Charles Retro – Most Wanted Man

Charles Retro was the one to blame for revisiting the Bestow tragedy, bringing up the past that apparently had been erased. Somewhere men in dark corners sat in echelons of power shaking in their black polished shoes. Charles Retro had to be disposed of quickly and quietly.

He sat on the same chair his grandfather sat on, a musty arm chair with faded grey flower stitching. He positioned himself as close as he could to the fireplace where a wood fire danced, the shadows leaping up on the walls licking over the thick drapes that stopped any light from getting in. He stared into the fire and then the mirror that was over the mantle piece realising his eyes were just as red as the flames.

What to do? What to do?

He glanced over at the news paper on the floor, the headlines read:

Charles Retro – Most Wanted Man

A cool breeze ripped through the small room, as he shuttered thinking of what bacon and croissants would taste like with a bit of melted butter, a dribble of maple syrup would go down a treat. He shook his head to rattle out any more trivial thoughts he might have and thought of the article in the paper.

A song popped into his head:

“Baa, baa, black sheep have you any wool…”

This time he lifted his hand in the air and struck his temple, the previous rattle hadn’t been enough. He studied the picture of himself on the headlines it looked more like a mugshot:

Brown curly mop of hair

Green serious eyes

A scrunched up nose

A pouting mouth

In need of a shave

Conclusion- serial killer

He looked at himself in the paper and then ran his hand over his curly dark brown beard. Thinking. He was always thinking, thinking of some far away place, thinking of what plan of action to take, was the little cool breeze earlier really a warning a foreboding of things to come? To much thinking is bad for you, makes one go cuckoo. He knew this; he developed grey hairs from over thinking, developed long lines on forehead, and constantly checking behind his back. Now a fugitive has to constantly check behind his back, because after all a fugitive is on the run for whatever reason. He closed his tired eyes, enough thinking, maybe he would give up and hand himself in and then it would all be over. He would sleep on it.