Desolate Abode
By Charlie Weintraub

Ewan McDougle is just a regular New York City cop, a regular joe,who gets off his shift, has a few beers with the guys, and goes home. He lives in a modest apartment in Brooklyn and ordinarily reaches his desolate abode. But sometimes he gets up in the morning and looks in the mirror when shaving and starts shaking. And his feelings may overcome him that he’s crazy. These feelings quickly pass, he goes to work, puts in another lousy shift, and ultimately returns to the welcoming arms of his home.
He awoke suddenly, drowning in his own sweat, his head bursting with the feelings of needles poking it. He felt as if his eyes would pop out and his heart raced. Ewan stumbled his way to the bathroom and took two or three of every pill in his cabinet to make the pain go away, washing them down with a couple of Pats blue ribbons.
When it came to 5, it was still dark. He dressed himself in black jeans, a black hoodie, and Chuck Taylor’s. McDougle meticulously made his way out the desolate abode on the third floor of the building and carefully made his way down the fire escape. He walked for miles still unable to calm himself down. McDougle harbored this insatiable desire to part human skin. Very discretely he concealed himself in a dark alley, Adjacent, to Prospect Avenue. By this time, the early commuters are making that treacherous journey from one borough to the next.
Gina Escalante had a great job at a Wall Street law firm, but didn’t show up to work that day. Because as she walked east on Prospect she was engulfed by a black gloved angel of death whose scalpel parted her skin immediately severing her carotid artery.
McDougle dragged Gina into the bowels of the alley removed his hoodie and gloves, revealing a crisply starched white oxford shirt and Drab Paisley tie. When McDougle entered his modest building that morning, Yusef, the super thought it strange he was taking trash in rather then out. He turned the key and saw his patrolmen’s uniform and shiny black shoes on his fully made bed ready to be worn.
McDougle reported to the precinct and almost slept through the morning briefing which was describing the “slash & dash” hours before. He remembered nothing; he finished his shift and returned to the desolate abode.
Later that evening, McDougle again awoke in a cold sweat. Once again he laced up his Chuck Taylor’s and proceeded down the fire escape. As he’s leaving the building super Yusef saw the shady figure and recognized him as one of the tenants on the third floor. This didn’t really strike Yusef as odd so he just whistles away down the hall. Hours pass and Yusef returns to the third floor where he saw McDougle leave.
Contemplating whether to intrude into McDougles empty apartment he notices a disturbing odor of something rotten. He searches for the master key to open apartment number 323, Ewan McDougle. Creeeeek, he enters as silent as the night and slowly bends down to inspect an industrial garbage bag, one of many littered across the floor.
Surrounded by the odor of dead Yusef opened one of the bags anyway. Vomiting from the hideous sight, he arose unsteadily to the feeling of ice cold steel of the revolver against the nape of his neck which would soon take his life.
McDougle had returned to the desolate abode.