The Final Watch
“Stop right there!”
Sub-Inspector Benedict Holstan’s voice rang through the narrow alley as he sprinted after the fleeing thief. The man darted through the shadows, clutching a small velvet case, his footsteps echoing against the damp brick walls.
Benedict raised his walkie-talkie, his breathing steady despite the chase. “John, call for reinforcements,” he said. “Robbery at Max Jewellery. A platinum chain with pearls and diamonds, worth over a hundred thousand dollars, has been stolen.”
“Roger that,” Jonathan replied through the walkie.
The thief turned sharply into a darker alley. It was a place known for violence, where even the streetlights barely reached.
Benedict did not hesitate.
He made a promise once. He had promised a man, his father, who had passed away before he could see him in his police uniform. A promise to stand firm and fight, no matter what.
“Stop!” Benedict shouted as he drew his gun and aimed at the thief. “Surrender and I will not have to shoot you down,” he warned.
The thief slowed, then laughed.
“Shoot?” he asked, glancing back with a smug grin, as if he knew something Benedict did not.
A brief unease passed through Benedict, but he ignored it.
He released the safety and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
Pain tore through him.
He collapsed to the ground, not knowing why. For a moment, nothing made sense.
His hand moved to his stomach. Warm blood soaked through his fingers.
Slowly, he looked up.
The thief stood before him, completely unharmed, holding a gun. A cruel smile spread across his face.
′Why?′ Benedict thought. ′Why am I the one bleeding?′ he asked himself as he added some pressure on his stomach, where the bullet pierced through.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
“Leave!” Benedict shouted, forcing strength into his voice despite the pain. “Get out before you’re killed!”
A familiar voice answered. “He won’t kill me, Ben.”
Benedict froze.
The man stepped into view and crouched beside him, calm and unafraid.
“He’s my friend.”
“...Jonathan?” Benedict whispered, disbelief creeping into his voice.
“This is not about the necklace,” Jonathan said as he pointed at the necklace the thief was holding. “This whole incident was to corner you here,” he said, a vile grin on his face.
Benedict stared at him, his mind struggling to understand.
“Why?” he asked, his voice weakening.
“Why?!” Jonathan repeated, his expression darkening. “He asks why after bagging all the praises from the inspector just yesterday, again,” he said with a disgusted look on his face.
“I did my job,” Benedict said, trying to stand up.
A sharp kick knocked him back down.
Jonathan stepped on his wound and pressed harder.
“Your job?” he drawled. “Five years, Ben. I have been doing this job for five years, and no one has praised me like that.”
His voice rose with anger.
“And then you show up. One year. Suddenly you are the golden boy. Calm under pressure. Perfect execution. Exceptional judgment.” He let out a bitter laugh. “He even said he could not have done what you do when he was in your position.”
Another kick sent Benedict rolling across the ground. His body hit the cold wall with a dull thud.
Gritting his teeth, Benedict slipped his hand toward his pocket and tapped his phone screen five times.
A silent distress signal.
A faint voice crackled from the device.
“Alwin Circle Police Station. How may we help you?”
Relief flickered through him.
“Why?” he asked again, forcing the words out.
“If you were so keen on being praised, told that you have done a proper job, why didn’t you work for it?” he asked.
He struggled to breathe through the pain.
“I worked on every case I solved. All I ever saw you do was sit around. You did not take complaints. You did not solve cases. You did nothing,” he spat.
’This should be enough,’ Benedict thought. ’They will track my phone. Madam Patricia is on patrol. She will get here first.’
Jonathan’s face twisted with fury.
“I am the son of the Deputy Commissioner,” he snapped. “Why should I work?” he shouted as he looked down at Benedict, who was trying to stand on his feet.
The thief, who was holding the necklace in his hands, smirked and kicked Benedict on the wound.
“Urg,” Benedict groaned in pain as he pressed on the wound, trying to slow the blood.
“Do you know why your gun did not work?” Jonathan asked, smirking.
Benedict said nothing.
“I removed the trigger spring,” Jonathan said with a laugh.
Benedict clenched his fingers, unable to move, unable to defend himself, unable to fight back.
BANG!
Another gunshot echoed through the dim alley.
Benedict forced his eyes toward the entrance.
A woman stood there in uniform, her gun raised and aimed steadily.
Madam Patricia.
Jonathan and the thief turned their guns toward her.
More gunshots followed.
The sound echoed through the alley, sharp and deafening.
Benedict tried to keep his eyes open, focusing on her. He knew she had come for him.
But the blood loss was too much.
His vision blurred.
The world began to fade.
Just before darkness took him, he heard his name being called.
He was saved.
He would wake up in a hospital. Machines beeping softly around him. Bandages wrapped around his wound. An officer standing beside his bed, ready to tell him he made it.
Everything would be fine.
And then, everything went dark.
