Heroic Evil - A Henry Drummond Story

Chapter 5 - Heartache

Henry walked into the county jail lobby, observing the dimly lit atmosphere. He walked up to the front desk, where a skinny, older man slept on a chair with his feet up on the counter. Henry rang the small bell on the edge of the table lightly and the man immediately bolted awake.

"Hm? Yes sir?" He said, adjusting his blue hat while his eyes were still half closed. "Is there something you needed?"

"Yes. I'd like to see Randy Fletcher." Henry said, leaning on the counter. The policeman receptionist squinted his eyes a bit at Henry, as if he forgot who he was talking to. Then a small clicking sound came from his mind as he realized who Henry was talking about. He nodded and pointed towards a door on the opposite wall.

"Visitors go in there, I'll call Mr. Fletcher on out." He said in his old raspy voice. Henry nodded with a quiet "thanks" and headed over to the ominous white door. This was it. He finally got to have his questions answered. Those stupid unsolvable questions that buzzed in his head for the past day and a half.

He opened the door to a smaller room than the lobby, it was just a tad bigger than Henry's living room and kitchen combined. There was a table in the middle, and two blue painted wooden chairs. Henry sat down in one and waited patiently as he continued to look around.

There were 4 windows on all sides of the room, letting plenty of light into the room. The door on the front section of the room opened, and in came two guards and little Randy Fletcher. Now Henry could see his full face. He had a scruffy beard that ran up his face like some porcupine died laying there. He had extremely red hair, and it hung slightly over his eyes in a shaggy fashion.

He sat down at the table with his hands still cuffed, eyeing Henry suspiciously as if he could incinerate him with the sheer force of his eyeballs. He had a 100% genuine sneer plastered across his ugly features, revealing a gold tooth.

Randy really was a classic villian character, Henry had to admit. He should be in plays.

"Alright. You again. What do yous want from me? I ain't got nothin' to give." Randy spat, furrowing his brow.

"You have exactly what I want." Henry said calmly, leaning in. "You have answers."

Randy raised an eyebrow to this. He leaned back, as if preparing himself for the painstaking questions.

"Are you- um. Were you working for anyone when you attempted to steal the suitcase?" Henry asked.

Randy snorted and crossed his arms with an expression of disbelief on his face. "I was very drunk. But I did work with tis one guy. A good high school friend. Good ol' Christopher Monroe."

Henry's head spun. It wasn't possible. No. Thousands of memories flooded his head, each corner reaching out for him to recall. He wanted to cry.

Henry broke down on the table. Not crying, but he had to cover his face with which the pure terror swept in.

His brother HATED Matthew.

He didn't send someone to just steal a suitcase. Randy was so drunk that night, he must have gotten confused.

Christopher sent an assassin.

And now that he was staying on the same street as Matthew, he was going to kill him as soon as he got the chance.

Henry had to warn Matt and Sarah.

They were going to die.