Alfred Woden’s mansion, swallowed violently in inferno. Smoke,thick and grey rises from the windows.
Flames lick hungrily into the night, reflecting on hoods of police cars entering the courtyard.
The death.The bullets.The fire.
Frantic officers shout orders, organizing firetrucks and fighters as they attempt to extinguish the blaze. Paramedics rush to load a stretcher into the back of a ambulance, lying on it is Max Payne. The detective, bloody and unconscious, breathes from an oxygen mask.
Through Max’s foggy view,two men approach.One,a doctor with a clip board.The other,a trench coated ,hat-wearing man.Deputy Chief Jim Bravura.
-Is he going to pull thru it,doc?
-Well his condition is stable for now,God only knows how he’s still alive.
-Can I have a moment with him?
-Sure,I have some work in the pediatrics department anyway. And with that the doctor was out the room.
-I don’t know if you can hear me Payne,but I want you to know I don’t blame you for any of this. Lem used Winterson to cover his tracks,son of a bitch got close to her and made her think he’s prince charming.You know when we first met I thought you were another cop who lost his family and his mind,goes to show even I'm wrong.We’ll talk about your situation when you heal up.
The howl of windswept plains.
We drift,pulling back across an endless,dusty landscape.A maze of golden fields that stretch limitlessly toward a dark horizon. Wind blows across the golden crops,carrying dust and debris with it.The sun is a dim yellow-orange;the landscape tarnished with a picturesque quality.
Stop beating that dead horse.It was dead a long time ago.You’ve hit it so much that it’s bones have turned to dust and it’s blood has seeped into the earth.Twilight crawled across the sky, laden with foreboding.The dark scene in the far off dusk is not ordinary somehow,either.It appears to grow the longer we stare at it,enveloping the beautiful fields.
You’ve beaten this horse so much that nobody remembers its death.Even now,you beat the ground where it was killed.The image freezes,but we continue to pull back,revealing a gold frame around the image…an oil painting.The bleak piece hangs above a crackling fireplace.We realize we are in Max’s old home-Suburban New Jersey.
Edited by VF94, 22 July 2013 - 05:13 PM.