A River Runs Red in Blue ScottsMature

Tracy Murrows came home to the voicemail that changed her life.

The rain beat heavily upon the house. The windows shook violently against the wind. I heard nothing. Nothing save the venomous tone of Shelly's voice reaching out from the answering machine.

I pressed replay.

"It's over Tracy. Tim is with me now. Move on with your life."

I pressed it again.

"Tim is with me now. Move on with your life."

And again.

"Move on with your life."

And again.


Screaming, I wildly tossed the machine off the counter. It crashed against the living room wall. I marched through the adjacent mahogany study; I gently sat at its desk. Removing the Tiffany stationery from the drawers, I quickly scribed a letter -


Dearest Tim,

Don't wait for me.

I'm spending the night with a friend.

Love, Tracy.

I kissed the perfumed paper, leaving behind a blood-red lipstick stain. Tim was sure to see it there.

With grace, I approached the wooden armoire behind me. My fingers swept across its detailed windows as I examined each piece carefully. There she was - the Holland & Holland Royal Ejector shotgun. 12 gauge. 2 1/2" chamber. A London best, indeed.

I looked back at the desk towards the photograph on the far right corner. It was a picture of myself, my Tim, and Shelly.

Shelly Stronedem.

My hero.

My friend.

My fucking boss.

Pausing briefly, I looked down towards my Harry Winston wedding band and took a deep breath. I checked my watch.

8:32 pm.

August 29th, 2004.

The night I became the Blue Scotts Killer.

The End

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