A Winning Ticket Read Online Free PDF

first time in his life, he felt empowered.
    Benjamin Zimmerman was through being a victim.
    He turned back toward the living room and began to step toward Harrison. He moved quietly—with purpose.
    He lowered the knife and placed it behind his back.
    Benjamin seemed to be walking through a long, black tunnel, the only thing at the end was his brother sitting in the recliner. All other distractions were drowned out—his brother’s laughter a mere distant and irrelevant annoyance now.
    He took another step closer.
    And another.
    Harrison was looking at the lottery ticket in his hand.
    Another step.
    Benjamin began to slowly raise the knife above his head. He was less than two feet from his brother now.
    Harrison must have heard the heavy breathing behind him, because he slowly turned and looked up into Benjamin’s face. He was still smiling for the split second before he saw the knife in Benjamin’s hand.
    Benjamin saw terror quickly flash over Harrison’s face. His eyes wide with panic.
    Harrison began to mouth the word
No
—but instead just screamed.
    Benjamin moved the knife forcefully in a downward arch. His movement too quick for Harrison to defend himself.
    The blade struck home, and Benjamin felt it glance off a rib as it punctured the abdominal wall and entered Harrison’s left chest. He thrust the knife upward, toward the heart, and twisted.
    Harrison was still screaming.
    Now Benjamin was outside his body—observing the whole scene unfold as a spectator. He watched himself withdraw the knife from Harrison’s chest and plunge it in again—and again.
    Harrison screamed once more.
    The screams began to ricochet within Benjamin’s head. He couldn’t take it anymore. They had to be stopped. He grabbed a small pillow from the recliner and forced it over Harrison’s nose and mouth.
    Harrison struggled against the pillow and fought to free himself from Benjamin’s clutch, but it was no use. He was a dead man—or soon would be.
    Sheer anger took over now, and although Benjamin seemed to be watching himself murder his brother from a distance, he could feel the rush of anger and hatred flow through him. It burned inside him with an intense, hot energy that only fueled his rage further.
    Controlled him.
    Owned him.
    Benjamin gave himself completely to it.
    He withdrew the knife once more and stabbed again.
    And again.
    Benjamin kept stabbing until his energy gave out and he collapsed onto his brother’s corpse.
    A few moments later—Benjamin wasn’t sure how much time had actually passed—he pulled himself off Harrison’s body and looked down at his hands. They were entirely crimson stained. Blood spatter covered the ceiling and walls, too. A large, red pool was expanding from the base of the recliner. Benjamin’s clothes were soaked with the warm fluid.
    He felt the sudden urge to vomit, but fought it back down. He steeled himself for what had to be done next.
    You’re done being a victim, Benjamin. Stick with the plan. Don’t lose your nerve now.
    He went onto the back porch. The wind had once again picked up, and snow pelted his face. He hadn’t taken time to put his shoes on, and now he was wading through five inches of snow in his bare feet. He began to shiver within a few seconds.
    He looked for something to wrap the body in—the darkness and snow making it impossible to see more than a couple of feet in front of himself. He finally spotted a tarp they had used last summer while repainting the kitchen, still folded neatly on the back of one of the old rocking chairs. He retrieved it quickly and hurried back inside.
    He took a moment to warm up, and then he spread the tarpaulin out on the floor in front of the pair of recliners. He moved toward Harrison to pick him up.
    As he approached his brother, he tried to avoid looking at his face. As Benjamin bent down toward the body—yes, that was all it was now, just a body—he noticed Harrison’s left hand was closed in a fist, resting on the arm of the