A Particular Summer's Day

Patrick O'Malley was driving in his police cruiser. The area he was called into was nice. Rich men lived out here with their families. They would fly into London or Paris or Madrid from the airport twenty miles out when their work called them, but most of the time they would stay here. To be truthful, he was actually surprised when he had been called in to this area for 'rowdy neighbors.' Most people in this area kept to themselves and didn't bother anyone. As he was driving he waved to two little girls on bicycles with training wheels. Kids always brought a smile to Paddy's face.

He looked at the computer screen for the correct address of the complaint. After driving another two blocks and stopping at a stop sign, he was there. The house was large, about twelve rooms, and beautiful. Though it was much more than Paddy could afford on his police salary, he would love for his young daughter to grow up in a house like this.

Officer O'Malley got out of his police cruiser and headed up to the door. It was nice outside, around thirty degrees Celsius and the sky was beautiful without clouds. He walked up to the front porch and knocked on the mahogany door. There was no answer. He waited a little longer and then peered through the bay window to the left of the door. There was no one to be seen, so he knocked again. Upon having no response to the knocking, he tried to open the door and found it unlocked. He walked into the house calling out.

"This is Sergeant O'Malley with the police. There has been a report of loud noises from this address. Is anyone here?" he said as he walked into the house. The stairs leading up to the second floor were next to the door. He looked up them but stayed on the main floor. He started to walk further into the house, down the main hall toward the sitting room. He reached the sitting room and immediately drew his sidearm and radioed for backup.

The right side of the sitting room opened into the dining room. Sitting at the dining table was a man. The man was tall, but of medium build. He had orange hair that was rather wild, and freckles to match. He was seated at the table writing on a sheet of paper; he already had one sheet set to the side. On the left side on the paper, near his writing hand, a large caliber semi-automatic pistol was set.

On the ground, about two feet away from the man at the table, there lay a young woman. If O'Malley had to guess, he would have said she was about twenty-two or twenty-three. She had beautiful long, brown hair that had a small amount of curl. It was scatted all around her head. Her light purple summer dress had a stain of red in the center of her stomach, and there was a larger stain below her on the beige carpeting.

Lying close to her was a man. His white t-shirt was stained red and his face was down. From what Officer O'Malley could see he had black, untidy hair and glasses were next to him. There was another large stain of red around his body, though his was considerably smaller than the one around the woman.

"You came a little too early, officer," the man sitting at the table said to O'Malley. He didn't bother to look up or to pause in his writing. He appeared to have not noticed that there were two dead people lying at the floor meters away from his feet. "You interrupted my double homicide/suicide that I was planning on." He spoke evenly, even lightly, as if murder was something that didn't matter.

Officer O'Malley kept the pistol trained on the man at the table as he bent down and checked the man for a pulse. There wasn't one. By the sizes of the bloodstains, O'Malley assumed that the woman was dead as well. "Listen to me," He said with a voice colder and harder than granite, "You are going to stand up where you are and place your hands on your head." Judging by the reaction of the man, Officer O'Malley could have saved his breath. He knew that the man had heard what he said, but he gave no reaction either way. Besides writing. He repeated his command but to no avail.

The radio made indiscernible noise, but O'Malley didn't move his hands from the pistol. He moved along the wall to his right until he got a better view of the man writing. O'Malley didn't want to move closer to man, lest he provoke him to try and go for the pistol. The last thing Paddy O'Malley wanted was another person to be added to the body count in this house.

A minute passed in silence with only the white noise from the radio and the scratching of the pen. O'Malley thought to try and take the man with force, but at the same time he finished writing and laid the paper to the side. O'Malley tensed as he watched the man.

"Everything that you need to know is in that letter. That gives reason for all the actions I have taken today. It was nice to see you, Sergeant O'Malley," Mad said. He did not get up; instead he leaned back into the chair for a few seconds. Then his left hand brought the pistol up under his chin.

Susie Anderson was playing outside her house. She was in the middle of a very sophisticated conversation between two of her dolls; they were even using three syllable words. Her male doll was in the middle of asking the female one to travel to his magical castle in the clouds on his unicorn when a very loud noise came from the Potter's house, followed by a scream. It frightened Susie so she ran into her house for her mom. Her mom didn't hear the noise so she gave Susie a nice peanut butter and marmite sandwich to calm her down; they always did the trick.

O'Malley was sitting on the step of the front porch. It was night. The paramedic said that they couldn't find anything wrong with him: he wasn't hurt, he was in shock, but he was fine physically. He knew the damage was all mental. He hadn't been able to stop the third death. He watched as the ambulance crew wheeled out one of the bodies, Paddy could tell it was the woman by the shape of her breasts. He knew that it would take a lot of scotch to erase the memories of tonight and it would be the second time since he joined Alcoholics Anonymous three years ago that he would touch a bottle.

"Hey, Paddy," a woman said from the doorway. He didn't look at the woman who spoke; he already knew who she was. Linda Thomas was in the forensics department of the force and was a good friend. Paddy felt that he didn't deserve good friends at the moment. It was at that time that he felt the arms of a friend wrap around him in a hug.

"Its okay, Paddy. There was nothing you could have done. No one could have stopped what was going to happen. You are not responsible," Linda said as she squeezed her friend. She knew it would take a long time for him to get over this. She also knew that this incident would result in a relapse of drinking again. Drinking was why his wife left him; he cleaned up to get her and his daughter back. He returned to the bottle when his wife died, but cleaned up a second time for his daughter. It was obvious that she was the main reason he lived. Linda knew she would be there for him while he drank and then while he sobered for the third time.

"I know today has been hard on you, and if you want to go home I'm sure the captain will let you. But before you go, do you want to read the letter?" The only response Paddy could give was a nod of his head. She handed him the plastic bags that contained the ----three small sheets of paper and then she left him so he could read in peace.

To Whom It May Concern:

The woman lying on the floor is Hermione Granger-Potter; the man next to her is her husband Harry James Potter. They are, or were, my best mates. The three of us went to the same school and were as close as possible during our time there. It was there that I fell in love with the woman you see. She was my first love. She was my only love. There was one bit of a problem though, there was a war going on and the skills of all three of us were needed. Harry, my best mate, and I went to the front lines. We fought in the worst of the battles. We both knew that we could have died at any time. I didn't care as long as Hermione was safe, and she was.

The last battle I fought in was an ambush. Our group was attacked by a force double ours, but we held out and eventually won. There was a hidden person though and I took what was aimed for Harry. I gave him the ring that was meant for Hermione for our engagement. I was pronounced dead with the medic got to me. That was five years ago.

It was three months before I was able to find Hermione. She was in a relationship with my best mate: the man who would have been the future best man in our wedding. They were engaged.

I won't go into detail over the next five years; they consist of a rather boring existence of mine. Instead I shall skip to the reason you are reading this: the day I died.

I am still in love with Hermione, and I will always be. I love her so much that I cannot allow anyone else to be with her, including Harry. I was waiting in their house when she came home, seated in the same place I am when I wrote this. She didn't recognize me at first, but she realized who I was after a minute. She was always a smart girl. It was unfortunate that she could not recognize the reason I had to shoot her; I had to explain it to her. Harry came home half an hour afterward; I still had not moved. He knew who I was as soon as he saw me, and the realization in his eyes was amusing in a way. He screamed in rage and made to charge me, but he only succeeded in running head first into his own death. Though he was and always will be my best mate, he was as foolhardy as they come.

This would have been a clean homicide/suicide had the neighbors not heard Harry's screams and called for the police and Officer O'Malley showed up. He seems to be a good man, and I would hate for him to be blamed for what will happen next.

Sincerely,

Ronald A. Weasley