She walked into my office and shot me. I stared at her face, covered by a black veil, and at the gun in her hand, smoke rising from the barrel. Then I looked down at my chest and saw the flower of red that was spreading across my shirt. “Shit,” I said as I collapsed to the ground.
“I told you not to meddle, Johnny Coldclock,” she said. “But you had to go and stick your neck in where it wasn’t wanted.”
“I’m not Johnny,” I coughed. “I’m Rick Stephenson. Johnny Coldclock is next door.”
I heard her say, as if from a great distance, the words “Oh, Goddammit, not again.” Then I blacked out.
I don’t know where this idea came from, but I just had to get it out of my head once it was there. It’s too long for a microfic, so I put it here on the blog.