Stories of the last breath: A series of stories of murders and their misdeeds

June 21, 1832: Nightmares

-Mother!- Trelos shouted from his room. He woke up with sweat on his face and heart racing. The nightmares had not stopped; Since he had committed his first murder, every night, he had the same dream: he, holding that piece of broken glass, on his mother's breast.

-Hold on, son! Are you okay?-

-Yes ... yes, Father. Nothing happens-

-The nightmare again?-

-It does not let me; I can not stop dreaming that-

-I already told you and for the umpteenth time, I'll repeat it to you: you do not have to think about those things, that's already happened ... Imagine, if it had not happened, you would not be here and probably would be dead in the street, alone ... Calm down- said the lawyer.

There was a moment of silence, both staring at the floor, one thinking about the mistakes of his past and the other about actions in his future.

-In a few hours is your birthday, what do you want to eat?-

-I had not thought about it, but can it be that cake you made when I turned eleven?-

-The nutmeg and almonds?-

-Yes, it has been one of my favorites and we have not eaten in a long time-

-Okay, now rest- Think of everything we will do tomorrow. Good night -said the elder.

He closed the door behind him and headed for the kitchen. It was 12:30 at night and he did not sleep. He began to prepare the boy's cake. It was a recipe taught by her caretaker when she was 12 years old and he liked to bake it. While preparing the dough, he thought and thought; now Trelos would turn 16, had shown loyalty, intelligence, interest in hunting and social discontent ... He had bought for him a navy blue vest, a shirt, and a Denix 2-1013G, it was a beautiful gun. But he knew what Trelos really wanted: to know what was in the hold, to which he saw the lawyer enter every night. There was something that worried him. What would Trelos think of him? Although he knew they shared ideals and tastes, he was aware that he might end up hating him. He would fear him. He was only 16.

He was very different from his sixteen. By that age, he already had 8 victims to his credit. That was when he began his collection, which he now jealously guarded in the cellar. He was still breathing shallowly when he remembered what each murder was like; Blood, crying, body fluids ... delicious.

Once he finished the cake, he had a decision made. Trelos, the boy who still did not define his mission in life, that young man who respected him and who one day had claimed to want to be like the lawyer, would start his own collection.

He wrote him a note:

Trelos:

I have to go and fix some things in the city. Sorry for not being there in the morning, but I'll be back in a few hours. Meanwhile you can do other things, have fun! I left you a small gift on the kitchen table. Your cake is in the oven, but, you must wait until I arrive to put the cover. Congratulations, son!

Dad

Once the message was finished, he placed the gun inside a beautiful box on the kitchen table, sneaked into the boy's room and left the note.

He left to the city. He would not do many things, I would only gain time and buy some things. He was too clever and he supposed that something would happen. A week ago, when he went to buy groceries, some men were commenting on a hunting trip, just for fun. He knew that Trelos was upset by this, he knew that men should not hunt for pleasure. He knew that if the young man heard them he would get upset and ... maybe something would happen.

Just maybe.

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Author's Note: Hello dear readers. It's late, 15 years later... I know, but sorry. Yes, gore time is getting closer. Sorry for the shorter chapter than usual, but, ideas are too much and time is too little. Do not forget to vote, leave your review and share.

Happy almost week of vacations and sweet nightmares.

-TheAgentOfMystery