Chapter 68
It finally happened.
PPD Detective Darnell Sacker’s life had finally hit rock bottom. Amazing that it took this long, considering what he’d been through.
Darnell thought things couldn’t get worse after his wife and daughter had been murdered, thought it impossible.
He’d been wrong.
The first thing Darnell did when he got home was head into his bedroom and grab a half-empty bottle of Jack. Took a massive haul.
Drank more.
The liquid burned all the way to the pit of his stomach.
Darnell relished the heat.
Following the murder of his family, the entire department had taken turns coming to visit. Brought him food and drink—too much of the latter. Over time, the number of visitors slowed.
Then they stopped completely—too soon. Everyone had their own lives to worry about, while his was effectively over. And then he’d gone back to work. Tried to return to how things were before.
Met his new partner.
For a time, this had helped. He trained his partner, taught him about the job. A protégé, if you will. Detective Vaughn Ryan was a good kid, a great detective. Loyal, faithful.
Someone who stood by him, supported him every way he knew how. And Darnell had gone and fucked that all up.
Tears welling in his eyes, Darnell finished the bottle. It took him a minute or two to find another, this one only a quarter-full.
It would have been harder still had Vaughn not cleaned up the other day.
Darnell sat cross-legged on his bed, the bottle in his lap.
I’m sorry, Vaughn.
He closed his eyes as he gulped from the bottle. Didn’t even realize that he’d taken his gun out of the holster and was now holding the heavy, PPD-issued pistol in his right hand.
He thought of his beautiful wife and daughter. About the sheer terror they must have felt when the masked men had kicked the door in.
Tied them up.
Tears streamed down Darnell’s face. These burned nearly as much as the alcohol.
I should have been there.
But he wasn’t.
Darnell was in the field, working a case that the captain had already pulled him off. Prioritizing the lives of others over the ones who meant the most to him.
Something metal clanged against his top teeth and made him shiver. Darnell thought it was the bottle.
It was his gun.
Darnell, fully weeping now, wrapped his lips around the cold barrel.
I’m sorry. I should have been there for you.
A great detective, a near perfect closing record. Moving up the ranks at a rapid clip. Some kind of man he was. Couldn’t even protect his own family.
I’m sorry.
Darnell moved his index finger from the guard to the trigger.
His weapon was a Glock 19 semi-automatic pistol. Seventeen rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber. Darnell would only need the one. 5.3 lbf of pressure and it would all be over.
Darnell figured he was at just shy of 5 lbf—all this math had gone to his head—when he heard a knock on his front door.