the series of r/nosleep | volume one: the {smile} series

{B}reak-in.

There's blood trickling from his nose; a slow steady stream that gets wiped across his left check and diluted with the tears that are now flowing freely from a blackening eye. A crimson droplet joins a puddle of partially dried blood soaking into the thick Persian rug below his knees at the bottom of the stairs.

"Do you have a family," I ask.

He doesn't say anything, but his head dips answering for him.

"I'm assuming that's a yes?"

A soft whimper. More tears.

I sit down on the stairs, my feet resting on the landing, and prop my elbows on my knees. I point the gun at his head. The storm is picking up outside. Rain is pouring in through the front room's broken window. The gun's heavier than I expected. It holds a weight more than just its metal.

"There's no clicky thing on this gun," I say. "Are they all like that?"

No answer.

"In the movies the guy always pulls that thing on the top back with his thumb. That's not on this one." I inspect the gun, turning it over in my hands.

He wipes another stream of snot and blood across his cheek with the back of a shaking hand.

"Hey," I say and tap the top of his head with the gun. He flinches. "What's your name?"

He mumbles something.

"Say again?" I ask and press the tip of the gun under his chin and lift his head. His eyes are squeezed shut.

"Derek," he whispers. His top lip is split. He grimaces when he talks and I can see blood on his teeth.

"Derek what?" I ask.

"Vassar," he says and tries to move his chin away from the barrel. I push it into the soft spot under his jaw.

"Vassar? Why is that name familiar?" I remove the gun and scratch the side of my head as I think. "Your dad John by any chance?"

Fresh tears spill from the closed eyes.

"No shit?" I say. "He's a good guy. I think I still have his shovel. Let him know when you see him, okay?"

Derek nods. His shoulders relax a little. The sobbing quiets. I place a hand on the banister avoiding the blood and pull myself up. There are sirens now in the distance.

"You're lucky these stairs are carpeted," I say. "Your fall could've been way worse." I laugh and pat him on the shoulder. He doesn't flinch this time.

I stand behind him and look out the broken window. Thunder cracks as Derek tries to say something. The sky wears a grey mask. He repeats himself, but the sirens are close enough to drown him out. Red and blue lights fill the room.

In a brief moment of silence he whispers, "I didn't know you were home."

"But, I was," I say looking out the window.

Lightening flashes illuminating the street outside. The Vassar's front porch light is on. A winter wreath hangs from their door. "I'm sorry," Derek says.

I turn and look at him. He's nearly doubled over on his knees, sobs shake his entire body.

"I'm not," I say and pull the trigger.