The Choice of Death

Chapter 1:The Sleepy Town of Lombardsijde

Mathieu Desrosiers stretched his legs out and propped his feet on the top of his desk. With a simple sweep of his hands forward he grabbed his coffee mug that was resting next to his new Toshiba Portege Z830. With a content sigh he took a swig from his coffee, two creams and one sugar exactly the way he liked it. A car blared by his house breaking his concentration and drawing his view out of the window on the right side of his study.

Mathieu stared out on 117 Rue de Liège. The small town of Lombardsijde in the Belgian commune of Middelkerke in the West Flanders province was peaceful and was rarely disturbed by a rude driver out to disturb any of the 7,780 inhabitants. He was searching for inspiration in something that offered absolutely none. The man still pondered the days in which he decided to move away from his beloved home town of Brest, in France.

He had been offered a job by a man with the name of D'Arcy Barrientos who originally had employed Mathieu as an applications engineer at Goldseal corporations. After working for Barrientos for 2 years he had lost the love in this branch which his father Xavier had planted there after university. He decided to dedicate his working life to his previous hobby of writing sci-fi novels.

Just last week he had enticed his editor Keira Weston by edging her to read the few chapters of his new book. She was genuinely intrigued by his manuscript so he was commissioned to continue the novel, and that was why he was spending his Saturday coped up in front of his laptop.

Mathieu secretly liked Keira, though he had met her only twice in person and talked to her on the phone on numerous occasions. Her soft English accent sent shivers down his back and he found it hard to concentrate on his book during their meetings. I’m a hopeless romantic, he thought to himself. As if falling for Keira was even an option, he humored. Keira lived good 134 miles away in Cambridge, England. Plus she’d never fall for me. She’s been flirting with her boss Samuel Burns at every single one of our meetings.

Mathieu sighed and focused back on his laptop screen. He had managed only 80 pages on his book. The Stream of the Dreamer  had to bring in some big royalties if he wanted to continue the life the way he lived it. Screw this, Mathieu thought, I still have 2 months to finish this book. What I need right now is some inspiration. Should I call Keira...Nah she’ll probably be too busy with Sam.

He decided to take a walk through his small town. After saving his current progress he strode across his study, grabbed his leather coat and was out the door. Mathieu turned right down Rue de Liège and started heading towards his favorite pub, The Spider & Herb, adjacent to the town square across from the “hottest” café in town,Café Zonia.

Mathieu visited his beloved pub to drink a cold one and drown his brain into a state of ecstasy, but most of all to visit his good friend and #1 fan of his book, Fern Jamieson who also happened to be the owner of The Spider & Herb. He strode across the main street not worrying about passing cars since there was only minimal traffic in Lombardsijde.

“’ey Matthew, Guid morning! A Pelforth as usual?” Fern asked in her heavy Scottish accent. She called Mathieu, Matthew, for she found it hard to pronounce it with her accent. Mathieu slid onto one of the bar stools, swiveled a bit and nodded gruffly. Fern turned around grabbed a beer from a mini freezer behind her, swiftly unscrewing the cap before handing it to Mathieu. “Thar ye go. Sae, hoo is that book comin’ along?”

Mathieu rolled his eyes, not wanting to sound like a slobbering lunatic, sobbing his misery about his book to Fern. Fern chuckled, since she had already guessed the answer, otherwise Mathieu wouldn’t be sitting on her bar stool on a Saturday morning. “Ah laddie, ye need more then flavoored water ye got thar……some tin’ Scottish, ye know? Cornish ale might do the trick, ah believe.

“You know me Fern…my good old Pelforth is smooth, light and most importantly from la France. I might end up branching out, but right now I need my standard.” Mathieu chuckled as well taking a long drink from his beer letting the listering tinge linger. “La France  and Scotland. So close, yet their beer so different from each other.”

“So at whit part are yer stuck thes time Matthew?” Fern questioned him, “ye know ye never git onie inspiration from yer swally. Only a fuzzae feelin’ and a tad blurry vision ‘at you sleep aff.” She grabbed a used glass from a customer that had just left and started wiping it clean with a cloth while watching his facial expressions.

Mathieu’s brow furrowed as he frowned, staring out of the pub window at Café Zonia. He choked on his current sip of beer and started a terrible coughing fit when he saw who just took a seat at the Café across the street. There she was…… Keira in her full beauty. Her reddish copper hair falling to breast length and her green eyes reflecting the sunlight. She was 5’8” wearing a white blouse, a pair of well fitted, slightly faded designer jeans with a pair of comfortable jeans.

She was sitting with one leg over the other in the first row of chairs and tables. Keira seemed to be sipping a coffee watching a man cross the street. “So that’s yisser love interest, innit Matthew?” Fern joked, poking Mathieu in the side with her elbow pulling him out of his daydream. “Nah, she’s nothing, “Mathieu grumbled, giving Fern a light punch on the shoulder, but at the same time finding it hard to cover his light blushing.

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A black leather gloved hand grabbed back and pulled 5, 7.62 x 51mm NATO (.308 Win) bullets out of the clip and loaded them into the magazine. Everything was in perfect. The Heckler & Koch PSG-1 sniper rifle was mounted on its tripod just 500 meters away from its designated target on a 4 story building. This type of sniper rifle was way too heavy and somewhat too gentle for military use, so it never saw any military use, but professionals with a big budget could afford this $10,000 rifle that is expected to be better than 1 minute of angle (MOA) with match ammunition.

The figure on the roof focused the Hensoldt ZF6x42PSG1 telescopic sight with illuminated reticle. The scope hovered over the main square of Lombardsijde scanning customers both in Café Zonia and the Spider & Herb. The sniper kept watching a red haired young woman who was having a heated discussion with the man seated across from her. Within seconds of a readjustment seconds after a car rolled by, the gloved hand swiftly pulled the trigger.

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Glass shattered, sending pieces flying in every direction. A thin sliver flew from the window, burrowing itself deep into the face of a customer. It immediately drew blood from his cheek, flushing down his face, while he was screaming in pain. The rest of the customers scurried around the floor trying to duck away from the window or hide behind a wall. Mathieu threw his head around, trying to orientate himself. He managed a glimpse in Fern’s direction, who had disappeared behind the bar. It was unclear if she was hurt or not.

“Fern!!” Mathieu yelled, diving over the bar to find cover. He rolled onto his shoulders while he felt blood pounding in his ears. “Oh no, oh no, oh no,” He mumbled. Fern was lying crumbled on the floor in front of him. She had two holes in her clothing and was bleeding severely out of the one on her arm. The second hole was somewhere in her chest, but Mathieu couldn’t see it correctly. He grabbed a cloth that lay discarded on the floor and pressed it to her wound. “You’re gonna be fine, Fern. Stay with me”he whispered.

Fern spluttered and coughed, fumbling helplessly for Mathieu’s hand. Her breath started going flatter and weaker while continuously jerking her hands over her chest as if she were delusional. Sirens were blaring and seemed to be coming closer. Mathieu didn’t know CPR, but he made an effort to at least tilt her head back a bit to create an airway. He applied more pressure with the cloth to control the steady flow of blood. Right then the doors to the Spider & Herb were flung open and 3 EMS paramedics rushed in. 2 of them immediately bent down and started examining the man with the glass in his face. “Over here,” Mathieu called, signaling to the third paramedic. “She was shot twice. Once in the chest and once in the arm. Please hurry.” He begged her. Fern’s eyes fluttered closed just as the paramedic rounded the bar.