Strings Attached

Chapter 69

The Sulfur Killer

By Castiel Novak

I've never been one to write narratives like this, or to talk about myself much at all. A friend of a friend asked me to do this, and though I'm sure I'll live to regret this, I'm going to write it anyway.

My mom died when I was four years old. I know, it's a horrible way to start a story, but that's where it all began. She was murdered, her body thrown in a river. At four years old, I couldn't quite understand this concept; all I knew was that I would never see her again. It seemed like that would be the end of it, but I was wrong

It took eleven agonizingly long years, but eventually, I met the man who killed her. He broke into my house carrying a gun. I don't know what type it was; I don't know the first thing about them. What I do know is that when someone breaks into your house with one, you shut up and let them talk.

I had never seen him before, but he made sure to fill in the blanks for us all. He told us how he killed my mother, and how that wasn't the first person, nor was it the last. I'll spare you the details of that speech, but it's obvious he didn't regret it for a moment.

My new claim to fame is now that I was a serial killer's favorite. It figures that the only person I can impress with my existence is a murderer. As his favorite, I got "special treatment." I was in charge, in a way. First, I had to choose a favorite brother, and with no clue why, it was not easy. I have a feeling this is the only time Gabriel will be glad that I chose someone else over him.

Then he gave me a choice. He would either kill Lucifer, my favorite brother, or my boyfriend, Dean. That's when I did something really stupid, even for me. I refused. So, he shot me in the foot and told me to choose once more. And, once again, I refused, and he shot me in the knee.

It wasn't until he said he'd shoot them both that I realized I really did have to choose. Both Dean and Lucifer were telling me to choose them, being the selfless people they are, but I didn't want to choose either of them. Finally, because my stupidity knows no bounds, I chose Dean. I pushed him out of the way at the last second, and I ended up getting hit in the shoulder.

For anyone who thinks their life sucks, let me just tell you, if you haven't been shot, your life could get worse. I like to think I've suffered through everything. I have had bones broken, I've had concussions, I've been stabbed. But getting shot is worse than all of that, so if you haven't been shot, take comfort in that.

Things after this point are sort of fuzzy. What I do know is that I took his gun, pointed it at his head, and pulled the trigger. I've never been the violent type, but I can't say I regret killing him. If that makes me a murderer, so be it. I've been called a lot of things. I can handle one more added to the list.