So...somebody was a little lazy this week and didn't write an Odyssey article ahead of time. Now, I'm not saying that it was me, but...I'm strongly implying it. So, I remembered a short story idea that I had been working on for a while and hadn't been able to finish. Most of the time when I write, the ending is nothing like how I imagined it to be. I find that to be a good thing, it means that my characters determine their own lives, with me acting as a simple intermediary. Or maybe I'm schizophrenic. Either way, suggestions and criticisms are appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this (unfinished) portion of my short tale.

An Obligation

By Adam Unger

This isn’t a story about revenge. It isn’t even a story about justice. This is a story about a man. This man was named Jeeves, and on a particular Sunday morning Jeeves entered into the bedroom of his master with a loaded revolver hidden in his uniform, along with a silver tray of hot tea and biscuits. Now, at this point in his life, Jeeves was fast approaching 66, which for most men, whether a servant or not, would bring up thoughts of retirement, had they not been retired already. The age of 66 had a slightly different significance to Jeeves, however, and that significance involved the loaded pistol kept nice and tidy under his black vest. The pistol had 6 .38 caliber rounds loaded into it when he opened the door to his master’s quarters. He spent roughly 15 minutes inside the bedroom pouring his master, a well-kempt 25-year-old snob, two cups of tea and serving him tea biscuits before drawing his pistol and shooting his master square in the head.

One of the maids, a woman of 43 years and a rumored ‘undocumented immigrant’, heard the gunshot and dropped the DVDs she was about to “borrow” and rushed to her master’s bedroom. There she saw Jeeves cleaning the snub-nosed barrel of the gun with a silk handkerchief, who beckoned her into the chambers with a smile, and politely asked her to “fetch the police, dear”, which the maid quickly did. 15 minutes later, two officers had knocked on the door of the Jeeves’s late master’s estate and headed to the scene of the murder.

“Ah, good morning, officers. We’ll be off then, yes?” Jeeves stared at the two officers without hiding anything more than a smile. In fact, these officers have never quite seen a criminal with the calmness of an innocent man before. Jeeves could see the confusion in their eyes, but they certainly did not hesitate to slap a pair of cuffs on him before unloading some age-old police phrases onto him.

“You’re going to jail for a long time, dirtbag,” the first officer, a man that Jeeves had guessed could be no older than 23, reminded Jeeves. His partner, a round black man in his mid-forties with a moustache that sat on his lips like a chunk of maple syrup, sighed and shook his head.

“You hear that?” the first officer stuck his nose into the air like a hound, puckering his lips up close to his nose and began to sniff, “I hear…ticking.” Jeeves let out a small chuckle, causing the first officer to snap his gaze an uncomfortable distance from Jeeves’s face.

“Mate, it’s only the grandfather clock in the lounge. And believe me, with the schedule I’ve been working, I certainly had no time to rig a bomb to it.” It was at this point that the first officer took note of Jeeves’s accent.

“British, eh? What are you, some…communist?” The second officer moved into a fully-audible groan, while Jeeves just let out another laugh.

“Well mate, when you’ve been in my shoes long enough, you don’t really have enough time to be fully committed to a political revolution.” Before Jeeves could let out another chuckle, he was reminded of his situation by a hard push from the first officer, and continued down the stairs without making any jokes.

It’s important here to note that Jeeves was not an evil man. He wasn’t cruel, and he only laughed a little when his master had spilled his tea this morning. While he certainly felt not love for his master, Jeeves certainly felt no hatred for him either. He also didn’t feel any hatred for the two officers that had arrested him. Sure, maybe they were idiots, but they didn’t deserve any hatred. Or death. Hell, his master had barely deserved death, but it was the fact that he only deserved it a little bit that made Jeeves pull the trigger.

//The story will continue, this is my current progress.