Save One Bullet

The writing in the mirror told me exactly where they were.

I rummaged through the lock box where Tom kept his pistol. It was a Glock something or other. I checked the magazine and there were ten bullets in it. Good. Five rounds for them each- if I was lucky. I stumbled into the bathroom for a quick clean-up of my makeup, which had started to run about half a wine bottle ago.

The mirror had one last message for me, 'Save one bullet for yourself. Or you could forgive him.'

Forgive him? Forgive him? I'd rather eat a bullet.