A Pocketful of Stories

Eye for An Eye

August 10, 2026

Short Stories

“It’s Friday night, Jack; you need your favorite ice cream.”

“But I don’t.” Smiling, I run my fingers through her soft hair.

“Yes, you do. Let’s go to the shop down the street,” she insists. Audrey is always thinking about others.

The store ran out of my favorite flavor, but she thinks I can’t go without it.

She smiles at me when she sees they have it—mint chocolate chip. They scoop the ice cream. I think she’s happier than I am. While we eat, I listen to her talk. All I see is her in her wedding gown last week. She took my last name and made me the happiest man alive.

The bell over the door dings as we leave the shop to go home. We only make it a few steps down the sidewalk before a guy is standing in front of us. His eyes are wide. A gun shakes in his hands, pointed directly at us. Before I can do anything, he pulls the trigger.

My ears are ringing.

My eyes travel down.

Audrey is lying lifeless on the cement.

Blood begins to pool around her, flowing from her white dress.

She has been shot in the stomach.

“No… No… No.” My knees hit the ground. I press my hands over her wound to stop the bleeding, but it’s not helping.

I reach into my pocket to grab my phone, but in my panic, I can’t keep it still. I take a few breaths and steady myself so I can dial 911.

I turn back to Audrey lying on the ground.

With my hands on either side of her face, I hold her face to mine. I can’t see her crystal blue eyes. My tears drip onto her. “Audrey, open your eyes.” I glance down at her stomach and see more blood pooling on the cement.

The blood flows slowly now.

My tears flow faster than before.

Looping my arms under hers, I hold her tight to my chest. Fear crashes over me when her head falls back, and her long hair wraps around my arms. Her arms drape down. I weep and hold her tighter. My back feels cold without her touch.

“No, Audrey. Please, baby. Stay with me.” I beg.

I can’t live without her.

I’m a different man because of her—a better man.

She stays in my grasp against my chest until the authorities pull her away from me.

It’s been a month since I lost Audrey. I don’t leave our apartment. Why would I want to? I look at her photo all day long.

I overhear friends and family talking. I know I will eventually need to leave the house, but I don’t see how. Everything reminds me of her.

All of her things are still here. And they will stay here. Her favorite dress, shoes, coffee mug…it’s all here.

I can sleep in our bed now, but it’s empty. Her side is cold. I toss and turn. I miss her talking for hours before falling asleep. Closing my eyes, I fold my arms behind my head, rest on the pillow, and fall asleep to memories of our conversations.

Another month passes. Every day is painful. Nothing has changed. Why would it? Audrey is still gone.

I can’t move on.

I lie in this half-empty bed, tossing and turning. The vision haunts me: her last moments, the gun pointed at us, the ringing.

It won’t stop. Then I get an idea.

I pull on my hoodie and go outside. It’s cold and dark. The streetlights are on. Few people are out.

I begin my walk to the place where everything changed. I keep my head down and walk at a steady pace.

My heart picks up pace when I see the corner.

A chill runs through me.

If I want to get past this, I know what I need to do.

I’m close now. Breathing becomes difficult. With only a few more steps to go, my feet stall. The sidewalk ahead is all I see. My legs are heavy, but I manage to walk those steps.

I stand near the place I lost her, my wife. Leaning against the brick, I prop one foot on the wall. I keep my head down and hands in my pockets. I stay hidden in the shadows as people pass by.

The memory of that night returns when a group of girls walks through the blood that’s not there anymore.

They laugh as they walk by, unaware. Audrey took her last breath right there, and they pass through it. I want to stop them, but I don’t. I’m not here to lurk in the shadows.

I came to find him.

I will find him.

He’s not here tonight, but I will come every night until I find him.

I come night after night.

I stay in the shadows as people pass by.

But I don’t see him.

Months pass, and I make the walk so often now that I’ve become numb. I don’t feel anything anymore. When I find him, I’m not even sure what I will say or if it matters. Audrey has been gone more than seven months.

Tonight, I’m propped against the brick wall in the shadows like every night. I don’t pay attention anymore. My head is down. With my phone in hand, I’m distracted. I look up when I hear someone shout, “Call me later.”

It’s him.

One glance at him and I realize my craving for revenge has not left. Anger boils in my veins. The pain seeps out of me.

With each step he takes, he gets closer.

My heart starts pounding.

I pocket my phone and grab something else.

He’s going to pass by me. The closer he gets, the more my body vibrates with hate.

I grip the gun in my pocket.

When he steps in front of me, I lunge behind him. I press my left palm firmly against his mouth. Holding the gun in my right hand, I shove it into his back and force him into the nearby alleyway.

“Do what I say.” My jaw stays clenched as I keep the gun pressed into his back.

My breaths come out loud and fast as I lead him to the end. Pinning him against the wall with my gun, I pull a photo of Audrey with my free hand and hold it to his face. Grabbing his jaw, I force him to look at it.

Through gritted teeth, I mutter, “Seven months ago, you shot and killed her.” He glances between the photo and me, shaking his head.

Panic flickers in his eyes as they gloss over with tears. “Please don’t kill me, sir.”

I can’t believe he is begging for his life after taking a life.

“You don’t understand,” he stutters, his voice shaking.

Dropping the photo, I slam him against the wall. “No!” I scream louder than I ever have. “You don’t understand. You killed the love of my life. My everything.”

Tears stream down my face. I let them fall.

I scream.

My hands begin to shake.

He is shaking.

“You killed her. You ruined everything.”

I meet his eyes.

All I see is fear.

Good.

My breath calms.

I say quietly, “You took her from me.”

Raising my gun to his forehead, I shoot.

My ears ring.

Blood is pooling on the cement.

I lower my gun and stare at him.

A moment later, footsteps scrape against the cement behind me. I turn. At the entrance, a guy stands.

Not just any guy.

I know this guy.

My heart stops.

It’s the guy I just killed.

We look at each other for a moment.

I can’t breathe.

He was right. I didn’t understand.

It’s too late now.

I pull my attention back to the guy standing there.

His eyes drop to the gun in my hand.

Then his eyes move to the body behind me.

His brother.

His twin.

His twin, surrounded by a pool of blood.

Our gazes meet. His eyes flood with tears.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Audrey’s photo. It’s about to be submerged in blood. I grab it. I wipe off what blood I can, then place it back in my pocket.

When I look up, the guy has disappeared.

I look at Audrey’s photo.

It’s stained.

I flick the lights off.

I lie in our empty bed.

A murderer.

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Good Cop, Bad Cop

August 7, 2026

Short Stories

I should have known better. I had gotten too involved. Too close. I was a cop, and that was not part of my job. But he had watched me take his mother away. I didn’t just take his mother away. His dad had died a few years back from a drug overdose. Everyone in town knew it. She was all he had left.

While I clasped the metal handcuffs around her wrists and guided her head into my car, he stood silently crying in the front yard with a scuffed-up baseball bat hanging from his hand. By the time I had her secured in my car, his tears had stopped, and his bat had fallen out of his hands.

I knew it was not my fault. She had left him alone for three days during a drug binge. But I was the one taking his mother away.

I thought about him every day. I couldn’t get him out of my head. He wasn’t the first kid that I came across in a bad situation, but it was the way he looked at me.

A month later, I checked the file. His name was Andrew, and he had been placed in foster care. I had done this job long enough to know foster care could place a roof over a kid’s head but did not always offer a life of luxury. I found the address, made up a reason to stop by, and told myself it was just follow-up.

He stared at me with those big golden-brown eyes and a baseball glove in hand.

“What’s your name?”

“Andrew.” It was so soft, it was almost a whisper.

“Do you like baseball?”

He looked down, not speaking.

Mrs. Sue, Andrew’s foster mom, answered for him. “He does, but we can’t afford to put him in a league.”

I felt guilty for asking. I should have known.

“Right.” I rubbed my chin. “Thank you for talking with me, Mrs. Sue. I’ll stop by another day.”

A few days later, I was working on a cold murder case. I noticed something new. I needed to visit an old friend, Joe. I thought Joe was hiding something.

After I showed Joe the evidence, he couldn’t deny it or even try. I had known Joe since high school. He knew he could never fool me. He might have seemed like a nice guy, but I knew who he really was.

He didn’t deny it, but he didn’t say anything. He was silent for a moment. Before I knew it, he tossed five hundred dollars on the table.

“Alex.” The tone of his voice shifted my gaze from the money to his eyes. “I want that case to be closed—now.”

I didn’t know if Joe thought we were in a mafia movie, but this was real life.

“Joe, this is murder we’re talking about. A life had been taken. You couldn’t just throw five hundred dollars at me and have the case disappear.”

Joe placed another five hundred dollars on the table. He leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, lifted his chin, and tapped one finger against the wood. “Alex,” he said, “that’s one thousand dollars.”

He paused.

Fingers tapping.

“I bet you could use a thousand every month.”

I stood. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking? Is this a bribe to look the other way?”

He stood and faced me. “Call it what you want.”

For a moment, we stared at each other. How could he ask me this? I knew the kind of person he was, but he also knew the kind of person I was. I would never take a bribe. I would never look away from a crime.

As I glared at Joe, Andrew came to mind. Handcuffs. Baseball bat. Glove. The league. I could help him. For a split second, my eyes tore away from Joe and went to the money. I could feel his smile. Not a smile. A grin. Joe was grinning as though he won. I guess he did. I grabbed the money and shoved past Joe as I left.

I closed the case after that. I signed the paperwork, buried the questions, and told myself the money was not for me. It was for Andrew. For a glove, a league fee, a season that might give him something good to hold on to.

I arrived at Mrs. Sue’s with the local baseball league’s schedule in hand. Andrew wasn’t sure about coming with me, but he knew he would get to pick out a new baseball bat, ball, and glove for the new season coming up. The car ride was silent.

He tried out a few bats, giving them a good swing. He kept looking at the prices. When I told him not to worry about the price, he shot me a stunned look and then smiled. I felt like Santa Claus, but I was sure Santa Claus didn’t do favors for criminals. Maybe I was more like Robin Hood.

On the way back to Sue’s house, he was already trying to break the glove in.

“Mr. Alex?” he asked quietly.

My heart melted. He was finally warming up to me. I kept my eyes on the road. “Yes, Andrew?”

“I don’t have anyone to practice with.”

“That’s okay. I can find time to practice with you.” I thought for a moment. “And when you start the league, you’ll probably make a lot of friends to practice with. You probably won’t even want to practice with this old man.”

That made him laugh.

When I dropped him off, Andrew stood beside the car with the glove pressed against his chest. “Can we practice tomorrow?” he asked. I looked toward the porch, where Mrs. Sue was watching us, and called out, “Would that be all right?”

“That’s fine. Y’all can practice in the park,” she said.

I waved goodbye, and Andrew waved back with the glove still on his hand.

The next day, an alert came across the radio. I did not want to make the call, but I did. I called Joe.

“There’s been a shooting at the park,” I said. The words felt wrong coming out of my mouth. “Tell me your guys had nothing to do with it.”

“You talkin’ about the kid?” Joe asked.

“Joe, what do you mean… a kid?”

“It’s okay, Alex. We looked into it. It’s fine.”

My heart started pounding.

“It was an accident. Tony lost control and shot at a guy, but he missed. The stray bullet hit a boy in the park.”

“What did you say?”

“It’s okay. As I said, we looked into it. No one is going to be looking for him. It’s just some kid in foster care.

His mom is a drug addict and in jail. No one cared about him.”

“What was his name, Joe?” I shouted, gripping the phone.

“I don’t remember…Andrew something.”

Andrew was shot in the park.

His bat was in his hand, and his ball was only a few feet away.

I picked up his bat first, then the ball. The glove I had bought him was still on his hand.

He never even had a chance to break the glove in.

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Eye for An Eye

Good Cop, Bad Cop