Oct 4 Contest Round 1: Protagonist Backs

The police didn’t find him, or to be more precise, they refused to search for him. I knew this; I knew they didn’t want to arrest this man, the person that killed my Katerina.

“We’re sorry, Mr. Deyman,” the official apology began. “But we have neither the time nor the resources to continue looking for the driver.”

This upset me, made me furious. If not for my friends who accompanied me, I knew I would have swung at the Information Officer. They escorted me out the door and into the car.

“What do I do now?” I asked Josh Thompson. I knew Josh since high school, another athlete who liked to break the stereotype: we both belonged to the Dungeons and Dragons club.

He shrugged his shoulders and looked Micah Andrzejewski. Micah shook his head. None of knew what to do.
We sat in the state police parking lot silently, each one of us looking out the windows. Our storyteller was the one who broke the silence.

“You know a private investigator, don’t you?” Micah asked.

I nodded. “Simone Campion. She’s a friend of Alex. Why?”

An evil smile came to his face. “Can you speak with her; see if she can help you investigate this on your own?”
I just nodded.


It wasn’t difficult to find the driver, the man who killed my wife, left our daughters motherless. It was simple for Simone and I to do. In less than a day, we pieced it all together. We read the initial accident report and several witness accounts. From them we gleaned a full description of the vehicle and an entire license plate number. With her contacts at the DMV, we were able to find his name and address.

According to records, George Matthews had four DWI arrests, but received no convictions. Simone’s operatives looked into that, and the reason explained why the state police were not furthering their investigation. He was the brother of the State Police Commissioner.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” Simone told me as I left her office.

“What in the world would I do?”


I sat in the borrowed beater and looked at the house. I drove to Matthews’ house earlier, found a great spot in the woods, and parked it there. I wanted to wait until dark, then approach the house and then, I didn’t know what I would do.

I reached to my right and touched the handgun I took from Simone’s office. I was capable of using it: My father taught me to hunt and use every type of gun imaginable. The cold metal and plastic reassured me that I was doing the right thing. I grabbed my wallet and removed her picture, the first one I took of her.

Katerina Szczepanek and I were college freshmen at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte when we met. She was a lithe, pale, redhead who whose pale emerald eyes widened when she saw me walk into the Pre-Calculus class. She moved to sit next to me. I introduced myself to her, and from that moment, we were inseparable.

Every day, she told me that she loved me more than the day before. Katerina would never leave the house without telling me she loved me. Even that night, she had called to tell me that. I clutched the picture between my thumb and forefinger, and tried not to cry.
I looked up at Matthews’ house and noticed I must have been lost in the thoughts of her. The day had gone, now it was dark. Matthews was standing on the back porch, giving me an opportunity to confront him. I took the gun and began to leave when I saw lights off to the left. A car pulled up in the driveway. I stopped and hid behind a tree.

Matthews walked off the porch to meet the car. A tall, older man got out of the passenger’s seat and met him halfway. The two embraced. I couldn’t make out their conservation, but from Matthews’ body language, it wasn’t good. The two walked back to the house, the driver joining them.

I approached cautiously, carefully. I needed to be unseen, unnoticed. As I drew closer, I heard two loud voices. I found a window and peered in. The stranger was lecturing.

“I don’t care if you’re my brother or not, you screwed up. I shouldn’t have had to use my influence to get you out of trouble. You’re 47, not 17.”

Matthews sat with anger in his eyes. I could see he wanted to retort, speak, but the words hit him. “You’re right.”
“And you killed someone this time,” the driver added. The brothers looked at him.

“You’re paid to drive, not give opinions,” the elder Matthews stated. The driver didn’t apologize: he added more.
“I know if you killed my wife, I’d come after the person that did it.” He was looked straight at me. I backed away from the window, back into the shadows.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t kill yours,” Matthews add. His flippant words cut to my core. I looked at the back door and wondered if I could rush it; get off a few shots before someone stopped me.

“I love you,” I heard a woman whisper in my ear. It sounded like Katerina. I closed my eyes and thought I smelled her perfume.

“Go back,” she said firmly. I took a few steps back to the car and smiled. I always did listen to her when she was resolute.

I turned away from the house and sighed. I knew I’d never be a killer like Matthews, but I had a feeling Katerina was there to make sure I wasn’t going to be. When I reached the car, I heard the muffled sound of two gunshots. I didn’t look to the house. I didn’t care.