Tell A Tale — Gothic Fiction

The Last Call By Ashante Stevenson-Robertin



"This isn't me, " he quietly said as he looked at the photograph.

"Yes it is", said the officer, hands stretched out on the table in front of him, "Of course it is!"

"It's not!", He cried as he felt his heart beat quicken. His once pale face becoming tinted with red to match his ears. For a moment, all that could be heard was the sharp intakes of breath of the two men.

The officer breathed out a half-hearted laugh, "So you're saying that this man, who is clearly you, isn't?", another pause followed.

His mouth was dry, no words could form from his chapped lips. His hands were beginning to sweat under the officer's steely gaze.

He'd begun to speak but was interrupted by the deafening bang of the officer's fists now balled up on the table, "Don't mess with me, Allistor, this is you!"

"It wasn't, it couldn't!", the red head shouted in defence, "You're my brother, you have to believe me!"

"I'm your brother, yes", the blonde begun with a sigh, "But that also means I know that you weren't at mum's house on the fifth, Allistor."

"But I helped light the fireworks", Allistor protested, looking his brother in his green eyes.

"No, I helped light the fireworks", said his brother, "You were a voice on mum's answering machine!"

Another pause. Allistor's brain blanked. "Where was I?", he asked himself over and over until, "Where was I?", he asked aloud but the answer was clear.

"On November fifth 20--", he said, teeth clenched together, "You were at Madison's house, your intentions are unknown but the outcome...the outcome was her death. You were found on CCTV leaving her place at ten past one, the morning after, with blood on your face."

"Madi-", he started but the memories of that night flooded into his memory. The screaming, the shouting, her hands pushing him away and the sound of his revolver.

"You...", his little brother tried forming the sentence.

"I killed my wife", his brother finished as he slumped back in his chair, eyes looking at nothing.

He walked down the street, fists at his sides. He shouldn't of been there yet he was. A hardened expression masked his deeper thoughts. The quick pulses of his phone vibrating in his pocket made the blonde jump. He took it out and swiped the screen after reading the name that lifted the iron weight from his shoulders. "Oh, Arthur", said a sweet voice of an angel, "It's not your fault Arty, he was such a lovely boy growing up, he couldn't of-"

"Mum", he started, "I know how you feel but the footage of that night...", he could feel his oesophagus tighten in his throat, "It's just that, sometimes, it might be possible, of course, that far from being one, we may posses two selves so it's not your fault things turned out this way for him and, and Madi, I should have done something."

He cut off the call.


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