This is the final story in the set. The first three can be found by clicking on the 'Fiction' link on the left.
The only thing they have in common is my mood when I wrote them...
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Last Chapter
This was the last chapter in the book. Ricky was determined to make it out alive. When they’d started out he’d been an insignificant character. But then the murders had started. And the characters had started to die, one by one. One or two in each chapter. But he’d made it. And he was determined to survive till the end. AND… he was also determined to be the guy that got the girl.
He frowned. Unless of course she turned out to be the murderess. No one else seemed to have noticed, but he’d had his eye on her right from the start and there were quite a few small indications here and there. Of course, at first his eye had been on her just because she was the most beautiful description around. Long silky hair, soulful eyes, a figure to die for… He sighed and tried not to get too engrossed in his dreams. That was the best way to get murdered around here. Be caught unawares and get a knife in your back.
He wandered out of the house. He’d just got a minor mention so far. The thought started worrying him. Maybe that was a warning. Maybe the next thing he knew he’d be found lying on the ground, dead.
He frowned. That didn’t seem right. How the hell would he know if he was dead?
He found his feet taking him towards the rose garden and brightened up immediately. SHE spent a lot of her time in the rose garden. That would be fun. He hoped the author would write the scene that followed. It was no fun being left untold. He couldn’t experience so many things because the author was trying to cater to a family audience.
If only he’d been a character in a porn book. Now that would be a rich field of experience.
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Damn. Last he’d been walking towards the rose garden and HER. And now here he was back in his room. With her lipstick all over his shirt! A huge smile broke across his face. Apparently he’d finally gotten some action; but why oh why didn’t the author write it? Atleast he’d have had a memory to last him by even if he didn't wind up with her.
He showered and dressed, the smile still on his face. He was so engrossed in his thoughts he hardly heard the Butler knocking on the door. He went and opened the door and found that he was being summoned to a meeting downstairs. He hurried downstairs eagerly. New developments. Who was the new victim?
Downstairs the blue sitting room was full. The inspector had gathered together all the characters and the private investigator was about to launch into the denouement. Ricky shivered with anticipation, apparently he'd made it to the climax. He was standing at the end of the room. Not important enough to join the main characters up in front. But he was still happy just to be there. And then, before he could really start to enjoy himself, he heard the detective say that the Girl was missing. He felt a cold finger run down his spine. He'd been on his way to meet her. He'd woken up with her lipstick all over his shirt. The shirt that was still lying unwashed in the bathroom upstairs. What if this wasn't the climax after all. What if this was an attempt to mislead the readers. What if he was arrested and had to sit out the rest of the book in a prison cell until the real killer was captured... His worry for the Girl receded into the background as he started worrying about himself.
Then an even more horrifying thought struck him. What if he was actually the murderer. What if this book didn't have any scenes from the killers point of view, and the poor chap was going merrily about his life without realising what the author was making him do 'off-stage' so to speak. Ricky broke out into a cold sweat. He mustered up the courage to look directly at the detective and found that the detective was grazing steadily at him.
Panic stricken he muttered an excuse to the footman standing next to him and edged out of the room. He found himself hurrying upstairs, for the first time feeling like the helpless pawn that he was. He muttered angrily to himself, there was no point trying to flee. Only the killer would flee. He'd take that shirt and go down and talk to that detective. He'd tell him everything he'd observed and offer to help. A smile crept over his face. Maybe he'd become a major character now. If he actually did a real good job of it he might even be promoted to sidekick to the famous detective. He'd noticed that this detective was still working alone. Well it was only the second book of the series. It was the right time for introduction of a sidekick. He rushed to the bathroom and picked up the shirt from the laundry basket. As he straightened up he looked into the mirror in front of him just in time to see the knife come swooping down.
His last emotion was annoyance. Now he'd never know who the killer was...
