Andrew Monge

Listen to Andrew read his story

Content Warning

suicide bombing, death and dismemberment, grief

Special Agent Keoghan sat at the desk in his home office, eyeing the worn manila folder before him. He ran his thumb over the tab that read “MoA Bombing,” then reluctantly flipped open the cover. Atop the pile of documents was a picture of the east entrance to the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota.

Flip.

Next was a picture of the rotunda inside the Mall, a large multi-story section of the building used for everything from concerts and seminars to auto shows and sporting events.

Flip.

Another picture of the rotunda, this one showing death and destruction: a crater in the floor; remnants of the stage and sound equipment used by one of the music industry’s hottest young stars; bodies, lots of bodies, some whole, most in pieces.
A brief pause as Keoghan’s brow tightened.

Flip.

A picture of Cecil “C.C.” Carver, white male, age twenty-nine, no criminal record, no weapons possession, parents deceased, no siblings, no spouse or children, a ghost of a man who made almost no impression on the people he came into contact with.
Keoghan ground his teeth together, shattering the silence in the room.

Flip.

A copy of Cecil Carver’s suicide note, found on the kitchen table in his spartan one-bedroom apartment:

In death, I am finally alive.
Sorry to the people I hurt in order to achieve this.

Keoghan felt a tic torment his right eye.
Flip.

A top-down view from the ceiling of the rotunda, focused on the epicenter, showcasing the blast radius.
Flip.

The same top-down view, one floor closer to the explosion.
Flip.

Again, one floor closer.
Flip.

A close-up of a hand, marked with tag number forty-two. A tattoo of an infinity symbol, embedded with the date
“05-31-03,” ran along the wrist. Below the ink was ragged skin and bone, the hand having been violently separated from the arm by the suicide bombing.

Keoghan leaned back in his chair, rubbed his hands over his face before placing them on the desktop, bracketing the folder. A deep breath, then:

Flip.

The last photo in the folder was the only item that didn’t come from the stacks of evidence pertaining to the explosion. Instead, it was a picture of Keoghan standing between a woman and a teenage girl.

The woman had her arm around Keoghan.

Part of a tattoo could be seen on her wrist.

There were no crime-scene pictures of the girl; there hadn’t been enough of her left to photograph.

Keoghan slammed the folder shut and tore open the bottom drawer of his desk. A half-empty bottle of Jameson and a loaded .38 were all it contained. The ends of each had been in his mouth the past few weeks.

Hand hovering back and forth between his options, he finally snatched up the whiskey and took a long pull, after which he capped the bottle and put it back in the drawer.

Keoghan had no idea which choice he’d make when he returned to his desk next time.

Andrew’s prompts were: An American State, a Corpse, and a Tattoo

He said of the challenge: “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing themed stories this year, so your blind prompt generator seemed like a unique opportunity that would challenge me as a writer. Here’s hoping the pop-up is a huge success and there’s many more to come; win or lose, I had a *blast* coming up with a tale for you.”

Andrew Monge lives in Minnesota with his wife and kids. A computer programmer by day and a voracious reader by night, he is a lifelong introvert who only finds his voice while writing.
His work has appeared in Punk Noir Magazine.
Twitter: @MuchAdoAboutNil