Kevin Otto is a veteran with eight years in the armed forces and he has a MFA in Film Producing. He is also at Full Sail University for a Maters in Creative Writing. He is an active and trains in several forms of martial arts. He loves to write and is always willing to help others.
The darkness surrounds him. Rain is pounding against his head like a thousand beads crashing against his tall frame. The wind whips and pulls at his body. Then the loud echo’s cracking and lighting up the sky. A distant sound, barely audible is moving closer. Slowly it moves. Then the sound begins to reach his attention. Beams of light piercing the infinite darkness around him. Then the light blinds him and slows down. The tires move closer, and closer. The lights disappear, blood running down the man's arm. A voice, rough but welcoming is heard over the roaring rain and thunderous lighting.
“You need a ride, fella?” the man said.
“Yeah, I could,” the tall man replied.
The tall framed man moved over to the door. With a simple clicking thud sound. The door unlocks.
“Well, get in, fella. I don’t have all day to sit here and get soaked,” he said.
The tall framed man slowly creeps into the passenger side door. The rustic old farm truck. Somewhere between 1950 and 1960 classic with a baby blue color. The tall framed man sits and takes a slow uneasy breath.
“So, where to, son?” the man said.
“To cotton hills, sir,” the framed man said.
“Cotton Hills? Why on earth would you wanting to be going there?” the man said.
“I, just, need to go there,” he replied.
“Well it's about twenty miles out,” he said. “What's your name?”
“John,” John says.
“Well, I’m Travis, Old man Travis as the kids call me,” Travis says.
John looks at the man he's with, with a interesting look he observes Old man Travis. He has blue worn coveralls with one strap cut over his right side. He looks a little overweight, but not too heavy. He has a weather wicker farmers hat.
“How, long will it take to get to cotton hills from here?” John said.
“Well, I would say about fifteen minutes?” Travis said.
The blood from Johns arm has slowed. John holds his arm, but a sharp pain rips through his arm. He let’s go of his arm and tries to relax.
“So, if I may ask, you look a little beat up. Are you feeling alright?” he said.
“Do, you know Melegatti?” he said.
“Melegatti?” he said. “You mean the gangster on the news?”
“Yeah, well let’s just say, he doesn’t like me very much,” he said.
Inside of a barely lit house there sits two men. One man has a modern tailored suit. The other man has a checkered red shirt and blue jeans.
“Hey, Mr. Melegatti, why are we here?” the man in the red shirt said.
The suit wearing man looks around the room, then looks at the other man with a sharp glare.
“A man, owes me something,” Melegatti said.
“A man, what kind of man owes you something?” he said.
“Have you ever had a friend, not just a normal how are you doing friend, but a best friend. Someone you would let date your very own sister?” Melegatti said.
“Well no, I don’t really trust folks around here,” he said.
Melegatti looks back at his drink. With a deep sigh he lets out a long lasting sigh of relief.
“That man, who married my sister. Well. He killed her,” Melegatti said.
In a sudden jolt of energy, the checkered shirt man stands up.
“He killed your sister? But, what, who, why?” he said.
Melegatti stands up, looks around the room. Walks over to a shotgun and grabs it.
“Because, he’s a cop. He took my sisters hand in marriage to get closer to me. So, I am going to kill that rat bastard,” Melegatti said.
The farm truck, getting closer to cotton hill roars in the night. Lights bright and dominating the road.
“Well, this gangster, what happen?” Travis said.
John chuckles under his breath. “I loved the wrong person, Travis, I loved the wrong person,” John said.
“Well, what are we doing driving to Cotton Hills? What's out there?” he said.
John takes a long deep breath.
“Salvation, Travis, just Salvation,” he said.
Travis pulls the car over to the side of the road. John looks at Travis with a sneering look.
“Are you trying to get me to meet this Melegatti feller?” he said.
John shrugs his arm. Well the one that's working.
“Yeah, that’s right, Old man Travis,” he said.
“Well I am not risking my life, so you can get your head blown off,” he said.
John looked at Travis. Then John smiles, a creepy smirk is expressed on his face.
“Look Travis, this is happening one way or another, if you leave me here. I will get out and keep walking,” he said.
Travis looks away at the thunderous lighting. The rain beating down on his windshield. The mirror waving in the whiping and crushing wind gust.
Travis looks back at John, “tell me what your planning and why you are here?” he said.
The suit wearing man holds the shotgun in his hands.
“When you see my best friend John, you shoot him in the head.” Melegatti said.
The red checkered shirt man looks fiercely at Melegatti.
“I ain’t no murderer, and I ain't gonna be paid to do it. So, corn hole yourself, Mister.” He said.
The checkered shirt man walks to the door, and leaves. Anger fills Melegatti.
“I guess you can’t hire good help anymore,” he said.
The sound of a loud truck starts to echo louder and louder through the whipping wind and thunderous lightning. The lights push on to the hill. Up the steep cliff side to the lighthouse. Melagotti stands by the door as the truck pulls up.
“So, John, you ready to die?” he said.
John slowly opens the door, steps outside. The rain hitting him on his head like a thousand falling acorns smashing into his tall frame. It hurts, but anything to dwell the pain in his arm is a godsend.
“I just want to talk, Melegatti.” John said.
“Well, just lower your gun and we may have a chat.” Melegatti said.
John pulls out his side arm, tilts it on its side. Then releases it. It falls and splats on the muddy ground.
“So, what do you want to talk about John?” Melagotti said.
“Mel, I didn’t kill Sara.” John said.
“Why should I believe you, John?” He said.
“Because it’s the truth, Mel.” he said. “I have a something that Sara wanted you to have.”
John reaches for something, quickly and Melegatti is alerted in with a snap. Shotgun now aimed at Johns heads.
“Calm down, Mel, it’s a letter from Sara.” John said.
“Yeah, what does it say?” Melegatti said.
“She says sorry she couldn’t be there for you, but here last words were of you,” John said.
Melegatti looks intense at John, then slowly lowers his gun.
“I know she loved you, John, but you still killed her,” he said.
Melegatti raised his gun, a sudden loud thud echos in the surrounding area. Melagotti slumps to the ground, lifeless. Smoke rises from Travis, gun out and a smile on his face.