The Desperate Minutes

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.....The bedroom hadn't smelled the same since Lisa left. Nothing was the same. I couldn't smell the musky scent of her perfume anymore. After-shave and dust had replaced the feminine touch that used to give this room so much life. I suppose that's what happens after a "trial separation", as she called it. So far, though, this "trial" had lasted six months, so far.

......I stood in front of my dresser, and the big mirror reflected my stocky image. Heck, today was Saturday. I didn't have to shave for work or get dressed up, and it felt good to wear a simple T-shirt and jeans.

......I held a gun in my hands. A blue-steel Smith & Wesson revolver, a big .357 Magnum with a four-inch barrel. Most guys I knew had taken to fancy automatics, but I still preferred a plain old revolver. I broke open the cylinder and shook out the six rounds in the chambers, dropped them into the open drawer level with my waist, bumped it shut. I crossed the cluttered bedroom to my nightstand, opened the top drawer, set the gun inside and locked it. I'd had the lock installed when Tommy was born. No way he would be getting inside.

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