Who: Officer Friendly What: Reveal. Warnings/Rating: Uhh language I guess.
Dying really fucking sucked.
Dying as some crazy-ass cop with a trigger finger who'd shot a girl, that sucked even more, and it was a whole new level of fucked up. He was back in his suite, so yeah, he wasn't dead, and his clothes weren't wet either. The stupid cowboy hat was gone, and so was the badge. So was the gun, that goddamn revolver, and he was glad for that. He'd never shot a gun in his life, so what the hell? But being home didn't change what he remembered. It didn't change the memory of blood-tinged water, didn't change the ache of being gutted with a knife or whatever the hell the girl in prison blues had stabbed him with.
It didn't change what he'd done, either. He'd been completely, utterly crazy, total loony tunes, and he'd killed someone. What the fuck was wrong with him? He wasn't crazy. He wasn't.
"I'm not crazy." Neil said it aloud, like that might somehow make it true. He didn't have a wife. He didn't have kids. This was just another fucked-up hotel thing, yeah, right. Sure. Denial was his bread and butter, why change now?
There was no booze in the suite, so he went out. There had to be some bars open this late, early, whatever. Just one drink, to drown out the sound of gunshots. (One, two.) Just one drink to forget the way the girl had screamed and cursed him.