maybe he had seen her before but just never really put much thought into it. After all, this was the first time in a while that he had been into public without having his mind completely engaged in one of his stories, so maybe he saw her before but never noticed. He kept staring at her until he finally came up with the conclusion that without a single doubt in his mind, he had never seen this angel before. He kept the debate up on if he should talk to her or not. He was rather shocked to find the feeling of butterflies dancing in his stomach. He hadn't felt that since he was in his teens. It was a feeling that he could do without, as there are many others as well. As he finally decided to talk to her, he noticed she was already walking toward him smiling, and carrying what appeared to be an autograph book. "Sam Taylor?" she asked. "Can I help you?" Sam asked. "I was wondering if you could sign this for me? I loved your work on 'The Midnight Murders'. That movie is a classic." She said. Sam replied, "Well thank you. I spent a lot of time on that one. I really enjoyed it myself." She passed him the black, leather-bound book. He loved the scent of leather, and the scent from this was bringing back memories of his first script. He tried had to force himself from shoving the entire book into his nose. He took the pen from her and started writing 'Sam Taylor'. 'What does my name mean?' He thought. He handed it back to her and answered his own question, 'My name is American. American names don't mean shit.' "Thank you!" Anna said, "My name is Anna." Her voice scared him out of his deep thought which he was now in. "Oh. Hi, my name is Sam." 'Stupid. She knows your name, dumbass. She just got your fuckin' autograph.' "I know that. You're funny." She said. "I'm sorry. I'm kinda tired. Do you wanna go grab something to eat?" The look on her face went from happy to orgasmic. "Yes!"


3.

As he recalled all of this, three police cruisers and an ambulance began to make their way up his drive. He looked at the lights and the reality really began to sink back in. His wife was dead. It was all too big for his mind to process. The entire fact that she was never coming back, that he would never get to hold her again, or kiss her made him want to go straight to his gun cainet and kill himself. Then he had a thought. Anna was shot. He rememered back into the room. He saw the gun cabinet-unlocked. 'Did she kill herself?' He refused to accept that thought. Sometimes the truth is hard to accept though. He lit up another cigarette as the police started bombarding their way into his house. Then he remembered all of the cop shows he used to watch. The husband is always the first suspect in a murder case. 'Shit. Maybe I'll get lucky...' he thought. As he let these thoughts fall into a darker corner of his mind, a medium height, stalky police officer with the trademark moustache and all came up and started going through the obviously routine questions. "When did you find her? What was the time? Did you see anyone strange? Do you have any neighbors that might have seen something strange? Was she suicidal?" All these questions were very grim reminders of her demise. He sat back on his car when the police were done and watched the coroners take the body away, which reminded him of old coroner's photos of select Manson Family victims. He took another cigarette out and noticed it was his last one. An entire pack in an hour and a half. He didn't even notice. The sun was starting to go down as the police officer came back up to him. He read Sam his rights and thrust him into hand cuffs.




4.

Sam always loved Summer time in Maine. The sound of the crickets chirping, the nice warm sun and cozy shade. Those memories fueled the tone of several scripts of his. It seemed to him to be a totally encapsulating environment that he wanted to experience on the big screen. It was partially due to the fact that the Summers reminded him of when he was a teenager in school. He was fond of those memories, but then again, who wasn't? The first time he considered writing was in school. He had to write a short story for an assignment, and his teacher really loved the result. He had fun doing it, and since his teacher said it was good, he thought that maybe he wouldn't need to go to college, but just write for a living. Typical kids. His first time trying to write something long was a complete failure. He did't have that type of patience, but didn't expect to make a living from short stories. Then he saw the Texas Chain Saw Massacre and realized that he could write movies. That film would be ingrained into his mind forever. He finally tried his hand at writing a film script, but he didn't think it was any good, but regardless, he showed it around to his friends who really encouraged him to keep on writing. After he was convinced of his talents, he wrote a script, got it copyrighted, and mailed it in to a film director. The director immediately wanted to meet with him to bargain a price for the scipt, and ultimately, he sold it for four hundred thousand dollars. After that, several offers came for him to write other movies, some of which he accepted, some declined, and his status as a screenwriter rose and rose until he met Jessica at a premiere for a movie he wrote that she starred in. It was the exact opposite of love at first sight, but for some reason, she was interested in the talent and money that he possessed, so she pretended to show interest in him, and he automatically hated her because he thought that she had completely fucked up the character that he had written. But somehow, things progressed and inevitably ended in marriage, which then turned to divorce. Now as he sat in the police station, about to be interrogated, he wished he could talk to Jessica.She was the only person left in this world that he could be open with. He had no family left, and now his wife was gone too. He felt a great sense of anxiety flow into him as two police officers entered the room. They wanted to know evrything he knew, which wasn't much. All he knew was the dark, empty, and cold feeling of loss. He knew that he didn't want to speak until he had a lawyer present. "I want to see my lawyer." He said. Officer Downey suspected that these words would come out, but he didn't want them to. "Okay." The officer said, "We'll do this your way." Officer Downey and Leuitenant Riggs left the room and went into the surveillance room where they could watch the monitor to see what he was doing. "We can't hold him here". Downey said. We don't have anything except probable cause, and where the hell does that get ya these day?" Officer Downey was an older, more experienced cop now in his 50's. Having joined the force at a young age, he was more than aware of dealing with laws and murder. Murder was his specialty. Jim Downey was an old plump man with a thick sausage-like neck and three scars across his face. He had gotten these scars doing an investigation that ended in the death of a knife-weilding murderer. For some supernatural reason unexplained, he knew that Sam had killed his wife. The evidence was there, but he just couldn't piece it together. The unlocked gun cabinet in the house that was missing the same make of gun that had been used to kill Anna. 'How could that be a coincidence?' Jim wondered. The entire situation seemed alarmingly strange and similar to a string of serial murders that had happened 2 years prior. 'Could Sam be the one we're looking for?' The thoughts kept rushing in. How convenient that Sam was out of state though. Downey checked the background. Sam was clean. He had word from good authority that Sam in fact WAS gone, and Sam had absolutely no criminal background. 'But isn't that the serial killer background? The least plausible suspects are usually the most guilty.' He thought to himself, 'Usually.'

5.

Sam wondered when his lawyer would arrive. He had been waiting for over an hour and a half by now, yet she didn't show up. He sat in the chair and pondered outside of those walls back to his child life. Back to the times when things were so much simpler, no love to bind him down, no writing, no murder. Or maybe it was suicide. For some reason, Sam kept on running back to the idea of her possible self-inflicted death. It seemed to be a somewhat concievable situation. He was always gone on his promotion tours. Maybe she hated it but didn't have the heart to cheat on him or leave. Or perhaps she did cheat on him but couldn't live with herself afterward. These thoughts were consuming him. Yet the thought of her taking her own life with a gun that Sam had gotten to protect her, not harm her, was just too much. But in the same respect, he didn't want to think about someone murdering her. Those thoughts put him into a maniacal rage. The small white room that had been caging him in was now a mess. The entire scenario of the day had driven him to the point of insanity. He knew that they could see him through the surveillance cameras, but he didn't care. Maybe they would lock him up for insanity before he hurt anyone. The thoughts were killing him. He wanted to go out and murder someone. 'But then I'd be just like the one who killed my Anna'. He suddenly stopped caring. The idea of harming the person responsible for her death seemed to amuse him, and once he invented the idea, he couldn't shake it. It constantly stayed on his mind now, like a fly on a dead horse. He then decided he would kill the self-righteous bastard that took Anna's life. Slowly, but he WOULD kill the man - or woman - or die trying. These thoughts consumed him all the way on the long drive to the sanitarium. He had let is mind slip so far that he had no idea where he even was. The only thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Anna's dead, lifeless eyes staring into the back of his mind saying "Why did you do this to me? How could you? How could you?"

Revelation- Written by Kyle Oliver