Finally, in its entirety!

Pontificating the Troubled Mind

Disclaimer:
This tome is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to actual people, animals, humans, situations, or otherwise is a figment of my imagination.

No animals were harmed in the making of this series!

Though my hand was licked several times!

copyright 2016

All rights reserved.

 

Index

The Bully

The Mime

The House That Satan Built

The Leprechaun

John Goes Out

The Leather Jacket

Flashback!

Little Tony

Pete The Perv.

Joe The Artist

Fallen Angel

The Poser

The Nursery Rhyme Killer

The Franklin Park Slasher

The Man Who Disappeared

The Witch Doctor

 

 

 

 

 

The Bully

            Binfred Breedwine sounded like royalty to look at his name, but in reality, he was an average kid, only a lot smarter than most, shorter than most, and too kind with the ability to tolerate being trounced, stomped, robbed, made fun of, and just about anything demeaning you could do to a fellow human being. Binfred, or Benny to his friends, or any other kid that knew him.

Bobby Stints was bigger than every other kid in his class because this was his third attempt at seventh grade and it didn’t look like he was going to make it into the eighth grade next year either. Bobby Stints just wasn’t very bright and blamed everyone for his inability to make decent grades even though he had better things to do than study for stupid school. He was just plain mean. If he didn’t understand something or someone, he destroyed it or if it were a person, he would beat them up. Bobby regularly beat the dots off of Benny’s dominos simply because Benny just sounded educated and that just pissed Bobby off to violence, and that violence was always aimed at Benny when he could find him. When he couldn’t find Benny, Bobby usually pursued a viable substitute in one of the other smarty pants students. According to Bobby, and his report card, the entire class was on his list of things to intimidate torture, belittle, or beat up.

Bobby was the ultimate definition of a bully. The other students avoided and feared him. This fear had a flavor that was unhealthy to say the least. If it ever occurred to the mass of students to surround and attack at once, Bobby would be a goner.

Benny was a very resourceful boy. He studied all the time and looked for ways to make his life easier. The premise of working smarter not harder was not lost on Benny. Benny’s favorite saying on the subject, “To employ expeditious tactics to accelerate the process is most prudent!” The very first time Bobby heard Benny say this. He blackened both his eyes, and bruised his ribs so badly that he could hardly breathe.

Benny was always trying to improve, modify, or invent something in which to better benefit himself, his family, or something for mankind in the future. Biology and chemistry were the primary subjects in which Benny was busily studying to come up with a viable option for his improvements, but they were also his main topic of study for protection against Bobby. Getting bullied, beaten, and abused on a regular schedule got old at the very beginning. He conceived one idea about a super slick spray that made any surface so slippery that it was impossible to get traction or even stand on any kind of surface in which it was applied. Another idea was a quick acting paralyzing agent that would leave the victim conscious, but render them unable to move, speak, or retaliate for at least six hours. There were problems with that one. Especially if someone was close or there was a wind causing an unintended paralyzing of an innocent victim.

For weeks, Benny toyed and studied one option after another while running to and from school to try to avoid Bobby, but to little avail.

Bobby always seemed to find his intended victims with almost a radar-like accuracy and wail on them brutally. For the most part, a bully will only belittle or beat on his victims a little or just enough to avoid getting suspended or arrested. Bobby was not one of those types of bullies. He would beat on a person until he heard something break or the person finally succumbed to unconsciousness. After that, he just got bored and walked away. But Benny had seemed to be his favorite victim for his most brutal of beatings.

Benny’s parents made regular visits to the school to try to stop the bullying. Time after time the school principal would shrug his shoulders and say, “Boys will be boys,” and that the parents should take Benny for self-defense classes. When the question of self-defense came up and what would happen to Benny if he defended himself against a bully like Bobby and beat the butter off of his muffin? In which the principal without hesitation stated that fighting is not tolerated and Benny would be suspended.

“So Benny gets expelled for defending himself while the assaulter goes free? Where is the justice in that, and if that is the case, why hasn’t Bobby been expelled from school for fighting? This is so typical.” Bobby’s father stated.

Without one word, Benny’s father saw a fear in the principal’s face whenever Bobby and discipline was mentioned in the same sentence.

Every evening, Benny studied online and in books until one day, he stopped researching online and studied only out of books.

One day at school, Benny answered a question of a technical nature about mitosis and it was all Bobby could do to contain himself until after class when he jumped Benny putting him in the hospital with several broken bones, multiple contusions, a lacerated kidney, broken ribs, and a broken arm. Bobby thought the beating funny after the ambulance left. Benny’s parents sued the school and Bobby’s parents.

Benny was still in the hospital going through physical therapy when school ended for the summer break. Benny had kept up in school with his homework and with his extracurricular studying until school ended freeing up that much more time for his other studies. Up until Benny became a subject of Bobby’s attention, Benny had not missed one single day of school. Benny began devising a plan.

Before school ended, however, the remaining students left behind promptly became the main targets for Bobby’s aggression. Benny had become calm and relaxed for the first time all year.

Benny regained his strength and gained even more strength as he did his exercises in rehab and even more exercises after his sessions.

During the summer break Benny acquired the chemicals and worked with different formulas that he designed.

His parents tried to keep him busy as well and keep his mind off of school and busy with other things. Benny knew nothing of the lawsuits that were pending against the school or Bobby’s parents. He would soon learn more of the latter.

School was a week away and the students were gathered at the school to sign up for their classes for the eighth grade. Benny saw Bobby signing up for classes. Either he got lucky, or the school just got tired and leveled him up to be rid of him. The short term solution was toleration of Bobby for one more year and with the “No child left behind” law he could do nothing, not even show up for school half the time and they would be rid of him forever. They had to hold him back in the seventh grade due to the clauses in the NCLB law, but could not hold him back after that.

Benny’s happy few weeks were about to come to a crashing and violent end. Bobby saw Benny and ducked around the corner on the way to the science department to lie and wait for Benny.

Benny lost sight of Bobby and since he wasn’t attacked, he thought that he had not been seen. Benny had no idea just how wrong he was.

The freshly healed and stronger young man left the table and looked around seeing nothing to concern himself with. He let his guard down and began his trek to the science department. Turning the corner, he was grabbed, spun and slammed hard into the wall dazing him as Bobby punched him in the face three times and then pulled him into a bathroom. “Your parents are suing my dad you little prick. It’s all your fault asshole.” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I’ll teach you a lesson you little snitch!” with that, Bobby found the sweet spot on Benny’s chin, mercifully taking his consciousness and pain away from the immediate beating.

Seeing the unconscious form in front of him made him grow even angrier and bored. He preferred having a crying, screaming, or begging victim. He dragged the unconscious form into a stall and tossed him onto a toilet and left.

Benny awoke a short time later and checked the damage and went to the sink to clean up. His face was bruised and swollen with a rapidly swelling shut and blackening eye. He made it just in time to get his remaining classes before they shut down for registration. The other kids gathered around Benny and discussed their up and coming school year with fear, dread, and loathing. “What are we going to do? I can’t take another year of him and the school is scared of his dad and him. They won’t do anything to him!” One boy said, his eyes already misting up as he began to cry. Benny’s features hardened and he winced from the pain as he said he wanted to teach him a lesson. But he needed help, only two other boys offered. The next half hour was spent discussing their next move.

School started and the river of faces flowed down the halls like a human stream, with one glitch. A swath was cut as Bobby pushed, shoved, and slammed other students into lockers and walls screaming at the top of his lungs for them to get out of his way. He opened his locker and slammed open the door pinning a neighboring student’s hand between the locker doors. The injured student started to speak until he saw who it was. “You got something to say you little shit, or are you just going to go away?” Bobby was hoping and wanting a confrontation. The boy stared in terror and then walked quickly away.

It was the same routine between the next two classes. Bobby stopped at his locker and ripped down a note that he found stuck in the upper vent of his locker door. He opened the single folded note and read.

“Bobbette,

I’m tired of your bullying. I want to teach you not to bully any more. If you’re man enough, meet me in the back corner of the boiler room at lunch time. If you do not show, that will tell me just how much of a pussy and a coward you really are!

Signed, refused to be bullied anymore!”

Bobby tore up the note into little shreds and threw it away and sat fuming for the next two classes. He all but ran to the boiler room rushing to the back corner where he saw Benny calmly leaning against the wall. He was going to take his time putting him back into the hospital this time. No one to stop him, he flexed his fingers for the upcoming one sided melee. He was so focused on Benny that he should have looked around and taken in the room.

He felt a hard, numbing impact at the base of his neck. Benny turned grey as bees swarmed his vision and he collapsed to the floor. The threesome worked fast before Bobby had the chance to wake up. When he finally woke up, he was sitting on the floor with his back resting against the wall. He couldn’t move. He was frozen in place like he was stuck to a large sheet of fly paper. He felt like he was glued down. In which he actually was.

The victims of Bobby came in and poured buckets of the special adhesive slowly up Bobby’s legs until there was a thick coating that resembled a large yellowish-brown cocoon from his feet to up past his waist. Each group poured the goo until only his face was showing. Bobby went from screaming imprecations at them to whimpering and begging, followed by a keening like a dog begging softly for a bite of your supper. He received no kindness or sympathy. He now realized that he was the most hated being on the face of the planet. He had no friends and did not even have an ally in the offices of the teaching staff.

The five minute bell rang and the students left the room leaving Bobby and Benny alone.

“Benny, please, let me go! I promise to leave you alone. You’re not going to leave me like this are you? You can’t leave me like this! I’m sorry!”

“You’re much too late Bobby. You put me in the hospital and then threatened to do it again the other day. Had I not passed out, you would have put me in the hospital again. You beat me almost daily last year. I missed school because of you. I had perfect attendance last year until you broke my fingers. When I wasn’t available for your torture, you tortured others. We decided that enough was enough and you would never bully anyone else ever again.” Benny knocked on the hardening outer shell of the glue cocoon. “The interesting design of this particular glue is that as room or pockets develop, the glue expands and fills in the gaps. It never hardens on the inside until there is nothing left to dissolve. The properties of this glue is a hardened shell on the outside and whatever is caught within erodes or dissolves until there is nothing left to consume and then it resembles a large chunk of hardened tree sap or just a hard clear chunk of plastic. They called it Amber in the movie “Jurassic Park.” But there will be nothing inside of this. No clothes, no skin, not even bones. You should feel a tingling by now like if your arm or foot is waking up from falling asleep. I had done nothing to you. I tried to mind my own business. You and your hatred was the development of this glue. There is only four other samples of it anywhere and those will never be discovered as to what it actually is. For my self-preservation, I developed this just for you. As many people state, someday you are going to mess with the wrong person. Well Bobby, from necessity, I became the wrong person.”

Bobby was now very pale and was having difficulty breathing, “Please, let me go. I swear . . .” Benny cut him off.

“Did you show any of us mercy when we begged? You laughed and made your brutality worse on us by mocking our begging. You had shown no mercy to us and you’ll get none in return. You’ve earned what you are getting.” The two minute warning bell rang and Benny got up and poured the remaining glue over Bobby’s head watching it pour over his face. He stacked the buckets and placed them in the rolling waste bins. They were just five gallon paint cans and they looked no different than the others in the bin. Benny walked out leaving the concoction to do its job.

Monday morning, a full week later. Everyone was called to the gymnasium and was told about the disappearance of Bobby Stints and if anyone had any information to let their teacher know. The father stood to the side looking only partially concerned about his missing trouble maker of a son. The other students asked Benny about Bobby. He told them that he had to have gotten out then run away. The glue was empty. The students went to check and were satisfied with Benny’s story. One had even told the principal, but he thought that it was such an elaborate tail that he dismissed it.

The lawyer for Benny’s family won both lawsuits forcing Bobby’s father to pay all accrued medical bills, and the school to enforce a strict anti-bullying policy with an undisclosed monetary settlement.

The cold season was beginning and maintenance workers went to prepare the furnaces and boilers for the winter’s labors. They found a large lump of what looked like an almost clear dark yellow tree sap or plastic. They reported their find to the principal who went to look for himself. There was no evidence of anyone having been inside, let alone breaking out of the glue.

The buckets were long gone and the only evidence was being chiseled from the floor and the wall. Soon there would be nothing left of the incident accept the memory from those who were there.

Bobby never went home, never popped up anywhere. His father continued on as if he had no son. There was his class picture in the yearbook, but no memorial, no mention of his disappearance. There was just his name and a very unhappy face.

END

 

The Mime

Barry Stoller was a washed up accountant, computer programmer, utility worker, janitor, and just about any job you could think of, he had, he held, and he lost. How could you be a loser being an accountant or a computer programmer you might be asking yourself? Two things always stood in in Barry’s way. Firstly, he was a mediocre employee and, two, now this being the biggie, he was the worst team member and meanest asshole anyone had ever had the displeasure to work with or even meet. He could have kept his job being mediocre, but his attitude shoved him at the head of the line in the unmarketable column. So, he did something that few would stoop to do, he became a mime. He made little money, still had to interact with people, but, he didn’t have to speak to anyone. The last was a huge benefit. His mouth was his Achilles’ heel. He worked the parks, the malls, the business district, and anywhere else he thought he could make money. He also kept a detailed list of the pros and cons of each location that he occupied.

The parks were friendly to a point, but mostly, he was just ignored. He did make a little money there, whereas the malls were cruel and people ran into him, he made almost nothing at the malls. The business district was the most promising as people would pay him to basically go away. These were pretty profitable and though intolerable, he could still pay the bills ahead.

But we need to back up a little bit to really see why Barry did what he did. You see, Barry hated people in general. Not just some classes or races or attitudes, he hated everyone. He couldn’t tolerate anyone for very long. If he found someone that seemed like he might like them, he would find a reason to hate and loathe them in a very short amount of time. He couldn’t keep a job if he owned the only funeral home in the state. People would go out of their way to go to another state to be buried. If he worked at a graveyard as a maintenance worker, he would manage to get fired. And not on purpose, it would just happen because of his attitude and his mouth.

He had been forced by the courts into so many anger management classes that if they had worked, he could have taught the classes from memory alone. Though, truth be told, his quick snap violent temper had been brought under control, it was his mouth. It wasn’t that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut, he had that right, he just lacked the ability.

During his short stint as a mime, he had developed the old routine of being trapped in that damn box that everyone wishes would really lock up and hide the mime. Climbing stairs, climbing ropes, tug of war, and all the other boring nonsensical acts of the speechless art. Then he changed it up to add the act of robbing passersby at invisible gunpoint then holding out his chapeau for a donation. He received mixed reviews for this act ranging from fear, running away, being punched then running away, he was robbed himself, or occasionally, he received money. After a while, it grew and some stopped and laughed. This quickly developed another bit to the robbing, lobbing invisible hand grenades at possible witnesses and after this dramatic diving and duck and cover, he would simulate going through their pockets.

People were now beginning to laugh at his routine. Some were not laughing though. They were concerned that it could lead to other deeper and darker issues within. And well, they should have been.

Barry had already stopped talking before he became a mime. People didn’t call him an asshole or an ass-hat, or even a self-servant prick which was the one that usually topped the list. Just about the meanest thing people would say was when they thought he couldn’t speak, they called him dumb. Well Barry, not being the brightest bulb in the light fixture all ways took offense and retaliated in some way. He would stomp toes, kick shins, trip them, or something similar. But if he was wearing his mime costume, the slurs would come out. He constantly had to focus on his anger issues. His counselors always said he was the angriest and meanest person any of them had ever had the displeasure of meeting. And from all those years of therapy, seminars, and meetings, nothing really worked. The uncontrollable urge to just beat the holy dog shit out of someone was always in the forefront and it was always his biggest demon to conquer.

During his time in jail, Barry discovered that he liked being silent, it was probably the most positive thing he could have done. He had tried silence several times before, but, well, it wasn’t for the lack of trying, again, Barry just lacked ability. He did have a serious impulse problem. His last job not only fired him, but had him escorted by security and the police out of the building, and eventually to a holding cell waiting to see a judge.

This now brings us almost up to date, and to where Barry made his decision to pursue a life of mime.

As I stated above, Barry was escorted out of the building and basically off the property of his last paid employment. He was working as a programmer for a security software firm. The manager had simply asked him a question concerning a line of code that he had in a program that he was working on and that he was struggling with. A simple and harmless question, to which Barry took it as a personal attack on his intelligence, and by the end of the discussion, to which Barry ended with a sucker punch to the diminutive manager. He then went on a coffee break. By the time he returned to his cubical, it was filled and he was surrounded by every security guard in the building and several of Franklin’s finest police officers. Not to mention one diminutive little manager holding a bloody cloth to his broken nose. He was not so friendlily escorted out of the building and to his car, he was also informed that any, and they emphasized any aggressive behavior leaving the lot would be a quick trip in front of a judge before the end of the day.

This did make a firm impact on Barry along with provoking the officers when they pulled him over for speeding, exhibition of power, public endangerment, drifting out of the lot, and reckless driving. He made comments when they had pulled him over and was physically dragging him from the vehicle. Wait, I have it right here. It is in the report, oh here it is. “What do you want now you Nazi worshipping, donut sucking, flat footed pussies!?” at which they finished pulling him from the window and introduced him to Mr. Taser, and pinned him to the hood of his car. One officer managed to get in a punch when he continued to resist to which Barry spouted, “You hit like a girl, you pansy!” this is where he was coldcocked, hog tied, and tossed in the back of the cruiser.

He stood in front of the honorable Judge Winebelly to face his charges of assault, resisting arrest, and the aforementioned charges. Barry was ordered to attend yet another anger management seminar and his car was to be impounded until he successfully completed said seminar. But that was after he had to serve 90 days for being in contempt of court.

Oh, I neglected to cover that! Let me dig out that paperwork. It says here that his first comment upon being asked how he pleaded was, “I’m not guilty and you know it, your mother knows it, and that was what your wife screamed to me as well as my name last night!” That instantly got him in the 30 day membership to the stylish orange suit wearers club. To which he replied, “You can’t do that to me, I have rights! You know, you seem grumpy, do you need a Midol and a dozen donuts to keep your portly figure there porky?” The judge was turning red with rage by this point and promptly awarded another 30 days of contempt of his court, and for being an asshole. But it got better yet after the announcement of the now pending 60 days of confinement. Barry Stoller really started with the aspersions upon Honorable Judge Winebelly’s lineage. He called him everything from a cross-dressing troglodyte, to a donut sucking, cop licking, wrinkled and puckered paid for by the highest bidder shyster who couldn’t decipher between a restraining order and a parking ticket.

It was the first time anyone had seen the epitome of patience, the honorable judge Winebelly stand and all but heave the gavel at Barry’s head. But as a point of long reference in history as terms go, the judge literally and figuratively threw the book at Barry Stoller for an additional 30 days for a total of 90 days in incarceration.

For the first 30 days, Barry blamed the government teat sucking judge for his incarceration. All the judge had to do was leave him alone. Everyone had a chip on their shoulder for Barry. He swore to fix them all.

The second 30 days was spent in retrospect of his predicament and status of the first thirty days. Every time he opened his mouth, someone closed it with a fist. For the first time in Barry’s life, he put two plus two together and discovered that it equaled four. But his four did not come easily, or in a good way. He still wanted revenge, and he was going to get it. But first he had to work on his temper. He had to learn to shut up. It wasn’t like he could stop talking at any time, he just lacked the ability.

The last 30 days were spent doing just that. He worked on being quiet. The other inmates laughed and called him names until then. To make matters worse, they also refused to let him in their inmate games. They say that when a person, inmate, or a person of questionable psychological stability keeps talking, it’s a safe bet that you’re going to be okay. But when that person quits talking, you can take it to the bank that the person is about one tick away from causing someone’s demise.

Knowing this, the other inmates began looking at Barry differently and began to give him a very wide birth. At first Barry was worried that they were plotting against him. As time passed though, he noticed that they were avoiding him as if he were a pariah.

Barry decided to stop speaking from then on.

The 90 days ended and he was assigned an aggressive anger management course. The judge had ordered weekly reports unless he was exceptionally annoying, then he wanted a written report that day. The class was 12 weeks, the judge received 12 reports.

Barry, once again found himself in front of Judge Winebelly for the final evaluation and possible release. His class instructor was there as witness if needed. The judge was impressed with his being quiet, even with the chiding that the judge was giving him. That was until the judge started asking Barry questions.

“So Mr. Stoller, I am impressed and pleased of your turn around and politeness in my chambers today. I’d like to hear what you have to tell the court today about your experiences over the past six months.”

Total silence filled the courtroom. It was so quiet the judge never realized that you could actually hear the urinals flush in the men’s restroom next door. The judge stared incredulously at the man that was smiling at him like a child full of mom’s pie. He made not even a peep in his defense. The judge’s demeanor went from one of being pleased to one of annoyance. Judge Winebelly looked at the instructor for input. The man stood. “Your honor, you have heard just as much from this man as I have in the last 12 weeks that he was in my class. From your report to me and his entrance to my class, there was a change. Something happened during his time in jail. I only hope that it was not physical abuse upon his person.”

The judge turned back to Barry, “Mr. Stoller, this obviously happened within the walls of my jail, were you abused?” Barry shook his head but continued to smile. “Was this change of your own volition?” Barry nodded and bowed, still smiling. “Well, I am pleased for the change for the better. But the silence concerns me. Are you happy with your change?” Barry again nodded. “Then I shall release you and release your vehicle back into your custody, I also am ordering all fees for impound be waved due to the dramatic change in your attitude and demeanor. I do hope to see you out of chambers as a productive member of society and anger free Mr. Stoller. This case is dismissed!”

Barry bowed and smiled. He looked bright and happy, but his heart and thoughts were dark and deadly. He had a plan that was growing and developing. The only unknown was its implementation. Time was something that he had a lot of.

He was handed his car keys, signed some release forms and taken to his car that had a dead battery, several dents, and so many scratches that it almost made his car unrecognizable and to also note that they were not there when the car was originally impounded. He walked slowly back to the office and signed another form giving them the dead and damaged car to the city. He then turned and walked away from the impound lot.

He found a small hovel that he could call home until he could get back on his feet and further develop his plan. He set up his home and began to peruse the internet for work. One item continued to come up for someone that refused or could not speak, mime. Barry knew nothing of being a mime except what he saw from comedy routines and cartoons. He found articles where miming in certain areas could be profitable for the street performer. But he also saw where mimes were a ridiculed lot.  They were popular targets among comedians. But this was the only way he could make a living and not utter a word. He could also do this under the table. The benefits were growing in this area of being a mime.

He started traditionally with the black and white outfit and white face paint. Barry looked in the mirror and immediately had to push back the mental epithets that popped up in his own mind.

He started practicing and found being a mime pretty simple really. The hardest part was not talking when critics and ass-hats heckled him, which was getting easier since he was not speaking anyway.

One man went over the line one evening when Barry was practicing walking an imaginary tightrope. He was pretending to lose his balance when an older kid of about 23 ran up and pushed him down and laughed. Barry looked around and noticed that they were alone. He was struggling to get up when his hand found a baseball sized rock which he palmed the best he could. He was almost up when the kid came in for round two. Barry side stepped the thug and brought the rock down hard on the base of his skull. He fell from the blow and struggled to rise. The young man rolled over to see the mime pointing and laughing. He still possessed the rock, but it was the laugh. His face and body racked in an outright gut wrenching, uncontrolled bout of mirth, a silent mirth. There was no loud guffawing, screaming, or even a hissing of air escaping from his mouth. It was like someone just turned off the volume on the mime. It was as if the mime didn’t even notice that there was no sound. The young man tried to stand and was met by the rock a second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth time. The skull, now miss happened and broken badly as the rest of the body lay motionless in the grass. Barry stopped laughing and quickly looked around for witnesses and pulled the body into the tree line to bury it. The ground was soft as he moved the earth by hand and by use of sticks and flat rocks until he just couldn’t dig any deeper. Water seeped into the hole from the lake. It was dark by the time he crept from the hole to roll the body in. It was also late, very late with a bright full moon which gave enough light to still see what he was doing. The hole was deep enough that he thought it would keep the animals from finding the body. It was close to four feet deep and he only had to bend the knees up to get him all the way in. it was in the early hours of the morning when Barry finished with the final details of the burial. He cleaned up in the lake as quietly as he could and began his journey home.

Thoughts percolated in his angry mind. There was little guilt, a lot of apprehension of the body being found. Could the crime be tracked back to him? The one thing that people always ask is why some killers felt no remorse, no real guilt, nothing that should make them feel as if they had done something wrong. There was no evidence of a conscience inside Barry Stoller. This very item will come up a little later in the story.

He watched the news, the internet, and the paper for a body found, or at least a listing of a missing person’s report. But as of yet, there was nothing on the dumb-ass. Apparently he was just another nobody like Barry, he thought.

Barry began devising an elaborate plan of revenge. His list wasn’t long, but the subjects, the victims, the names on the list were going to be very difficult to accomplish. He figured on being caught somewhere along the way eventually, but he hoped to be satisfied before that happened. But he had to be slick and creative, a slow poison would be perfect, but research told him that it had to be continual contact or ingestion, which ruled out slow poison, either way. It did finally have to be a contact poison that would work and one that could not be just simply washed off. It also had to be just slow enough for him to be able to at least flee the area before it activated and be a sure death.

He looked up poisons and the characteristics. Duration, lethality, survivability being the main characteristics, but he also wanted to know if there was an antidote. He didn’t want a poison that just irritated the person. He spam searched lethal contact poisons and several came to the top of the list. Rosary Pea, contained Abrin, if the seeds were chewed finely or swallowed, it promoted almost instant death. That was no good. Croton oil was a possibility but there was a high survival rate, and it mainly resulted in a painful skin rash and irritation that could last up to three weeks. Monkshood which was native plant in Alaska and was marked as a neurotoxin, this meant that it would shut down body functions like breathing and the heart. Death was certain whether it was ingested or absorbed through the skin. This was the one he was looking for. Sure, death was certain and would most likely happen from 10 minutes to three hours depending on how much poison was ingested or contacted. The poison from Monkshood called Aconitine could be extracted from the plant. He ordered six plants for decoration in his back yard.

While he was devising his plan, Barry worked all over town, but returned on a regular basis to the business district. He saw his ex-boss almost every time he was there. The man did not recognize Barry for the wig and white make up. He had passed within a couple feet of Barry and even gave him money. Barry had touched him several times, shaking his hand, and patting him on the back. “This is going to be too easy!” he thought!

He modified a squeeze bulb and wore surgical gloves. He found that they stood out like a neon sign in an Amish community, so he started wearing white cotton gloves over his surgical gloves. This afforded him a better delivery system of the Aconitine.

In the meantime, he continued working the business district where his former boss worked, making physical contact with everyone he encountered. He made this a normal routine for him. He had to do some work with his plants to figure out how to make them as lethal as possible.

Barry had done some more research on Aconitine. It is a violent and deadly poison. Doctors had tried to use the “Drug” as an antipyretic, or fever reducer, and an analgesic. But it was impossible to balance and maintain in a safe medicinal use atmosphere. So that aspect was abandoned. It was on the premise of decoration that Barry ordered six plants and planted four. If there were ever to be any questions, he could just simply state that two of them had perished in transit. He developed a unique isolation chamber and it recirculated the gasses until it went through a burn chamber on the stove and then up the stove’s exhaust and outside where he hoped it was safe enough that no one would be hurt around his house. The isolation system was elaborate and completely safe. There was no external exposure and contact was done by a thick pair of gloves permanently affixed to the confinement chamber. He even made sure that everything he would need was inside the chamber before he began. He processed the two plants and then distilled the extract to increase the toxicity.

This done, and well contained, he took a small vial out to test. Going back to the park in which he perfected his mime work and where his first murder occurred, he tested the contents on a couple of stray dogs where the thrashing, biting, and howling followed by agonizing death within minutes made him smile a wicked and demonic smile. He now only had to wait for his opportunity to strike.

Monday finally arrived and Barry was almost dancing around his redoubt getting ready for the day. He almost ran to the business district to start his routine. He set up his stage area and it did not take long for his nemesis to show for work. Barry wanted slow and excruciating, but he would settle for just an excruciatingly painful death. Then off to his next subject of vengeance. With each one, it would get that much more difficult. He still had no idea on how he was going to be able to approach the good judge.

Barry was at his station when he turned and saw his intended victim. He made his usual bravado and ended by touching his neck, back, and any exposed skin that he could touch. The man got just inside the building, then clawed at his neck, then at the infected areas that the mime had touched, he ran to the bathroom where he tried to wash the irritation off his skin. “That idiot is going to jail! What the hell is this shit?”

The water and soap felt good through the burning and itching as he made it to his office, closed the door and sat heavily in his chair. The burning and itching was only partially sated and returned with a fervor of heat and intense pain. Suddenly, his eyes grew wide and panicked. Breathing became labored and he felt paralyzed. Movement was a solid wall of pain. Breathing slowly stopped, and the man’s body suffocated as a result of the lack of oxygen. He couldn’t move, nor could he breathe.

Mondays were normally busy, but he had gone out early for lunch and returned before anyone else did. By the time he was found, he was dead with a look of terror frozen on his countenance. He was gone in 15 minutes. The pain marked his face in a way that could only be described as beyond excruciating.

The story headlined the news on all the local stations. Coroners were looking for the cause of death, but upon a precursor examination of the body only showed strange rashes on his neck, back, hands, and forearms. One careless examiner roughly grabbed the man’s clothing and crammed the articles into evidence bags. In the process, some of the clothing made contact above the glove up to his left elbow. Within seconds of contact, there was a rash and a burning that felt as though someone held a torch against his arm. He screamed in terror and pain as he ran for the chemical wash down station. Another examiner raced for a full body hazmat suit and began the process of scrubbing the first infected examiner’s arm with a brush and with what he hoped was a neutralizing agent. The rash became worse and now looked like their victim’s rash when the man began to wheeze and gasp for air like a fish out of water. He bent and straightened his body trying to pump air in to his lungs to no avail. His lungs just simply appeared to seize up. He collapsed and weakly writhed on the floor until the paralytic took over his entire body, his face freezing in a silent, wide eyed scream of terror. The second examiner checked for a pulse only to feel the last few beats fade from the man’s body as the poison finished its course and took with it every visage of the man’s life.

The entire morgue was locked down and all personnel were confined to their offices or work spaces until further notice. No one was allowed to leave! The people in the working areas of the morgue were ordered unnecessarily to wear biohazard suits. I state that it was unnecessary as people were all but fighting over the suits. The bodies were now placed side by side to compare the rashes and samples. The clothing was not removed, nor did anyone dare cut into the bodies until the swabs came back from the lab telling them what they were dealing with. They had made the obvious determination that it was some sort or volatile poison. The only known was the fact that it was very fast acting, and very, very lethal.

Barry watched the news and prepped another set of gloves. Reports were now flooding the networks. The talking heads speculated, guessed, and as usual, they all had different stories, and not one matched another. All they could agree on was that now the body count was up to two.

Barry smiled at the report of the horrific death of his former employer, but was surprised at his lack of emotion on the collateral damage of the death of the medical examiner. By the 10 o’clock newscast, they have reports of a lethal contact poison called Aconitine. They reported the common attributes of the poison and then added that the sample they had was six times the toxicity of the standard extract from the plant. Another station reported that it was “Exceptionally Concentrated” as the talking heads reported the findings from the lab results as they continually bounced from talking head to a lab tech and back to the talking head. The reports ended with concern and the involvement of the police as they search for possible sources, the FBI, NSA, and other alphabet agencies were also looking into the matter and they all were concerned in a correlated terrorist attack.

Barry chuckled at the blabbering heads. “Ha, terrorists, terror for a few assholes definitely.” He said as he turned off the TV and closed the door behind him.

He had three names on his list left, and these posed more difficult as two were cops and the third one was a district court judge. He hoped to get all of them before they got to him. He knew they would get him eventually. This thought kept ringing in the back of his head, one way or another, they would get him. He left for the courthouse to do a little reconnoiter.

He walked around the courthouse, looking at the likely places in order to confront the judge and or the court cop that had manhandled him.

Barry the mime was back at six am the next morning as all the judges and deputies were beginning to arrive to start their day ruining people’s lives. He was hamming it up. Shaking hands and patting the backs of those without coats or jackets. He saw his target, Judge Winebelly. He was dressed as business casual wearing a shirt and tie but no jacket. Barry retrieved a small but powerful sprayer that he had worked with the night before. He made sure that both the bulb and sprayer were ready as the man approached hoping to shake hands.

But just as he thought, the smug assed judge, son of a bitch, strolled past him without even a glance. That was fine with him. He spritzed the judge’s loose fitting shirt twice as he walked by. This was especially dangerous due to being possibly infected by his own poison. The unknowing and now infected judge walked through security and into his chambers. He donned his vestments and looked at the roster for the day. The poison on his shirt had now dried and was dormant until it was moistened once more. This would happen long after it was introduced and at a very inopportune time.

To say the least, Barry was having a stellar day when a short time later the deputy walked by and ordered the mime to cease and desist and ordered him to leave the premises, then turned to walk away. This man received a triple shot and then Barry quickly walked away from the area disappearing into the comings and goings of the working class. He took many different routes to get home in case he was followed. After he got home, he burned the clothes and hid the poison and the application delivery modes, grabbed a beer, turned on the TV, and proceeded to wait for the glad tidings of the fruits of his labors.

It didn’t take long.

By 7:15, the deputy complained of pain in his back. By 7:30, he was at the hospital, suffering from respiratory arrest and a team of doctors were working feverishly to keep him alive.

At 9:45, it was warm in the court room as Judge Winebelly had been sitting straight up in his chair sweating profusely, listening to arguments concerning a breaking and entering with intent to do bodily harm. During a particularly boring argument where both lawyers were struggling to outdo each other, the honorable Judge Winebelly leaned against the back of the chair. His robe and shirt were pressed against his dripping and soaked back wetting the poison, bringing it back to life. The judge’s body couldn’t have been in a more dangerous position than it was then. With the heat and sweating, his pores were open and receptive to anything in the area where the poison made contact. In less than one minute, Judge Winebelly called for a recess and tore at his clothing as he fled the courtroom to be rid of the offending articles that was causing the pain. It was as if fire were running down his back. He had his secretary retrieve a plastic bag full of ice which he held against his back. The pain was beyond his tolerance level as he had an ambulance summoned. With two similar infections, the courthouse was placed in lock down and everyone was searched. Surveillance cameras were checked for any suspicious activity. It took a mere 20 minutes to locate a possible suspect. A man dressed as a mime, or at least they suspected it was a man. Upon first glance, there was nothing to see until the confrontation with the deputy. Then the mime was observed making a motion toward the deputy then quickly leaving the scene. The investigator rolled back the video to where they saw the judge walk by the mime. The instigator’s movement was subtle and they almost missed it, but it was there clear as day when you were looking for it. They magnified his face until it filled the screen. Being painted white and absolutely zero exposed skin, race was impossible to determine. All they had was height and weight.

With little to no information, the police went public with what they had. Calls flooded the police lines with every mime in the state regardless of size and weight.

Barry, seeing an opportunity to sit back and collect his thoughts and plan for his last victim. He then began devising an escape plan following taking out his last victim. He smiled calmly, confidently and saluted the TV with his drink. He tipped his drink to his lips and mentally toasted the talking head for telling him where the cops were on the investigation. But he was wrong, very, very wrong.

Since there wasn’t any such thing as a mime registry save for a few that performed children’s parties and was in the phone book, they had to decipher and crosscheck the mime reports vs. occupants names and eliminating them by name and locale. They had narrowed it down to five names of local mimes that were working or living in the area of the city. They were also researching those that might have had taken a grudge against the judge and other staff. They were issuing names for questioning when one of the officers spoke up. “Captain, this one name on the list, Barry Stoller, I’ve dealt with him before. Odds are good that he could be our prime suspect. Deep seated anger issues. He has been ordered to more anger management classes than anyone I have ever heard of. He received 90 days for contempt of court for arguing and cussing Judge Winebelly. They said he became quiet and refused to speak. Everyone thought it was odd but his demeanor or the time told a different story. Captain, may I suggest that we begin with him?”

“I agree, but I will send two men each to the other men on the list just to cover all the bases. I’ll send you and 10 others to Mr. Stoller’s residence. I also recommend wearing bio suits as well. If he has quick access to what he is spreading, then just put him down. Don’t take any chances with this guy.” The captain said.

Within the hour, Barry’s hovel was surrounded. The tipster that called him in was very accurate on the address, appearance, and vehicle description. His vehicle was disabled, and weapons at the ready as a sea of black bio suits emerged around Barry’s house as they looked through windows. Barry sat in his easy chair, his drink loose in his hand, head lying over the back of the chair. Two men rushed the door with what looked like a fence post driver. The door splintered and flew inside as four men rushed in screaming orders. “Raise your hands asshole.” To which Barry did just that. Oddly, Barry wasn’t scared as he thought he would be. But he was really surprised and almost broke his eight months of silence when they crashed his front door. It was going to be fun during the interrogation. They’ll send in a shrink or two who will say that some mental trauma pushed him into silence. But he knew different didn’t he?

Barry sat in front of three detectives who look like someone just killed their judge. “Hm, did he die yet? I infected him early this morning. I’m sure the court cop is done by now.” He thought as they sat and stared at him. Seemed like forever before any of them spoke.

“Why?” One finally asked, “Why did you do it?” the one asked. Barry raised his manacled hands up in a question and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “I don’t know!”

Under the points of several weapons, the three detectives and two officers grabbed and slammed Barry face down on the floor, pinning him under four bio hazard clad bodies. Within seconds, he was waist cuffed to where his hands were restricted to his waist. The police were taking no chances. The media was everywhere. Barry was escorted and surrounded by a full squad of police and Barry was donned in a bullet proof vest that the police strapped on him.

While some of the media flagged him as what he was, and that being a cold blooded murdering monster, the other stations placed him as the victim of the system and put him on a pedestal as a hero of the weak and oppressed. The latter skewed and slanted what evidence they had so badly that no one had a clue what was going on. They had even found a few old college days pictures to show how innocent he is. Things got so far out of hand that the media had caused rioting in the streets and tensions among the media.

Back in the interrogation room, Barry sat in his chair and looked at the mirror on the wall. He wondered how many people were back there watching the questioning. He guessed that they even had at least one psychologists in there as well. The good cop, bad cop technique just wasn’t working. They tried everything to get the “Murdering Mime”, as the media labeled him, to utter a single syllable. He sat and grinned or smiled through 12 hours of solid interrogation, but as with the other interrogators before these, he said nothing or helped by expressing any emotions, body movement, facial twitching or anything that would indicate his feelings one way or another. Just conversing with him, or more correctly, at him gained nothing but frustrating silence. Psychologists and psychiatrists as well as profilers evaluated Barry. All said that he was as stable and mentally acute as they were. But still not very sound with bouts of anger from his past and radical fluctuations of bipolar disorder. All of this data was handed to the judge who wore a black ribbon with two names of the court officer and the judge who had died painful and horrific deaths just yesterday morning. The court officer was the worse of the two with doctors forcing him to remain alive as long as they could, even though he should have died no more than 30 minutes after his infection instead of the four hours that would forever cause trauma and nightmares to the staff that kept him alive. The judge was merciful by comparison with only 15 minutes from infection to his final heartbeat.

She thoroughly examined every word on every page, making notes until she completed her report. She recalled the Doctors and asked what the hell they meant by giving her conflicting reports of mental stability. They all said that though Barry Stoller appeared stable, he fluctuated between bouts of mirth and anger. Then at times, he just sat and, well, it seemed as if Mr. Stoller studied them.

After three grueling hours, Judge Strong stopped and asked, “What did he say during all this time to give you all this conflicting data?”

“That’s just it your honor, he didn’t say one word!” one said.

“Excuse me?” The judge said demanding a different answer.

“He either couldn’t speak or just simply refused to speak. The last official spoken word that was recorded of him speaking was when he was first placed in prison. Nothing after that, nothing in the anger management classes, and the instructor stated that he only sat and smiled during the classes. When he was released from the program, he went to retrieve his vehicle, found it damaged and not running, and signed paperwork to release it to the city. Then he was reported to be working the streets as a mime. Since he was not speaking, this was fitting for him.” The most senior of the doctors said.

“Well, let’s get him in court for arraignment and see what his lawyer or lawyers say. We’ll set for first thing tomorrow morning.” She finished and left chambers leaving the doctors looking confused.

Nine am came early for a man who was waiting to die. He had not requested a lawyer and a pro-bono public defender arrived just in case he might be needed since he had nothing on his agenda that day. Barry did walk in with a briefcase. He sat and opened it to pull out his breakfast and commenced to eat.

The public defender took one look at Barry and wondered if he had made the right decision to appear in court for work today. The judge asked Barry if he had a lawyer in which Barry shook his head. The judge then asked him if he wanted a lawyer. Barry nodded enthusiastically and smiled.

The judge looked at Barnaby Schister and asked him if he was there to accept the case. Barnaby nodded his head and asked for a conference with his client. That was when the judge informed him that Barry Stoller refused to speak. Barnaby looked at Barry and he was holding a six inch thick stack of paperwork, and he was smiling that same smile.

“You honor, in lieu of just receiving the case, and the immensity of the records to study for this case, I would love to move for a continuance so I would feel comfortable and confident in proceeding with my client’s case.” He said almost stuttering.

“Very well, this being the pleading portion anyway, I will make sure you have ample time. But you will get just enough time to get your defense and council prepared. These are the current charges against Mr. Barry Stoller, four counts of murder in the first, four counts of assault and battery, creating a weapon of mass destruction with intent to distribute, distributing a chemical agent with intent to do great bodily harm that murdered four people.” The judge continued to read the charges.

The public defender looked at Barry seriously for the first time. He was still smiling as he gave that, “Oops, I think I messed up!” shrug with an innocent look on his face.

The judge finished reading the charges and looked at the defense attorney and freshly graduated lawyer, “Mr. Schister, you may close your mouth so that you may speak. You have heard the charges, and I must ask you again, are you absolutely positive that you wish to accept this case?” Barnaby nodded slowly. “Okay, back to business then. Does your client wish to plead guilty or not guilty?”

Barry shook his head, Barnaby asked, “Not guilty?” Barry nodded holding two thumbs up. “My client pleads not guilty your honor. Your honor, may council request to approach the bench please?”

Both lawyers huddled close as they and the judge conversed. “Your honor, Mr. Stoller doesn’t seem to be taking any of this seriously. Has he been analyzed for mental stability?” Barnaby asked.

The prosecutor spoke up, “Way ahead of you counselor, that packet that you were given has everything you will need, and contains everything that we have asked him, every test that we have conducted to date, and his records of arrest, complaints, everything we have on file of Mr. Stoller. His mental assessment occupies pages 619 through 897. We thought he was mentally unstable to stand trial but the only negative to point us in that direction was his perpetual smile and refusal to speak.”

“Barnaby, I just want to ask you again, only because he is accused of killing four people, two of which were a court officer and an elected court judge, are you sure you want this case and all the aggravation that will go with it?” the judge asked.

“Yes your honor, I do want this case. With all due respect to her honor, will you be able to impartially oversee this case as a neutral judge, trusting in the jury’s ability to be fair and impartial as well, or does her honor recommend I ask for a change of venue?” Barnaby finished with a confused look on his face.

“I can, and I will ask you to do what you feel you must do. I only ask due to the severity and opposition in this case.”

They refused bail which was moot since Barry couldn’t afford bail and he had no one to post bail for him since he had no friends. He was escorted back to his cell while Barnaby lugged the novel of documentation and copies of evidence back to his office to begin perusal of a one Barry Stoller. The prosecutor painted a grim past of violence and anger. Eighteen anger management classes and seminars that obviously did not work and he had purchased six monkshood plants in which four were planted in his back yard. He made a very elaborate chambered system for extracting and concentrating the poison to multiply its effectiveness. He had made two devices for use in the delivery of the poison. They had located the chamber he made, unused poison, and the delivery mechanisms he used to kill his victims.

Barry’s perfidy knew no bounds. It was prevalent as far back as he could research. The best Barnaby could do was to try for a plea deal. He met with Barry who motioned to go for trial, but it was to be all or nothing. No plea deal, no guilty plea. “Why won’t you talk to me, I’m trying to save your life! I’ll be lucky to keep them from bringing back the gas chamber.” Barry shrugged and wrote a short note which was just as bad as if he spoke.

“You’re the lawyer, dumb-ass, find a way to get it done!  Guess you’re just as stupid as all the other bought off twinkie sucking, knob polishing, dickwads!” He slid the note across the table, crossed his arms and smiled like an innocent child with a tasty secret.

“On the other hand, keep that acidic pie hole shut. And you will not be testifying on your own behalf. We don’t want the jurors beating you to death with their chairs.” To that Barry laughed, hard, shaking as he wiped tears from his eyes. But there was no sound, no gasping or rushing of air. It was as if Barry either didn’t breathe or God had gotten tired of Barry’s mouth and just turned off his volume. Barnaby was now scared and seriously creeped out. Barry didn’t even notice the lack of any sound. The lawyer slowly backed to the door and knocked to be let out.

Barnaby Schister scheduled an appointment with the prosecuting attorney and the judge. An asylum flashed through his brain all night as he tried to find a way to just have him put away for life. He didn’t think Barry was stable enough for court, or for civilization for that matter, and the farther he could get away from him the better. Second thoughts about this case rang like bells at the local church on Sunday morning.

The prosecuting attorney and the judge agreed with the psychological evaluation on the points of being fit for trial. Because of the severity, neither would agree to any plea deal. This was going to be for all the marbles.

The day came for jury selection and the selection was to be from over 153 potential jurors and after four days and 113 jurors later, they had their jury. The final selection consisted of eight men and four women with three alternates, all women. Unless provoked, they would not be sequestered until the trial was handed to them for deliberation.

Barry, during his own trial did everything he could to disrupt the flow of the trial. He put stickers on his fingernails of little miniature hands flipping the bird. He drew the judge as a dick and balls with an uncanny likeness for the face just below the helmet. But he wouldn’t stop there, oh no. He made kissing gestures along with obscene tongue waggling until the judge all but threatened the defendant of putting an anti-spit mask on him to hide his face and add another charge to his list. Barry smiled and chuckled at this. He was facing death and she wanted to add two to three more years to his sentence. But the one that topped the “Holy Shit, I really pissed her off this time!” category was when he walked in and sat down, and for the first time since the trial began, sat neutral, quiet, not doing anything but looking around until there was a gasping from the jury box and the court reporter. Barry had pulled what appeared to be a custom made voodoo doll of the judge accept for the fact that it was naked and anatomically correct. The judge saw him rubbing the dolls pubic region with one hand and rubbing and toying with its breasts with the other hand. It was not unlike a child cuddling her favorite doll accept it would be in an adult film. The judge demanded that it be confiscated and examined the doll. It looked an awful lot like the judge. Well that would be just about enough of that! She placed an order that Barry be searched each day before allowing access to court, and then he was to be promptly placed in the glass cage. That should end his bizarre shenanigans.

The next day, the jury and witnesses saw Barry Stoller confined in an all but soundproof room behind a two inch thick safety glass. The interruptions from Barry Stoller would now be minimalized.

The jurors were now perplexed on the sanity of the defendant in the backs of their minds. The evidence from then on would be in question until, “Your honor, may council approach the bench?” asked the prosecution.

“Approach.” Was the reply.

The trio huddled and the judge turned off the microphone. The prosecuting attorney spoke first. “Your honor, I would like to bring in the psychological people that evaluated Barry’s sanity, all of them. I see doubt in their eyes as they keep looking at the evidence then look at him in a kind of fear that this came from a mad man.”

“I know I am supposed to object to this, but I totally agree to bring them in. he’s driving me bat-shit. Err sorry your honor.” The judge nodded. “How soon could we have them come in?” Barnaby asked.

“I will have them summoned to appear tomorrow afternoon. Brian, will you be introducing the mental arguments today or tomorrow?” The judge asked.

“First thing in the morning judge.”

“Very well, are we ready to continue with the rest of the schedule today? Both attorneys affirmed that they were and returned to their separate stations. The rest of the day commenced without incident. The next day however, was anything but eventless.

The mental acuity was challenged and examples of Barry’s antics during court were quoted as examples of his mental instability to be not sound enough to be able to stand trial. The psychologists and psychiatrists were called that examined Barry Stoller. Question after question was answered as each doctor presented that the only peculiarity was Barry’s refusal to speak. He could speak, but just refused to do so.

By the end of the day, the jurors were looking suspiciously at Barry once again. During this time, Barry had found a bright red tube of lipstick and had drawn a vagina, lips, and a penis with a pair of balls. Only the balls were drawn like a pair of bombs with lighted fuses. Barry had dropped his pants and was pressing his ass against the glass laughing. He was promptly removed and the glass cleaned. When Barry was brought back in court, the chains were shortened to hand movement only and the chains were less than an inch and his waist chain was attached to the bench.

Now the jurors looked at Barry with contempt.

The prosecution rested and the defense had rested by noon the next day. Both had made rebuttals to each other’s closing arguments. At 2:15, the judge gave strict instructions to the jury and sent them into the deliberation room. It looked like it could go either way. The prosecution was confident of a conviction.

The jurors requested the paperwork on the mental stability of Barry. This would cause much consternation among both sides. What would happen if they come back questioning his sanity.

Another note was delivered to the judge at 4:45 requesting to stay later than five o’clock since they thought they could come to a unanimous decision soon. A note returned to the jurors with the judge’s blessing.

The judge was having a late supper when her cell phone buzzed with a text message. “Jury has reached a verdict. What are your instructions?” The judge checked the time, 8:15, might as well finish this she thought. Her return text read, “Reconvene at 9:15, make sure they have eaten and the defendant is behaving.”

Back in court, both lawyers fidgeted, Barry was put back into his glass display case and restrained as before. He looked cocky and confident as he sat silently, smiling as a person who just won the three hundred million dollar lottery.

The jurors were escorted back into the courtroom, none looked at Barry. That was normally a bad sign for the defendant. The judge was announced in and everyone once again took their seats.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?” The judge asked.

One woman stood at the end, closest to the bench, who had been chosen as the jury foreman, and announced, “We have your honor.”

“Bailiff, if you would please.”

The note of life and death, of confinement or freedom, of victory or failure as so many times had passed this path before reached the judge.

The judge read the note and spread it open in front of her. Her expression never changed. Barnaby decided to never play poker with this woman. Then she spoke, “Is this the verdict of you all?” Each juror nodded and said yes in turn. “Barry Stoller, rise, Deputies assist him to his feet.” The deputies unlocked Barry’s waist chain from the bench and he stood smiling. Now all eyes were on him to see what his reaction was going to be.

“Mr. Barry Stoller, you were found guilty on all counts in which you were charged. It was recommended that you face the maximum penalty in this case which is the death penalty.” Barry’s smile vanished to a look of total disbelief. He thought they would think him insane.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your service and on Monday we will reconvene for the penalty phase. Until nine am Monday. Have a good weekend.

Barry had four days to think. What was done was done. They always gave the victims and the defendant time to speak, or in Barry’s case, write a statement. I have that here somewhere, I know I do. Ah, here it is. The family of the former employer asked why, and then watched as Barry shrugged his shoulders, they then told him to burn in hell. His response to that was to grab his crotch and flipped them off. It took three officers to hold the son back. The wife of the Medical Examiner just stared at him and then asked the judge to mandate the death penalty and execute him in the same manner he had murdered his victims. The family of the judge wanted 10 minutes with him in a locked room and the court officer’s family sent a note respectfully declining the offer to appear and simply said death was too good for him.

Then it was time for the defendant to make his statement. His lawyer had the note. The attending witnesses and family hoped for a pleading for forgiveness, but this is Barry we are talking about. “Your honor, do I really have to read this?”

“Mr. Stoller, are you still refusing to speak?” To this Barry simply nodded. “Sorry councilor, you’re on the mound, so to speak. Bailiff, could we get a few more bodies in here?” Five minutes later, there were 20 officers lined up between the lawyers and the crowd. “Read away councilor.”

He began with his own disclaimer. “Ladies and gentlemen please remember that these are Barry Stollers words and do not, I repeat, do not reflect anything on my part. These are not my words.” Barnaby shuffled the two sheets he had in his hands, cleared his throat, and began reading. “Ladies and gentlemen of the families affected by my alleged actions of murder and mayhem, I wish I could say I apologize for my actions against them, but I can’t. Since I did not start any of this, I only wanted to be left alone to live my life. But no, this was not to be.  That stupid son-of-a-bitch supervisor wouldn’t just let me work. He had to challenge my intelligence and my abilities. That dumb-ass should have suffered longer. He was an ass-knob that was too stupid to stay alive anyway. That dipshit coroner was just stupid and was at the wrong place at the wrong time. He was only guilty of being a retarded dumb-ass. The court officer was an inbred, beer guzzling, roadhouse watching, fat-assed wannabe and used every opportunity to physically abuse a poor slob like me every chance he got. I swear he had a boner when he tackled me. I know, I could feel it rub against my hip! I’m glad the doctors kept him alive long enough to really suffer.

I am sorry for that pasty faced, shyster judge. He should have gone to the same doctors so they could have made his life a living hell like he made mine. He was the biggest cream filled, donut sucker I had ever met. At first, I thought he was going to be too stupid to die. I would have loved to have watched him cross from this life into hell.

I have had a rough life made worse by limp wristed, crank yanking bureaucratic ass-hats like them and idiot troglodyte foot lickers like you. I don’t ask for sympathy, just to be understood. I see shocked faces by what I say, so what! If more people were brutally honest, we wouldn’t have so many self-servant, panty waste, limp wristed and owned by the highest bidding politicians. But back to you losers, look at your selves. When was the last time you were nice to someone. Or look upon someone like me and think, what a freaking loser. You know you do because I don’t act like you. This is all your fault. I was simply minding my own business. So, to hell with you all, kiss my ass and may your mama visit me on conjugal day before you inject me with your justice. May you all choke on your own self-righteous pompous and pious self-determined worth. Now go away and play with yourselves.”

Barnaby finished, the room was so quiet that you could have heard a cotton ball fall on the on the carpeted floor. The silence was broken by a cough, then someone softly saying. “Can you believe the arrogant bullshit that lawyer just read? He’s not insane. He’s just a murdering sociopath.”

Another voice replied as an affirmative to the statement. “Ya think?”

The judge sat, she tried to show no emotion as Barnaby slowly sat. She was thanking the powers that be that the decision for the extra security behind him was a good one. Some were now standing and others were becoming angry. Chaos was on the menu, and it was about to be served until the judge slammed her gavel. “Silence in my court. Each person who outbursts or comments from here on will get 10 days of contempt! I have never lost control of my court room and today will be no different. Deputies, clear my court room of everyone not directly connected to this case.” 10 minutes later, and two arrests, they thought the judge was kidding. The judge asked if they were related to Barry. You could tell they wanted to speak but held their tongue. She afforded them the opportunity to apologize and walk away. After a brief thought process, both men almost choked getting out their apologies, but they did manage to leave the court room free men.

Barry, on the other hand, was not so lucky. It took less than two hours for the jurors to impart the death penalty to Barry.

The judge read the jury’s recommendation and pulled a sheet from her own folder. “Barry Stoller, by a jury of your peers finding you guilty of four of the most heinous murders against humanity by consciously and with malice, did make a substance that in itself was lethal, but you made said substance even deadlier by making a concentrated form with intent to distribute and take human life. This court Mr. Stoller, that sees that your perfidy knows no bounds. The court cannot try to sway a sentence of life without the possibility of parole due to the chance that you would find your way back into society. A place I will add, that you have no peaceful existence therein. You, Mr. Stoller, are quite frankly a monster. To call you a murderer is giving murderers a bad name. Nothing shy of the treacherous behavior of the animals that gassed millions in concentration camps and kept souvenirs and giggled while watching them die equals what you have done.” Barry sat and smiled like a kid who had just won an ice cream cone.

“Mr. Barry Stoller, I do hereby sentence you to death. This sentence is to be carried out six months from this date. You have the right to appeal the decision of this court. That is between you and your lawyer. I pray God may have mercy on your soul. Bailiffs, please remove this monster from my court room, and place him in isolation to protect the other inmates.

Barry’s waist chain was removed from the bench and Barry rushed the glass and proceeded to dry hump the glass while licking it. The deputies had to physically drag him out until they had him just past the door at which time he stood, turned, and calmly walked with the deputies to his new cell. His lawyer was in tow behind the group of officers and Barry. He was placed in his cell and Barnaby walked in behind him. The door was closed but not locked and two deputies remained outside just in case of trouble.

“Okay Barry, do you want to appeal?” Barry shook his head. “You’re still not speaking, huh?” he shook his head again and asked for a pen and paper. Barnaby looked at the guards who nodded that it was okay.

Barry wrote briefly and then slid the note over to Barnaby. “Why the hell would I appeal with a shit lawyer like you? No one can get me off or even a life sentence now. I knew I was going to die when I started this, but I thought I was going to be shot. At least I was hoping. So you just do what all you liars do best and leave me alone.”

Barnaby picked up the pad and pen, stood and stared at Barry who flipped him off. “Do you think this is still a game that the governor is going to call and not only save you but turn you lose? You’re on death row, Barry. In six months, you’re going to be strapped down and injected with three agents. The first chemical is called Thiopental which is an anesthetic that will render you unconscious. The second injection is called Pancuronium Bromide which is a muscle relaxant, or more correctly, a paralytic. This injection alone can kill you by suffocation because it paralyzes all your muscles such as your diaphragm. But the third injection of Potassium Chloride stops the heart placing you in cardiac arrest. They claim it is painless and peaceful, but I can tell you by observation that the first injection is not pleasant as you will try to fight it. After that no one really knows as there have never been any survivors. If you change your mind Barry, send for me.” With that, Barnaby turned and walked away from Barry who was still flipping him off.

Five months later, the government decided to intervene and appeal on Barry’s behalf, which soon became a detriment to everyone involved. They finally learned what everyone else already knew, and by his own admission in his sentencing comments that he is not only guilty, he truly is a monster and a danger to society. It only took them six months to come to that conclusion. They had visited Barry at first to tell them what they were going to do for him and how the president stated that if he had a son, he would have been just like Barry.

However, by the last meeting, Barry still refused to speak and wrote them a note that surprisingly made the internet. This note not only was seen and passed on, but went viral. The president had to hide from the press while his writers tried to come up with something for damage control. He was challenged on a state of the union address about his comments and he was caught off guard. His teleprompter writers scrambled to put up something so that he wouldn’t sound like a complete idiot. The words “Wait one!” scrolled on the clear screen until it said that the upcoming message was to be read.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am deeply disappointed on how the press has taken my statements and turned them around and taken them completely out of context. I was talking about his appearance, not his actions. He obviously has issues with society. And for further information on his case, the investigation has been concluded and his execution has been rescheduled by the courts.” It had seemed that the president was the only person in the country, well the world that did not know what the note contained. Or so it was reported. The truth was that he had received the note and turned pale, began to tremble, and had to be medicated for a week. His staff tried to keep the note from going online but was too late. I had to go online to locate the note that Barry Stoller wrote. I found it just in time as they tried to remove it from the internet. The note was crude and so obnoxious that I will only highlight the message. “Did I really hear someone say that the president, the biggest lying shyster that paid a billion dollars to sit in a position that only pays four hundred thousand a year? A person who is obviously owned by the highest bidder, that if he had a son he would be just like me? That is a laugh! My president is the father of a murdering psychopath. Gee dad, when are you going to come and visit your most favorite son? Are you going to grant me immunity and forgive my crimes and sentence and take me home? I miss mommy, does she still scream my name at night, or was that only when I was home. You are really the dumbest person to walk the face of the planet to make a shit statement like that. Did you make that statement before your owners could stop you, or were you hoping that you could be a hero saving a poor misguided and falsely accused man from death? Well dad, you are going to fail. Though I did vote for you and you are my biggest hero and idol in corruption and narcissistic behavior. I view you as a modern day Hitler. When can you come to pick me up? I will make dinner for the entire family. I have a killer sauce that I love to use on the chicken. Don’t forget me, dad. I love you and look forward to seeing you real soon.

Your favorite son

Barry”

11 months and three days later, Barry was scheduled for execution at the end of the month.

Two weeks before the execution, he was visited by a priest who he promptly and all but bodily threw out of his cell. Barry was no longer allowed paper or anything that he could cut or hurt himself with. His last meal was ordered and delivered. He sat and ate his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, potato chips and a Mt. Drop soda. Three hours later, four deputies, his lawyer, and a priest, fell in place with the execution procession. They walked down the hall and to the room with the table for the injection series with the straps. The curtains were pulled from the windows allowing observation from those who wished to observe his execution. Members from all four families were there, some local government officials, and oddly enough, the judge who convicted him.

All the seats were full and watching the operation of the execution step by step. A man beside Barry spoke. “Mr. Barry Stoller, you have been accused and convicted of 32 crimes against humanity including the deaths of Adam Williams, the honorable judge Percival Winebelly, court deputy, officer Billy Stanton, and Medical Examiner Thomas Alderfer. You have been sentenced to death by lethal injection. At this time you have an opportunity to make a statement if you so desire. Do you wish to make a statement Mr. Stoller?” Barry nodded.

He opened his mouth to speak and worded his first word after almost a year and a half of silence. But nothing came out. He cleared his throat which made no noise, and then he tried to speak again but was met with more silence. He was now beginning to panic, he knew he could speak, but nothing was coming out. He screamed, but it was a scream of silence. The witnesses and staff thought he was up to his antics again. They took Barry and tried to get him on the table. He kept trying to speak but nothing came out as they had to restrain him. More staff came in to aide in strapping him down. He became combatant as he kept trying to make a statement or even a noise. Even his combativeness was made in silence as he tried to fend off the officers while still trying to make any kind of noise. They picked him up and placed him on the table. More had entered the chamber and they had to strap him in one appendage at a time. The witnesses thought that now he saw the severity of his crimes and was trying to get away.

Once he was strapped in, he continued to try to scream as they inserted the IV needle for the three step process. Deputies and staff cleared the room leaving Barry alone as he continued to try to speak, yell, and scream but still he was only able to lip words with not so much as a sound of a rush of air.

The Sodium Piothental coursed down the IV tube with a saline solution into Barry’s veins. He was screaming silently, face in a caricature of agony and torment. He slowed his actions, but his face only relaxed slightly. His face was frozen in an open mouthed mask of a primal scream. A few seconds later, the Pancuronium Bromide travelled the tube and chased the former agent into his veins paralyzing his muscles and this also included his diaphragm. This process stopped his breathing and Barry began a process of suffocation. The third and last chemical of Potassium Chloride coursed its way through his body and through his heart stopping it in med beat.

Less than four minutes after the process started, a doctor entered the chamber and checked for a pulse or any breathing. After his examination he announced that Barry Stoller was dead. Though everything else was business as usual, Barry’s frozen face told a horribly different tail. “I want him taken to the morgue for an autopsy.” The judge announced.

Three weeks went by before the results were returned to the doctor and the judge. “Results on autopsy of Mr. Barry Stoller. There were no chemical imbalances of any kind found to have caused his anger issues or loss of speech. There was no physical damage to the brain to cause anger issues or loss of speech. This report finds absolutely no reason why he refused to speak during his execution and why he could not when he tried. Final findings of Barry Stoller. Speech issue inconclusive. Anger issue inconclusive. Cause of death was by Pancuronium Bromide and Potassium Chloride.”

The judge placed the report on top of Barry’s court records and other documents and closed the folder, placed the document in the out basket for filing and storage closing the case on Barry Stoller.

END

 

The House That Satan Built

An old cottage stood at the end of a glen in a tight and very densely populated grove of trees with a harsh overgrowth of foliage. The developers missed the cottage. The contractors almost dropped a tree on it. Upon discovery, the developers were called and they inspected the dwelling and tried to locate the owner, if any.

Research showed no previous owners or any one even being known to own any land in that area. There was also no registered evidence of any structures anywhere in the region. So the existence of the cottage was one of those mysteries that would be forever in the background and many questions left unanswered. Inspectors were called and a thorough inspection showed a well-designed and well-built home, very solid and the age thereof was undeterminable. Developers decided to keep and use the house as a model home. The engineers redesigned the homes and a new layout of the neighborhood making the cottage the apogee of visual appeal.

The ground was ceremoniously broken and the access road went in first followed by foundations of the neighboring homes. Plumbers and electricians went into the cottage and installed and updated the cottage to current building codes and standards.

Six months later, they were ready for a grand opening, and what houses had not sold during construction, quickly sold during the grand opening. Most of the buyers purchased the homes as a weekend, summer get away. Others seeing the remote area and the possibilities of the privacy opted to live there year round.

The last house to sell was the cottage and it was decided to auction off the parcel to the highest bidder due to the prime location and uniqueness of the abode. The plot was purchased by an eccentric entrepreneur who had more money than sense.

People moved in and got to know each other, well the ones that didn’t mind socializing, the rest, well, stayed inside or moved quickly to their boat or vehicles, and did not socialize for any particular reason other than to remain anonymous.

People and families came and went over the next few years to the isolated paradise. There were block parties, BBQ’s, gatherings, weddings, reunions, and anything the individual could dream up. The community became close knit and friendly. Everyone either got along or tolerated others, well, it was a rare situation as far as communities go.

One night, the entrepreneur shut off his lights for the night and a red glowing figure stood in the middle of the sitting room of the small cottage. He was five foot six inches tall. His head was like a red triangle, stretched long ways with three inch horns and red piercing eyes. His body and arms were thin and hairless. His fingers were long with cracked, blackish nails. His lower body was probably the most disturbing feature. He had black cloven hooves and legs that hinged backwards. They were covered in a mat of wool like hair that went up to his waist. His tail hung just above his backward knees. He stood in disbelief that there was a puny, pathetic human in his home. He thought at first that he was in the wrong house as he didn’t recognize anything at first. Everything was different. Electricity, plumbing, and lights were not what he put in when he built the redoubt. He came here every 10 to 12 years as a convenience to stir up trouble. He blipped outside and saw a sight that angered him to no end.

It took all of his self-control not to level the entire community in a massive fire-ball. He transported from house to house looking at the occupants, trying to envision a plan. With each house he visited, his scowl slowly became a grin. He had visited all the houses and was back at his cottage. His face was a sneer with a grin so evil that if people knew or even had any hint of his existence, they would have run away and never returned. But they didn’t see, nor did they have a clue as to what had just begun to transpire.

He went to the first house on the left hand side as you would come up the road. There was a couple in this house. He stood at the end of the bed and stared at the couple. He focused and found that she was with child. He had special plans for them. He went to the next house and found it empty. He walked to the furnace and caused a gas leak then ignited the gas. There was a small whoosh as the flame burned and began consuming the wood and other flammable materials. What slowed the fire was the drywall surrounding the furnace. Satisfied that the structure would be completely consumed by the time the fire crews arrived caused the red being to leave after the furnace room, hall, two bedrooms, and the sitting room were fully engulfed. He transported himself outside the home and noted that the only evidence of the fire was what escaped from the chimney. This was good. He didn’t know where the firehouse was. This would be a good start. It would look like an accident until they found a liquid accelerant, then the suspicion would begin to run rampant.

It took five minutes for the fire to consume the inside of the house and into the outer walls and roof area. By this time the structure was already a total loss. The house next door was engulfed by the smoke and filled the inside of their home as they slept. Another home saw the smoke and seeing the wall of fire next door and called the fire and rescue. They arrived in time to cool off the houses on both sides and hose down the embers. From the initial call to the arrival was 25 minutes.

The whole community that was there was outside and either staring or questioning what had started the fire. There were lots of questions and none of them focused anywhere close to the suspicion of arson.

The fire department pounded on the door of the house with the couple but received no answer. The determination was made that they were not at home as some of the other homes were sitting empty as well.

As the fire turned into a steaming pile of embers cooling ash, and rubble, people began to filter back to their homes wondering if the family was back at their city home or if they perished in the fire.

The next day, the entire community was discussing the fire. This was the biggest news of the small community of “Cottages by the Lake.” The tape around the house raised the speculation discussion dramatically. It was crime scene tape and it was stretched all the way around the house.

Neighbors without kids began looking at the neighbors with teenagers and looked accusingly. Since the families bodies were not found in the house, or their car found in the remains of the garage, it was presumed that they were not at home. It was also now presumed that they could have burned down their own house for the insurance money. Rumors had it that they were struggling financially. It looked even worse when they could not locate the family and they were only able to receive voice mail and unanswered doors at their city home up state. While most drove north to get away from it all, this family drove south. The police were able to discover that they were on a 14 day cruise out of the country and were due back in a few days. Now all were looking at each other for answers to questions that were running amok and the accusations were now flying, but only behind closed doors.

That night, the devil went from house to house, selecting his next course of action. He had travelled through all 13 houses then settled on one house with two teenagers. The older of the two was no angel and no stranger to trouble. He looked inside the boys head. He was bored and didn’t have anything to do so Satan put a seed in his head for something to do.

He went to another house and went into the utility room. He made sure that all the doors were wide open. Then he broke all the water pipes in and around the water heater and took the form of the boy. Being awakened by the noise, the owner came out in time to see the boy run through the door and out of the house to disappear into the darkness. Meanwhile, the boy was actually busy down by the lake’s edge pouring sugar into the gas tanks that were left on the boats. He was seen walking up from the docks and was promptly detained for when the police would eventually arrive on the scene. He was then cuffed and hauled away.

The big questions were now, why did he destroy the water pipes and then vandalize the fuel tanks, and one other big question, did he start the fires? Now everyone was aiming their aggression and anger at the boy and his family. They also “knew” that he had started the fire. There was a huge sigh of relief as they carted the boy away to jail. The whole time he yelled, “I only messed with the boats! I only messed with the boats!”

There was a man standing in the background that no one really noticed wearing a pair of shorts and a black T-shirt. There were a couple of people who noticed him, one even spoke with him. They didn’t notice that he was a stranger until later.

“It’s time to turn up the heat!” Satan said. The next night he performed his house to house tour and found a home that was empty. He didn’t know why, nor did he care. He went to the furnace and broke off the gas line below the valve. He opened the oven door and programmed the baking timer to go off at 11 pm. Satisfied that everything would operate as planned, Satan took his leave.

Four hours had passed and the timer was due to start the oven any second. Well, timing and Murphy’s Law is tantamount in any situation, and as they say, “of best laid plans.” The son of man hit the mayhem money shot. But for those who may not know who Mr. Murphy is, or is not familiar with his law scheme, allow me a second to explain. Murphy’s Law is simply this, “Anything and everything that can and will go wrong, will invariably go horribly, horribly wrong!” The family returned from a late afternoon movie and dinner out and had just returned home. The man had placed the key in the door and had just started to open the door when the timer ignited the oven’s gas burners which also ignited four hours of leaking natural gas. The father, mother, and sons were the lucky ones. They were atomized instantly and felt nothing. The oldest daughter was the unlucky one. She was blown away from the house and across the street, through the window, and landing on what was left of the entryway of the other house. She had lost three limbs and half of her right leg. Internal bleeding, head trauma and obviously multiple lacerations covered her entire body.

Satan watched from a distance and smiled as Murphy’s Law played horribly wrong for the family, but was an added bonus to his plan. People came out from their homes and on short order discovered the oldest daughter across the street and the mother from that house injured from flying debris from her windows as well as from across the street. It was brutal, deadly, and working beautifully. Another bonus also exposed itself when the windows of the first house with the couple that had died of smoke inhalation blew out with the explosion. Now they would find those two bodies as well. Satan wondered who they would choose to blame this one on.

Satan strolled back into the woods and faded into the forest like the rest of the shadows. He already had three houses down and 10 to go unless everyone left before then.

The next night, he transported from one house to another watching and listening to the feelings and fears of the neighbors. Many of them were in fear of what had suddenly befallen their golden little community.

Some of the fears ranged from rape to murder. The boy had been arrested and doubts and speculations flew on just who had lighted the first fire because of the explosion last night and their sole suspect was sitting in jail.

The red tinged devil made four circuits about the compound until he found the recipient he was looking for. She lay on the bed naked, hands working feverously, eyes closed. The devil transformed into the eccentric man from at the end of the court. He walked up and lay beside her. She started to scream but he covered her mouth with his hand to quiet her. She was scared as he took over then pushed his way on her, talking softly and sexily in her ear as she began to moan once again. He pleasured her until she was spent then he took his leave.

The next day, she was at the old cottage where the eccentric man lived in the beautiful seclusion. She knocked until he answered.

“Can I help you ma-am?” he asked.

“Hi, I just wanted to thank you for last night.” She said.

“What are you talking about? I have never seen you before now!” He said with consternation.

“Oh c’mon, you entered my house and I saw you beside my bed. We made love all night.” She said now questioning if coming up was such a good idea.

“Lady, you need to change your diet before bed. The two main things wrong with your dream is, one, I haven’t been out of my home in a month. I have all my needs, toilet paper, paper, medications, and anything else I need delivered. I can’t go out for at least another two weeks due to fighting pneumonia. And two, I’m impotent. Don’t get me wrong, you’re very attractive but wee Willie doesn’t work because of my meds. There are other reasons, but I really don’t need to say more. Now are you sure it wasn’t a dream? I mean there have been some pretty strange things going on around here.” He said looking at her for the first time. She flushed and stamped her foot.

“It was no dream, I was wide awake and . . . there’s evidence too! You came in to me. There was no question that it was you. If you’re going to be that way about it!” she spun and stormed down the walkway and back to her house.

“Desperate wench!” He exhaled as he pulled his collar up and closed the door. Then for the very first time, he exercised the locks to their home position since he took possession of the cottage. He was watching everything begin to crumble around him in the humble homes. House fires, vandalism, rape, or was it rape, he didn’t know for sure since she said it was him and he knew that it wasn’t. His thoughts trailed off. Somehow he had gone from observer, like in the movie “Rear Window” to an unknowing and unwilling participant. Was she dreaming? Or did someone truly pay her a visit and she thought the person looked like him.

Satan was thoroughly enjoying the show. Things were going better than he anticipated. He was bouncing from cottage to cottage trying to decide on what to do next. The woman sat crying in confusion and anger. The other residents were constantly looking behind them and were spying on each other instead of meeting and joining forces. There were even a couple of families that had distrust within their own ranks. The son of man decided to give the woman the night off. He continued to return to one house where a combat veteran spied out his window and his wife was growing ever afraid of him and their children sneaked by him for fear of his losing control and using them as his object of aggression. The devil stopped here.

He lived across from a man and his family who had never served, they had words when the former combat veteran put up a flag pole and raised the American Flag and had the Marine Special Forces flag below that. His neighbor insisted he take it down but finally relented when others began being just as critical on him. After a while, he backed off and in time would talk to him just to be neighborly.

The man kept constant vigil on his neighbor, much to the dismay of his wife. She had voiced her concern with his unhealthy obsession and then noticed that he had not been taking any of his medication. The devil leaned in close to the man’s ear and fed him a line that turned the man purple. No one could see him. The man thought it was his own inner thoughts talking to him. He heard terrorist cell, kids were walking bombs, hell, even his own wife and kids were informants to the man across the street.

His wife walked in and saw and abandon window. Now she was really scared. She looked all around the house then finally walked back to the garage. He was putting on his camouflage uniform and boots. He had a little can of grease paint and was applying it to his face, mixing the patterns of the green and dark green. “Honey, what are you doing? You’re scaring your wife!” She said uneasily to the man she no longer recognized. He looked at her and advanced. The razor edge of the combat knife entered just under the rib cage as he covered her mouth and eased her to the floor. Once still, he removed the knife and wiped it on the cooling corpse. He made his way back inside. Satan was walking just off his right side talking in his ear all the way into the house. He positioned the knife to conceal the lethal implement. The girl was on the phone laughing at something that was said from the other end.

“Where’s your brother?” he asked blankly. The girl pointed toward her brother’s bedroom. The man nodded and made a line in that direction. He entered the boy’s room and closed the door. There was an audible thump, then nothing.

The man exited the room and walked back to the girl on the phone. She closed the phone with a confused look on her face. “Dad, are you okay? Where’s mom? She’s supposed to take me to the schoo . . .” she was cut off by a grab and twist of her head snapping her neck. He then let her limp body fall to the floor.

He then headed for the front door. The sun was just easing serenely over the horizon. The shadows lengthening and distorting the forest and buildings as he angled across the street. The man worked his way to the back fence which was only three feet high. It was an effortless hop past the honest man’s barrier and up to the back door. Finding the door unlocked, he eased inside where he ran into the middle child. He began to scream but was but off with the slash of the K-Bar knife and covering his mouth. He moved through the house until he found the other children and wife huddled in the corner of the back room farthest from the back door. She was on the phone talking quickly. He moved toward the woman and was stopped by a noise on his left. The man turned and was met by a shot gun. There was no time to react as the man of the house pulled the trigger. The intruder back stepped and tried to raise his weapon. Another flash, a spray of red and the man collapsed on the floor still trying to move. The homeowner kicked away the weapons as the wife and kids ran from the room.

Satan stood in disbelief. He wanted the soldier to kill everyone in both houses. “Shit!” He exclaimed, survivors set him back on his goal of total annihilation. He noted that when the police arrived that it had taken an hour and 20 minutes. They did their usual after crime spree reports and when they interviewed the family, they sent two officers to the man’s house to find three bodies that he started with. One deputy became violently ill while the other struggled to keep down the content of his dinner. The local news and three national news vans had set up camp at the report of four brutal murders and a self-defense shooting of a decorated war hero who had no reports of domestic issues. No reports of PTSD and no mental issues what-so-ever. Had the media actually looked into the man’s history, they would have seen several domestic disturbance calls made from the killer’s wife and the man who had shot him.

The night dragged on, light plants went up and a portable police command center was brought to the scene. Since the crime on the street had escalated that quickly, that it had warranted a constant police presence. Law enforcement was sure that it would work and bring crime in the little community to a halt.

Yeah sure, it will work for the curious and the honest. But Satan was holding the cards and he was stacking the deck in his favor. People call what happens in the spirit of the quote, “Anything that can and will go wrong.” But the son of man used the saying to his liking. “Anything that can make one person fall, another suspicious, and another attack, well, that’s just good quality entertainment!”

Satan went to visit his lady quarry. She was, once again, lying upon her bed as before, her hands busy. Only this time, she was whispering the man’s name in the end cottage. He would leave her for tomorrow night. Making his rounds, out of the 13 houses, there were now six left. The family left the house from the shooting and had sworn that they would not spend another night in that house. So, of the six, two of those were abandoned, one occupied by the woman, leaving three. One of those contained the boy previously arrested for criminal mischief as the other charges were rapidly dropped. They were debating packing up and abandoning their house. But that just wasn’t going to happen. No one else was to leave the area alive.

He now had a mobile command center in his way as well. This was going better than he could have planned. 20 cops on edge and looking for trouble, and a six pm curfew, which lasted until 8:30 am. People couldn’t even go to work unless they just left during the day and failed to return which was also bad as said socialists cops went searching for the missing persons and brought them back in handcuffs.

Two families decided to meet and discuss just what in god’s name was going on and around the neighborhood. After three hours of discussion, much confusion, too many questions, and absolutely no answers, the families parted and one family began walking back to their home. These families did not note the time as now it was past curfew. Six officers saw them and did note that they were out way past curfew by an hour and a half as one yelled “Halt!” and leveled a weapon at them. Afraid for their lives they began to run to their house which was just across the street. The devil was there to make a bad situation much, much worse. He told the cops that they were armed and running away from killing the family in the house that they just left. He told the family to run like hell and maybe the cops wouldn’t shoot if they ran home.

And run they did. The cops screamed “Stop!” and began shooting. The family did not stop but began to run that much harder. One of the family members did stop and dropped to the ground. The rest were less than 30 feet from their front door when five of the cops began to find their marks. The one screamed, “I said halt dammit!” as he also began pulling the trigger. Now all six officers were shooting at the family with military M-16’s on full auto. They cut down the family as if they were weeds to a weed whacker. The one that had stopped and dropped got up and ran in the other direction. He too was cut down in mid stride. Satan smiled. He urged the police to enter the house the family had come out of for a search of weapons and drugs. They did not find any drugs. However, the man was carrying a Glock and was found to have a secured shotgun. Because he was too slow to extract the weapon and throw it toward the officers, one of them fired a warning shot. The warning shot just happened to be aimed at his chest. The man died as they waited for an ambulance to arrive. While they waited, one zealous man kicked him over and cuffed him and was doing a pat down when he discovered two important items on his dying body. The man not only possessed a lifetime permit to carry a weapon, he also possessed proper permit for all the other states as well. The other crucial item he had on his person was a badge marking him as an agent of the C.I.A. “Oh shit! We just shot a federal agent!” at this the man’s wife lost control and began laughing.

“Well then, he should have identified himself when we came in!” another said. This man was the one in charge of the squad.

Sorrow and pain had run rampant and now, as she sat watching her husband die on the floor slowly began to speak. “I own you nazi asshats now. One, we had done nothing to warrant this, two speaking of warrant, you do not have one. Three, we both are permit to carry. And four, he is a C.I.A. agent. You’re all screwed. He’s decorated for his service to his country.” She continued to speak in shock as some automatic response took over and she pressed a speed dial number on the phone she had in hand and held the phone to her ear. Several of the cops instantly raised their weapons toward her. “You’re going to shoot me for making a phone call? Come on, pull that big bad trigger! I dare you!”

A voice came over a speaker on the phone that could be heard throughout the room. “Central Intelligence Agency, how may I direct your call?”

The woman said in a flat tone, eight, four, six, six, two, seven, five, four, five, five, three, three.”

There were a series of clicks and a woman came online with an air of urgency in her voice. “Sarah, are you okay? Is Caleb really dead?”

“Far from it and yes Terri. Local thugs calling themselves the police just raided our house and shot Caleb. I think he’s dead. Their drawn on me right now.”

“There is a team in route and should be there shortly. I’m leaving here as soon as I get off the phone. I’m sorry Sarah,” they all heard a click and Sarah dropped the phone and leaned back.

“Shoot me. It does seem to be what you do best.”

A sergeant ran in demanding a report. The command center had apparently already received a phone call from the C.I.A. The officer in charge spoke, “He refused to comply and did not identify himself as a federal agent. We felt our personal lives were in danger and I fired a warning shot.”

“Into his chest. Some warning shot Barney Fife. Was that your one and only bullet?” Sarah said.

“I’ll get to you in a minute. So for now, you shut up and stay put!” the sergeant said.

“The bloody hell I will. Oh, and to make sure this incident can be used in court. This is all on loop recording and being backed up to three remote servers and a tape somewhere in the house. One of the servers is online and is fed wirelessly to a remote station, the other I don’t have a clue where it is. So if you do manage to find the one in the house, there are two backups that are elsewhere. The one here, Caleb and the woman coming are the only ones that know where it is located and are the only ones to have access to it.”

Satan was laughing and relishing the chaos as he teleported around to the remaining houses. The one woman was still working herself into a lather. The devil stood before her disguised as the guy from the cottage at the end of the lane.

She stopped and opened her eyes, seeing him in the doorway, with one finger she motioned him in. “I thought you couldn’t leave your home?”

“I couldn’t have everyone knowing my business now could I?”

“How did you get passed the Stalin guards out there?”

“I have my ways.” The disguised Satan said stripping from his clothing.

He entered her bed where she readily received him.

The next day she found a note. “Please keep our little tryst secret. I don’t want the enforcers beginning the interrogations and stop what we have now do we? Thanks for last night.

S”

She sat on the edge of the bed. “S, what does that stand for? I thought his name began with an N.” She got up and cleaned up for the day’s activities. There were now a total of three occupied homes counting the original cottage at the end of the lane, 10 news vans, and a cadre of C.I.A vehicles, investigators, and operations officers, one police command center. And a small army of very nervous police officers and one very confused police chief.

The police swore that the crime would drop as soon as they came in and made a strong presence. But not only did the opposite happen the police exacerbated the situation with gestapo tactics, unrealistic curfews, and illegal confinement.

The C.I.A called the FBI due to their restrictions of being allowed only to operate on foreign soil. They did assist in the investigation unofficially because it was one of their own. It was a royal mess, turned into a “Huge pile of shit!” as the chief so amply described it. “That no one wanted to touch!”

The media was having a hay day with the entire nightmare and all involved were scratching their heads as if they had fleas from all the confusion. First and foremost, and according to all the talking heads when the cameras were running was this. “Statistics from all the fatalities thus far state that more people were killed by cop fire than from people losing control and going Lakeview on their own neighbors.” Yes the act of losing control and murdering people was called “going Lakeview.” It was likened unto the seventies when postal workers that went on a killing spree and the talking heads called it “Going Postal!” The police department really took offence to this and with the cooperation of the FBI and CIA, they ran off the news media. The crime finally did die down as a third of the properties were burned to the ground and bodies were hauled from the others, two houses were empty as they were only summer cottages to begin with, leaving two single person dwellings and a mourning wife who couldn’t wait to leave.

The FBI and CIA finished their investigations and a report would be coming directly to the state department giving their findings. It was not going to be pretty and men would fall. Plus they had video and audio to listen, watch, and analyze. The police were debating leaving the scene since the crime spree had died down and there were only three residents left. They found no evidence of the problems coming from outside of Cottages by the Lake Estates. So with their tail tucked between their legs, they pulled stakes and rolled the mobile command center back to its storage place until the next crisis.

The woman was waiting for the cops to leave so she could leave as well. She also waited on the man to come to her, but he did not show that night. In fact, it was two nights after the mobile command center left before he returned. The first question she asked him was concerning her note from him.

“I’ve missed you and I’m glad you’re back but I keep reading your note. You signed it as S. I thought your name started with an N. Doesn’t Nettle begin with an N?” She asked.

“It does indeed, I’m known by many monikers. That just happens to be the one I use the most.”

“What does the S stand for?” She asked with a tone of curiousness in her voice.

“All in good time, all in good time.” He said no more for the rest of the night. Neither was she able to ask him any more till dawn when she, once again, awoke alone. She hoped he returned that night. She looked forward to his visits. Satan looked forward to them as well. But he still had his agenda, and his agenda had deadliness. The widow left when the CIA pulled out. She just packed a single bag and left. He let her go. She would probably be back to move the contents or sell. He could wait, and if she did not return, he could have one of his followers attend to her. Now it was down to the two remaining single people. His fatality rate wasn’t one hundred percent, yet, in time it will be. It always is.

He was working his plan like a well-balanced and oiled machine. It would end like he planned it. Maybe he would drag it out for two more nights. He was enjoying her after all. He just had to make sure that Nate wasn’t able to go anywhere.

Once again, he appeared to her. And her first words were, “I love you!” followed by “Are you ready to tell me what the S stands for yet?”

“Not yet my love, not yet, but soon.” Then he distracted her with another love making marathon lasting into the wee hours when she finally fell asleep. The next night was almost an exact copy accept Satan told her to meet at his house and he would tell her there over dinner.

The next night, the man named Nathan and not Nettles as the devil led her to believe, found her knocking on his door yet once again. He opened the door and she ran in and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh my darling, I struggled all day to stay home and not come over before now. I love you so much!”

Nate stood aghast at her, not knowing what to say or do. He just looked at her at arm’s length. “What the hell lady! Just because we are apparently the last two people left here that you think we’re a couple? I don’t think so! Now, please go, I’m ill and need my rest, I’m too sick to travel or I would be gone as well.” He said.

She stopped then scowled. “So what was all those nights, coming to my bed? Was it just a way for you to release your tension? You think I’m just some whore for you to slither into my house, make love to me all night then leave?”

“What, you’re mad, I haven’t left my cottage. I can’t leave my home or I would have left days ago!”

“You’ve been to my house almost every night for a week!” She all but screamed.

“I have not. It’s obvious that you’re mad. I’m calling the police!” He turned to retrieve his cell phone.

She picked up a small but heavy sculpture and brought it down viciously on the base of his skull. Nate collapsed and did not move afterward. Blood flowed heavily from the deep wound. She ran from the house and back to her house where Satan was already there and waiting. She ran in and dived face first on the bed. The son of man transformed and lay on top of her back. She started and he tried to roll her over.

“Shh, it’s just me.” He said grinning and nuzzling her neck. She finally rolled enough to see his face and emitted a vocal cord tearing scream. She scuffled until she managed to get clear.

“B, but your dead! I just left you on the floor and bleeding.”

“Oh that, yeah, I know all about that!” He said calmly like he was just talking about a book.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Funny you should mention hell.” She looked at him incredulously. “My name is many things. I have many names, Nettles, Deuce, Daemon, Old Dick, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Satan, and also the Son of man, thus the S on the note.” The woman’s pallor left her completely and she began to wane. Satan caught her and eased her to the floor. When she came to, Satan was still standing there looking at her.

“If you’re not Nate, what, who, what are you? What do you really look like? Obviously you can change.” At that request he dropped his guard and stood before her in his entire naked splendor. She backed up and looked at him wondering if she should scream, run, both, but she did not want to be there one more minute. She had to get away. She had relations with this thing. She felt violated, raped, dirty, and worst of all, used. He had used her to commit murder, plain and simple.

She ran from the bedroom and bounced off the door jams, walls, corners, and furniture. Her mind said to run, but her body was failing her.

She found herself in the kitchen, backed against the counter. Her hand sweeping and looking for an escape, but there was none. All she found was the butcher’s block that she received from her parents as a graduation gift from college for her culinary degree. They were expensive and stupidly sharp. She could cut frozen meats with little effort.

Her hand wrapped around the biggest handle as she slowly pulled the blade from its custom slot in the block. Satan strolled in and looked at her then advanced. Her arm whipped around as if it was possessed. The blade sank deep into his chest. He pushed against her, driving the knife up to its hilt. He then writhed in agony as he looked down at the knife. Stopped and poked a finger at it as if testing it to see if it was real.

Three things happened that if she had lived, she would have never forgotten for the rest of her life. But that, sadly, was not to be. For you see, he smiled at her, gripped the knife handle, and pulled it out of his chest, looked at her with that same smile he had before he pulled out the knife. It was a smile that caused an icy chill to run up her spine.

The son of man reached out and placed his hand on her bare shoulder and gently squeezed. She paled, her eyes rolled back exposing only the whites of her eyes. She shook only once, and then dropped to the floor. Satan placed the knife in her hand and then teleported from the redoubt.

He transported from house to house checking for any loose ends, loose people, or a habitable building.

Once that was done, he went back to his abode and cut the power, kicked the body outside and erased any trace of the dead man lying on his floor from inside the house. Then he moved that evidence outside to the body in case someone was to find the area and the two remaining bodies. He then went to where the developers began the access road and caused an overgrowth of foliage to make the road nonexistent. This he did all the way up to the grid of remaining homes. Overgrowth enveloped the remaining homes and brought them down level with the foundations. His cottage being the only remaining structure, then, as a final statement, his cottage was engulfed and vanished from all but the most critical examination.

He appeared within the cottage, stretched, and sat on HIS chair. He looked around and in a blink of an eye, all the pictures, paintings, photos, knick-knacks, and other home comfort detritus flashed into a black ball of smoke and black ash.

People, looky-loos, and insurance investigators looked for the road to no avail. The road to the community of Cottages by the Lake Estates was no more. The homes were gone, leaving the foundations but they were overgrown and invisible from the air.

It was as if nothing had ever existed there from the beginning. This was after all, his house, his area, and he was going to make sure it stayed that way.

END!

 

THE LEPRECHAN

Tony found himself standing over a bloody body sprawled out with several stab wounds. Tony held a large hunting knife covered in blood. To his left, he heard three loud voices screaming at him. “Drop the knife! Drop it now asshole!” he was also covered in blood. This wasn’t that little leprechaun prick, this was a woman wearing a green sequence outfit, though she resembled nothing of the little green bastard that had tortured him over the last four days. He dropped the knife and held up his hands. He was flying tackled with the gentleness of a left tackle sacking a quarter back.

Four days ago, tony was hiking in the back trails of Clifty Falls state park. He enjoyed the quiet serenity of the landscape and the solitude of nature. Tony did this trail several times a year, and though the trail never actually changed, the scenery was always different.

This hike was no different. The branches were budding on the trees for the upcoming spring. The warming sun tingled his face and exposed skin. He was in the most remote part of the trail recommended only for the experienced hikers. It was here that he decided to stop for his lunch.

This will be a decision that he will rue until the day he dies.

Tony was a firm believer of his faith, his God, and proven science. He just never could accept the concept of evolution with all the holes in the research. He never believed in mythical characters like the tooth fairy, Santa Clause, or the mythical gods or anything like that.

Of course that was until today. Today would change Tony’s life forever.

He sat eating his trail mix, sandwich, and chips along with his juice packet when he smelled smoke. He stood and looked around trying to determine where the smell emanated from and made for the source of the smell.

He went further off the path and deep into the woods, through thickets, and finally into a densely packed tree area of the forest. There was a small fire and a little kid in a green sequence outfit throwing items on the fire, branches, cloth, and a pair of shoes. The little kid was also fighting to keep the fire under control and was losing the battle slowly but surely.

“Hey kid, stop that!” Tony said grabbing the child. He spun the child to look into his face and stopped cold. This child looked at least 40 if not 50 years old, and not happy with the interruption.

“Who be yeh ta enterrupt me?” The wee little man said harshly.

“What?” Asked Tony.

“Who be yeh ta enterrupt me I said.” He repeated.

“Who are you and what are you doing?”

“Who be yeh to beh makin demands me boy?” He said. Tony understood more of this.

“I know that there is a fire ban down here and you are having a hard time keeping control over the small fire you got here.”

“Be yeh a bobby?” He asked Tony.

“A what?”

“A bobby, a bloody copper.”

“No, I just don’t want to see my favorite trail burned to the ground.” Tony said sternly.

“If yeh not a bobby then bugger off with yeh and mind yeh own!” He said trying to shake free.

“Who are you?” Tony said kicking dirt over the edges of the fire trying to keep it under control and put it out.

“Shaughnessy O’Shea of the tree clan if yeh must know.” He spat.

“You’re a little surly to be an Irish pyro boy don’t you think?”

“Yeh really don’t get what yeh get helf of do yeh laddie?” He asked Tony.

“Yes I do, an Irish pyromaniac that’s trying to burn down the park.” Tony said but was interrupted.

“I am beholden to yeh, I be yehrs til the dept is satisfied. So, what’ll it be laddie, riches, fame, me pot o gold?” he said with a sly grin, a grin that forced a cold shiver up Tony’s spine. “C’mon laddie, yeh have ta have something yeh want. Yeh have either three wishes or me pot o gold.”

“I don’t buy into this. You are telling me that you’re a leprechaun?” Tony asked.

The little man smiled that evil, sly smile as Tony managed to stamp down and smother the last of the embers of the fire. “Prove it!”

“So, the wishes three it be her yeh then?” He asked.

“No, I want proof that you are who you claim to be. I haven’t made any wishes.”

“What then, me guild card, union card, a card trick?” He spat.

“No, I want proof, I don’t believe in leprechauns. I think you’re yanking my chain.”

“Oh laddie, I beh far from yankin yeh chains matie. Of that I can promise yeh. Yeh name is Tony and yeh be beh tween employment. Yeh have a lady friend that yeh can’t commit ta. Poor work ethics that yeh can’t keep a job. Yeh do side work as a mechanic so yeh can come down here to get away from people. How’s that far a start laddie?” The little man asked.

Tony let go of the little man. He neither ran nor did the little man attack. “Anyone can get that kind of information. I want to see something tangible.”

“So it be tangible yeh want, knowledge is power by yeh want the see me do magic far yeh, it that what yeh want?”

“Yes it is!” Tony said.

“Very well laddie. Yeh asked far it, yeh asked far yeh proof. Hold out yeh hands like yeh be holdin somethin.” Tony did as was told. “Okay, here yeh go.” A large animal appeared, bit and ripped off both hands back to the wrists leaving Tony screaming and staring at two stumps. Tony passed out and collapsed on the ground. When he came to, he was sitting upright with Shaughnessy staring him in the eyes. “I can fix yeh, but it will be wishes yeh be usin and the cost if one wish to restore yeh hands. Do yeh agree?” Tony nodded his head. “Not good enough laddie, I have to hear yeh wish to have yeh hands back. Now try again.”

“I wish my hands were made whole as they were before you injured me to make a point.” Tony said through gritted teeth and throbs of pain.

“Very well then, nicely worded laddie! There yeh go, good as new!” immediately the pain was gone and he sensed feeling again as he had his former stumps under each arm. He looked at his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Do yeh believe me now laddie?”

“Yes I do. You could have proven yourself in a little less dramatically fashion, don’t you think?” Tony asked.

“Pah, we be haven the reputation of tricksters, any other way yeh might not have believed me, aye?” He said slyly.

“Possibly.”

“I’ll tell yeh what, I will restore all three of yeh wishes teh show I still have a heart. But there are a few rules that yeh must abide by. One yeh can tell nobody abute me. Two these are your wishes to use how you want. No passen or proxien them far someone else. Selfish yeh, but they be far yeh and no one else. Three, I be around until the third wish is granted. If I think a wish is wasteful just the beh rid of me, I can restore the wish to make yeh wish a better wish.” He said.

“Three wishes, three rules. Figures, though the rules aren’t that bad except for the one where you say the wishes are mine but you have control on whether they have merit or not. So I still have three wishes as of now.” He nodded. “I don’t understand the concept of making or determining a wish wasteful just to add another wish.” It didn’t make sense to Tony when he said it either. He had several flags going up and common sense told him to run. But another side of him said it wouldn’t matter if he ran or not. Somehow he knew he was screwed.

It was late in the day when Tony finally emerged from the path and made his way back to his car. One couple saw him and panicked seeing all the blood on his clothes and asked if he was okay. He replied that he was as if he had forgotten about his blood soaked clothes. The other person walked away talking quietly on her cell phone upon discovering that the bloody man was uninjured. They then asked if the other person needed assistance. Tony said he went in alone then replied. “I doubt you would believe me if I told you what happened.” After which he packed his gear in his car, thanked the concerned couple and left.

The police arrived and took their statements, the woman showed them the picture of the bloody man, his car, and plate number all while a crew of law enforcement went back into the trail that the people had seen him emerge from earlier. They searched all night and into the next day in the late morning before they found the fire that Tony had extinguished finding the parts of clothing, boots and other items that had not burned when Tony tried to stamp out the fire, but no body. Plates ran and a couple of detectives met Tony at his home.

After hours of interrogations and questioning and Tony trying to convince them that the blood was his, they took the clothes and a blood sample and left informing him not to leave town. The only reason he wasn’t arrested was due to lack of evidence and a body to do so.

“I wish they would believe me and just go away.” He said under his breath.

“Aye, yeh wish is granted.” Said a wee voice. Tony spun seeing the little man grinning at him.

“All this is your doing. You caused me to waste a wish on something that you caused and that they were going to discover was my blood anyway. So that was a wasted wish.”

“I can retract yeh wish if yeh want, but yeh came out of the wood covered in yeh own blood. Yeh should have included yeh clothes in the wish as well!” The little man said.

“Fine, okay, here’s my second wish. I want to always have enough money that I will never have to want for anything for the rest of my life.” Tony said.

“Not greedy friend, but of self-nature. Done, what else do yeh wish far?” He asked Tony.

“Nothing.”

“So, yeh gonna save yehr third far later be yeh? Good, good.”

“Yep,” Tony said. “Bye, bye now.” He said and turned to leave, stopped and looked at the squat little man dressed in green sequence. He looked at him for some time. The little man had an evil leer on his face that almost scared Tony as he turned and walked away.

20 days had passed and the cops had not contacted him concerning what had happened in the woods. He also seemed to always have just the right amount of money for whatever he wanted in his pocket, wallet, and bank account. But the bank account always read a balance of zero until he needed money. This zero balance remained constant and accumulated fines until he needed money. The account was always bouncing daily penalties. Damn leprechaun was going to break him financially. “Technical deviant,” constantly rolled through his mind.

He had to word his last wish carefully that would not only restore his name and finances, but put him on top or the game as well. He was going to fix that little bastard and joker once and for all. He isn’t that smart.

But what Tony did not realize was that these pranksters had as much as a thousand years in experience on these matters. They can twist an air tight contract from the slickest shysters that have ever been drafted and make it look like a five year old wrote it.

There are two things that are a surety in life, death and taxes. Yay a third if one is cursed enough to experience the wiles of a crafty leprechaun. For the latter will make you wish the two prior had visited first.

For two days Tony drafted and crafted a wish so finely detailed that the likes of the best lawyer or judge couldn’t possibly punch a hole in it anywhere.  For that matter, neither could a smart assed leprechaun.

Tony leaned back and with a look of smugness and thought there was no way it could be misconstrued. It was three pages of written text. To sum it up, everything was to be put back the way it was before he ever met the damned leprechaun. Undoing my wishes and leaving him with a million dollars free and clear and with a promise to never bother Tony again. Simple, right?

It took quite a while to get the little green, glistening fire plug of evilness to return. He seemed to enjoy Tony’s discomfort. At every opportunity, he would either pop in or wander in and ruin his life. He refused to acknowledge that he screwed him on his second wish insisting that it was exactly what he asked for. And technically, it was exactly what he had asked for. He always had the exact amount on hand or in the bank when he needed it. Not when bills or charges automatically came up. The leprechaun printed out that his wish was vague in that area. So it was not the little man’s fault.

Late one evening, the little monster came in and enquired about the third wish in which Tony handed him the three pages of text. The leprechaun read the wish several times and looked about as angry as anyone of his stature could look. “Are yeh sure about this wish laddie?”

“Yes I am! You have managed to screw me running on my first two wishes and this will put things back in order and a million dollars in the bank. That wish is exactly what I want.”

“Very well laddie, I will give yeh exactly what yeh want. Yeh have a million dollars in the bank and I be undoin an I will also be biddin yeh a fine farewell laddie. Aye yeh be much ta smart far me lad. Now I undo the final wish and be on me way.” He said with a grin so evil that Tony’s skin paled as pain so intense struck his hands and Tony screamed looking at his bloody stubs where his hands had been remembering the first wish that the leprechaun had tricked him into making then rescinding that wish because Tony complained that it was a trick. He had forgotten about that one!

The leprechaun laughed as he walked out the door and down the hall where he started to walk away then stop turned and grimaced and walked back to Tony.

“Aye laddie, remember what I was a sayin about maken wasted wishes? That be one of them. I will rescind yeh wishes and let yeh try again. Yeh first one will be restoring yeh hands. So yeh have two wishes left.” He said smiling that damned all too familiar cynical smile of his.

“My second wish is to have a million dollars in the bank, tax free, accessible. Can I make that any clearer?” Tony asked.

“Done laddie, yeh want to make yeh third wish now or would yeh like the wait.”

“Oh, I’m going to wait. I don’t trust you one bit! I think you can appreciate why.” Tony said.

Things had actually been going pretty well for Tony and he was finally recuperating from having his bank penalize the shit out of him. The million dollars had helped set things straight.

Two weeks had gone by with no strange happenings and Tony was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Funny thing was, he wouldn’t have to wait much longer, and it would come in the form of a letter, from the IRS with a following letter from the government. It was dated two weeks prior with a request for a Tony’s presence two days prior.

There was a knock on the door. Four men were outside in suits stern faces and carrying brief cases. He opened the door and they barged in and made themselves at home.

“You have been avoiding us Mr. Jones. You were sent a letter for an appointment for two days ago and you did not respond nor did you show up. We are curious on how you went from paying penalties to having a million dollars in your bank account over night with no deposit slip, no paycheck, no check, money order, or even walking in with cash in hand. We were kind of curious on where you acquired this much income while collecting unemployment.”

“Why, what does is matter as long as I pay my taxes on it at the end of the year? Since I no longer need my unemployment, I won’t be making a claim.”

“Ah, but the issue here is how long you’ve had this money. There will be in inquiry to determine penalties and reimbursement to the government which could be substantial Mr. Jones!” The one person said.

“Seriously, yet I am not hiding anything and I am going to be penalized while there are thousands if not tens of thousands selling drugs living high on the hog on welfare while you hunt down honest people and pound on them!” I am going to murder that freaking little bastard when I see him.

“Are you an honest person Mr. Jones? We have no way of knowing other than what we see. We will be in contact sir! This might have gone better for you if you had contacted us rather than hide and ignore the calls from your government.” Another said.

I was just reading it when you came to my door! I just got them! Here, look, I just got it in the mail!” Tony all but screamed.

“Sir, there is no reason to get excited. Just do what we tell you and you should come out of this with something left.” He said as they stood to leave. “We will let ourselves out.”

Tony sat heavily in the chair. It just couldn’t get any worse. After they left he tried to call, summon, chant, or anything to bring the leprechaun back to straighten this mess out.

As he sat wondering what was going to happen next, the phone rang. “Hello?” He said into the receiver.

“So, how yeh been laddie? Yeh set teh make yehr last wish?” Said the wee and familiar voice on the phone.

“Uh, yes, yes I am. When are you coming by?” He asked as he walked to the kitchen counter and slid a butcher knife from the butcher’s block.

“Oh, yeh gonna have the come to me laddie. I am in a little bit of a bind and need yehrs help.” He said.

“Oh you can’t just pop out and back here?” Tony said sliding the knife back home in the block.

“Oh no laddie. I was grabbed by another lad and can’t get away right now. Yeh are gonna have teh come teh me.” And then gave the location of where he was.

“Fine, I will be there soon.” Tony said and hung up the phone. He then walked to the closet and pulled out an old box that he had since he was a kid. He pulled back the lid and pulled a mean looking hunting knife from the bottom and unsheathed the 10 inch blade and felt the weight in his hand. He sheathed the knife and slid it into the rear of his pants waistband and walked out the door.

Approaching the location he saw the leprechaun and made a straight line for him reaching behind his back and extracting the knife. Before the leprechaun could speak, Tony sliced the knife across the leprechaun’s throat. Blood sprayed everywhere as his next thrust went deep into the little man’s rib cage and scrambled as much as he could. Then he pulled out and just began stabbing the leprechaun until he heard laughing.

It was a familiar wee laughing.

He looked down at the leprechaun who was dressed like a leprechaun but was a prostitute dressed in the same color green sequence, but much taller than the wee man. The look of shock on her face as her now dead eyes stared at him accusingly.

He heard the little leprechaun laughing and saying things like, “What a rube, what a dolt, all the ass had to do was think!”

To his left, he heard three loud voices screaming at him. “Drop the knife! Drop it now asshole!” He was also covered in blood. He dropped the knife and held up his hands. He was flying tackled with the gentleness of a left tackle sacking a quarter back.

He kept saying that he had one wish left as they bound him, and since there were no witnesses, unceremoniously tossed into the back of the cruiser. In the distance you could hear the laughter of a child as they closed the door to take him away.

END.

 

John Goes Out

John, dazedly brought up his arm to look at his watch, 10 minutes past busted o’clock. He looked to see if he were lying in the lane of a busy highway. He felt as though he had been run over by several semis. Dang, in the melee he had managed to break his watch, get his cell phone shot, have his wallet stolen, lose both shoes, and have every pigmy in town on his arse. It was almost like getting attacked by a pack of rabid angry weasels on crack.

Just how did this happen you ask? That is exactly what John was asking himself at that very moment. He was trying to figure out the exact time that had started this whole mess. To assist John, I will help with that little bit of memory loss. After all, he was just throttled within an inch of his life by a band of midget wrestlers, dwarf toss enthusiasts, and one very angry midget exotic dancer/waitress.

Earlier that evening John was looking for something a little more exciting in his life. He was bored with the same old bar scene with the pool hall and dart competition atmosphere. He wanted more than sitting and watching some college student pole spinner to grovel and rub him out of his hard earned pay by rubbing her powdered arse in his face. He began talking to several people for information on something more exciting.

“Hey mate!” said one bar stoolie in a low voice, “Have you ever been to a midget wrestling match. They are exciting, and you can win bets at them.” He said as if he was relinquishing a government secret.

“No way, there is no such thing. There are laws against those kinds of activities, taking advantage of a class of people or animal.” John said ignorantly.

“No mate, seriously, you can win big money on them as well. Strictly underground you know. Are you in or are you just wanting to snivel in your tanker?” He asked John. Eh, what did he have to lose?

“Okay, where is this place, and how do I get in?”

“You go to this address and knock three times on the door. This bloke will open a small door and just stare at you. You look him right in the eye and say, I got cash for the boss. He will let you in and tell you where you need to go from there.” He said looking around.

“Really, I am to tell a perfect stranger that I have money? That sounds a bit risky to me.” John said.

“It’s perfectly safe. They have other arenas as well. Pocket bowling, some darts, dwarf tossing.” John interrupted him.

“Dwarf Tossing! Not only is that politically incorrect, that is just downright rude.” John said raising his voice some.

“SSSHH!” He said motioning to lower John’s voice. “This is an underground circuit mate. Hush, hush and all that, do you want to see or not?” he said with the pen poised to write on a napkin.

“Okay, okay, you have my interest peaked friend. Where do I go?” The man wrote the address down and gave it to John.

“Remember what I said. Careful how you act and what you say. They do this for a living and they take what they do very seriously. They make lots of money themselves. It’s very profitable, mate. Have fun now?” and with that he was up and gone. John looked at the address and did not recognize the location. “36 Dislocelf Ave.” He had also written down free drafts. Even if it was partially true, John had to check it out. He finished his pint and headed out.

John finally found the address after a few questions and pointed fingers. Some middle ones pointed up, and reread the napkin. “Go around back and knock.”

He found the door and knocked, he heard what sounded like a stool or chair slide and hit the door, a small sliding view slot opened and a pair of eyes stared at him, waiting.

“I got cash for the boss.” John said and the little door slid shut and the scuffling of something once again and the large heavy wooden door hinged open enough to allow ingress. He walked in and there was a little man, not more than 36 inches tall looking up at me. John smiled and his face got stern.

“What you looking at stretch mark? You see something funny?” oh shit, that man was serious about these people’s sense of humor, or lack of.

“Oh no, I was just being friendly, sorry.” With that, the midget then smiled, motioned for John to follow and escorted him back into the lower portions of the old manufacturing building. As they trudged further into the deeper recesses of the structure, John began to hear sounds of battle and little voices screaming and cheering as well as the normal pitched tones.

“First time here?” The little man asked.

“Yes, it is, I was looking for a change and was recommended here.” John said.

“There are some rules that you have to agree to before I can let you into any area. First, there will be no chiding or insulting of the staff. The entertainers are okay to harass within reason. They will let you know when you have gone over that line. I would recommend you not find where that line is. No touching staff or entertainers, period. Watch, bet, and have a good time. You will win, you will lose, if you bet, it’s no different than that at the casinos. It is just common sense. Are we good so far?” John nodded his head. So far, he was still following the rules of the little man in front of him. “I have a lot of ladies working here, leave them alone. I have some special girls for that kind of activity. If that is your bag of tea, ask to speak to spider. If you get into a disagreement, I expect you to be a grownup and seek out management. If you get into a confrontation, let’s just say that in either case, disagreement or conflict, you will be lucky to get out with your life. There is also no tolerance for cheating the house. If you try to cheat the house, let’s just say that, well, don’t try it. This is a classy operation to entertain and have fun. The workers here like what they do and the spectators love a great show. Do you agree to the terms and conditions of this establishment?”

“Sure, sure.” John said only half listening.

“Okay, you have the infamous Dwarf toss over here on your left and midget wrestling on your right. Down the hall is the special room with exotic pole dancing and bar. There is a three drink minimum in there. Now we did have pocket bowling for a while but it is down right now for repairs. We also have darts. Both are downstairs but like I said, the bowling is down. Have fun!” was his last word as he walked/waddled away.

John should have turned around and left then, if he had, well he wouldn’t be in this situation.

John still lay on the pavement in the alley trying to shake the cobwebs loose from his head. Which was a very bad idea, the pain went from an annoying to angry bees in black and white array attacking his nervous system and activating every pain receptor in his head. He heard a high pitched “AAYEEEEEEE!” then a harsh impact on his chest. The incurring impact broke a couple of ribs. The midgets were small, but they were solid and heavy. Almost like dropping bags of hardened concrete on him. The bees turned into crows as he moaned in agony. He heard another slightly lower cry, “Geronimo!” a laughter, and a shot to his giblets. The crows became a black mass and John once again fell into blissful unconsciousness.

John had decided to venture into the dwarf toss first to see it firsthand. He had only heard of dwarf tossing, but he never seen it on any video except on comedy TV like Saturday Night Live or in cartoons. He walked in and sat down. He noted that the normal sized people were doing the tossing and taking measurements. The midgets had on helmets and body harnesses to enable carrying them like a large duffle bag. A large man and a midget were in close quarters talking secretly when someone pointed to them. The large man was wearing a kilt and looked like a huge walking fire plug. The man leaned down and locked his fingers together as the midget grabbed his collar and stepped into the man’s hands. He walked quickly up to the line and in one motion tossed the midget like he was tossing a caber.

Just a stick note on Caber Tossing, you pick up a long honking telephone pole, walk forward and flip it as far as you can. These guys are huge.

So, let’s get back to the man in the kilt and the midget. The man had thrown the midget so hard that he flew fifteen feet in the air and almost missed the mat when he landed. The midget lay quietly; the man raced to check on the little midget just as he jumped up, threw up his hands and yelled, “World record!” The other man yelled, “Challenge!”

Another midget walked up and said, “To what? What are you challenging?”

“We have been tossing by using the handles on the harnesses. This man tossed this midget by his feet! He broke the rules of how to toss.”

The midget thought for a long time then replied. “I will be right back. I would not want to make a misjudgment on my decision. I do not recall any specific ruling on just how the Dwarf is to be tossed. But this is a new challenge and there might be special instructions for techniques of tossing.” With that, he turned on his heels and left.

The man that challenged in the meantime was raising a ruckus and just being belligerent. The longer the little man took, the more boisterous the challenger became.

A few minutes later, he returned and gathered all involved in the challenge. “Your challenge was one of merit, though we have no rules or specific techniques of tossing, and since there is no official technique mentioned in the rules that as far as there is a forward motion no specific technique is worded as long as it can be deemed a toss. This is the ruling on this matter, it was a fair toss.” He stated and started to turn.

“What he did was not a toss!” The challenger spat.

The midget stopped, turned, and said. “Good man, I must remind you of the rules that you had agreed to upon entering this facility.”

“Bugger your rules! I think you’re making them up as you go along! Hey you,” he said to the man in the kilt. “What kind of throw do you call that?”

“Aye! I’d careful what you say and who you say it to. The toss is called a Caber toss, where I am from it is an annual event. Only we toss telephone poles and not people. I even asked the wee little man if it was okay for me to use this technique. He was all for it. Talk to your wee man and see if he will agree to that kind of toss. If not friend, I would hold me tongue.” The big man stated nodding toward the midget that made the ruling call.

The midget stood with his arms crossed and said, “Well buck-o, this is your chance to man up or leave.” The midgets speaking pulled out a small contraption about the size of a pager and press a button that turned on a green light.

“Bullocks! Just make him toss like everyone else!” He demanded.

“You had your warning, and you only get one.” He pressed the other button on the small contraption and the light turned red. From nowhere, the man was overrun with midgets and picked up and bodily carried out. “I am sorry friend for the outburst of a sore loser, but be assured the rulings are fair and just and what I have stated are the rules.” He said as he turned and left the area.

The big man walked over and sat down. “You toss mate?”

“I have never tried it. I’m not sure that my back could sustain such exertion. How much to the midgets weigh?” John asked.

“They weigh between two and two and a half stones lad.” He said.

“Where are you from, what are the stones as weights.”

“Aye! That would be between, I think, fifty to seventy pounds lad. I hail from Scotland.” He said.

“AH, thank you. This is my first time here and I am pretty much watching. Do you come here often?”

“Aye! Every Friday night. I get into fights everywhere else. This is much more fun.”

The midget he was tossing came over. “Aye! Wee man! Have we any challengers?”

“None yet Scotty, any time though.”

“Pleasure to meet you sir. Hope to see you again soon.” John said as he got up and began walking to the door.

“Aye laddy pleasures mine!” he said as he bellowed to the midget. “Wee man, let’s go get a tanker while we wait, aye?”

John went to the hall and turned left and headed down the hall to the special area of the building. Midget pole dancers? He had to see this. This night was starting to turn into that story from Washington Irving called Rip Van Winkle, only with midgets instead of mountaineering bowlers. He entered the doorway and saw three midgets dancing on poles scantily clad only in “G” string bikinis. Many thoughts ran through his mind and he had to force back a smile from beginning to form on his face. He walked to a table separated from the dance platforms. A girl that was still shorter than John was as he sat slouched in his chair asked if he wanted a drink. “Iris whiskey, please, straight up.”

“You got it stiff shot! Your kind of cute would you like me to give you a special dance baby?” She said with a wink.

“Maybe in a little while, I am just checking the place out. It’s my first time here and all.”

“Hell, I will give you a discount if you let me be the first for you sugar.” She gyrated her hips seductively which turned into a full body gyration. John smiled and thanked her.

He turned and looked the place over. It was just like any other strip club he had ever been in, though it had been a long time, several dance floors with customers coming and going out of side access doors for private dancing available.

John wanted to start laughing but was afraid of what might happen if he did. The waitress soon came back with his drink and waited. Since there was a three drink limit, he ordered two more of the same. This is where the root of the trouble would begin. She returned with the other two drinks and he had already downed the first. Now remember readers, he had already been drinking in a bar just before this one.

He finished the other two in short order, pun intended. The drinks began to have the lubricating effect that affects every man. His tongue began to get very loose. He decided to get out of the dance area before he said something that he would not be able refrain from saying. The girl came back and asked him about that lap dance she offered him. “I will even take you in the back room sugar britches.” She said as she ran her hand up his pant leg.

“Maybe later honey, I need to walk around a little bit.”

“Don’t forget, I will give you a discount if you call me first. I like a big man!” she said.

He was losing control, he had short jokes racing through his head and he had to get back into control before he said something that would get him hurt. He headed for the midget wrestling arena.

The crowd was loud and boisterous as he walked in and looked for a spot to sit. Finding none, he soon was up around ringside watching the ensuing melee on the mat.

John started to come to once again. He heard voices as his body reintroduced him to the pain that had been inflicted since he was cast out in the alley. He made the mistake of moving and discovered more pain, and their attention. He heard one say, “Hey! Hold my beer and check this out!” followed by foot falls a jump then something that sounded almost like a springboard followed with an “OH YEAH!” A clucking sound like someone was breaking off a turkey leg from a carcass. This was met with an instant wall of pain in both legs. The crows came back as he screamed in agony. Then the midget stepped on his now broken legs as he walked back to the others the scene was fading quickly to black as he heard the midget say, “This guys a real pussy!” causing the crowd to laugh.

John was having a hard time controlling himself as he watched the ensuing wrestling match. He heard a couple of midgets talking just beside him. “How much is riding on this match?” one asked.

“About eighteen grand, with three to one odds if the Blue Flea can win against the Miniscule Mormon.” The one said.

“Okay, slate the Blue Flea to win in the third. What about Beaver Vision VS. The Voluptuous Muscle?”

“It is two to one favoring Beaver Vision to win.”

John listened intently for the next five matches then slipped away to find the betting booth. He placed his bets on the next seven matches and walked back to the ring. He was wobbly by now and bumping into people. He apologized to everyone he accidently bumped or brushed into. One guy he bumped into a few too many times and it was looking like the man might get violent. “Hey friend, I am sorry. I’m just a little wobbly. How about if I give you the winner of the next match.”

“How can you do that? Do you have a little fairy up your arse or something?”

“Just a real strong hunch mate, go bet on the Blue Flea in the next match.” John said.

“But he isn’t favored to win!” the man said.

“Just trust me on this will ya.”

“You wait right here until I get back, I want you beside me when he loses so I can clean your clock and get my money back.”

“I’d be lucky if I could walk away from here without falling on my face.” John said.

The man returned and had a grip on john’s arm so he wouldn’t take to run away before the end of the match. When the Blue Flea won the man turned to john. “How did you know he was going to win?”

“I just did that’s all.” John said.

“Okay, who will win the next match?”

John pretended to think hard then said, “Beaver Vision will win the next match.”

The man left and came back with a couple of strange looking drinks and handed one to John. “What are these?” asked an already well-oiled John.

“They call them M-Bombs for Midget Bombs. I think they are Yeager bombs, which is Yeagermeister and an energy drink. Not bad but they will kick the shit out of you in short order. Drink up friend. They will take some of the wobbly out of you. At least it will make you a wide awake drunk.” He said cheering on the next match.

The drink was smooth and tasted citrusy and went down way to easily and quickly. It took little time before John felt the effects of the drink take over on top of the other drinks he had consumed. As was common for someone drinking alcohol, he began to feel uninhibited and with way more courage than he should have. In most cases this gives to the saying “Hey! Hold my drink and watch this!” This is where John’s alcohol saturated brain was rapidly running to in the dangerous side of town.

He was barely in control when he went to gather his winnings from the matches. Had he his mind about him, he would have gathered his winnings after each match. But he waited until he had one all the matches then collected his winnings. The betting office grew suspicious when he had won all seven matches that he bet on. The man behind the counter pressed a button.

John was slowly coming too once again to idle high pitched helium activated voices. It sounded like he was in the movie the Wizard of OZ with members from the enforcer side of the lollipop guild. He heard a voice nearby. “Hey, he is waking up. You jackoffs couldn’t do a job right if it was done for you. Spark Plug! Give me a hand here.” Spark Plug walked over and the two linked up like a human (How be it tiny) bowling ball. They rolled up to John gaining momentum until they got right up to him, Spark Plug let go of the man’s ankles and the man sling shot Spark Plug’s solid little body like a bag of lead into John’s torso. The tiny mob cheered when they heard several bones breaking and some rupturing the flesh bag that was still John. John immediately blacked out mercifully, but in so much pain he wondered if being slowly run over by a steam roller wouldn’t be less painful.

John walked back into the exotic dance area and sat down. The waitress came back and sold him three more drinks. He wasn’t just drunk by this time. John was just downright shit-faced. His inhibitions were now nonexistent as he sat and stared at the little woman on stage. What would it be like to get a lap dance from a midget? The waitress came back and looked at him. “Hey, hot rod! You going to take me up on my offer? Shit man, are you okay? You look like you’re about to pass out!”

“I, I’m fine, jusht a little drunk that’sh all. And yesh, I am going to take you up on your offer when you are ready.”

“I’ll let Spider know. Let’s head back. I have been looking forward to this since I saw you stroll in.” She said.

She spoke to one of the midgets standing around and taking in the scene, John had presumed that they were security. She took his hand and led him into a room in the back. She stripped to a thong and stockings and crawled into his lap. If only he had changed his mind and walked, or staggered out of the room. I think he would have just been allowed to walk away. He might have been able to even return at some other time, or not, it would have depended on the findings of the wrestling winnings that were being investigated at that very moment.

She stood on the armrests of the chair he was sitting in. He smiled and almost said something when he had just enough coherent thought to stop himself. But he still had two more drinks brewing inside him to take that last piece of intelligent thought away. She pushed her chest out accentuating her small but perky breasts for him to admire. He smiled even more. His tiny booze addled brain was in overdrive and he began to giggle. She mistook this as a yes and turned smashing her arse into his face. He was imagining her as a Barbie doll that had been squished straight down into a midget. He laughed and giggled as she worked her trade. “Press that little Barbie arse in my face!” he said. She was only too willing to oblige. She stood on the back of the chair and sat hard on his face. Rubbing and grinding as he laughed harder. “Yeah baby, work that little pigmy arse.” At this, she stopped and turned.

“What did you just say?”

“What, I just said work that arse.”

“No, you said work that little PIGMY arse.” She said angrily.

“I did? I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.” He said with a smile.

“You think this is funny? I liked you. I was going to do things to you that I would not have normally done with other customers.”

John was laughing again. “Oh come on! Midgets, dwarves, nanus, pigmies, gnomes, just what is the difference? They all describe little people.”

“We are not a primitive black tribe in Africa you shit! You say it as a slur, not as what we intended. One chance, one warning you’re done mister. Get out!” she screamed.

He hadn’t noticed that she had a small remote like the one that the judge was carrying, and it wasn’t glowing red. It was flashing red. Suddenly, he was hoisted from the chair from more midgets than he could count. He was being punched from underneath as he was hauled from the room. He also heard and felt material being ripped from his back side. They had just stolen his wallet. He scrambled for his cell phone but it was ripped from his hands and then he heard a gunshot. They shot his cell phone? He began to fight them and immediately was hit with something soft but very heavy, like one of the old saps that they used in the old days. It was a bag with heavy lead shot inside. It renders the victim unconscious with little damage to show any injury.

The one said to the girl. “Thanks Mazy, we wanted to question this one on how he managed to win all the wrestling matches that he bet on. We will take it from here.” He found himself in another room and unceremoniously thrown onto a cold concrete floor where he was questioned and beaten. He confessed and told how he won and tried to bargain with the man they called Grenade. “Take this piece of shit out back and work him, hard. No survivors.

John had been out for some time. He slowly came too only to hear his assaulters eating and commenting on the pizza that had apparently arrived while he was out. John lay still as long as he could without moving until the pain receptors deceived his ruse of unconsciousness. He moaned and stirred. “Damn! He’s still breathing? Muscle, see what you can do, painfully.”

The thickest midget came over and looked down at John. He grabbed a ladder and dropped it on his face where it sat on him like a see saw. He called another over and they balanced on the ladder and rode it like a see-saw. They got up and he set up the ladder and the one called Muscle climbed up half way. He jumped off and landed on John’s chest cracking several more ribs. This one was the money shot as one of the splinters of the Costal Cartilage punctured John’s heart. The Voluptuous Mormon jumped up and raised his hands in victory then climbed up again. He jumped and curled up into a cannon ball landing on John’s broken and shattered chest. The remaining ribs collapsed and there was a gurgling breath escaping from John’s lungs as his chest sank and his eyes glazed for the last time. John never felt the last shot to his body as he bled out internally from his heart. The city sewage system would get yet another unwilling participant as three of the midget enforcers opened the manhole cover and slid John’s lifeless body into the manhole and replaced the cover. Another pizza came and they ate laughing while waiting on another person to break the rules.

END

 

The Leather Jacket

Symbol, symbolism, and symbolic is representative of just about everything in the lives of the human race, badges are symbolic and representative of the group in which they are identified. Police, Fire, FBI, CIA, or any other alphabet group that carries a badge, the police badge can cause fear or relief depending on which side of the law you are on.

Hats used to be symbolic of the status within communities, or representative of the personality of the person under the hat. Everyone knew who the gangsters were by the type of hat and the same with the “G” men back in the day.

Clothing has changed dramatically over the years of style and fashion but the symbols are still there. You know who is rich, poor, stylish, or just slovenly dressed.

Coats, jackets, raincoats, and trench coats are symbolic all on their own and have changed little for some. Suit coats, ski jackets, canvas and work coats and jackets identify the person’s status in society, to at least what the person is striving for others to think they are something better than what they are.

Trench coats are mixed depending on the dress underneath. Nice shoes slacks, shirt, and a stylish head covering will only get a perfunctory glance. However, you place that same trench coat on a pair of tennis shoes or boots, pair of jeans, or lack of leg coverings and now you have people staring along with the boys with badges following said trench coat wearer.

The one article of outer wear that has the same effect on all people who do not wear it is the leather motorcycle jacket. The leather motorcycle jacket has had the same unnerving effect on people since day one of its introduction. This jacket has become more notorious than the gangsters of the twenties and thirties. Add patches, or a patched vest, jeans, boots, gloves, and a rumbling motorcycle and the protected populous finds somewhere else to be or hides behind curtains, blinds, cars, pulling in the kids or thumbing their cell phones while they are locking car doors and they don’t even know why they are doing it. This particular design has had the same stigma from its beginnings and it does not look like it is going away any time soon. This account is about one leather jacket in particular. A standard leather motorcycle jacket that had not seen better days since it was sold brand new. It was rough, faded, and some of the threading was beginning to weaken. There was a slit in the back like a person accidently slipped with a razor knife or a knife. The upper shoulders were almost grey from age of the bleaching rays of the sun. The front had the same fading and there were three holes in the left side of the main zipper chest high. The inside liner was thread bare and was marked with two large dark stains, one was in the back around the cut, and the other was around the holes in the front. This particular jacket has had a very harsh life.

Dumpster Danny was digging in the dumpster behind the Dollar General when he found the jacket. Winter was rapidly approaching and this would fit to help him stay warm. He tried it on noting that it fit him like it had been custom made for him. He rifled the pockets and found three hundred dollars inside the inner left breast pocket. Danny jammed the new found gains back in the pocket and looked around. People will kill for thirty dollars and he had ten times that amount. He wadded the cash in his fist and relocated the bills to a pants pocket.

He looked around again and continued perusing the dumpster for everything else he could wear, sell, or recycle. Satisfied that he had all he could get, he grabbed his cart and pushed further down the alley to the next perspective cash cow.

His cart now full, he began his daily trek to the recycle lot. Once there, he got in line behind Wino Wily, who commented on his jacket. Danny instantly became irritated by the interrogation on his jacket and where he found all the stuff. Why was he asking? What was his intent? Danny would watch him carefully.

Thoughts overshadowing his normal thoughts and common sense like, “Why am I thinking like this?” He was paranoid and trusted no one any way, but he was ready to get violent over a question. Did he know about the money? How could he?

Danny cashed out and took his leave, bought a few bottles and went to his spot in the alley behind and below the community center down by the stream. There was a building that did well to block wind and the weather, and sometimes the parks guys forgot to lock the bathroom doors.

There were two others already there when he arrived. He knew neither of them, nor had he ever seen them before.

“Nice jacket man!” the one said. “Where’d ya find it?”

“Dumpster.” Danny said. His guard now at full alert, he felt and found his knife that he used to protect himself and for the other uses. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason really brother, was hoping that someone was giving out coats, they are predicting a cold one this year, that’s all.” He said.

“Oh!” Danny said. He knew as soon as he took if off or as soon as he fell asleep, the coat would be gone. It was going to be a long night.

Danny hated being right. As he lay quietly, the man came over and started to take the coat. Normally, Danny would just show the extremely large knife and that would be the end of it. But for some reason unknown to Dumpster Dan, he didn’t even brandish the knife, but rather there was a flash of light reflecting from the blade as it race the short distance to the man and sank deep into the man’s abdomen just at the base of the rib cage on the left side. He looked into the man’s eyes and knew he was already dead. Danny watched as though he were watching TV.

The man’s eyes, wide with surprise, began to sag as his life left him. There wasn’t any blood yet as Danny still pushed on the knife, holding the hilt against the man’s flesh. He pushed the fading man away from him and the man fell onto his back with the knife sticking out from him at a slight upward angle. His abdomen swelling as the blood escaped his heart and made purchase in the body cavity now avoiding the veins, arteries, vessels, and capillaries. The first concern that came to Danny’s mind was, “Where did that knife come from?”

“I need to get my knife back!” Thought Danny, looking around. “Where’d the other guy go? When did he leave? Was he going to come back and try to steal my jacket?” He leaned over and grabbed the handle of the knife and pulled, it didn’t slide out like in the movies. The body refused at first to relinquish the protruding adornment. He pulled harder and it acted like it was stuck then, reluctantly, but suddenly, the body let go of its prize. Blood gushed from the wound from the pressure of the weight and the tightened skin. It was like a balloon full of thick fluid with a hole in it. At first it sprayed and then poured, pooling about the body. Danny’s feet and hand was covered in the crimson tide. He rushed to the stream and soaked and washed until it was almost completely gone. Why didn’t he just go into the bathroom to clean up? What possessed him to go to the stream? He walked back after cleaning his clothes and knife. The bathroom was left unlocked. He curled up on the corner and dozed off. It did not strike him until he woke up with a violent start that he had killed another human being last night. Not just killed him, mind you, but murdered him in cold blood and then cleaned up like nothing had happened and gone to sleep. He was torn suddenly, part of him wanted to run and turn himself in, he was not a cold blooded killer, granted he had broken laws in the past, but there was a reason, winter shelter, hunger, trespassing, but he had never, ever conceived of taking a life. His knife had killed fruit, vegetables, clothing, but never taken human blood. But it wasn’t his knife. He felt around and not only discovered the knife he used, he found another knife that was hidden just as well. He needed help. “No, you don’t need help!” sounded in his head. “Great!” Danny thought. “Now I am arguing with someone in my head and he sounds nothing like me!”

“Of course I don’t sound like you, you little pansy, I’m not you or any personality you may think you have. But we’re together now and there we will stay. Because of me, you have a set of balls. You were the biggest pussy I have ever encountered, and I’ve met many a weak, pathetic examples of humanity. Well short stack, no more, we are gonna rule and ride, we’re not taking shit from anyone. Kickin’ ass and taken names. Don’t bully us and we’ll get along just fine!”

“Why did you kill that guy back there, he did not attack us?”

“But he did, he was about to take the jacket away, I had to stop him!”

“You didn’t have to murder him!”

“Maybe, maybe not, but he would not have relented until he had it, or you were dead. So, there really was no alternative.” The voice said coolly like he was explaining a chess game.

“Who are you? Why are you harassing me? Why me?”

“You found me, I am yours. I am your protector, teacher, and builder. Meaning, I build you up, make you into a man!”

“I don’t need you, go away!”

“You have killed a man. You can’t live without me now.”

“So what do I do now, who do I turn myself in to?”

“What, no surrender, we hide and run. He deserved it.”

“We don’t know that!”

“I do, do not challenge me or I will take over. I’m protecting you.”

“Yes, protecting me into the death penalty.” Then Danny stopped and stared off into nothing. “Dear lord, I am completely insane. I am arguing with myself as if I had a viable separate entity.”

“Don’t sell yourself short mate. The different voice said.” Danny clinched his eyes tightly closed trying to block out the voice.

Danny stepped into the men’s lavatory to clean up where he ran into the other guy that was seemingly partnered to the guy he murdered last night. The man’s eyes grew wide and reached for something, but he was slow. As if he was working in automatic mode, Danny suddenly had his knife in hand and thrusting forward with the blade entering just about the man’s belt and plunged deeply, Danny’s hand twisted and expertly scrambled the blade and jerked upward with the blade, slicing a rift that also eviscerated the man’s intestines. He extracted the blade and the man reached to keep his scrambled intestines from falling out on the floor of the filthy bathroom. Danny stood and looked coolly at the man as fear washed over the stranger’s face while the back side of Danny’s mind, the part that still belonged to Danny, was nauseous and panicked of no longer being in control of his body. He unwillingly watched as the man dropped to his knees. The jarring rattled his wound and bouncing his stomach causing the loose guts to pour out of the massive cut in his abdomen. Danny rinsed the knife in the toilet and prewashed his hands where the blood soaked him then finished in the sink. He then left the lavatory and walked away. There was no reason to worry right now since there were no surveillance cameras or people. He walked until Danny broke through. “My cart! My cart is still back there! They will trace it back to me!” Danny told his mental nemesis.

“Okay, okay, let’s get it and get out of here! The farther we’re away from here the less chance of being connected with the bodies.”

“What, really, everyone who knows this face knows that I sleep down here. If I’m gone, it will look suspicious!”

No it won’t, just tell them that three men ran you off and threatened to kill you if you stayed. Simple!”

“Uh, huh, we’ll see. I predict that I’ll need a lawyer, and we all know how good public defenders and pro-bono lawyers are. I’m screwed.”

“You haven’t even been questioned yet and you’re already putting yourself on the injection table. I’ll take care of you man.”

This did not make Danny feel any better. In fact, it made him feel that much worse.

By nine am, police were swarming the park and turning every stone, cigarette butt, and leaf for evidence. They found blood traces in the bathroom, in the sink, on and in the toilet. They also found blood on some of the stones in the stream as well as the concrete walls getting into the stream. The biggest piece of evidence they found were the foot prints with very clear shoe imprints.

If they could narrow down the make and style of shoe, then hopefully it would be simply an observation game to catch the perp.

Danny moved around all day trying to find another place as good as his old spot at the park for the last four years. He was known there. His absence was going to be noticed, and soon. They might even scour the city looking for him, more than likely, as a person of interest, or more accurately, as a suspect.

The investigation continued throughout the day as they systematically collected evidence and laid out the time line of events. The body in the picnic shelter was 14 hours dead while the other in the bathroom was only a few hours old. The local officers were looking around seeing all the usual’s for this time of day. Well, all the regulars but one.

One officer called out. “Hey, anyone seen Dumpster Dan?” A chorus of negatives and no’s brought a name of concern then suspicion as they found no usual traces of him. “Search the area then spread out. Put out a city wide, no a county wide APB. He is now a person of interest and possibly extremely dangerous! We want him alive if possible, but don’t place yourselves at risk.”

Another officer came up close, “Are you sure John? Dan is one of the mellowest, soft spoken people around.”

“I hope I’m wrong too, but he is missing. So it’s one of two things, his body just hasn’t been found yet, or something made him snap!”

Danny was on the move and looking for new digs. There was a park half way across town from his current park home and sat next to the tracks. It was an unassuming park off of Johnson Avenue. He found a small out building and set up residence.

He kept thinking about this alter ego that suddenly came into his life and commenced to turn it upside down and then slam dunk it into the trash. If they didn’t fine him soon, he would have to move again before they did. Danny did not like running. He had always faced his troubles and dealt with them.

That night, Danny woke with a start. There was a stench of booze, puke, and body odor. The guy was talking to himself as if he were two people. He sort of felt like he stumbled into a scene of “Lord of the Rings” and “Gollum” was hunting his “Precious.” Danny noticed that the knife was not only out, but in his hand and ready to strike. He tried to force his body to relax, but Danny was only a passenger on this roller coaster ride through murder central. He mentally screamed and tried to argue with his possessor, but Danny’s possessor refused to talk or answer him, but continued to drive the bus. He gripped the knife tighter until the man looked right exposing his neck. In a flash, the knife swished through the air and cut deep into the man’s neck cleanly severing the larynx and artery. The man grabbed at his neck while Danny received a shower of blood.

The man’s eyes were wide and full of fear as he gurgled trying to breathe and only inhaled blood. He weakened and sat down in shock, then slowly fell over. His last breath was a long gurgling exhale, his face frozen in a caricature of fear, mouth open in a soundless scream. The smell of blood singed Danny’s nose as he looked for a water source in which to wash up. He found a spigot and turned the water on, there was little pressure and Danny had to strip down to his underwear to try to rinse off the blood. He had cleaned his pants and had put them back on and was in the process of cleaning his shirt when the night started flashing red, white, and blue in an assault of the darkness around him.

Danny stood wearing only jeans. He heard a voice in the shadows scream to drop the knife. Danny looked down seeing the knife gripped tightly in his hand wondering how it had gotten here that fast.

The voice in his head spoke, “They’ll never take us alive!”

“Who the hell are you?” Danny screamed, the voice replied just a second before the cops did.

“You don’t remember me? I was the Franklin Park Slasher. They shot me three times in the chest. It’s the jacket. I go where the jacket goes. It’s really a bad jacket. Bad in a way that death follows to all who possesses it and to those who were unfortunate enough to encounter the one who wears it!”

“It’s the police! Drop the knife and put your hands in the air, NOW!” Danny advanced on the group of very edgy cops. “Drop the knife or we drop you!” Danny looked to plead with them but could not speak, nor could he drop the knife as he took the last few and fatal steps. The darkness and partial silence was obliterated by the muzzle flashes and staccato reports of several weapons firing at once.

His body jerked and stumbled as bullets riddled his body. The fatal three rounds matched the pattern exactly to the three that were already in the jacket that he had been wearing just minutes before. Danny’s dying body collapsed on the ground as police encircled him, kicking away the knife.

Back by the building, and in the shadows, a dark figure grabbed the worn and abused leather jacket. “Dumb-ass won’t need this anymore.” The shadow said as he walked around the building before donning the damp, bloody jacket. It was going to be a cold winter and he felt the jacket was a good addition to his winter ensemble. He pilfered the pockets finding 300 dollars in one of them. He also noticed that it fit him like it was custom made for him.

END

THE FLASHBACK

Donald was sitting at the bar as he always did after patrol, and this Tuesday evening was no different. His feet dangled loosely for the most part occasionally finding the foot rung as he leaned hard against the bar holding it up. He was still in his desert utilities as he rimmed a finger around the edge of his shot glass. It was quiet now, much too quiet for PFC Donald Tiberius Smith. He had been on the edge and looking over his shoulder ever since the incident earlier that morning.

His patrol Humvee was third in line of the convoy when it started with an I.E.D. or Improvised Explosive Devise. The vehicle behind him exploded in a fireball of vehicle and body parts. Things rapidly went to shit from there. Another explosion took out the vehicle in front of his leaving nothing but a burning hull and body parts scattered everywhere. Then the weapons fire began from all around.

“One round had taken out our turret gunner. Bastards got in a lucky shot. Everyone knows the bastards can’t shoot worth a shit. If they could shoot, they wouldn’t need I.E.D’snow would they. We were pinned down by a band of masked terrorists. The firefight was winding down. There was also fewer and fewer enemy to shoot at. There were also less and less of my brothers left shooting. I looked left and saw what used to be Mays. What was left of his head and his dog tags that were still looped around his neck. I took one leaving the other for ID, he only needed one. I wanted to cry for my brothers but didn’t have the time. I had to find a better place for cover.

I exited the Humvee and ran for the nearest cover to try to take out the bastards as I ran. I got two of them but not before one of them had gotten Jerry. He was supposed to go home at the end of the week and get married. Now he’s going to go home in a box. His war was over while mine is still going on. Bastards will pay for this. I sighted in on another mask wearing coward and sneaked in behind him snapping his neck. “One less shit bag to worry about. I only had my knife and no firepower. I had to get my hands on a rifle, even a pistol would do right now.

It didn’t bother me really, I mean killing the enemy is just a job right? I used to see them at night when I slept, but I don’t anymore. My sergeant tried to get me to see the battalion doc about something called PTSD. I didn’t have it. I was in combat. It can’t be post traumatic if it is going on right now is it? I maybe a little jumpy, but that’s all. Not to mention, if I did have it and admitted to having it, I could be locked up somewhere where I couldn’t see my family, lose my guns removing my ability to hunt, and I would also be tagged as being weak. I am not weak. My record of combat proves that. So here I sit, trying to relax and drink my whiskey, smoke my cigs. Just leave me the hell alone. Connelly, Smith, Thomson, Mays, Kop, Wollawicz, taken down way too soon in their prime. Why couldn’t it have been me instead!

Today had totally turned to shit! I was all that was left of my squad and now it was time to move out and try to find better protection. I was covered in blood and gore of my brothers but for some reason beyond my ability to understand, I was uninjured and with nothing but a knife.

I moved out and ducked into the first building that I approached. I entered building and had to take out five insurgents. They had one weapon and an extra mag. One was short and carried what looked like a detonator. The shot took out the detonator and left a fist sized hole in his chest. The other four never saw what hit them. I had turned into a machine. See the enemy, kill the enemy. No mercy. I had to get back to HQ, get help, and return to collect my brothers. I left the run down house and turned west and saw a truck slowly driving in my direction. There was only one occupant. He saw me and I saw him reach for his AK. I took him out and commandeered his vehicle shoving him to the passenger side on the floor. The bastard could eat shit for all I cared. I had to get back and tell them what happened.

I saw vehicles racing in my direction as I mashed the throttle to the floor to get away. They tried to encircle me as I veered one way then another to keep that from happening. Small arms erupted here and there as I drove with reckless abandon to reach my goal. I saw a road block and crashed through it. I was not going to be the next video victim of a soldier losing my head to a bunch of radicals. I continued down the abandoned streets trying to find a route to lose my pursuers. All I had was my side arm and one additional clip. Damn, I should have grabbed a couple of weapons from the insurgents when I had the chance. Too late now, I have to shake the two remaining from my tail. Maybe make it to the compound, maybe.

I had to get back. Alice, Amos, Andrew, Sally, and Donald Jr. flashed before my eyes. I had to get back to safe territory for them. My family, God how I missed them. I made some turns and got far enough ahead where I could dump the ride and look for another. I was still about fifteen clicks away from friendlies.

There, an opening, I placed the dead insurgents foot on the pedal, aimed the wheel and bailed out. I rolled, stood and ducked into a door way as the beat-up truck continued on its way. Meer seconds passed until my pursuers screamed past my location.

Safe for the moment, I moved quickly but not fast enough to draw attention. Luck would be on my side as the sun would be setting soon. I kept on the move, not knowing friend from foe, to assume all was foe was safe for now, for now anyway.

The insurgents, filthy bastards, were coming in from everywhere looking for one infidel American, me, well my righteous indignant sycophants. You’re going to have to look harder to catch me. But I see you, and I’m going to make you work to catch me.

As long as they stayed stupid and drove around, I could dodge the lazy bastards easy enough. If they search on foot, I could be up shit creek without a paddle.

After hours of dodging, hiding, and moving, I was at the edge of town. I only needed to make 10 more clicks to be safe, clean, make my report, and find out when we could get my brothers and have an ice cold beer. That cold beer was enough to renew my efforts to get back. I ran through culverts, ditches, open fields, and buildings trying to be as stealthy as I could.

I was tucked away behind one house when someone opened the rear door and walked out. I hid, but they saw me and called out. I pinned them against the wall, pressing my knife against his rib cage pressing harder until I felt the tip slice through material, flesh, and make passage between the ribs and into his heart. I slid with him down the wall with my hand covering his mouth, silencing him until he was gone so he couldn’t call out for others to help him. I had to move out before others became curious of his absence.

I ran until I came across a field of junk vehicles. Acres and acres of vehicles that had died, crashed, used as bombs, and burned hulls were sprawled everywhere. I took refuge in a burned out box truck to catch my breath.

I wanted a smoke so bad, my lungs burned from the running. But to light up meant exposure, both from the ember and also from the smell. I forced the smoke from my head and focused on resting. I felt my pulse begin to ebb and my breathing level off as I observed the night sky and terrain from my secret perch. “Please, just a few more minutes, a few more minutes.” I whispered.

Dammit, I wish my friends were here, I needed backup something fierce. I miss you guys. I will be back to take revenge for you, oh yes, I will have my revenge my brothers.

It was now time to move under the protective dark of night. I moved as one with the earth. I moved from one vehicle to another until I was on the edge of the scrap yard. Two clicks of open spaces with only a farm house here or there. It was smooth sailing from here with maybe a bump or two along the way. I checked my clip and had four rounds left and my knife. If I got into trouble, I was screwed right and proper. Well, I guess I would have three for them, and one for me. I will make damn sure they can’t get to paradise by killing me. I refuse to let them have that satisfaction.

I was making progress when up in the distance, I could see the lights of the compound. My heart leapt in my breast. I was almost back to command! I wanted to run but I was still far from safe. I was looking at maybe just under a click. I was walking in the ditch when I saw headlights slowly progressing down the dark lonely road. I wondered how many I.E.D’s were buried out here along this lonely road. I ran, eyeing a large culvert pipe under the damaged asphalt. I crawled in and waited as the vehicle would roll then stop, roll some more, only to stop again. They would shine their lights, but I won’t be found even though I’m directly under them, I’m hidden because I am directly under them!

They slowly passed my location and I crawled from my hiding place. I saw a large barn and ran for it. They had shown their lights on it and moved on so it had to be safe for a short while. I eased into the barn with my auto in one hand and my knife in the other. The dilapidated barn made me even more uneasy. I knelt and prayed as I began to cry. “It should have been me, dammit!” I hissed through gritted teeth, punching the dirt floor.

I brought myself into check and made one last rest before the last leg to the base. I knew I was going to have nightmares from this. I hope I could get some help when I get back. Billy was a mess with PTSD, and he ate shit while the government sat on their asses saying that everything was just fine. Poor Billy wasn’t just fine, after he got home, he lost it and slapped the old lady around, and he felt so bad from that incident that he ate a bullet.

I knew this was going to affect me, torture me, I promise I’ll talk to the chaplain when I get back. I did not want to eat a bullet. But thoughts of pressing the barrel against my chin was in the back of my mind. I kept pushing is aside.

The lights became closer, ever closer as I made my way toward the compound parameter. I could see the main gate. What was the password? Did they change it? I got closer and did not see the guard. I placed my weapon in by belt and put my knife in my left hand. I walked in unchallenged and went to the barracks. Empty? The entire building was empty. They must have bugged out. I cleaned up a little and went to the club. I walked in and sat at the bar.

The barkeep looked at me and paled. “What’ll ya have soldier?” He asked as I pulled a small stack of folded money out and set it on the bar.

“Whiskey, straight up, and please keep it coming.” I said as I looked around. There were only two others in the place besides me. “Slow night?” I asked as the bartender slid the glass in front of me and looked at me as if a ghost had just walked through his body.

His eyes narrowed and he said. “This one’s on the house soldier looks like you’ve been through it tonight!”

I just nodded, war was hell. No nice way to put it. I tossed back my drink and he already had another one set up for me. I felt the welcome burn as the amber liquid coursed its way down my throat as I tried to put things back into perspective. I dowsed shot after shot drowning my thoughts trying to put it all behind me.

There was a TV in the corner showing the news in American. I only half listened, I had my own problems right here thousands of miles away from home. It was something about a statewide manhunt of an unknown gunman. Shot, stabbed, and killed all these people and they had no idea who he was. Idiots, if it were in his home town, damn straight they would round him up pretty damn quick.

The bartender was on his phone for a while as the two patrons left leaving only the barkeep and yours truly.

A few minutes later, I noticed the evening rush began coming in. the TV was spouting about a murder spree that started at an intersection where fatalities of four people and three cars were heavily damaged, a home where a woman and four children were brutally murdered which were found to be the killer’s family and the man had taken a pistol from the house. The killer then exited the house and made his way down the street, randomly killing whomever he encountered. He carjacked a pick/up truck killing the driver where a police chase rapidly ensued through the city, and then he abandoned the vehicle alluding police. He exited the city where he claimed three more victims. Be on the lookout for Donald Tiberius Smith, he recently returned from Afghanistan.”

Donald stopped. In his now alcohol addled stupor, he thought he heard his name said on the TV. He rolled his head around noticing through the alcohol fog that the bar was packed full of dark blue and khaki uniforms. All of them were pointing weapons at him, the front lines wearing tactical armor. He fingered the edge of his drink then lifted and downed the remaining contents of the glass. He looked at the bottom of the glass as he deftly set it back on the bar. Looking down, he noticed that he was covered in blood. Confusion spread over his hardened features as pops and loud crackling of four Taser guns were shot into him. He fell off the bar stool shaking violently as fifty thousand volts from four sources of electricity coursed through his body. He was quickly detained in irons and hog tied for everyone’s safety. The talking head on the TV continued as if there was nothing happening to distract her. “There is suspect of PTSD that may be a concern here Bob. A car rear ended the man’s car very hard and that was when the spree began. Do not approach, stay in your homes, or where ever you are. Lock the doors.”

They picked up Donald like a trussed up hog and carried him out. The talking head touched her ear where there was an ear bud, paused, then continued with, “Just in, there are reports coming in stating that not only have authorities located Donald Smith. But now supposedly have him in custody thanks to a brave bartender. We will present more as our field reporters give us an update as soon as some are available.”

They searched Donald as they pulled him from the bar, they found a dog tag clutched firmly in his left hand. Once freed the dog tag read “Stephen Anthony Mays, Christian, O-, 311-11-0001.” It was still stained with a dark reddish brown substance.

THE END!

 

Little Tony

            The woman, heavily burdened with child, lay on the delivery table, feet in the oven mitten padded, stainless steel stirrups. Sweat coursed down her face as a rushing river as she screamed for it to be over and the pain to be gone. The doctor calmly sat on the stool between her legs, watching the head attempt to push through the small canal. The term miracle of birth was not lost on this doctor as he had seen babies born that he was amazed the woman could carry, let alone deliver without being torn in half. The head was pushing against the small flesh opening, so far with little success. It was a waiting game for now. He may have to cut, he may not. The only distress right now was the mother who had been screaming a constant string of expletives for the past 10 hours.

Another drug addicted, pregnant mother bringing in a possibly drug addicted child into a world that will chew them up and spit them out. In the room was the soon to be mother, soon to be screaming child, and the soon to be grandmother. The father was nowhere in attendance. Now there was a surprise.

After 15 years of neonatal practice and delivering babies, two things always amazed Doctor Bingham Voorhees. 12 years of learning anatomy, the nervous system, the reproductive system, and development and growth of a zygote to adolescence is how some doctors can say with a straight face that an infant is not human until birth. There is not one single case of a human female giving birth to a dog, cat, cow, pig, platypus, or any other animal. But, such is the law when they think they know more than the medical industry. And two, the pain tolerance of some of the deliveries. He had studied this area in depth and was still always left in awe at the threshold of pain that childbirth causes, then how fast it is forgotten immediately afterward.

10 hours in and the mother still looked strung out. He’d have CPS investigate this case when he was done, the child was more than likely already challenged, but let’s try to at least give him a fighting chance.

There, another centimeter, six centimeters and the infant was still pushing against the pelvic wall.

Some women seemed to give birth with seemingly no pain, while others would seem to elevate straight up in the stirrups, head spinning, cursing everyone in the room and possibly spewing green pea soup at everyone and everything in the room, would the walls bleed as well? He never noticed as he was too busy by this time to look.

This mother was large, but that couldn’t hide the needle tracks in her arms and in her inner thighs. There were even track scars in the veiny area of her labia, these were fresher than the rest of them he had seen on her body. Sad really, she was already unhealthy then poisoning her body, and then pushing the poisons through this until now, unborn child.

11 hours and still only six centimeters. He reached over to the tray and grabbed the pair of scissors and made a one centimeter incision at the top of the banjo string tight skin at the taught opening. That helped a great deal as the head pushed out and almost ripped the skin as two more centimeters of access came to be. The forehead pushed through followed by the crown, stopping at the nose and ears. The doctor sighed wearily then began to massage and turn the head trying to work the nose passed the vaginal opening.

Thankfully, he had a stable grip on the child as the ears, nose, and the rest of the head burst through with no more bulky resistance. The body shot out of the mother with a force that the doctor almost lost grip of the baby. He plopped the baby on the mother’s stomach and clamped the umbilical cord, and cut it free from the child. Shortly, the long process was followed by the placenta. Baby and momma were cleaned up and the baby was weighed, inspected, suctioned, blood drawn, and finally gave the first of many cries of shock from the cold dry room and cold instruments. Fingers and toes were counted and the report of a healthy, fully intact child was given to the mother.

Doctor Voorhees was trying to find a way to keep the family from going home after the couple of days for observation and making sure there no complications with the newborn. But something just didn’t seem right with this case and the doctor could sense it.

The father picked up the mother, grandmother, and his new son from the front of the hospital. An argument immediately ensued because of the altered condition of daddy. Words were heated and lasted all the way home. The mother promised the grandmother that she was going to quit drugs. Even though the damage was already done. Upon conception, both mother and father were so strung out that it was questioned if either one remembered the intimate encounter.

Both parents entered rehab while grandma watched baby Tony. Grandma spoiled him as any grandparent would. Her health was failing, but she wasn’t telling anyone, physically, she was growing more exhausted each week. Too much weight to carry, type one diabetes, nonfunctioning kidneys, failing pancreas, spleen, and liver will wear a person down. But she pushed all that aside to utilize every minute with little Tony.

Mommy graduated from rehab but the father was still in and not taking sobriety seriously as he would occasionally show up altered for his sessions. He became verbally and physically abusive to mommy and grandma. Little Tony was just an inconvenience to his life style.

Time progressed and the child turned one. His first words were, “mommy, gam-gam, bitch, whore, slut, shit, and the queen of all dirty words, the “F” word.” Tony watched as daddy cussed, cursed, slapped and beat mommy. It happened so often that Tony thought it was normal.

When that “Daddy” went away, another “Daddy” took his place. This daddy treated Tony like his own child until mommy was out of sight, then daddy dropped Tony like a very sharp, very hot rock. This daddy stayed comfortably numb. Mommy wasn’t too bright and never suspected being attached to yet another drug addled clown. He was arrested for possession, trafficking, and possession with intent to distribute.

There were many arguments between mommy and Grammy, mainly about drugs, sex, and Tony’s stability. Mommy knew what she was doing and Grammy was stupid. That’s what mommy said. Tony loved Grammy more than mommy. Grammy held him, sang to him, taught him things. Mommy passed him from one relative to another. It seemed that Tony was related to everyone.

He liked having such a big family. Tony had six, maybe seven daddies. He lost count, not that he could count yet, but he knew he had a lot of daddies. The last daddy taught Tony how to talk to mommy in such a way that she always cried, and Tony always got what he wanted.

This young boy of the tender age of two would suffer a loss that would haunt him for the next year.

He was with Grammy when one morning she didn’t wake up. This was normal because Grammy slept so heavily and had to sleep with a hose on her face that sounded like the rushing wind with the window down in the car. But she did not wake up. Sometime later a friend of Grammy’s came by. He knocked then walked in, he then called an ambulance. They performed a lot of work on her, hooked her up to some more hoses and bags and took her away. Mommy was called and took Tony to the hospital. “Grammy will be okay.” She said. “Just low blood sugar.” He heard the doctor tell mommy and his aunties.

The next day, mommy and two of his aunties were crying, Tony was told that Grammy was gone and was never coming back.

Daddy number whatever was in rehab and Tony sat alone crying. If Grammy could be taken away, would mommy be taken away too?

Tony and mommy were always moving. Mommy was trying to go to school but was always having trouble because of her choice in her boyfriends. Tony had so many daddies that each one was finally deemed daddy infinity. Grandpa was coming by and acted very different than others that came by. He always gave mommy money, then he would get close and whisper. This would always make mommy angry. She would shout, then he would shout, “You did it before!” Then he would leave.

Another was added to his daddy list. This daddy was on drugs as well. Mommy could really pick the winners. But the last daddy before the big move was really bad. He beat mommy and mommy never fought back. “This is how I am supposed to treat mommy.” He thought.

They were living with yet another grandma and grandpa. For a while they were moving in and out with them. Finally, they had been there a long time. Mommy and grandma fought all the time while grandpa basically ran to hide. “Child needs structure, child needs guidance. Quit sleeping around and staying out all night. Where’s my rent money? Grandma would always yell. When mommy was gone and grandma was watching Tony. She would go in and search mommy’s room, go through her emails, and then yell at mommy when she got home.

Once again, Tony and mommy were on the move while yet another daddy was in jail, but mommy met a new daddy. Tony had no idea how long this daddy would be around. Tony would sit, or lie in his bed and watch mommy and daddy do things to each other in bed. What made this situation worse was that Tony’s bed was in the same room as mommy and daddy. Mommy always screamed and said things about daddy. This daddy had friends that lived with them, they liked things that they inhaled really hard or would poke themselves with doctor’s needles. Then they would act all jerky or just sit and stare. That would scare Tony at first, but he got used to it. Mommy seemed not to notice any of it. But she started to get angry because her stuff was going missing.

One night, daddy dropped them off at the strip mall to shop. He said he was going to park the car and come back. He never did. She called him on the phone, but he didn’t answer. She started calling a lot of people, but no one would come. She called another uncle who said that he would send them to him. She said that she wanted to get out of there, but asked if it was okay to stop by her sister’s on the way. She also said that her sister would take her the rest of the way there. They agreed.

That was an adventure. Tony saw things and animals he had never seen living in the city. Tony missed the city, missed watching TV, and missed many of his aunts and uncles and all his many daddies and grandparents. But he missed watching TV the most.

They stayed with his auntie while mommy and her sister would argue and eat, then uncle would get home and then all three would argue. Then auntie bought so many snacks that Tony did not think that they could eat them all. Then they were back on the road again. It took two days to get to grandma and grandpa’s house. They lived far from any city. Tony liked it there. Mommy and auntie and another auntie watched TV all the time and cooked and ate. He even got to watch his favorite shows on TV, “Walking dead,” “Sons of Anarchy,” and “Dexter.” His most favorite was Dexter. Mommy even made him his very own forensics’ kit. Grandpa walked in and saw what Tony was watching. He became upset, “Is this really appropriate for a four year old to be watching?” He asked.

“There is nothing wrong with it, he solves crimes!” Mommy said.

“He murders people! There are ratings on these shows for a reason. This one is TV-14, he is four!” He said.

He tried to instruct mommy on influencing children with proper and appropriate programming. Both he and grandma were constantly asking “Is this age appropriate?”

Grandpa came home from work one afternoon and went into the house. Grandpa was in his motorcycle leathers as he is a biker and had just parked his bike. Tony ran up to him and gave him a big hug then asked, “Grandpa, how many people have you killed?”

After the shock wore off, Grandpa sat the little man down and told him that his TV shows were make believe and not real. And that grandpa wouldn’t kill anyone because it was bad to do so. Tony looked confused but then smiled. Grandpa presumed that the issue was done.

He was a four year old boy. He did four year old things, he also got into four year old mischief. He had found a toy Rambo doll and had actually asked to play with it. Soon he became very quiet. When he was found, he rapidly hid what was left of the doll, but he forgot to pull Rambo’s legs from his ears. Grandma told him that Rambo had survived the Vietnam War only to be crippled by a four year old boy.

By this time, he was only allowed to watch “G” rated shows, much to the chagrin of mommy. This meant that she had to watch “G” rated shows while he was up also. Plus he now had a strict bed time curfew. No more staying up until four in the morning.

He was very active and could not pay attention, he was taken to the doctor who said he had ADHD. Then placed him on meds to try to help him. During this time, mommy got a job. She had never worked since Tony had been born, so mommy was always home or had taken him out to party with her, or she would just leave him with one of his many aunts, uncles, or grandparents. He liked her being around and became angry when she would leave for work.

When she was gone, he behaved very well for Grandma and Grandpa, but the second mommy got home, he would get into trouble as soon as she walked into the house. He was introduced to a punishment called, “Time out.” He hated time out. One particular night, mommy got home from work and she and auntie went out to visit some friends. They returned at 3:30 in the morning. Mommy went to bed and passed out. Tony awoke and mommy was so tired that he couldn’t rouse her.

Tony became angry.

He went into the kitchen and decided that he wanted some fish crackers. There were two big boxes. He couldn’t open them so he went to the silverware drawer and found the sharpest knife in the drawer. He stabbed straight in and out of the boxes until he could get access to the crackers. He poured a large pile in the hall and put the knife beside the pile. This he did, not three feet from their bed. Not satisfied with that, he went to the cupboard and pulled out a clay bowl and a bag of popcorn. He pulled a stool over to the microwave and climbed up, opened the door, placed the package of popcorn in the bowl, put both in the microwave, closed the door, and pushed buttons until the machine turned on. Thankfully, the maximum time it would turn on by the “One Touch” function was five minutes. That was a start. The timer ended and announced the completion and to “Enjoy Your Meal.” Tony opened the door, noted the blistering hot bowl, but no popcorn, and used a towel to pull out the bowl. He removed the bowl and returned the singed, plastic clad popcorn bag in the machine and remembering the number, pressed it again. He got down from the stool and went to stand over mommy. But she remained fast asleep. He went back and saw the smoke billowing from the microwave and ran to put the stool back. Then went to sit with his fish crackers. The machine beeped as smoke broiled from the machine.

Without warning, Tony’s intent gaze upon mommy to wake up was shattered by something gripping his wrist. Someone pulled him up to a standing position. It was Grandma, and she was not happy. “MOMMY WAKE UP! We have a problem!” She hauled him into grandma and grandpa’s room and said, “Grandpa, wake up, we have a problem!” This she addressed to each person that was in the home. She actually had to yell at mommy several times to get her to wake up.

“Mommy, he was staring at you eating fish crackers with a knife next to the pile.” And on the description went of everything he had gotten into. Down to seeing the damage to the cardboard cartons that he had stabbed. Grandpa recognized the patterns. It was the same made by the character “Dexter.” Straight in and straight out, just like he did to his victims.

From then on, everything had to be put away and locked up. Even the knobs on the stove had to be removed to keep him from starting a fire, and he couldn’t be anywhere in the house without someone with him. Grandpa tried to instill a realistic and logical fear in him by asking only two questions. “What do you think Grandma C would do if you did this at her house?” To which he started bawling. “Yes, you know she would have called the police and have you taken away. In this situation, you would be taken away and mommy would be outside with no home.” Grandpa let that sink in, then he grabbed his phone and began the process of dialing, stopped, looked at him sternly and asked, “I press enter, that’s what happens, this decision is up to you, is that what you want, to be taken away and mommy put into the streets?”

Now both were crying, Grandpa looked at Tony’s mother. “Those fish boxes could have easily have been you. You could have been rudely awaken by him stabbing you in the chest. He is easily influenced to a fault. This is why we carp about what he watches. You’re lucky he decided to murder the fish crackers instead of you.”

Grandma entered the conversation here, “When I walked in, he was staring at you and slowly eating from his pile of fish crackers with the knife close by. It was the intensity of the stare that made me uneasy. He was thinking about something, mommy. That’s what this is all about. This will not happen again. Young man, this is not your house. This is my house, do not try to tear up my house. I am older and meaner than that you are, and I have more resources than you will ever know about. I know you don’t understand now, just understand that I can make your life very difficult. I know you can understand that.” She turned her back on the crying child. Grandpa soon realized by studying the youth that the crying was for the benefit of being caught, and for the adults. As soon as it was just Tony and mommy, he stopped crying and tried to cuddle up to his mother. She pushed him away and looked at him as a stranger would look at a known violent criminal.

“What’s wrong with you, don’t you like it here? Do you want to get kicked out?” This started another bout of crocodile tears. Things began to go downhill for the very young child from that point on.

He worked at getting into mischief as a sculptor works in clay. He began to spend a lot of time in time out. Grandma and Grandpa worked with Tony to try to get him to be a good boy. But after four years of existing with so many different directions of learning and examples it was almost an impossible task of getting him to follow one set of examples. He was exposed to things from greed to sex, to apathy. This was the first firm stable environment that he had ever experienced. But that all went away when mommy got home, Tony would lose his mind and get into trouble within five minutes of her getting home.

Other things began to happen, they were little things, but the biggie was things that began to go missing. Movies, memorial items, toys, flashlights, towels, and other really insignificant things went missing fast and they had not been found during a precursor search.

One night, he couldn’t wake up mommy so he could pee. He really wanted to be let out so he could find something to eat. So, he stood on the bed and peed on the floor. Grandpa caught him. It was not a pretty scene. It was one thing to pee in the pull ups, but he stood up and pulled the pull-up down and peed on the floor. It should be noted at this time that Tony had been potty trained. Mommy finally woke up with yet another bout of crocodile tears and bawling. He was made to help clean up his mess.

Mommy was working nights and grandpa and grandma was making sure that Tony was fed, cleaned, and put to bed. One night Grandpa saw a red glow coming from the youth’s bed. Grandpa sneaked in and jerked the blanket back exposing the child playing with a long since missing flashlight. The light was promptly confiscated and the child put back into bed with no toys anywhere within arm’s reach or so they thought.

“I thought I was losing my mind,” grandpa said, “I was beginning to think that I had actually lost this flashlight. I swore I put it back. Now I know I did. I am coming to the conclusion that I want them out. They were only supposed to stay long enough to save up enough money to get out on their own.” Grandpa told Grandma.

“I got your back, just say when.” She said.

Things were going from bad to worse as she took another job and was now taking to being gone from sun up to long after sun down. Tony was only moderately behaving despite the timeouts. They tried everything. Finally they told mommy that she had to get help with watching little Tony. She found a much older couple that was the new additional Grandma and Grandpa. They were titled new Grandma and Grandpa. It didn’t take long before he was on their nerves as well. New Grandpa would fix something and Tony would break it or destroy it.

The Social Media was one of the most diabolical Medias of this day and age. On it people talk too much, brag too much, and just flat out expose too much. Mommy took Tony to a hotel where others were there with their kids, booze flowed like wine and things happened in front of the kids. Pictures and comments were made. The free room and board would very soon go away. It was well past time for the birds to mature and leave the nest. Mommy was asked questions and then they had 30 days to save money and find a place to live.

Tony had turned into a terror that no one wanted around. He took what he could hide, played with it for a short time and either hid the item or wrapped it up in his Pull-up and threw it away. He had even traumatized grandpa’s chickens from laying eggs for almost a full three months past when they should have been laying eggs.

The day came and they moved into an apartment. Tony went missing within the first few hours that they were there. He was found across the street playing with the kids that they were introduced to as they were going inside. Mommy promptly began locking the door but that only slowed him down as he quickly learned how to unlock the door to leave and go across the street.

In less than two weeks, he became angry again and tried the exact same thing by trying to burn down the apartment by using the microwave. He had been going to therapy. Mommy was given tasks to do with Tony, but it was anyone’s guess on if it was being followed through at home. Mommy just wanted to have fun. Tony was just in the way.

Soon the social butterfly media was once again all a buzz with the exploits of her and a new “Bea.” Pictures were abundant of the man and Tony. The new “daddy” looked about as happy to be with Tony as a man just learning that he was about to be executed. Mommy had once again picked a real winner. Videos were posted with daddy tolerating Tony literally bouncing off the walls and beating “daddy” with his toys. Mommy must have been awfully good for “Daddy number infinity” to tolerate this kind of abuse.

Tony was told that he would be a big brother. He became very angry with mommy because this meant that he was going to have to share mommy with yet another person. It was bad enough that he had to share mommy with another daddy and watch and listen to them do things to each other that made mommy cry out. But now he was going to have to share her some more? This was intolerable.

He got so mad that he caused daddy and mommy to argue all the time. Daddy slipped one day and called Tony a little obnoxious, unruly, inbred shit bastard. That set mommy off and she kicked out the convicted felon who only used her as his meal ticket and love receptacle. Tony smiled as daddy left. Now it was only he and mommy. Tony was convinced that this made the big brother thing go away as well.

Tony turned five and it was quiet and Tony was happy. He spent the days with new Grandpa and Grandma and mommy would pick him up late at night. He also was still wearing pull-ups. He liked them, he didn’t have to get up to pee, and he could just pee and wait for someone to notice. After all, if new Grandpa and Grandma wanted to coddle him like an infant, that was fine and dandy with Tony.

He sat around naked all day, save his socks and Pull-ups and he was happy. Not like his other Grandpa and Grandma who tried to make him grow up or stand in the corner for time-out when they thought he did something bad. He liked it here just fine.

He went to school to learn, but the teachers soon gave up on him. He was one of 20 pupils, and he demanded so much attention that he was running off to do what he wanted instead of what the group was doing. The teachers let him go since he would run off and cease to be an immediate problem. They used the old saying, “Out of sight, out of mind.” That was unless they caught sight of him getting into trouble.

Tony was a quick learner, not in the academics department, but in trouble. He studied and watched others. If they did something and got away with it, he would do it. He learned how to manipulate others by watching mommy. She was very good at manipulating people.

The summer came and went and Tony was bumped from one medication to another to try to control his ADHD, but nothing seemed to work.

Turning six was difficult, not just for Tony, but everyone who had to deal with him. Grandma and Grandpa that held him accountable were no longer in the picture and new Grandma and Grandpa had given up due to his constant misbehaving, breaking things, and stealing their things. Their health was beginning to fail and yet they continued to watch him, or rather, give him a place to hide while mommy worked, played, or just hid from him.

Tony also learned that when daddy infinity left, he didn’t take the other one that mommy said he would be a big brother to. That was just not going to do for him.

Mommy was watching “Walking Dead” and “Dexter” again. Tony liked Dexter. He learned many things from the man on TV. He was mad when the old grandparents said he couldn’t watch “Dexter” anymore, he also knew that the old Grandpa killed people. He was a biker and looked like one of the guys on “Sons of Anarchy.” He determined that old Grandpa had lied to him. Bikers have to kill people. Sons of Anarchy showed it to be true.

Little Tony was growing angrier, it seemed, by the day. His medication was doing a very good job of hiding his anger. It was doing minimal work as far as the ADHD. He had a therapist for a long time. She had him on a program to say something nice and do something nice every day. Mommy was supposed to write it on a slip of paper and place it in a jar. That was short lived as it was just one more thing that mommy just didn’t want to do. So, it didn’t get done. Old Grandpa had told mommy that Tony was challenged because both mommy and his father were both strung out on drugs when he was conceived. Grandpa backed that up as well as the doctors. Tony didn’t feel challenged or even special. Tony felt angry, lonely, and in the way. Since mommy started working, he felt increasingly angrier as mommy dumped him off on different people. Mommy didn’t love him anymore. This feeling became exacerbated by another person coming into the family. He did not want to be a brother. He wanted mommy all to himself. He wanted to move away and leave the other baby behind, he was the baby and it was always supposed to be that way.

He started regular school, he hated it immediately. He did like the kids that liked him, but the other kids were mean to him. They would walk away or ignore him when he would walk up, they never got into trouble. The one’s that would talk and play with him got into trouble like he did. Being six years old was a major problem for Tony. He also was forced to be more grown up because he wasn’t allowed to wear his Pull-ups at school.

He even asked some of his friends if they still wore their Pull-ups and all of them laughed at Tony. None of them wore Pull-ups any more. None of them even peed the bed anymore. They began to laugh and tease him calling him “Tony pee pee pants,” or “Bed puddles.” He no longer had any friends at school. The teachers tried but they didn’t seem to be able to reach him.

Tony grew bitter as well as angry.

Summer came and the little brother was now there all the time. Summer school started too. Tony blamed baby brother for mommy sending him away every day so baby brother could take his place with mommy. It wasn’t fair. Mommy also had another Bea and that meant that Tony had yet another daddy. He was tired of daddies. He was tired of having Boon around. He was tired of sharing, period!

Summer school ended with little Tony in therapy yet again.

The school, in their infinite wisdom, ignored the signs of aggression and other psychological signals that always point to trouble in the future. They’re always there, and they’re always ignored. This would be no different.

Tony refused to play with Boon, he played by himself. Concerned, mommy asked the therapist about his ignoring his brother and others around him. The therapist’s reply was typical and just priceless, “It’s just a phase he is going through, he’s still jealous. It will pass.”

This continued through the rest of the summer and was still an issue when school started in the fall. Another daddy was now gone but Tony was still not happy. Boon was still around, and that was still a problem with Tony.

Tony’s teachers said that the boy struggles with his class work and doesn’t pay attention, he seems distracted and distant. “Is he taking his medication?” was a constant question and that question was always answered in the affirmative. They weren’t focused on the whole Tony. The meds were working, but the focus allowed the other issue to take root and run rampant in his little head. It was just a matter of time until he figured out a way to make it happen.

Some of the other kids were still calling him Tony pee pee pants because of last year. The rest had moved on. Mommy thought he was being bullied so she found an inexpensive Karate class to put him in. This decision would soon prove to be a very bad decision.

With what little he learned, he became the class bully. Each time he learned something new in Karate class, he would practice the moves on the students at school. This lasted only four days before there was a phone call to mommy. Of course, it took an additional four days for her to even return one of the calls. When she finally did return the calls, Tony had been sitting all day for four days in detention. They tried to catch her when she dropped him off in the morning, but she wasn’t the one dropping him off, nor was she the one picking him up. They were confused. Tony was content to sit in detention. He didn’t show any ambition to learn anything after summer school.

While they waited, they called Child Protective Services (CPS) and they sent out a social worker to talk to Tony. The analysis was that “He had some deep seated issues and separation anxiety from his mother, and that would explain the displaced anger. Quite simply, the boy was jealous of his brother and the attention his mother spent with his brother. Harmless really.” The agent summed up her analysis.

“Really, tell that to the kids he beat the dots off of their dominos.” The principal retorted. “If his mother doesn’t call or come in, he’ll be yours to try to contact her.”

“Just stop her when she drops him off. How hard can that be?” She asked.

“She doesn’t drop him off. We are having trouble trying to find out just who drops him off or picks him up. So it’s a shell game. He needs to be dealt with or I have to expel him for the safety of the other students.” He said.

“I see, okay, we’ll need to investigate what goes on at home. The standard questions, I feel that we’ll find a little jealousy issue, nothing more. He’s just reaching out.” She said.

“Reaching out my left foot, there’s something else, but that’s why you’re here. Don’t down play this councilor, there is something going on, for his safety and welfare, and the safety of the other students.”

One of Tony’s many aunties picked him up from school. The principal tried to flag her down but she tore out before he could say two words. The next morning, a different car dropped him off on the corner avoiding the school drop off traffic. That afternoon, a truck sat on the corner and waited. Tony pulled toward the truck and tried to get away from the principal. He held Tony’s hand firmly as they walked to the vehicle. The driver opened the door. It was an older man with long hair and a long beard. “What’s this, why are you restraining the boy?” He demanded.

“We have been trying to talk to someone about Tony here for seven days. His mother won’t answer her phone and seems to ignore our voice messages that we’ve been leaving for over six days now. Are you his guardian? Can we talk to you?” He asked.

“First off, take your hands off of the boy. I’ll call the police if you don’t and there had better not be any bruises on him.” The older man said.

“Oh please, no problem, do call, I have had them here already. CPS has been here twice also. If someone who takes care of this young man doesn’t call by the time classes start tomorrow morning, a deputy will be going to his address to enquire about the parents and CPS will be taking custody. I ask again, sir, are you his guardian and why is the mother refusing to return our calls?”

“I am on the list to pick him up and drop him off, I also baby sit him most days. Mom works all the time. I am also taking care of his brother. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“He’s being disruptive in class and beating other kids up for a start. We need to talk to the mother or whoever he lives with to get to the bottom of his anger. Will you please have the mother call us no later than eight am?”

“I will let her know.” The old man said. Tony was already in the back seat and looking smug. The principal looked at Tony and wondered what was going through that boy’s mind. Hopefully some answers will come forward in the morning. But he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

There was no conversation on the way to Grandpa’s house other than, “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Tony said much too fast. “He only held my hand.” Thinking after he spoke, he could have lied then the principal could have gotten into trouble. Then he thought better of it. If he did lie, and they found out, he knew they would take him away, it happened before, back in California where they used to live. The grandma out there called CPS on them for everything. He hated his California Grandma. He wished Dexter would pay her a visit.

The message was passed along when she picked him up later that night. She was not happy. She scolded and yelled at Tony all the way home. He got her to notice him. Granted, she was yelling, she shouldn’t be yelling at him. But it was still attention.

When they got home, she put Boon to bed and put Dexter on Netflix. Dexter realized his brother was the murderer. He had to kill his brother to stop him. This he did by knocking him out and strapping him down onto a table which inverted the body so it would drain all the blood out. Tony watched every move Dexter made. He practiced the moves to make sure he performed them correctly. Dexter was his hero. He didn’t lie like the old Grandpa did. He was a biker like on “Sons of Anarchy.” He knew old Grandpa killed people because he was a biker. It was simple. Tony understood what he saw on TV. New Grandpa didn’t understand things, but Tony did.

The school demanded that Tony attend therapy as a requirement for continued attendance. Mommy didn’t like that and began looking at other schools to try to place him in. How dare they tell her that he needed more therapy! He was fine. He just needed his ADHD medication adjusted.

The school relented after she threatened with a lawsuit against the school. As a point of fair play, she agreed that he was to have no more Karate classes. She thought it was a win all around. The school made a valiant effort to watch Tony closely, and she saved money by not spending it on karate classes. That decision would prove prudent and very wise.

It was after lunch, exactly seven weeks after she contacted the school and had the fall out with the staff and administration that the incident in question took place and permanently barred Tony from that elementary school or any elementary school in that district.

Tony, Sarah, and Zach were playing and Tony wanted to play forensic scientist. He said he was Dexter and told Sarah that she was a bad person and that she had to lie down. Never having seen the TV show, she complied. Zach was unsure because he had heard his mother and older brother talk about the show. Tony opened his pretend forensics case and pulled out a steak knife that he took from Grandpa’s house. He began to lecture Sarah on the evils of her crimes.

Tony never saw Zach run away, or the teacher run up and flying tackle Tony just as he had the knife poised to strike, Sarah, still thinking they were playing still had her eyes clinched shut.

Two things happened, the police were called, and once again. They attempted to call mommy. And as usual, she never answered her phone. The police sent officers to her work only to find out that she no longer worked there, and new Grandpa was called. He arrived and was not happy.

Things were said and threats made. In the end, CPS was called once again and the woman analyzed Tony and surmised that he was just acting out to get attention.

She asked Tony a few questions. This time, Tony gave different answers.

“Now Tony, were you really going to stab that girl?” She asked watching his facial expressions.

“No.” He said with a straight face. He was completely expressionless. Just like Dexter!

“I didn’t think so. You’re a good boy aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He said beaming.

“They said you were pretending to be Dexter, how, or, why did you pick him?”

“Because he solves crimes!” He said still beaming.

“I see, so what else does he do?”

“He gathers blood and solves crimes. Is that wrong?” He asked as if asking for approval.

“No Tony, not solving crimes, but do you know that he does bad things too?” She asked.

“No, he doesn’t does he?” Tony quickly added when she began to frown. The smile returned.

“Yes he does. What were you going to do with the knife?”

“I was going to do a ah top see?” He said as more of a question than a statement.

“Does Dexter do autopsies?” She asked him.

“I don’t know.” He said, he always liked saying that phrase and other than old Grandpa and Grandma, it always worked. Old Grandma and Grandpa always saw through his deception.

“Okay, go sit in the other room while we talk, okay honey?”

“Okay.” He said jumping down and running to the next room.

The woman looked at her notes and jotted a few more. By the end, she had four pages of notes that looked more like a flow chart than it did an outline.

“Well doc, does he get the chair?” The principal said. “Either way, he’s done here!” He said with finality.

“I agree that his displaced aggression is very concerning, but I don’t see any signs that he would carry any of it out. He’s just a kid about to turn seven.” She said rather dismissively.

“So you see no danger or dangerous threats here?” Said the officer. “He still goes to hall until his mother comes and picks him up. Sorry Mister Willoughby. You’re not actually legal immediate family, unless she has signed some guardianship papers with your name, we can’t release him into your custody.”

“You mean he is under arrest?”

“Well, let’s see, bringing a knife to school, brandishing said dangerous weapon, and acting out a death scene from TV. You want to tell me where to stop? I can continue on if you like?” The officer said.

“No, that is more than enough.” Grandpa said.

The young man sat in a locked room throughout the day and late into the night. Police couldn’t find her, nor would she answer her phone. At least until she went to pick Tony up from new Grandpa and Grandma’s house. That was when she lost control and called a lawyer to see if she had any grounds to sue.

Unfortunately, she did not, but she was ordered in front of a judge the next morning over the conduct of her child. The charges stood at taking a deadly weapon to school, brandishing said weapon with intent to do great bodily harm.

In court the next day, the CPS agent met her outside chambers. She tried to shake hands, but mommy just stared at her, and then snapped. “Are you here to take my child away?”

“No, I’m here to help you keep him and to keep him out of juvenile hall. I’m on your side. We need to make sure we are on the same page. I feel that he is just acting out to get your attention. He does have a little brother?” She asked.

“Yes, his name is Boon, why?” Mommy asked with no little consternation in her voice.

“He is jealous of Boon, simple case of sibling jealousy. It is quite harmless. I don’t think he had any intention of hurting the girl. I think he just wanted your attention. Displaced aggression is very common in children and adults alike, but more in children. Let me do the talking in court, I’m positive I can get everything but him taking the knife to school thrown out. I might be able to get that reduced.” She said. “I’ve talked to him with his Grandfather and he doesn’t understand what is going on.” She said.

Mommy looked at Tony then back at the CPS agent. “I didn’t get your name?”

“Mattie, Mattie Singh. We will do just fine. The judge knows me and I have a reputation of reading people. Kids included, and I get good vibes from Tony.” Mattie said.

The hearing began and the prosecutor presented his case, then Mattie presented her case. By the end of the morning, Tony was going home with nothing more than a stern talking too. Tony sat and looked innocent, but he knew this would happen. This is the way it always goes with Dexter. Dexter always got off.

That night, Tony was yelled at by mommy. She didn’t understand. She was too old to understand. He had it all figured out. It was Friday night. Mommy always went out on Fridays and Saturday nights. Sometimes she brought a new potential daddy home. They always stay and give her attention and make her scream. He would help her learn. He would show her that she should stay and give him her attention, not her Bea, not Boon, but he and he alone.

Mommy cleaned Boon and put him to bed. She then told Tony to get ready and go to bed. But he didn’t want to go to bed, so he said no. mommy yelled at him to go to bed. But he resisted. He didn’t want to get into bed. He wanted to sit up with mommy. Mommy got out the spanky paddle and paddled him. This just made Tony angry. He cried, more out of frustration than any of the paddling. The paddling didn’t hurt. Old Grandpa knew how to make it hurt. He didn’t dare get into trouble with old Grandpa or Grandma. He wanted to be good there, but mommy wouldn’t do what they did. She would yell at him one time for something then let him do the same thing without getting into trouble. He got confused, a lot.

Mommy made sure he was in bed, then she closed the door. He was getting more defiant. She hoped that this was just a phase he was going through like her mother used to say about her. But that was what she said when she was doing drugs, having loose sex, and getting into trouble at school. The thought flashed through her mind. “What if the woman from CPS is wrong?” But that thought literally flashed and was gone. Her baby wouldn’t hurt anyone. She had completely forgotten about that night at old Grandpa and Grandma’s house. In a scarier note, she had quit contacting them after old Grandpa’s comment that pegged her live in boyfriend perfectly. He said that the man was just using her as a meal ticket. Grandpa said that he still had her back. But she got mad and quit contacting both of them. The events of the past couple of days quickly flitted away as she lay on her bed to go to sleep. This adventure only lasted about 15 seconds as soon as her head was on the pillow, she was out cold. The only sounds were her harsh rumbling the room with her violent snoring.

Tony heard mommy snoring, he left his bed, and walked into her room. She was sprawled on her back with the blankets wadded around her arms. Tony left the bedroom. He walked into the kitchen area and slowly opened the drawers until he found the longest, sharpest knife in the drawer. He was now Dexter, he had to help mommy realize that what she was doing was wrong. Tony, now Dexter, closed the drawer and slowly left the kitchen.

The little Dexter stood beside the bed of his mother. He climbed onto the bed and kneeled beside her, the knife in both hands. He told her crimes to her and raised the knife above his head. With practiced movements, he brought the blade straight down fast and with all his strength. The blade easily sliced through the thin material and the skin below. The angle was straight up and down.

Unfortunately for mommy, he not only had the blade at the right angle to the ribs, he also missed them altogether as the blade sank quickly to the handle and deeply into her chest severing flesh, muscle, cutting through the heart, and finally resting within the cavity of mommy’s left lung. This last was the tip and probably the least of the problems from the stab wound as a person can survive being stabbed in the chest, but stabbing the heart is pretty much guaranteeing that the victim will not wake up. Mommy jerked only once, and then moaned, followed by a long slow gurgling sigh. Tony rubbed the back of his little hand along her cheek as he had seen Dexter do many times before. He grabbed the handle and pulled. Nothing happened. The knife refused to come out. He stood and pulled but the knife held fast and would not come out like it did on TV. It always came out easily on TV. It was supposed to come out easily like it does on TV. He tried for a few more minutes. He shrugged his shoulders at the unyielding knife. Tony left mommy’s room. She can help him pull out the knife when she wakes up.

He went back into the kitchen and opened the drawer to get two more knives. He grabbed a few trash bags and went back to his room. He placed two bags on the floor around Boon. He didn’t have enough to cover the entire room like Dexter always does, but he kept one to put Boon’s parts in. Boon slept on his back like mommy did. Tony silently told him his crimes, taking mommy away from him, being born taking away all the attention that he was supposed to get. Then Tony raised the knife and brought it down. It wasn’t as clean as it was with mommy, but Tony heard a couple of bones crack as the knife penetrated the rib cage, slice though the chest and into the mattress and embedding the tip of the blade into the wooden bottom of the crib. There wasn’t much blood from mommy. Boon didn’t bleed much until Tony finally managed to pull out the large knife. Dexter was always covered in blood. This changed when the knife came out. The arterial pressure suddenly released and sprayed from the little body covering Tony’s arms and upper body. The blood tasted funny. It reminded him of putting pennies in his mouth. He then proceeded to cut the arm of at the elbow. This was a lot of work, but he finally got the forearm loose and tossed into the bag. He began on the other arm, but quickly lost interest. He rolled the little body into the bag and tied the bag like old Grandma taught him too. Blood was everywhere. He dragged the bag to the door. That was a lot of work too. He was hungry. He decided mommy had learned her lesson. He went in to wake her up. But, as usual, she refused to stir.

Tony began to feel sticky and icky from the blood all over him so he went through his drawers and retrieved a pair of socks, a Pull-up, a T-shirt, and made for the shower. After he stood in the running water and determined that it was just too cold, he went to the kitchen to get some breakfast. He found a bag of popcorn and put it in the microwave. He pressed buttons until it came on. Mommy never burned the popcorn. Tony always did. This time was no different.

There was a knock at the door. Tony walked over and opened the door. It was new Grandpa. At first glance he said. “Hey sport, having spaghetti for break . . .” he stopped short as he saw a trail of blood from the hall to the black bag by the door.

He rushed passed Tony and into the child’s room. Two trash bags lie on the floor and the room was spattered in blood. The old man went to mommy’s room. He didn’t see any blood, but there was a knife sticking out of mommy’s chest.

Grandpa turned and looked at the child with a new born fear he had not known since Vietnam. He told Tony to sit at the table, which he willingly did. Then with a shaking hand, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

The End

 

Pete The Perv

The officer guided the coroner’s wagon to the door and the forensics team had been studying the scene for any evidence of foul play. When they concluded that there was none, four men gently lifted the man and severed the rope above his head leaving a length to perform further testing back at the lab. To say a forensics’ work is never done can be categorized as a gross understatement. There was the evidence from the scene, the autopsy, and the tox screens to analyze, skin, nail, and mouth samples to analyze. This case would last weeks, if not months to verify if he had hanged himself or if he had help.

After all, he was to appear in court for 69 counts of child endangerment, inappropriate activities with a child, child molestation, as well as other crimes against children there were also charges against him for sexual aggravation, solicitation, and multiple counts of exposure for a grand total of 78 charges that he was to account for.

A detective entered and began asking questions, “Do we know who he is?”

“His name is Peter Robert Crampt, he is 67 years old, married, and has one child of his own and two others by marriage that are not his own. We’re trying to locate the spouse now. She’s not at work, so her location is anyone’s guess.”

Years earlier.

I’m telling you, once you have worked for yourself, you’ll never work for anyone ever again.” Peter Crampt said.

“If this doesn’t work, how will you make bills?” John, his neighbor and longtime friend asked.

“This is easy money. It pays for itself in the short term.” Pete said.

“Uh huh, a get rich quick scheme. You are keeping your job until this pays more right?” He asked.

“Nah, I already quit my job, this is guaranteed income. I’ll start making money next week.” Pete said.

John rarely saw Pete after that. Pete was covering over 100 miles a day trying to promote his business. The bills were not being met, auto repairs are piling up and his wife was working overtime to try to meet the new demand and income shortage. But she was failing horribly. The bills were piling up regardless of her increased income. He began to be verbally abusive. His wife was at the end of her rope with his verbal assaults.

After six months, he still had zero income, no prospects, and only losses to show for it. He had the computer savvy of a chimpanzee attempting to type the works of Henry David Thoreau on an antique Royal typewriter. Ergo, every time Pete turned on the computer that John built for him, he had to call John to come over and repair it.

Nine months and he had one contract granting him the massive royalties of .17 cents in taxable income a month. He had been reduced from dressing well above his paygrade to going out in worn out sweats and an equally tired T-shirts. He also graduated to beer from the drinking of the flavored carbonated beverage called O’Doul’s.

He was a hidebound by nature. He only asked people their opinion, then attempt to prove them wrong. But in the end, all he succeeded in doing was reaffirming their position after spending a lot of money. Sometimes in the thousands.

Since John had ties in the auto industry and studied regularly the recalls, complaints and other issues of cars, trucks, and other vehicles, Pete asked him what he thought about the Ford, Taurus. John not only told him that it was a bad choice, he gave him a two inch thick stack of complaints, recalls, and dangerous incidents involving the vehicle since it hit the road. Peter thanked John and the very next day there was a Mercury, Sable sitting in his driveway. Three days later, it was sitting in his driveway with a blown motor. He had the motor rebuilt, but the mechanic ignored any postings of posted recalls and safety issues. He was concerned about the excessive length of the power steering hoses and replaced them with the stock original which placed the high pressure side of the power steering pump directly against the hot exhaust manifold. A few days later, the car once again sat in the driveway with a black spot in the hood where the hose melted through and caught fire. Not only did this happen once, but the mechanic admitted fault and replaced the hose. It took about a month for it to melt through and catch fire once again. This time the insurance company totaled the car. He was now out not only the $2,500 that he paid for the car, but he was also out the additional $2,500 for the new engine.

He once again asked John what he thought of two other vehicles that John knew were below standard vehicles. He told him that they were poor quality vehicles and that they weren’t worth their weight in toilet paper. They were undependable, dangerous, and expensive to repair. He also backed this up with a short stack of recalls on each one and an additional Blue Book value report. He snapped at John claiming, “You hate everything! Are there any cars that you like?” to which John calmly told him that it wouldn’t matter what he said, he would just do the opposite. That night, both cars that he asked about were in his driveway.

Both wound up in the shop before the month was out. The Plymouth Colt was in the shop the very next day after he bought it. The Colt cost him more than he paid for it, and eventually ended up as a yard ornament while the other became the proud crown prince of Ecology Junk Yard in less than two years.

Both vehicles were worth $1,500 combined. However, he paid $5,000 for both. John renamed Pete to Dumb-ass and he soon began to separate himself from Pete. He also noticed other idiosyncrasies about Pete that he really didn’t like.

He noted the way that he would play with the little kids. There is a technique that is used to flip a child over by them putting their hands together, then then place then between their knees, the much taller person stands behind them and grabs them by the wrists or hands and pull up and AWAY from their body in turn flipping the child to a standing position. His was flawed in the sense that he would pull up and back as he feigned weakness be leaning way back causing the child to slide up his body with the face sliding firmly up his genitalia.

He didn’t do this just once, he did this every time. Sometimes the child giggled, and sometimes they possessed a look of concern or fear.

His abuse graduated from verbal to physical, and bounced from family members to his dog. He was always rough with Sheba, but animals are dedicated to their master. She was gentle as a lamb. He on the other hand was Satan wielding a Louisville Slugger.

Instead of positive reinforcement, he would fist punch Sheba on top of her head. There were numerous witnesses to this and one woman even called him out on it. It was in the middle of the Cul-de-sac and he had just punched Sheba in the head. The woman slammed on the brakes and yelled at him. He told her to mind her own business. John was witness to this exchange and thought she would follow up with her threat to call the police. But, once again, her threats were only vein aspersions, even though the exchange was not only heated, it was verbally violent as well. Pete had threatened her with physical violence. The police should have been called.

Peter and his wife made a trek into living large and care free. He had refused to return to the work force and was now sitting in the entryway of his garage drinking. He, as they say, was living a Champaign lifestyle on a beer budget. He liked not working like the other chumps. His wife made good money so he didn’t have to make any money.

He quit speaking to John altogether, and now only glared at him as he came and went from his home. John tried to ignore him but he knew the other shoe would drop soon and Pete might try to hurt him or a member of his family. John began to worry constantly when he was gone. They had been friends, nay, best friends for more years then he wanted to count, can now he was watching his friend slip into a deep zone that made him uneasy. He went from trust to fear with this man, and at times, John even loathed Pete’s very presence. The final straw came when Pete went to John and threatened him. John was working on a friend’s vehicle when the incident happened. It turned ugly from the very beginning as imprecations flew from Pete’s mouth. John tried to calm the situation but soon gave up as the man became more and more animated with his threats of violence. John, being John, and being tired of the whole exchange simply said, “I guess I’ll be your Huckleberry, anytime you feel the urge, I’ll be more than happy to oblige. But remember, it will make you a Daisy if you do. You’ll be my Daisy!” He said sourly and turned around and went back to work.

John’s friend said he turned a deep red and made an aggressive step forward then made a gesture and walked away.

Pete began to really down the sauce. He got drunk within a few hours after getting up in the morning and kept the buzz going all day. He ignores safety as he races up the road with children playing. The neighbors confronted him to which he replied, “I don’t care, they shouldn’t have been in the road in the first place! If I hit one of them, it’s your fault, not mine!” How two of the neighbors restrained themselves from kicking his ass then and there was a mystery until later when it was discovered that they were all cowards down below his house.

Pete entered a steady mental decline that he would never return from. He began to do some very strange things. The whole cul-de-sac took note and started avoiding even simple eye contact. John had deemed him certifiably insane, and purchased a home surveillance system and installed it. He felt safer, but only as now he had video evidence when he did something really horrendous and heinous.

John and his family had decided to pull stakes and go back home, far, far away from here. That move couldn’t have come soon enough. They contracted with a realtor, but couldn’t sell because of the realtor not doing their job. They found that they had a friend that needed a home, and they needed a tenant. It would soon prove to be both a match made in heaven and in hell.

The woman looked at the house and requested a privacy fence erected on both sides of the house blocking ingress and egress from the front yard to the back yard. John returned to California and was in the process of burying the posts when Pete came out in his robe and told him to get off his property and stop destroying his yard. John told him that he wasn’t in his yard and told him to go away. While he extricated his cell phone and tapped 911 on the screen. It was then that he noticed that Pete was holding something in his right hand pocket.

“Pete, why are you out here on my property holding your little .38?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Pete replied, his eyes slits.

“Okay asshole, go ahead and pull it so I can feed it to you!”

“Again, I don’t know what you are talking about.” Pete said still with slitted eyes.

“I can see it stupid. C’mon, pull it. I know you want to. And I want you too!” John taunted.

“I don’t have my gun here. You are seeing things.” Pete said now showing signs of being nervous.

“I press send on this phone and shit gets real. Pull that peacemaker or go away!” John pulled up the phone and made sure that Pete saw him press send. The police arrived and by then he was dressed and sitting in his drinkie chair.

The officer got out of her cruiser when John approached her and Pete sang out, “I’m the innocent one here!”

She dropped her head as if to say, “Oh shit! Not another one of these!”

John explained the situation and that he only called because he was afraid for his safety and he needed her to keep the peace. He also mentioned that he had come out of his house and was carrying a concealed weapon, which is a big no, no in the state of California. She stated that she did not settle land disputes to which John rapidly agreed, and that in the morning he was going to get a plot map.

She talked to him and walked over to John, “He denies anything about a weapon but since I wasn’t here, I can’t say one way or another. But I will say this, I wanted to kick his ass myself.”

John apologized again and thanked her for coming.

The fence pushed on and the tenant moved in. Peter Crampt saw a few pickup trucks with trailers roll up and back up to the house. Items were quickly unloaded and the trucks left hauling their trailers behind them. Pete saw the vision of his lust enter the house. His loins were twitter pated. His twisted imagination added two plus two and came up with 42. His wife in one house and a concubine just next door. Life was good. In his alcohol addled brain, she would not refuse his advances. In this, he was certain.

He saw her and approached. “Hey, if you need anything, and I mean anything, you just let me know.” He slurred and said smiling.

At first, she really didn’t know what to say. She knew him from before, he was a drummer for a friend of hers. She knew he was an arrogant asshole, but he seemed nice here. Pete, she knew, had been fired twice by her friend. She knew he was a loser. He couldn’t keep a job and he had been fired from every band he was in. He would play the same thing over and over for hours at a time in his garage. He was being so nice it scared her. “Okay, I appreciate it.” And turn to leave.

“No, seriously, anything.” He said holding the word anything for a full four count.

She turned and looked at him leering at her. “Seriously, what would Mary say? And what the hell makes you think I would be interested.” She snapped and went inside.

But just as she got to the door he said. “It would be our secret!” He slurred.

Once inside, she peeked out the window and watched him stare at the house smiling. He turned and almost fell down. He managed to stagger back to his drinkie chair and only almost fell down twice.

In a short time, he was slumped over in his chair sound asleep. At 6:30, Mary pulled in and noted a different car in her old neighbor’s driveway. She approached the house and knocked on the door.

Karin looked out the window and saw Mary. She opened the door. “Hi, I’m Mary from next door. Welcome to the neighborhood. You seem familiar.”

“Your husband used to play for a friend of mine, Ready Teddie. Karin asked, “Does Pete work?”

Mary frowned and shook her head.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to strike a bad chord.” She said.

“Oh don’t be, it is a stupid story. I wish he would go back to work. But it’s always one excuse after another. He gets a small allowance each week and he drinks it. I don’t know what to do anymore. I do hope we can be friends.” Mary said, Karin decided to be quiet about the prior incident.

“I’m Karin.”

“Hi, I’m Mary. Did you buy the house or just renting it?”

“I’m renting it. This guy said he needed a tenant and I needed a home. I don’t know anything about him. Do you know him?” She asked testing the waters.

“Yes, we were friends for many years. But we haven’t talked in a long time.” She said looking over her shoulder at the inebriated figure passed out in the chair. “I’d better go and get him inside. I’m sorry if he embarrassed himself.” She said and went to wake him up to get him inside.

He laid low for almost a week when she got home one afternoon. Karin and Mary had been talking on a daily basis and was forming a friendship. Pete would watch the exchanges with mock interest. Mary was obviously in the way of this intensions. One afternoon, Pete caught her off guard and preoccupied.

“Hey Karin, here is our home number in case something happens. Being alone a lot can sometimes make a person edgy. You can call in case of an emergency or if you see something. Can we get your number too?”

She rattled off her number without much thought as she shuffled to get things together to go inside. Once inside, she thought back over what just happened and wondered if she would regret giving him her phone number. The answer to that question would rear an ugly head so disfigured that no amount of therapy could help get rid of the imagery. She would also learn that the number he gave her was his cell phone number, not the house number.

He began to be a real nuisance, starting just after Mary left at 6:30 am. He would park himself in the doorway of his garage with a six pack of beer. By 8:15 he would already be drunk and rubbing himself whenever a woman or child were outside. People tried to ignore the problem like a festering boil under your arm, you know it’s there, you do everything in your power to not irritate it and ignore it, even though eventually, you know you will have to deal with it.

Karin had always had a habit of screening her calls before answering her phone. She was glad she did on more than one occasion. This time was a huge bonus for screening her calls. “BEEP!” Went the answering machine. Then there was a soft slurred and raspy, “Hey baby, I was thinking about you and remembered I have your number. I could come over and keep you company. Maybe give you a back rub? Or more? Call me back!” Then the sounds of the cell phone disconnecting.

The woman sat and shuddered from shear disgust. She didn’t know what to do at first. She then called the police who told her that he had to call three times in such a manner before they could act. She did not want to hear his creepy voice one more time, let alone two more times. She started to feel sick to her stomach.

The next day, she had gone out with a friend. She arrived home to four messages. She had called John, her landlord, about an issue and to ask him about Pete.

The first message made her blood boil and her bones turn cold. “Hey baby, I don’t know why your ignoring me, you’re so freaking hot. The things we could do together. I want to run my hands all over you. Call me and I’ll be right over.” The call ended. He was slurring heavily. She looked out the window and he was sitting, staring at the house, and rubbing his crotch with one hand and downing a beer in the other hand.

Karin stayed inside the house all day. She did call the police to update them that he called again and that she had both phone calls recorded. She called John.

“Hello.” John said.

“Hey, got a minute?” she asked.

“You bet, an hour if you need. You don’t sound right are you okay?”

“No, I’m not, Pete has been calling me, I’m being harassed by him, I accidently gave him my number and he’s called twice, leaving nasty messages. I’m waiting for Mary to get home. I’ve called the cops, but they won’t do anything until he has called three times. They don’t know we’re friends, and I’m going to keep it that way. Has he always been like this?”

“No, I do know that he didn’t want me in the band because he wanted to whore around and not be seen by anyone that Mary might know. Before he was fired, the second time, he would be so shit-faced that he could barely keep time. Not that I think he is that good to start with, but I never thought he was that stupid. I didn’t want to say anything in case he decided that I was the focus of his anger and hate, I’m sorry, I should have warned you. But if he did turn around to be a descent sort to you that would have made me look bad.” He said.

“It’s not your fault, and you are right. But if he calls one more time, he goes to jail. Hey, I gotta go, Mary just pulled in.” She said.

“Call me later, bye.” John said.

“Bye.” She said and hanged up the phone and went outside. “Hi Mary, hey, can I see you a sec. I want to show you something?”

“Sure, I’ll be right there.” She closed up the car and walked up the steps and went into the house. “What’s up?”

“I’m so sorry Mary, but you need to hear this. He has called me twice and left messages both times. I didn’t know what else to do.” She said.

“Please play the recording.” Karin pressed play. Mary listened to the recording. “Can you play that again? Please?” Karin showed her how to replay the recording.

“I’m sorry Mary, I can’t listen to this anymore. I have to step out.”

“I understand, Karin. Go ahead, I can deal with this.” She pressed play and put her hands on her hips. “Oh is he drunk!” Then a little later, “We’ll see about this!” she played the recording many times, it was quiet for some time before Karin realized that she was gone.

A short time later, all Karin and the rest of the neighborhood heard Mary screaming Pete’s pedigree to the world. People were peeking out doors or gathering outside to hope to see the carnage.

Everyone in the cul-de-sac had an issue with Pete at one time or on an ongoing basis. The only thing they were waiting on was for her to run out of the house covered in blood or bruised, or even to see him take a swing at her outside so they could call the police. Oh they wouldn’t step in to protect her, the only one that would have done that moved away and an older gal moved into their house. No one knew her or anything about her. All they knew was that Pete was staring at her and the house like a cat looking at a bird fluttering at the glass just out of reach.

The screaming and ranting continued for the better part of two hours. No one heard a peep from him, only her telling him that mom was right and that he was a worthless piece of shit!

As suddenly as it started, it ended. The house not only fell silent, it went dark, save a light that leaked around the door seal of the garage.

Several days passed before Karin even caught a glimpse of Pete, when she did see him, he scampered back in the house like a scared rabbit being chased by a pit-bull.

But that was short lived.

Two months later, he was back to sitting in the doorway of the garage once again, their children rarely came around anymore. He couldn’t understand why. Mary knew it was all because of him and his abusive behavior.

He went out of this way to annoy everyone around him. It got so bad that when he was home, the neighbors had to pull their kids inside. The neighbors were cowards, however, and did nothing to protect their kids other than pull them inside.

New neighbors would move into the area and Pete would befriend them until they discovered what he was really about then they would all but get a restraining order against him. One woman befriended him and she did teach him how to beat the system and get on disability even though he had no disability that actually qualified him that anyone knew of. But such as it was.

He would actually entice children to come up to his garage and play with them. His favorite game was still flipping them over by having them place their hands between their legs, then he would lean back pulling them against his groin. He did this with all little children regardless of age or gender.

He then began to look around for sources to purchase his smoke. He was too lazy to go and acquire a medical Marijuana card. So he found people living in the area to sell it to him.

So now, not only was he a non-functioning drunk, he was an aimless pot head.

One afternoon, a parent was looking for her little boy, he was found in the doorway with Pete, being flipped like he always did the kids. The mother calls the sheriff who comes out to make a report. Pete said the kid asked him to do that but he was too heavy and he had to lean back or incur injury to risk hurting the child by dropping him. The sheriff bought it, but made a notation, with all of the complaints that had been filed against him, this was just going to be one more page in the comic book of Pete.

He goes from a folding lawn chair to a Lazy Boy recliner in the garage with two end tables, one on each side of the chair, and a small college refrigerator within arm’s reach. He parked his car in front of and to the left of his chair in case someone drives up trying to catch him in an inappropriate act. He also put up a beach umbrella in front of his car. This accomplishes two thing, firstly, it blocks the morning sun, and secondly, he can see under it all the while thinking that no one can see that he is sitting in his chair.

This was only partially true. From the east side of the driveway with the car properly parked, it was true, however, it was a completely different scenario when you got to the other side of his car. You could see him sitting spread legged, crotch in hand through his sweats, shorts, or whatever the attire of the day may be. But it was never jeans or slacks.

He tried to make friends, but he just couldn’t keep them long. Not to mention that they were just as twisted as he was. Darrell was one of these friends, he was behind on his payments for his Vette. He was in arrears in access of 5,900 dollars. Pacific Beach Tow had been contracted to repossess the Vette but Darrell kept moving the car and they couldn’t find it. Pete, being the “Benevolent buddy,” said “Shit man, they’ll never find it here. Bring it over.” To which Darrell did just that. It was well hidden for exactly one day. Darrell being just as ignorant and stupid as Pete also gave him the keys to said sports car just in case he “Needed to move it.” The very next day, Pete stood staring at the car, keys in hand, and glancing at Karin’s house. “If I have this Vette to drive, she will jump in my lap!” He thought.

Way too soon, and much to the chagrin of every neighbor for blocks around were tortured to the sounds of Pete over revving the motor while it sat in his driveway. Then to what common sense that he was lacking, he moved his car and hauled ass down the cul-de-sac to the street and proceeded to scream up and down the street, then haul ass up the cul-de-sac to “Hide” the car for a few hours. Then he washed, rinsed, and repeated the process until an astute individual called the sheriff’s department and asked if someone were looking for a corvette that had possibly been stolen because the neighbor was acting suspicious with the car. The sheriff validated that in fact a repo company had been contracted for this car but could not find it, and it did match the description. The astute observer said that an idiot had been racing it up and down the street then hiding it in his driveway and he was idling then racing the engine. “And he is getting ready to leave again soon.”

“We have an officer in the area now looking for a loud car that is not only disturbing the peace but creating a dangerous environment. There are several complaints, is that the car I hear in the background?”

“Yes it is.” Then gave the address of where the car was located.

Pete backed out of the driveway and looked at Karin’s house and floored it down the cul-de-sac only to be met by two squad cars with all their lights flashing. It takes the tow truck a full hour to arrive from Pacific Beach. Pete is almost in tears as they hook and haul the car on the two truck.

“Awe c’mon, I’m one of you guys! I went through the academy. I was an officer for San Diego Trolley!” He cried.

“Mack, you were not a police officer, you were a security guard for the San Diego Metropolitan Transit Authority, nothing more. Now please go home or I’ll have to arrest you for possession of stolen property, concealing evidence, and impeding an investigation.”

“But . . .” was all he got out when the officer reached around back of his utility belt and extricated a set of hand-cuffs. Pete ran up the cul-de-sac like a fat kid running away from a team of bullies after he single handedly ate all of their lunches.

The next day, the entire cul-de-sac could hear Darrell threaten Pete’s very existence, but since both were a couple of pansies, they threw vein threats and went their separate ways. Darrell was able to get his car back, but did not realize the damage Pete had done to the motor and drive train until he jumped in the driver’s seat to fire the beast up. Once the engine ignited, it sounded like a 1920’s model T Ford with three cylinders missing.

John made the trek once or twice a year to inspect and repair the house. Pete made sure that he did something to piss him off. The last incident was nothing less than poking a hungry, irritable, and very pissed off bear with a short circuiting cattle prod. His antics were nothing like a mild irritant, and they always in the end, involved a visit from the Sheriff. He always had some stupid mantra that he tried to play the innocent party. Each time, just before the sheriff(s) left, every one of them admitted that, “Even I want to kick his ass now!”

John’s last trip that involved the sheriff was over Pete shoving his trash cans against his truck, blocking him in and baiting a situation. He got it alright. The sheriff lit into John for calling him out to do his job. The sheriff took being pulled away from his coffee and donut personally. As soon as Pete went down and started some Zen, Gandhi shit, the sheriff redirected and focused on him. John silently slithered out of the picture so as to not afford the sheriff a redirect and further cast his donut withdrawal aspersions back his way.

In the end, he was ordered not to block in people with his cans to try to start a conflict.

Later that day, Pete approached John and tried to get his attention. Finally John said, “What Pete, what do you want?”

“I want to bury the hatchet.” He said.

“I will not allow you to bury it in my head, you may have some fooled into being afraid of you. But I think you know I am not afraid of you. Any act of perfidy you commit against me will be met in kind. I will no longer call upon the sheriff as this one has made it perfectly clear that he would rather come out to write an incident report. So with that swimming in your feeble mind, what do you want?” John asked curtly.

“I knew you were going to say that about the hatchet.” John turned to get into his truck. “Wait please.” He said quickly.

“What, and get to the point. I have an appointment and do not wish to be late.”

“We have been at odds for too long and I want to make amends.” Pete said.

John looked at Pete incredulously. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of trick? You have played me and my friendship for a sap for too long. Because of you and another, I don’t even do anything for other people anymore. I just don’t and I won’t, the burn wounds just aren’t healing from you anymore.”

Pete stuck out his hand to shake John’s hand. “I just want to be friends again, no strings.” John looked at the outstretched hand as if were a venomous snake.

“This is all on you, Pete. I did nothing but help you and you treated me like a pariah.” John shook his hand still waiting for the other shoe to drop. He could hear the timer ticking down to when it would impact the floor.

He smiled that thin twisted smile of his. “Can I show you something?” he spun and guided his steps towards his back yard.

“I have to go . . .” John said.

“This will only take a second,” He said stopping at what used to be a gate. The fence was held up by the section of privacy fence John had put up when Karin moved in. The gate had long since given way to dry rot and had been missing for quite some time. “I am having my brother in law put up an eight foot fence all around.” And there it was, the other shoe made a loud report as it slapped on the floor. Things had never changed with him. There was always a greedy motive with him. John did not think that Pete had ever had just a friend that he did not plan on taking advantage of.

“I have to see the plans and the bill before anything else. I am not approving anything before I see the materials and labor estimates and I am not paying a penny more than my half of the estimate, final answer. Thank you, now I am going to be late if I don’t leave now. Bye!” With that, John turned and left.

The next day, Pete must have been waiting for him to come out of the house as he was out of his garage with a cup of coffee offering it to John. John only replied with a busy, “No thank you.” And went on his way.

Pete also must have had several local contacts for his new hobby. He wasn’t real good at rolling joints, but he made up for them in how fast he could smoke one. Now he thought he was just as cool as he was as a player.

He soon learned that rolling was too much work so he bought a pipe to smoke it with. He begins to solicit the neighbor’s friends for a good time. The replies are automatic and as expected. “<gag> Really, you!” Then the liners varied from. “I have to be dead and in the morgue.” To “Not with my dog’s member you freak!” but these reports fell upon the pot addled brain of an alcoholic, so he really never heard them.

But there was enough reality underneath his bald head that when he saw Karin that he still ran like a frightened field mouse from its predator.

Pete was watching TV one night and saw an advertisement for a garage door fresh air screen. It was constructed of a tarp and a screen to add fresh air as well as privacy as the screen was dark. This was perfect. He could sit and watch all day and not be seen. They also would not know he was there, so they wouldn’t run inside.

He only had his fantasies ever since Mary basically cut him off and ignores him now, this screen system made him invisible. “I wished I had thought of this years ago!” He thought. He could smoke and no one would be the wiser.

The only problem was when those damn women would show up. They all would laugh at his manliness. He would show them just how manly he was. He would show them all, and very soon.

The air screen was working well, he could sneak a kid or two in and play with them and no one would know they were there or call him a freak for playing with children. He didn’t see anything wrong with the way he was playing with the kids. He touched them, but he didn’t take off their clothes.

That was the issue. Karin rejected him without seeing his massive girth. He knew what he had to do. She’d be in his lap in a heartbeat. He shall not be denied again. In this he was certain.

The next morning, he braved the bugs and mosquitoes and waited outside his back door and drinking coffee. He faced Karin’s house and waited, he was naked.

She did come out to which he proudly announced his presence. It took one glance and she said, “Seriously?” and went back inside. She called the sheriff and told them what he just did in the back yard. Then she called a couple of her friends.

Candy arrived at 8:30 the following morning. Karin had just let the cat out and caught him once again standing naked, facing the house wearing nothing but a cup of coffee and a smile. She went back in and told Candy who ran out back to see for herself. She announced loudly to Karin that there was a naked woman next door exposing herself. Karin announced that she thought it was a man but wasn’t sure of the gender. And that she was calling her landlord.

“Can’t be a man, a man has a penis. He only had a button, are you sure it wasn’t a clitoris?” She went back out only to catch him disappearing back inside. “Okay, it has to be a guy because no woman has an ass like a hairy Bigfoot!” She said.

“Don’t be so sure, I take it you have never been to Walmart after midnight?” Karin said. “The sheriff told me to go out with a camera to catch him in the act. I called my landlord and he is going to put up surveillance and extend the fence so he will have to stand on a ladder to do anything stupid.”

“I have to go, I need to see a real penis so I can get that image out of my head.” She said laughing. They walked out to Candy’s car and stopped long enough to look at the screened in garage, point, smile, and then laugh before Candy drove away.

And so it went for the next three weeks. Whenever anyone went up to visit Karin, they made sure to look Pete’s way and either comment or point and laugh. Of course, they knew he was there, they could hear him groaning.

Pete didn’t mind really, he knew they were jealous and wanted him, he had taken to pleasuring himself in his easy chair in the garage. With the screen, no none could see him so he could watch his lust targets and day dream. He did have to remember to be quiet. Whenever he thought about it, and he drank so much that thinking was something he did very little of.

All the regulars that drove up would give the garage a look of disgust before continuing on to their destination. Sometimes they could even hear him grunting like a pig. He made that noise when the women came around on a regular basis. Everyone thought and guessed at what he was doing then immediately got nauseous at the thought and tried desperately not to imagine it.

One woman sneaked up while two others had him distracted. She looked in and she screamed in turn of both shock and abhorrence. Peter was naked from the waist down, tissues in one hand, and he was furiously working his unit in the other. He had been leering at Karin and her friends just before the woman screamed. This scared him as well as he almost toppled the Lazy Boy backwards. The only reason he didn’t go all the way over was due to the stacks and piles of boxes and other detritus that had been cast into the storage chasm that used to be a garage.

Cops were called once again, but this time they ruled in his favor since he was not visible unless someone walked up to the garage. Peter smiled like an evil child with a viciously, deliciously, evil secret. He all but danced back to his garage and zipped himself back in. then the officer added loudly so he could hear him, “Unless he makes his activity obvious as to what he is doing.” Which was rewarded with a report of the access door from the garage to the house slamming shut.

“We have a long list of complaints against him but he seems to stop just before he’s locked up. If he ever does get that far, every complaint will surface in court. But he always stops before then?” The officer asked.

Karin looked sternly at him. “Yep. Something in that drunk bastard’s head sobers just enough to tell him to straighten up before he gets past that last step. Now I have to contend with the knowledge that he’s beating off whenever he’s in his garage and I or any other person or child is outside.”

“But you can’t see him from here.” He said but was cut off.

“But I can hear him. He is not quiet. Am I going to have to record him three times and play it for you like I have to take a picture of him in the back yard when he stands back there naked and facing my house? I have two recordings of him telling me over the phone just how freaking hot I am when he’s dick slurring drunk. Or watch him stagger out to his car and drive out of here hoping that he doesn’t take anyone out along the way! I feel that nothing will be done about him until he hurts, rapes, or kills someone. I’ve even called in when he’s so drunk when he leaves here only to see him barely make it back home less than an hour after he leaves. He is a horrible alcoholic. I have seen him drink from the first day light to him passing out long after dark. That was evident at least until he put up the perv tent over his garage door. Now I can only hear him. And I don’t hear anything different. And I for one do not want to hear him masturbating. I don’t want to see him, and I definitely don’t want to hear him.” She complained.

“You mean you’ve reported him impaired and driving and nothing was done?” He asked in disbelief.

“Nothing as far as I know. You have full access to his arrest records, is there anything in there about DUI, OUI, or anything UI?” he shook his head, “See, that is exactly what I thought. It won’t stop until he gets physical with someone. If it is with me, I will have to defend myself. He’s had kids in there and they always come out scared, running, crying, holding themselves, or just staring into space. I’ve seen how he.” At this point she held up two fingers on each hand making the quote gesture. “Plays with them. It’s criminal. My landlord has even seen him play inappropriately with little kids. I can give you his number if you want.” She said.

“If I get any more complaints or if we do manage to finally arrest him. I’ll get it from you then. Sorry, I can’t do anything until then, but I have rules that I have to follow. Don’t give up. He will slip up and we’ll get him. Until then, keep calling and call every time you see him driving out of here obviously drunk. Here’s my card if you have any questions. I’ll try to add swinging up through here as part of my normal route. Maybe I can catch him in the act.” He finished.

Karin was in awe, it seemed that the moaning never stopped from the peeper pavilion. She recorded most of the afternoon and she counted six times over a four hour period. He would moan followed by a loud snoring, then silence, sterilize, rinse and repeat.

John arrived about a month after the last visit with the sheriff. First thing out of his mouth was, “Hey Karin, what’s with the perv-viewer.” Tossing a thumb in Pete’s direction.

“I’ll have to tell you about that. What’s that you’re carrying?” She noticed a paperback under his arm.

“It’s a book from a guy I know. Pretty good actually. It’s called Timmy. Special kid, lots of twists. I’m almost done with it. You can have it if you want when I’m done.” He said. “Guys name is Jesse O’Brien, he calls himself a starving artist and a talented hack. I like this one. Brings back a lot of memories and things I wanted to do to bullies. I’ve got my list, when can I start? And what would you like done first?”

They discussed a plan for some time then left for the store. They returned some time later and Karin left to pick up her grandbaby. Meanwhile, John is measuring and cutting in the driveway when Mary pulls up the drive. John hears loud music from Pete’s garage. He turns in time to see him standing with a smile and his arms outstretched to welcome her home. He is swaying drunk like a weed in the wind. She exited her car, walked past him and into the house as if he wasn’t there. Pete frowned, walked into the garage and turned down the music. Inside of an hour, John heard loud snoring emanating from the garage.

Karin arrived home and when asked about the apparent development. He was brought up to speed that she now ignored him as she knew that it was only a matter of time before he was in jail. John vows to continue the wide berth with Pete on the other side far, far away.

Just before John was planning his trip home, he was checking the truck for the trip when he heard Pete, “Hey man, hey man, hey man! Would you like some coffee?”

“No thank you.” John replied noting his position in the cul-de-sac.

“Would you like a chair? You could come up and sit up here or I could bring you a folding chair.” He said.

“No, thank you.” John replied once more.

“The offer stands if you change your mind.” He insisted.

“Thank you, but no thank you.” He said closing everything up.

30 minutes passed when John was interrupted by Pete once again. “Hey man, I just wanted to remind you that the offer still stands.”

“I appreciate that, but no thank you.” He said. Karin finally returned and they talked for some time then John left to travel home.

Two weeks later, complaints of him soliciting adults and children arose once again to the police. A sheriff actually sneaked out to investigate. What he witnessed made his stomach turn. Five children were playing outside and he was in his Lazy Boy pleasuring himself noisily and making comments. He was also more visible in the evening sun. The sheriff saw him masturbating as he watched the children playing. He was promptly arrested. When news of his arrest was made known, more parents surfaced as well as a few adults.

He was released on a 20,000 dollar bond. Mary walked to the car afterward and waited for him to get in. She started the car without a word, nod, or acknowledgement that he was even in the vehicle. Before he was even buckled, the car was in gear and rolling.

Finally it seemed, they pulled into the driveway. His private sanctuary, his perch, his observatory and private kingdom. He started to pull on the door release when she pressed the door lock button keeping him in the car. She looked straight ahead, refusing to look at him.

“You’ve got to be the dumbest bastard on the face of the planet. 13 counts and their continuing to get calls, there is NO question about it, you are going to jail. Where’s this going to stop, Peter? How many counts will they amass against you before this stops, 20, 30, or is it even higher at 50? You do know what will happen to you in prison don’t you, you molested children and propositioned adults. You pathetic piece of shit!” She pressed the door lock button to release him. “Get out of my car!”

“But I did nothing wrong, they all made this up! I’m the innocent one here!” He said smiling.

She continued to look straight ahead as she hissed. “GET OUT!”

He opened the door, “You’ll see, everybody is lying, they are out to get me, I will prevail!” He cheered. He unzipped the canvas and entered his domain. He pulled out a six pack and drank three of them as a cola addict would down three frosty colas on a hot day.

He gazed upon his cul-de-sac, his kingdom, and his personal waterloo. He sat in repose as he knew that he would come out on top as he always had. This would be no different.

He finished the six pack in less than 10 minutes as he proceeded to get shit-faced. And it didn’t take long to achieve the state of inebriation that most try to avoid. He staggered in the house and smelled. No sign of his wife’s fine cooking. He looked around and located her sitting on the couch. He sat next to her and placed his hand on her leg. She shivered at his touch. He cupped her breast with his hand and she shot up and off the couch and went into the bedroom. He began to stand up to follow when she slammed the door and the last thing he heard was her locking the door.

He staggered back to the garage and sat on his throne. He unbuckled his belt and stood just enough to drop his pants as he dropped back into his chair. He worked the pump on the Nivea bottle and applied the lube onto his swollen little unit. It didn’t take long until he was reaching for the tissue. He then moaned out then shortly afterward he was snoring loudly. He was out for a couple of hours when he woke up, extricating another six-pack and downed three.

He saw Karin’s outline in the window and began working himself up again. He did this off and on all night.

He now no longer left the garage. His nutrition was in the form of the aluminum 12 ounce cans. When he ran low, he would drive to the convenience store to buy more. He bought cases at a time. Sometimes he would doze off only to wake up sober. During these times he would think clearly enough to realize just how much trouble he was in. Mary would add insult to injury by taping a piece of paper with the latest tally of charges. The latest count was 47 charges and still growing and it had only been three days since he was arrested. By the end of the week, there would be a total of 78 counts of solicitation, fondling, sexual misconduct against children, indecent exposure, inappropriate language to a child, sexual incarceration of a minor, sexual contact with a minor, and indecent exposure. 69 counts for children and nine for adults against him totaling 78. After six days, Mary no longer made the trek to the garage. He ceased to bathe, and never went inside. She made the decision to ignore him. She just couldn’t take it any longer. She contemplated divorce, but that would screw her over for her retirement. He would get half of everything as well as palimony. So, in this instance, it was much cheaper to keep him. She researched the implications of divorcing him while incarcerated. She would serve him then. But for now, he was on his own. He caused their entire savings to be depleted.

She had overlooked many things, maybe too many things. She had lost her friends that used to live next door because of him, they were good to her and her family. Even watched after her when she left him before. She and the current neighbor used to be friends, but now she was ashamed to show her face to anyone in the cul-de-sac. She had planned on selling the house and going home when she retired. She would do this while he sat in jail. He would probably die there. Either by age or other inmates. She had heard there was a code. Child molesters had, on average, a life expectancy of three days in public jail. She doubted seriously that they would place him in a protected cell.

She wondered what happened and why she didn’t see any . . . she stopped in mid thought. The signals were now as imposing as the digital billboards at night, bright, colorful, and blinding.

It had started years ago really, but it started running amok when Karin moved in, the voice messages, the hiding, and sneaking around. But she also knew that the alcohol was the major culprit. He had quit drinking and smoking back in the 80’s. In the 90’s, he began with that non-alcoholic beer, then it was beer and cigars. Then he returned to beer and cigarettes. His father dropped dead on the golf course. That wouldn’t happen to Pete. He doesn’t even play golf any more. He got too lazy. He won’t die in that Lazy Boy recliner either. Not now. He’ll drop dead in an eight foot by 10 foot cage. She looked back on the perfect hindsight being 20/20 vision on how he got here. She shuddered, this wasn’t her doing, was it her fault? He had slowly gone mentally insane and no one saw it. Well, a few did and tried to warn her. John was one of them. I’ll bet that guy he knows, that writer O’Brien writes a story and puts it in his “Pontificating the Troubled Mind” series that she has been hearing about and had seen advertised at Barnes and Noble for the Nook. Pete definitely fit in with some of those wackos. She wondered where he got his ideas.

Pete sat, drunk, in a fog, and staring into the dark cul-de-sac. It was always so peaceful here at night. Other than the rarity of a porch light or two, the only way anyone knew that this small community even existed at night was the street lamp that lighted the entrance and the street sign. In his alcohol fueled state, the fog lifted in his mind and portrayed what was going to come. 69 counts of child molestation. Seven counts of solicitation, lewd acts, indecent exposure, and some of them on recording. He was screwed right and proper. 78 counts, he would not be placed in protective custody in prison, they put guys like him in the public sector, and when they find out you’re in for child molestation, your days were numbered, literally. He began to be scared, he also began to realize that he won’t be able to lie his way out of this one. At that point he hated John more than he hated anyone or anything. Years ago, John predicted this. For some reason, that conversation blipped into his head, and it pissed him off. He was right about many things, but he refused to listen. But this one slapped him in the face, hard. He will hear of this one. He could already hear the “I told you so Daisy. You’re going to be someone’s Daisy. Pete didn’t know how, but he knew John would hear about it. He looked at his surroundings that consisted of tissues, beer, personal lubricant, and the lust that only presented itself in his own mind. His father was a waste of human flesh and he deemed himself as no better. He dug around in the garage and found what he was looking for. He fashioned a knot in one end with a loop and tossed it over the rafter just over his chair. Then he remembered another conversation he had with John.

“It takes a brave man to take his own life.” Pete had said to John one day.

“No it doesn’t, the man who takes his own life is a coward because he can’t face his own trials in life so he ends his life to avoid his temporary tribulations. It is a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” He had said. He was correct on that one too, he didn’t want to face a judge on what he had done he didn’t want to face other inmates that would kill him anyway. He didn’t want to face the angry fathers and husbands in court. Pete guessed that in a sense, he was right also. You had to be brave to end your own life. It is a very difficult decision. He secured the rope and looped it around the beam until it was high enough to do its job. He didn’t have a piece of paper, so he scribbled a few meaningless words on a tissue. “Good bye, I” and stopped there. He would not admit he was wrong. That would just make things worse. Then finished the note, “I love you Mary.” Then laid the note on the armrest of the chair. He stood on the Lazy Boy recliner’s armrest and placed the crudely made noose over his bald head and drew it tight, and then dropped. He gasped for air.

Suddenly he changed his mind, he couldn’t find the armrest with his feet, his airway blocked as he clawed at the rope to try to call out. Nothing came out, and nothing could go in. his thrashing slowly decreased until they finally ended altogether. The tissue note was kicked and caught a gentle breeze as it was carried far from the chair, nature playing one last cruel joke on the man.

The morning sun cast a darkness against the screen when Mary left for work. Nor did she bother to look in the screened in area. She would see him in a few days as she drove him to his second pretrial. Until then, she did not wish to see him, nor did she want to know what he was doing.

For once, it was quiet in the cul-de-sac without his moaning out. People accredited this to keeping out of the court area where he might see them. No one went to visit Karin, all was eerily quiet in the cul-de-sac, called Morgandale Court.

It remained so for four days. Karin noticed a foul odor not unlike a dead animal, but the stench was much worse. She glanced at Pete’s and murmured, “Damn Pete, Close your legs!”

The neighbor on the other side was taking the full brunt of the stench. He finally broke down and called the police to file a complaint stating that he had a dead animal in his yard, but with his relationship with Peter, he refused to talk to him.

The sheriff’s department arrived and acknowledged the odor with some retching of his own, peeked in the screened area and depressed the button on his shoulder mike. “Dispatch, 32, 10-97.”

“32” Was the reply.

“Apparent 11-45, 11-42, 11-44. No signs of apparent struggle. Send team to address.” The officer said fighting his gag reflex.

“10-4, 32. Detectives are on the way. ETA 55 minutes.” The dispatcher said.

The officer had reported to dispatch that there was an apparent suicide and that the ambulance wasn’t necessary but the coroner was.

An hour later, the coroner’s wagon and a forensics’ team were there and combing the now taped off scene looking for any signs of foul play. Finding none, they gently cut down the swollen, seriously disfigured and decomposed body and placed him in a body bag.

Mary arrived home from work to see the scene in progress. It wasn’t pretty and it certainly was no surprise to Mary.

The detective escorted her inside and interrogated her for well over an hour before being satisfied that she wasn’t in the running for his obvious demise.

Satisfied that the only foul play in this case was done by the victim himself. Which brings us back full circle to where this story began.

A life wasted on self-indulgence, self-satisfaction, and a pursuit of greed. A life thrown to the beasts of the field with little to no thought of others. He truly did discover much too late that even taking one’s own life was a coward’s way out, not a brave man as he had assumed. He did not leave himself an out. His feet were less than two inches from the armrests. He could have stretched them one way or another and found them easily.

“We still haven’t found any notes yet, just to let you know.” An officer stated.

“Thank you.” Mary said.

Body, dropped, processed, tagged, bagged, and down the road. The courts will save the money from having a trial. But the victims will never have the satisfaction from seeing the perpetrator sentenced. Their only consolation is that it is guaranteed that he will not victimize anyone ever again.

Mary sat in her living room, glass full of wine in one hand as she remembered the man she fell in love with all those years ago, a single tear formed in her right eye. But it never fell. He had become a monster.

She was comforted with a full night’s sleep. He would not terrorize her or anyone again. She had even hinted to the coroner to study his brain and then described the chain of events up until he ended his own life. She signed a release form for the study.

The next day, the neighbors were assaulted by Peter’s throne as it was pulled down to the curb. Children and adults took turns assaulting the chair. One even took an ax to the chair.

The following day was trash day, but the chair wouldn’t make it to the dump in one piece. At two am, neighbors with open windows were awakened with a “WOOF!” and an orange glow. By the time the fire company arrived, there wasn’t much left of the chair to extinguish but two of the three trash cans had to be extinguished as well.

Those in the know felt this was a fitting end to the one many had grown to fear.

END!

 

Joe, The Artist

Joe opened his eyes, lifted his head, sat upright in what was obviously some restaurant booth. He took in a deep cleansing breath. The air was thick with an acrid coppery odor as he worked to drive the recent slumber from his vision. The 22 year old five foot 10 inch, 248 pound muscular man of a questionable ancestral descent stood. His heritage was speculated that his father was of Samoan descent while his mother might have been Kenyan, but no one really knew. Joe pontificated this frequently when he was younger, but then gave up as his art took over. At this point in his young life, the only thing that mattered was his continued freedom.

The large man looked down. Breathing in the essence of the room, Joe found the smell intoxicating as he closed his eyes and gave a little shiver of pleasure. He opened his eyes again, looked around and smiled.

There was blood everywhere, on tables, counter-tops, chairs, benches, stools and the walls were either spattered or looked as if painted with a very large brush of the life force of 15 people. The floor wasn’t just puddled. It flowed in a thick viscus crimson lake oozing from a pile of human flesh that was stacked just outside the door that separated the dining room from the kitchen.

Joe stood and carefully walked to the kitchen door and pushed. The double swinging door disturbed the lake of blood as it pushed the flow back into the kitchen. Joe looked upon the carefully stacked pile of dismembered body parts. He was meticulous not only in his dissecting each joint leaving only the torsos intact, but also in the selection of the locations of his blood lust. This was the most important part of his selection of each location. Firstly, it had to be just far enough off the beaten path that mostly only the locals with maybe an errant stranger entering in. he also sought out gun free zones so he would not have to worry about some trigger happy wannabe hero interrupting his work.

Joe looked at his creation, his art, his love, and clenched his eyes tightly shut. He stretched and arched his back. He shuddered as he climaxed. This always told him that his artwork was at the apogee of his talent, his creativity, and his artistic prowess. He carefully walked to the counter and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then with his blood drenched fingers, he wrote “Menerva be praised” on the counter by the coffee pot.

He sipped his coffee, smiled, and left through the back door. Joe walked to the back end of a dark red, KIA Soul with dark tinted windows. He carefully peeled off his heavily starched coveralls to protect his clothes underneath. Once the coveralls were off, Joe stuffed them and the shoes into a large plastic bag. His actions were not hurried, but relaxed and almost business like.

He placed the securely tied bag into the back of the vehicle and closed the hatch, looked back at the restaurant, entered his vehicle and drove away in the same unhurried fashion. He then drove across town to a fast food dumpster and tossed in the bag. He went inside and purchased a large soda, and then returned to his car. Joe looked like he just won the lottery. Up until today, his record was 12. He was only going to have 13 until one more walked in just before closing.

Joe drove home and stripped in the bathroom and tossed his clothing in the laundry hamper and started the shower. He now felt spent and the smell from his climax filled the room. It had been three weeks since his last artistic demonstration. There were only five bodies there. He had dismembered his subjects and mismatched the parts and placed the torsos in the inner portion of the peace sign and the severed limbs making up the outer circle. Joe called that one “War and Peace.” He had not named this one yet. Sometimes it took days to name his art. His subjects made his work easy as they usually cowered before him begging to be part of his work.

Joe never worked the same town twice. It was bad enough that the police misunderstood his work. They called it a massacre, mass murder, psychotic, atrocities, and sick beyond human understanding. Joe always frowned at their cruel name calling of his art. Those people asked to be part of his art. If they didn’t want to participate, they left when he came in. It was simple. They had the opportunity to leave if they did not want to volunteer to be part of his art.

Now clean, Joe dried off as he looked in the mirror. From his living room he could hear a TV show playing low. “Now there is a sick calumniator and a psychotic killer. Dexter just murders a person and disposes of the body. No talent and no originality.” He thought as he shaved and finished cleaning.

He entered his bedroom and examined the calendar that was taped to the wall. It was accompanied by a large atlas of the United States.  There were six pins in six different states. All of them were small towns with little or no local law enforcement. Joe would select a small town and then study the local attributes and businesses. He would not select the town if it was a political hotspot for gun toting thugs, but he preferred a town if it was supposed to be a gun free zone. He liked those best. He didn’t carry a gun. Didn’t like them, and had no use for them, he carried a cleaver and a large butcher knife. It almost resembled a small machete, and you could literally shave with both of them.

He placed a pin in a perspective Podunk town in Ohio. Still smiling as he booted his computer and loaded up the “.gov” web site describing everything the small town has to offer. Finding nothing art wise for his particular art form, he walked over to the map again and removed the pin and looked for another spot to call home for the pin. He found a small town just over the state line in Ohio. This one looked promising. Satisfied, he sat and studied the map, looked at possible routes. MapQuest was among his favorites for maps and directions. They also had satellite images that he could see what the possible prospect looked like.

He had three weeks to plan a new design. The beautiful thing about his art was how versatile it was by how many volunteers he received. The more the merrier.

Joe turned on the TV and looked for the national news. He found three talking heads spouting about a “multiple murders” in a local restaurant in Paris Illinois. The approximate body count is between 12 and 19. The police won’t know the exact count until all the body parts are reassembled with their respective torsos. The police claim that it is the most gruesome murder scene they had ever seen.”

Joe walked back to his map. Six pins in six states. One in Midland, Michigan, another in Shelby, North Carolina, there were six people there. That was his second art work experience. Clouterville, Louisiana, the pizza place in Girard, Kansas. Then there was the steakhouse in Bagdad Arizona, and his first brought a smile on his face, a small mom and pop place in Theodore, Alabama. This place was his first. There were only three people in the place and he had performed his first masterpiece purely by accident.

He had a dispute with the waitress which ended with her lying in a heap on the floor when the cook ran out to help her. The cook attacked him with a cleaver, the same cleaver that he uses to this day. “It’s a beautiful memento.” He claims. He now had two bleeding corpses to use as art when the manager appeared screaming and armed with a small revolver. His first shot went wild. Joe threw the cleaver, embedding it deep in the man’s chest. He never took a second shot.

Joe arranged the bodies at the bar, he took three plates and pulled out their intestines and placed them on each other’s plates. He stuffed the intestines of the waitress into the mouth of the cook. He then relocated the manager to the other side of the bar as if he was their server and they were dining. All three looking as though they were having an intimate conversation.

It was good, even for his first work. He immediately knew this to be his divine calling and his contribution to humanity. It wasn’t murder if it was art.

It always took three weeks to locate, research, and analyze the place to see if it was suitable for his talent, then see if there were going to be any kind of resistance, cameras, or if it looked as if people that were there would try to stop him or embrace him.

“Hmm, I’ve never been to Napoleon, Ohio.” He said as he began to look up the address and then opened Google Earth to see the building and what was around it. “Doesn’t look like I’ll be going there anytime soon either.” He said as a matter of fact. The police station was a mere five blocks away. He took another poke at the map. Believe it or not, yes, Ripley, Ohio is a real place with a bar and grill on the outer edge of town. There would be little to no interruptions. The detailed research and what kind of art work will befit the place of imbibing. He studied until he had to stop and rub his eyes. He shut down his computer, pushed a pin into Ripley, Ohio and prepared for bed

In another part of the country, a local sheriff was also watching the news. Sheriff Barry Stoller sat up and reached for his phone, he pressed 411 and waited for the person on the other end, “City and State Please?”

“Paris Illinois please.” Barry said politely.

“Person or business, sir”

“Paris Police Department please.” He requested.

“One moment please.” This was followed by a couple of clicks, then that digital ringing that lets you know that someone is being irritated by a phone ringing, and after a story like this at the police department, it’s usually the press.

“Paris PD, Officer Smith speaking.”

“Officer Smith, this is Sheriff Barry Stoller from the Bagdad, Arizona Sheriff’s Department.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure sheriff?”

“I need to talk to the lead investigator on your restaurant massacre. I think we have something in common. 15 weeks ago, we had a massacre in our little town. Five people were murdered, dismembered, and arranged in a twisted configuration. Almost as if the murderer were being artistic or just seriously brain damaged in arranging the parts. This sounds too similar to be a coincidence. Could you have him call me at this number?” Barry gave him the number.

“Will do sheriff. I’ll have dispatch relay it to him now. Is there anything else?”

“Not now Officer Smith, thank you.” Barry said and cut the connection. He sat back thinking. He wondered if anyone else had a mass murder like this lately. He didn’t have long to wait. It took less than 15 minutes for his phone to ring. “Sheriff Stoller.”

“You are Sheriff Stoller from Bagdad, Arizona?” The man asked.

“Yes it is.”

“You do realize that I am getting overwhelmed with phone calls from all kinds of crackpots. How do I know you’re legit? I have never heard of a town called Bagdad in the United States. So do we talk or do I hang up, I don’t have time to dick around.” The man said.

“I assure you, um, to whom do I have the pleasure of.” He was cut off.

“I am Detective Winebelly.”

“Detective, I think there may be a connection in our cases. 15 weeks ago, we had a restaurant that I walked into only to discover five people murdered, dismembered, and prearranged in some twisted scene. I’m going to start looking around to see if there are more. I am really hoping I don’t find more. But if I do, I’m afraid we may have a major problem on our hands as far as the demographics and geographical locations of these crimes.”

The phone was silent, then the detective blurted out as if he had turrets syndrome. “Shit, Dammit! That’s all we need is a possible national pin headed serial killer. Unfortunately sheriff, I think you’re right. I’ll have some men jump on that as well.” They would soon realize just how arduous a task they had taken on.

Barry perused the internet news stations and soon had three more towns with very similar tales of the grotesque. Theodore, Alabama had four bodies that were partially dissected and arranged. Midland, Michigan, two people were massacred and then posed as if they were huddling over the grill, hands and feet were cooked black and still cooking when the morning staff found the bodies. The evidence was pretty much violated by the amount of vomit on the scene. Officer Tim Longwalk was in charge of that investigation. The other was in Girard, Kansas. There were four murdered and only partially dismembered and arranged around a table. They were holding playing cards in their hands, well, palms because their gambling chips were their fingers and toes. Officer Danny Dempster was heading that investigation. The last one he found was in Shelby, North Carolina. This one really got to Barry just reading about it. There were seven bodies, six were displayed out over six tables, cut open, the arms were cut off the bodies at the elbows and the hands were inside the torsos as to display pulling out the intestines of the victims. The seventh victim was standing above them with his arms outspread as to show off what he was doing. The major difference was that his head had been removed and he was sporting one of the other victim’s head. Barry sat wondering how sick a person had to be to do that to another human being. He had three separate locations that were hundreds of miles apart. Were they related? It seemed almost inconceivable if they weren’t. Officer Bill Wallace was in charge there. He made notes to call all three. He also had printed the information of the towns and phone numbers he could gather, and anything else he could get online.

Barry wondered if anyone else had made a connection, or if anyone else had even heard of the other crimes. He dialed the number for Theodore, Alabama.

Joe awoke early as the sun broke the horizon and the first rays of light entered the room where he slept. The sun was always a welcome occurrence and his first view was always one that got his creative juices flowing. He had an idea in the back of his head, but he had to see the inside of the place first. The bar/restaurant did not have a web site, so he had to make a personal visit. He had time. He had other things to do before he went to Ohio. He had to show at the office. Was there a vote today? He couldn’t remember, they had another one month break starting Wednesday, and then he would have plenty of time to fully focus on his task.

He had talked with many of his constituents and asked how they thought he should vote. After, he voted just the opposite of what they wanted. The vote was good for him, even though it was bad for the tax payers. It gave another spending loophole for elected officials. He added up the benefit of this vote to be an additional 14,000 dollars in his pocket per anum for whatever he wanted to spend it on. He could spend it on the community. Yeah right, like that was going to happen. Or on a new project, or Joe could just pocket the money under the new clause and craftily worded bill that more than likely just became law.

Joe had visions of kidneys and spleens dancing in his head. He was planning on driving his KIA Soul. It was an unassuming vehicle for reconnaissance. He also figured on a pair of jeans, colored T-shirt, and a standard button down shirt.

The trip took less time than he thought it would and the outside of the bar looked the same as in the satellite image. Now he hoped the inside was what he was hoping it was.

He entered the outer door and had to turn right for about 10 feet, then he had to turn left, the corridor was almost 20 feet long and ended at another door. This door opened into a long narrow room. There were three pool tables by the front of the building, opposite the door. Then there were 10 tables, five on each side of the room. The walls were a dark wood paneling with neon bar signs for light. The left side of the room on the end had a brass railed bar with 25 stools and 10 regulars from the looks and banter of the crowd. Behind the bar was a passageway to the kitchen. One of the regulars held a book aloft and was raving about the novel called “Timmy” by some author named O’Brien. If he were here for his art tonight, he would have done him up first.

There were eight at the bar, four playing pool and the cook and the bar tender made 14 total. The clientele resembled the Paris establishment. He felt confident. Maybe he would do this early in the week instead of a Friday night. Joe decided to watch from the outside Monday night to see how busy they are.

He finished his beer and left in the same manner as before. No bouncer, not enough patrons probably. He would return Monday and watch the numbers and the comings and goings. Then the last step is to complete his canvas.

He drove home marking the actual distance and time it took to get home. Two hours and 52 minutes later at the speed limit using the cruise control where he could. It saved gas and made for a more consistent time.

He drove back on Monday morning and sat down the street waiting for the place to open. At noon, two people arrived, unlocked, and entered the bar. All the lights save the open sign were lighted. Two o’clock arrived and one of the men looked out the window as he turned on the open sign. The blue and red neon flickered to life as he walked away. Joe sat quietly with a soft low tune playing on the radio. The first patron entered at 2:15. A beer truck pulled in front and began to unload. He was there 15 minutes. Four o’clock brought six customers. The first one was still inside making for a total of nine at four pm. At 4:30, three of the four that had arrived at four left leaving six. This continued until eight o’clock when there were 12 people inside. 12 remained a constant number until midnight when the numbers dropped to nine. Joe noted that the first customer had yet to leave. Was he an employee, guard, or additional staff member? At one am, that question was answered when the man staggered from the bar, hugging the walls as he staggered down the street. The bar closed at two.

Joe didn’t bother waiting to see when the proprietors left. After all, they would be part of his art by the time he was done. But he did wait behind to see if any law enforcement would come by. He had seen them only twice today, so he assumed that there is little to no trouble at this establishment. That would definitely work to his advantage. Not to disappoint, they cruised by only seeming to note the near empty street and the dark front of the bar.

Joe left for home to sleep. He didn’t like hotels after seeing the movie “Psycho,” and the movie “Motel Hell.” It just freaked him out. So he rarely slept anywhere but home or in his car.

Officer Stoller had made contact with the investigating officers from all three cities. They all agreed that there were similarities, but were hesitant due to the geographic locations. Not arguing that it was impossible, just unlikely that someone would go to that kind of trouble to avoid a connection to be detected as a serial killer or be detected or to be detected for more than one murder scene. If they were connected, he would have to make a major mistake to be caught or even detected. He also would have to live in one of the states that he hit, probably the first murder scene. But what if he were working a circle of states from which he lived? North Carolina, Midland Michigan, Bagdad Arizona, Paris Illinois, and Girard Kansas, centering basically placed somewhere from Oklahoma to Ohio and Minnesota to Alabama. Somehow Barry was thinking that there were more crime scenes that he had not found yet. He just had to look deeper and broader.

He knew they were connected, they had to be, and he felt that they weren’t going to stop.

Barry noticed something else as he took in the dates, May 22^nd, June 12^th, July 3^rd, July 24^th, and Sept. 4^th. They were as consistent as the calendar save the gap in August. Where was it? That would have placed it about August 14^th. These crimes were raging every three weeks. At least there seemed to be one type of pattern. If this was the same person or persons, there would be another butchering next week. The biggest problem was where and when, he knew the date, but not the time or the location.

It was going to happen again, but where, and was there a pattern here as well? But the last crime scene in Illinois had something that Barry knew was at all the crime scenes. Written in the blood with smudged prints, “Menerva Be Praised.” What did that mean? Barry had more questions with only a couple of answers. If these really were connected, he was facing what, 32, holy shit, 32 murders that he could account for. Where was August? That one by the calendar should have happened on the 14^th. Barry turned to his keyboard and entered “Mass murders” on August 14^th. The search kicked up nothing. “Multiple murders on August 14^th,” 97 hits nationwide, he narrowed his search by entering sharp instruments. That removed a whopping 17 multiple murders from the list. 12 caught his attention. He read each report until his attention was drawn to the last one in Clouterville Louisiana, August 14^th, at 11pm. Three people were slaughtered brutally and dismembered. “Bingo,” he said. “That brings up the total body count to 35.” He thought then out loud. “Is he going for some kind of record?” Barry was still confused as he had to call Louisiana and see what they knew or even if they have made a connection of their own.

The connection was made and the dispatcher routed him to Detective William Slater. “Detective, do you have time to answer a few question, I could really use your input and see if you may have a similar case, or possibly a link that connects your case to mine and maybe five others.”

“Sure Detective, please call me Bill. We were called and arrived at 11am when a delivery truck had called stating that there was blood everywhere. He backed out in case something was still going on and he didn’t want to disturb any evidence. On entering the back door, blood was indeed everywhere, drag marks of blood took us into the restroom where we found three bodies. One of my officers lost his lunch. It was by far the most gruesome think I had ever seen, Barry. One corpse was positioned sitting on a toilet. The back of his head was cut open and his brains were removed. They were found in the toilet. Another body had been scalped. He was holding his scalp and looked as if he was supposed to be combing his hair. The third was at the urinal.” Bill paused, Barry didn’t know if it were for effect or for reasons that only someone seeing this kind of inhumanity can relate too. The kinder, gentler term is PTSD. “He had been partially disemboweled, his intestines were tossed over his shoulder like a tie so as to not get urine on it, and the corpse was holding his amputated unit in the urinal.” Bill stopped talking.

“Bill, this killer has hit over five establishments throughout the country. Do you have any leads? Is there anything that might point us somewhere, anywhere?”

“I’m sorry Barry, but there is nothing. Whoever did this was an expert with a blade. That’s all I can attest to. It’s still ongoing. So far, no viable clues, you say this person or persons has struck in other places?” Bill asked.

“Yes Bill, this person has left a trail from Arizona to North Carolina, Kansas to you, Louisiana, Illinois, and then to Michigan. I feel that beyond a doubt that it is the work of the same person or persons.” Barry told him about his case and the other cases that he knew about.

“They sound related alright. How many bodies are we looking at?” Bill asked.

“35 bodies, counting yours, Bill.”

“I guess we have a serial killer on a, wait, Barry, just how many crime scenes are we looking at?” Bill asked.

“Well, six counting your scene. The counts by order of date and location.” Barry gave the run down to Bill. “I saw the file photos on most of these and to tell the truth, Bill, I haven’t slept peacefully since I saw the photos for Paris. I can’t imagine what those boys are going through seeing it firsthand.”

“We can relate, the worst is the posing of the bodies. Though the body on the toilet did draw a few chuckles of gallows humor to the reference of shitting your brains out, but the gruesomeness never left our thoughts. Any thoughts on where he’ll hit next?” Bill asked.

“It’s a big country, Bill, there’s no central area, and we don’t even know if he has committed one of these crimes in his own back yard. All we have is the end results. It’s almost as if he or she, which I am ruling out a female after Paris, is making an artistic statement. Though I can’t imagine what it was in Paris. The perp dissected every joint, knuckle, knees, toes, and elbows and left a huge pile in the kitchen. The various scenes range from dining at the bar to playing poker, what was disturbing in the poker scene was the chips they were gambling with, the chips were their fingers and toes.” Barry said.

“Can’t wait to see if we can get this person in front of a psychologist. I wonder if this might be a new level of demented.” Bill said. “Keep me updated from your end and I’ll do the same. I have to be in front of the chief in 15 minutes.”

“Will do, thanks Bill.” They exchanged numbers and disconnected the call.

Joe sat in his car in a dark parking spot, halfway down the block. The spot was perfect, undetectable unless you shined a light directly on the spot. It was 10:30 pm.

He exited the car and walked around the block to enter the front of the building. He wore a dark blue jump suit style pair of coveralls to protect his clothes and it was just baggie enough to conceal the blades that he was going to need. He entered the bar and made his way around the maze and into the bar area. There was no front door access from the pool table area, you either entered or exited through the maze entrance, or you went through the kitchen. Joe noted nine volunteers for his art project that would make 11 with the barkeep and the cook. Since no one was paying attention, Joe opted for the kitchen first. As any typical bar atmosphere entailed, it was dark, whether to hide the filth, food, or the ugly patrons, but it did nothing but give the advantage to Joe’s agenda. The cook never saw the man slither in behind and shove the thin, long, blade between the third and fourth rib from the bottom slicing into the man’s heart. Joe eased him to the floor. The barkeep entered then. “Hey, who the hell are you?” as Joe rushed him slicing into his throat before the man could react and call out. The only noises he made then were panicked gurgles of trying to breathe. He looked through the serving window only to see patrons engulfed in silent wallowing in drink, conversation, or the alcohol fueled revelry between the two playing pool. Joe reentered the bar area with a plate and the long, slim blade underneath ready strike. He approached the first man at the bar amid the loud juke box and drove the knife upward and into his ribcage. The ones at the bar were drinking alone so they were next. No one was paying attention and was in their own alcohol addled world. That is until Joe approached them with the plate. Now he had the slim blade in one hand and the long machete like butcher knife in the other. The two tables resembled the assault from “Men In Black.” They didn’t see the danger until it was too late.

Joe now faced the pool table with a blade in each hand. One of the men caught movement coming his way and looked. He met Joe half way, swinging the pool cue like a baseball bat. His swing was awkward and cumbersome. He was caught off balance and Joe glided in under the swing, burying the blade deep in his stomach. The other man looked on in shock as if the scene was from a bad horror movie. Joe faced the man and he laid the pool cue on the table. No stranger to trouble, the man went into a fighting stance. Joe slowly stepped forward and the man started to deliver a series of wicked punches. Joe stepped back and smiled. The man looked at his arms that were bleeding profusely. The knife was so sharp that the man never felt the steel tear through his flesh. He spun to deliver a debilitating round house only to rebound onto nothing. Joe brought up the cleaver to block the move but the momentum of the kick and the blocking with the big cleaver took the leg off just above the ankle. Now the man now lay on his back in absolute fear of the calm stranger.

“Who are you?” The man asked Joe as he knelt beside the man.

Joe pressed the long blade tip against the man’s chest and applied a little pressure. Just enough to pierce the skin. Joe looked into the man’s eyes and smiled then leaned on the knife. The knife sliced into the man’s chest as easily as if his chest were warm butter. When the knife, gripped in both hands and pressed with Joe’s own body weight, met resistance, Joe was almost nose to nose with the man. The look of shock on the man’s face said that his time had come. Joe smiled and softly said, “I’m The Artist. Thank you for volunteering to be part of my canvas.” The man tried to writhe but was pinned down then fell silent. Joe stood and pulled the knife. It took more effort to remove the knife than to push it in. When it pulled free, he heard a cough and turned to meet the still breathing man.

He knelt beside the man as he gasped for air. “Let’s begin with you!”

The police car drove passed the bar as always with only a precursory glance. After three blocks the passenger suddenly looked at his watch. “Mike, go back to the bar, something just didn’t seem right.”

“Sure Joe, what did you see?”

“I’m not sure, the place was closed, the front was dark, there’s usually a nightlight in the front left on so we can see inside the bar. But not tonight, but all the back lights were left on. Bill has never done that.” The passenger said.

“Maybe they’re still cleaning.”

“They have never stayed this late Mike. I got a bad feeling about this.” Joe said just as uneasily as he felt.

Mike turned the cruiser around and cruised in front of the building. He had known Joe for five years and learned several times over to never question Joe’s sense and feelings. “Go in quiet or loud Joe?”

“Let’s go in quiet, Mike. I really hope it is nothing.”

“Sure thing Joe.” Now Mike was sharing that same uneasy feeling that Joe had.

They rolled past the bar noting that the front was still dark, but now the rear only had one light on as well. But something was still seriously wrong and out of place. “Two possible perps still playing pool.”

“Let’s check the front door. But let’s drive around back first to see if they forced their way in. If it looks tight and they are still there when we come back around. We’ll nail them with the spot.”

“That guy is sure taking his time making that shot. Let’s go, he may be standing still watching us to see if we notice him or something stupid.”

They circled the half block and checked the rear door. Locked, so they drove back around to the front and stopped one business from the bar giving them enough advantage to hit them with the spot. Joe exited the cruiser and Mike stayed put to back him up. He aimed the light and made ready to turn it on. Joe unsnapped his holster and made ready to draw with his right hand while holding the flashlight in his left. Mike watched Joe as he eased up to the door and gently pull to test its security. It too was locked. Joe signaled to Mike and they both immersed the bar with light.

Joe cried out, “Oh My Gwad!” and doubled over in disgust trying to keep the contents of his stomach from leaving him. He squeezed his shoulder mike. “Dispatch, unit six. 459, 178, 10-44, we need immediate backup 178 multiple. We do not know if the suspect is still on the premises. Our 20 is at the bar. At least 10 vics.”

“10-4 unit six. Any and all units able to respond, see unit six at the bar. Multiple 178, 459.” Dispatch relayed. In less than two minutes, four cars fully lighted the night with red, white, and blue strobes bouncing off the buildings in the area. Joe had been watching the front while Mike had driven around back to cover the rear door. The image kept intruding his vision. There would be no warning; he would just shoot the bastard on sight. No one could be this messed up and still be sane.

The front door was locked and they called the number for the owner. There was no answer, one of the officers claimed that they heard a faint ringing of a phone inside. The only logical way out was through the back due to the way the large heavy glass door locked and the rear door could be locked then pulled closed behind them. One had to have a key to unlock or lock the front door from either side of the door.

Three were assigned to watch the front while the rest were to breach the rear door. This would be a crime scene that would affect the men until their dying day.

Two would make that day come before the end of the year.

The lock was forced on the count of three, six officers burst into a room from what two would compare to a scene from the movie, “Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” and “The Silence of the Lambs.”

Blood was everywhere, two bodies were posed as if they were cooking, two were propped up and had been fileted and was holding their own skin out as if they were flashing each other. Their skin was pulled away from the chest to groin as if it were an unbuttoned coat. The skin was mounted to the hands for the desired effect.

Four were positioned at a table with two holding menus while the other two were dining on some internal organ that would be identified as their pancreas and liver, onions were sliced and lay over the liver. For the liver and onion look and the pancreas split open with a square of butter, and chives as to look like a baked potato.

Two were at the pool table positioned as one was propped against the table watching the other make a shot. The other was bent over the table holding and using a human fibula as a cue stick. His leg was missing and had been replaced by a broken pool cue. “The balls, my God, the balls!” stopped one officer. The pool balls were the eyeballs from all of the victims.

There was an audible, “Oh God!” from the restroom followed by retching. Weapons were still drawn looking for someone to gun down as they breached the restroom. The officer had pushed open a stall door onto the most grotesque view that would ultimately be more than he would be able to mentally bare even with months of therapy.

Inside the stall sat a body, poised upright, hands on the stomach, and entrails pulled out of its anus and laying in the toilet and all over the floor. Blood was still pouring from the body. On the back wall was a sign hand written in blood that said, “Menerva Be Praised.” This crime scene was as fresh as it got. They must have missed the murderer by only a few minutes. But no one saw anyone or any vehicles.

Joe was on the road home. His coveralls were wrapped in a bag with his shoes. He looked back over his latest creation. He shivered, he had to pull over. He sat, his eyes rolled as he climaxed hard. This was his best work yet. But is also was almost his last. Two officers drove by his car as he was changing. Had they seen him, it would have all been over.

Joe drove home and sat in front of the TV. He switched the channels until he ran across a news station. The talking heads were covering sports and the latest trends. Then local news followed by the weather. Then they covered the national news. The story from Ripley, Ohio was the top story. There was a full description followed by a video from outside the bar. The investigating officer, who was obviously disturbed, gave an account of what was inside. 11 bodies all posed in positions, almost as if they were human mannequins.

The officer said nothing about the slogan in the restroom. “Menerva must be praised!” Joe said. I am a messenger of Menerva. I am an artist above all and before all. It also treated the crime as an isolated crime. Nothing had been linked yet. That was soon to change.

Barry was on the phone to Ripley, Ohio, and was soon talking to Billy Stanton.

“Detective Stanton, my name is Barry Stoller of the Arizona Sheriff’s department out of Bagdad Arizona. Can I twist your ear for a minute or two?”

“I was just going to call Paris, Illinois. Didn’t you have a similar case a short time back?”

“That is why I am calling. This person seems to be all over the map. He hasn’t hit any state twice that I have been able to connect. I now have eight counting yours. You had 11 bodies?”

“Yes, you make this sound like there is only one person doing all this. Is this really what you think? I mean, how can one person overpower 11 people alone?”

“Is the bar dark and loud? If it is, then it could be done. This also makes his body count up to 49. We have to stop this guy. Another thing that has connected all eight crime scenes is he always writes three words somewhere at the scene.” He paused and Billy chimed in.

“Menerva be praised. Any idea what it means?”

”If what I found out is what the killer is meaning, Menerva was the Roman goddess of wisdom and sponsor of the arts, trade, and strategy, blah, blah, blah, I think he is approaching this from an artistic angle, ergo, the posing of the bodies. So far we’ve kept the saying from the news. That is the key to connecting these crimes together. Do you have any clues?”

“The suspect is extremely good with a blade. He managed to take out the community Tai Kwan Do instructor either intentionally or accidentally, either way, he was one of the bodies that was fileted. What about on your end. What do you have so far?”

“None, that’s what is so disturbing about this case is just how bad each massacre is and the only consistent, heck, the only clue is the phrase. There were no other weapons used accept the knives he uses. We were able to identify that he uses only two different knives. He is very meticulous and detailed; he’s not just killing and leaving them where they lie. No money, credit cards, or wallets have been taken so it’s not a motive of robbery with a Stephen King twist. It’s just murder. I don’t know why he couldn’t get mannequins instead. That would be neater, cleaner, and not as grotesque. My issue is how we are going to catch him with a random pattern like this. There’s no center, no pattern, everything is random. I’ve contacted a profiler from Prescott. I’m hoping that I get some place to start on this case that will hopefully make sense. All I have is that he only uses knives. And he somehow managed to take out a martial arts instructor. One constant, well, until now, you could verify your calendar by him. Every three weeks on a Thursday. But this is Monday. It is still the third week, but something changed. He has never hit on a Monday.”

“Well, he’ll either be apprehended or he will meet his match. I don’t care which at this point. Had he been here when we saw this, this, massacre? I don’t think he would be breathing right now. From myself and the looks of my officers, I don’t think his chances would be good. This isn’t sane. This is just some sick twisted animal.” Billy said.

“You’ll get no arguments from this end. We need to keep the Mernerva be praised out of the media at all costs. All we need is a copycat killer throwing us off the path. Right now, the only thing that’s linking them all together is the sick asshole’s artistic talent and the phrase. I’m really interested in what the profiler says. I need to let you go and see what is going on in the morning. I’ll call later in the week. Thanks Bill.” Barry said and hung up. “My God, 49 victims in a five month spread. Where will he hit next. Barry walked over to a map that he had taped to the wall by the table. He studied the numbered tacks in the map and pressed a new one into Ripley, Ohio. So far, but too close for comfort, Barry was confident that he would never see their killer in unless he went after him and even then, where would you even begin to look?

He pushed a yellow pin into Ripley, Ohio. The map on the wall had eight pins of various colors by the number of volunteers. Joe was almost caught tonight, he had to be more careful and watch his timing much closer. He had showered and was now looking for a new location. Finding the right location right away gave him more time to research and create. He always went into his canvas with an idea. Just how many volunteers he had determined on how deep his art went. This last project was almost his last. That fancy foot ninja bastard. Thankfully, Menerva was there to protect him. It could have gone very wrong for him had it not been for the god of art, wisdom, and strategy. Menerva be praised for the protection that Joe received this day.

He looked at the map. Nothing struck him. He had been all over; he also knew that you never crapped in your own front yard, which is why he never did anything in his home state let alone within his own town. “You have to have rules!” he always said. “And you always stuck to them!” time to go remote.

For some reason, Texas kept grabbing his attention. He had not been there. Through there, yes, but stopping there made him very nervous. He looked at New Mexico, Utah, and Oregon. But he kept returning to Texas. Then he knew why. A small Podunk town named Shamrock. It was too easy, the name alone made him laugh. It was an omen from Menerva. There was a small steakhouse on the far north end away from everything. He began his research.

Barry rubbed his eyes as he waited on the return call from the profiler. This had to be difficult. Nothing solid to work with accept a near perfect time line and the sadistic means of “Artistic art” placement of the bodies. The call would not come today. It had only been a few hours and a profiler took their time, studying and making sure before they said anything. He leaned back and thought back over his notes. At one point he had called the FBI, they had told him that they were isolated crimes and not under the purview of the FBI. He wondered if they were looking at it now.

In the meantime, four other departments requested their own profile outlooks as well. The more eyes on this case the better. Officer Longwalk, Officer Billy Wallace, and Officer Danny Dempster were waiting as well. Detective Sean Winebelly was the first to get a profile report back.

“Subject is meticulous and very thorough, well educated, and low key. Possibly from an over privileged childhood. He could be schizophrenic but that is debatable. Subject does have an idol fixation issue with the obsession in writing “Menerva be praised” at every crime scene. Subject is male, possibly in his mid 20’s, race is difficult to determine but not Caucasian. He is tall but not heavyset,” and on and on the report went. Three pages worth of suppositions on what the perp looked like, mannerisms, hang-ups, and anything else that could be wrong with this person. It was even mentioned that in the way the bodies were positioned that the perp might even be a cannibal.

The detective sent his report to the other departments that were also investigating their own crime scenes. Similar reports soon began to come in. The subjected nationality could not be agreed upon. If they went to the press with what they had now, everyone that was not bleach white was a suspect. It was another source of contention that not one place that was victimized or even neighboring businesses or residences had any kind of surveillance, the closest description was tall and a weight of around 240 or so. They needed to go public, but with what and where?

During a conference call it was decided, “We need to announce nationwide about the crimes. No specific details, but just enough to be able to link the crimes together. We will definitely leave out the three worded phrase, but we need to let people know that we are on top of it. We need to work on a hotline for tips and clues. We know that 911 will smoke and burn if we tell them to use that source. People with real emergencies will get neglected, we need an 800 number.” Said Longwalk.

“I like it, the number could be 1-800-276-4824, or 1-800-2SNITCH.” Billy said chuckling. “I do like it, who and where will it be channeled through?”

“I’ll talk to the Silver and Amber alert network, or having it route to dispatches of the local departments. Right now, anyone can be the next target except for the states he has already hit.” Stoller chimed in.

Joe was on Google Earth researching the area. Images for Google Earth were usually updated every six months or once a year. Small towns didn’t change that much. It would still require a visit before he performed. He might just stay close after the visit and see the sights until it was time to perform. The more he looked, the more he liked this location, isolated, quiet, and actually just outside of town. This was going to be the best location yet.

A steak house, Joe already had an idea for his canvas.

The conference call added some new voices. Three news anchors from MSNBC, CNN, FOX news, and as usual, it was difficult to get a word in until Stanton and Longwalk spoke loud enough to be heard over the talking heads. “Okay, this is how this is going to play out. You will listen to us. We will tell you what to write and what to say. This baiting and questioning like we’re in a news conference ends now or you’re out. You’re the most popular. We figure our perp watches at least one of you if not all of you. If you insist on trying to dominate the conversation with your own questions, you’re out. The information we will give you will raise your ratings and make people curious, but most importantly, it will give warning to those who need to be warned. Do you agree?” Three voices chorused yes quickly and audibly on the conference speakers that were linked to separate parts of the country. “Very good, now, I am sure you have heard of the bar/restaurant killings over the past few months. There have been eight businesses targeted with multiple murders at each one. The numbers that we know of, the body count at this moment is 49. He arranges the bodies in different poses like he is working with human body statues, real bodies instead of mannequins. I think one of you called the perp a sick artist. We think that he thinks that he is an artist. He doesn’t seem to repeat in a state that he has killed in. He is consistent to attack every three weeks.” He was interrupted.

“Excuse me, may I ask a question?”

“Only one, then we move on.” Barry said.

“How do you know that they are all related or connected?

“One, the victims are all killed in a similar fashion, and we are not releasing number two and do not say anything about there being  another reason. In time we will tell you everything.” Barry said. The impromptu conference lasted for about another 15 minutes. The talking heads were cut off and the meeting continued. “I hope enough people see this so they can watch for strange people or someone looking a little too out of place. Also, I had called the FBI and asked them what they thought and they still think the crimes are separated incidents even with the evidence we provided them. I hope they link this all together and help.”

“This could turn into a witch hunt with an over load of calls.” Slater stated.

“This is true, but let’s hope for the best on this that we can get usable leads. I’d like to apprehend this person, but I don’t think he’ll surrender, I think he will go down in a blaze of glory. So what leads we get, our men and women need to be vigilant and ready to move. I don’t want any of us hurt, or worse, become part of his exhibit.” There was a chorus of agreements then a scheduled arrangement to meet at the same time next week then the media heads were already disconnected from the conference. “Okay, we need to keep an eye on the media. We need to keep them in check too.”  Barry was the last to kill the final connection. If this works, hopefully they will be able to get close to this guy, but it was still a crap shoot and the perpetrator was, by far, the odds leader. All Barry wanted to do was to try to even the odds a bit.

The news told the same doom and gloom. The talking heads going on about things they knew nothing about. Then one talking head began babbling about the killings, the locations, the dates, how many at each and how it was assumed that they were all connected. This talking head even nicknamed him “The Artist.” Joe turned to MSNBC and this talking head was describing the killings. He also was calling him “The Artist.” Joe smiled and turned to FOX. This talking head was summing up Paris, Illinois, then Ripley, Ohio analyzing each one. Then he gave the total body count. There were 49 bodies. Had he really worked with 49 volunteers? Joe’s mind reeled at the number. “Menerva has truly blessed me!” He said softly. He brought his fist up to his chest then reached up to the sky smiling. “Thank you my goddess, thank you.” He said to the ceiling. He rose, smiling, and wanting to rush to his next canvas. But he had to be patient. He must wait.

Joe sat back in his chair. He had gone shopping earlier and had seen the book that the man at the bar held up, “Timmy” by Jesse O’Brien. He had read the first 48 pages and he had to say, the author was a strange one alright. After a little research he had found other works by this self-proclaimed hack. But he liked this story. He wasn’t so sure about stories titled “Kathy The Crackwhore Vampire,” or “Billy The Redneck Werewolf, Once Bitified,” but “Timmy” reminded Joe of himself at nine years old with the teasing and the bullying.

Joe was now ready. “No one could even guess where I would create next.” He said to himself.

The hotlines were ringing so much that it took on a solid tone. People were calling in tourists, visitors, delivery people, people that upset someone, and often enough, people that got into an argument would get called in. Thousands of calls a day and absolutely nothing viable or credible to jump on, it was getting depressing.

We’re getting close with no hints, no clues, and no ideas on any geographical location where he might hit next. He knew this guy was going to do it again. Eight hits, he wasn’t just going to stop and disappear. Barry knew better, and he knew the body count was going to rise. He was going to rise. He was hoping, praying that a lead would come in giving them some direction.

Joe drove route I-70 to St. Louis, and then he took the by-pass to I-55, then he merged onto I-44 west into Oklahoma. He advanced onto the John Kilpatrick Turnpike. Soon he was on I-40 to Amarillo Texas. 15 hours after he left home, he arrived in Shamrock, Texas. The steak house was on a main highway off the major interstate I-83 also known as Main Street. It just didn’t get any easier than this.

He parked out front and went in. He waited to be seated, and then read the menu. He was hungry and tired. It was a small place. It didn’t take long for Joe to case the place without looking like he was casing it. He got up and looked around and found the restroom sign and headed that way. He went in and washed his hands, came out and looked a little lost as he found his table then sat down. In that short amount of time, he saw two exits in the eating area. Joe knew that there was a kitchen exit, and one of the dining exits was locked because of the display case blocking it. So far, so good. There were 33 people eating. It was about seven pm, the dinner crowd was at its peak and it was on a Friday night. This might have to be another early week job. He ate and paid then sat and finished his coke. When he was done, he left a sizeable tip and left the building.

Joe strolled to his car and stretched before he opened the door, got in, and drove back to the highway. He noted the dirt and gravel truck lot next door seeing several trucks and a few cars as well. This was a possibility. He would study this on his surveillance night.

There were few places that he had lined up to stay in. After all, he was just a weary traveler passing through.

He sat in the first hotel parking lot. There would be surveillance cameras at all the hotels more than likely. He could sleep in his car. Truck stops, fast food, and other things on the side of the highway. Even in the road side rests, Joe would avoid the hotels at all costs. After all, they still had no clues as to who he was. So for now, he was still safe.

He checked his art supplies and made sure they were properly packed and stowed beyond any casual observation. Joe drove back and sat in the truck lot where he could see the comings and goings of the restaurant. The place stayed busy until closing time. This just wouldn’t do, the first slow night he would have to act. So he had to be ready at a moment’s notice. He figured he had a few days to kill. Sunday or Monday should be the day.

The restaurant closed and within 30 minutes, all but four cars left. Two hours later, the staff left together. He noted that there were four cars and four people.

He curled up and slept Friday night until late in the morning. He went south crossing I-40 and pulled into the McDonald’s and ordered breakfast, then went into the restroom and cleaned up. Joe came out as they were calling his “name.” He picked an isolated place to sit and ate undisturbed where he could watch and observe how others ate and interacted. He enjoyed this immensely and it always gave him ideas on his art. Menerva had always shown to him the position she wanted to see. This was no different. Two tables up and one row over drew his attention as they had no manners as they sloppily ate and hovered over their food. He saw the poses as Menerva was telling him what she wanted him to see. He would not disappoint his mistress, his god.

He went back to watch how busy they were. It was three pm by now and the place was full of cars. Joe was getting worried that he might have driven this far for nothing. Maybe tomorrow, but he sat and watched until they closed. This place was popular. At closing there were 23 cars in the lot. Same as last night, within 30 minutes, there were only four cars in the lot.

Joe had an idea.

He noticed that one lone sheriff would drive through the area during the daytime, but then he would return to the main highway. The police had more to do on the interstate than in the small town. This was good.

Sunday came and he entered about eight pm. There were 10 vehicles in the lot. Joe’s car was in the truck lot facing the road. He had his gear inside his shirt and his overalls rolled down and tied about his waist as if he was on a dinner break. He entered the restroom and noted the closet, it was unlocked and there were places to hide behind as well as there were no light inside the closet. He would just wait until after closing.

Joe returned to his table and ordered. He was famished. He took his time savoring each and every bite. He had less than two hours before closing. He would pay then hide in the restroom closet. The place was just busy enough for this to work. There were also no cameras that he could find.

He finished his meal and sipped a cup of coffee. He studied his art subjects carefully, picking which one would be doing what. He paid when there were still 23 people dining and walking around. He left a good tip then slipped into the restroom. He finished donning his overalls but didn’t button them up yet. He extracted his blades and sat behind a locker that was placed in front of a bucket fill/drain station.

Joe checked his watch, it was 9:15. He had an hour and 15 minutes. Time can be your friend or it can be a torturous enemy. Time is never kind as it lets you see it flying by or creeping like a slug on a cold surface. No, every time you check it, it seems to have not advanced one painful minute. He started thinking of different songs and began playing them in his head while keeping a vigil on the sounds and other things that might cause him concern. After a few songs he checked his watch, it was now 9:30. It was helping and it was a pleasant distraction while he monitored the sounds outside. He hoped that mopping the restrooms were the last things on the agenda.

9:56, Joe was getting antsy as he was now watching the time tick by again. 10:15, and there was a lot of noises from the kitchen, the closet door opened, Joe did not hear anyone enter the restroom, oh well, no matter, he was ready. A young participant stepped in and was pulled onto Joe’s large butcher knife slicing his esophagus silencing him from making any noise. He eased the rapidly draining body over the drain and stepped from the closet. He exited the restroom and slipped quietly along the wall noting the staff working the kitchen. The female walked out and directly into Joe’s long blade. He placed his hand on her mouth to muffle her groans of pain. He eased her to the floor and peeked into the kitchen. “Where’s number four?” He thought to himself. The cook’s back was to Joe so he rushed the man and drove the heavy cleaver into the back of his neck severing his cervical bones in the spinal column and the spinal cord dropping the man where he stood. “Where is number four?” Joe whispered to himself.

He heard a noise outside and went to wait beside the door. Lucky number four opened the door and walked in. He was chewing on something when he saw the blood and body on the floor.

“John!” Was all he could get out before Joe had the blade in his rib cage slicing his lung and heart. The man fell onto the floor and onto his friend. Another person staggered in behind the other man. Joe spun pulling the man inside ending him by slicing his throat almost to the spine with the razor sharp knife.

Joe had to work quickly to get his canvas and subjects properly arranged. He quickly took the bodies to a booth and sliced all four pulling their intestines out and placing them on the table. He got four plates, saucers, cups, and silverware. He arranged the settings and placed the body in the middle of the table as it was being served. Its stomach was carved open and the intestines were pulled out and divided up between the four plates. The booths had wire mesh that held up fake plants. He had string that he cut and tied hands in the air holding up intestines over their mouths like they were eating long strands of spaghetti. He took large square chunks from the man and placed them on each plate like large steaks. When he finished, the four looked as if they were eating the most delicious meal they had ever tasted. The meal being the fifth person.

Joe quickly packed up his tools and made sure the front door was locked. Then he walked to the large mirror opposite the bodies. In large blood letters he wrote, “Menerva is Praised!” He walked to the kitchen door and looked through the peephole. Seeing nothing, he exited the back door and pulled off the overalls and shoes, rolled them up with his tools and locking the rear door, he walked to his car.

The night was dark as the lone figure traversed the distance to his car. He opened the back and placed the overalls and shoes into a black trash bag and his tools into another black bag and secured the items with his luggage. He closed the back and walked around getting in and started the little run-a-bout. He sat quietly for some time. He closed his eyes and shuddered violently. “Menerva is Praised!” He solemnly said and placed the Soul in gear.

Barry was watching the morning National News when a talking head fell silent then a picture appeared on the screen of a steak house from Shamrock, Texas. “DAMMIT!” Barry said. The talking head gave descriptions but no names pending notification of the relatives.

Barry’s phone rang.

“Stoller.” Barry said into the phone.

“Are you watching the news?” The voice asked.

“Yep, that’s four more for a total of 54 as far as we know for sure.” Barry said.

“There has to be a way to stop this guy. I thought he was going south. A couple of others thought he was going north-east. No one guessed west. He is seriously unpredictable. I’ve talked to the detectives there. One named Thomas Alderfer is heading the investigation. We should have images in a few hours.” Danny Dempster said.

“Thanks Danny. Had the hotlines picked anything up in that area, say, in the last week? I think he is casing the places before he attacks. What do you think?”

“I agree, there is no way that he is randomly choosing his targets. His actions are meticulously calculated and precise. I think he locates a place then researches the location to the last detail. I think he even visits the area and watches the place for a few days. It’s just a theory I have. But that’s what I think.” Danny said.

“I think you’re right, this is too organized. All of this being random is impossible unless you planned it beforehand. So, what would be his obstacle?” Danny asked.

“It would be more of a variable. He can have everything planned out except for how many people are going to be there, and then he adjusts his “Canvas,” shall we say, and works with those numbers. Two thirds of his crime scenes are five victims or less. In the three that were six, 19, and 15, the only way I can see him overtaking those numbers is by surprise. They were dark atmosphere bars and restaurant bars. They don’t want you to see the food, drinks, or each other respectfully and we might guess that he hit sometime before they closed. The other places could be from before they closed to well after they closed, without a witness or surveillance we have no way of knowing. I hope, when this story goes live in prime time that people invest in some kind of surveillance, or at the very least personal protection, or best case scenario, both. This guy needs to be stopped.”

There was a short pause before Danny commented. “I do agree, but I could also see the flack we could get with that last comment though.”

“But it’s true.”

“I know, let me jump on this and see if any of this evidence points to anyone or if it is yet another dead end. I’ll call if I come up with anything.” Danny said.

“Thanks Danny, I am going to try the FBI again to see if they are taking this serious or not yet. I hope that they are, I feel that they might be better equipped to handle this than us.”

“Oh there’s no question about that. Let me know if they take this seriously or laugh at us again. Talk to you soon.”

They ended the call.

Joe drove deep in thought as he crossed into Oklahoma. “They are going to guess to search Indiana soon if he didn’t do something about it. He knew of a couple of places in Edinburgh. It was a sleepy little town that little ever happened there. He was familiar with one place. It was dark, dank, and a down right dive. This would be his next canvas. “Menerva be praised and show me what you want me to do?”

Joe drove the rest of the way home in peaceful silence. Deep in thought, he thought of all of the volunteers for his art. One even tried to hurt him. He quickly reminded him that they are destined to become art. Menerva demands it, Menerva protects him, and he knew it.

Joe, at that time, realized that he was invincible. He had survived so much in the name of Menerva, goddess of strategy and art. She wouldn’t allow anything to hurt him. This made his resolve that much stronger. He began to make plans, he prayed for guidance to what would be his piece de résistance.

Barry, Billy, Sean, Timmy, William, Danny, Thomas, Bill, and Beauford were on a conference call trying to make sense of where the crime scenes were located. Is there a pattern? If so, what is it? Is he going for some kind of design? After nine different crime scenes in nine different states, they were all having difficulty making any sense of it.

But they were not alone.

From 10 different states, there was another conference call going on that was almost verbatim of what the local law enforcement officers were debating. They became interested in Paris, Illinois with a death toll of 15 people, but no connections were being made at the other scenes until Ripley, Ohio. Now not only were they interested, they were ready to move in. if it had stayed below five people at those locations, the flag would have never popped up on the FBI’s desk. But then the news sources reporting a connection amid nine crime scenes, they had to take over now. This was too big and they had resources the small town cops didn’t.

The Chicago office sent Maynard Pillsby while the Columbus, Ohio office sent Craven Moorehead. Things were about to get very interesting.

The conference call ended for the local police and Barry reluctantly reached for his directory and looked up the Phoenix FBI, then sighed, cursed to himself, and dialed the number. It took six rings to get an answer. Barry stated that he needed to talk to an investigator and was put on hold. He heard a series of clicks then silence, then someone finally picked up the line. “Officer Steller, how may the Federal Bureau of Investigations help you today?”

“Stoller, Officer Barry Stoller.” Barry then proceeded to bring him up to speed on the united cases and all involved currently in the investigation. “We need to expand our resources. What we need, we know you have.” The agent made notes while he checked his email.

“What were you thinking in the area of investigation, Mr. Stoller? What can we do that you don’t have the resources to do?”

“We were thinking about hits on the cities on the internet. They all have web sites. Maybe they would point to someone who had visited their site within the three weeks prior to the killings.” Barry said.

“Why are you sure that all nine murder scenes are connected, Mr. Stoller. There could be up to nine people doing this. Why are you sure that there is only one person, especially at two of the locations where there were more than 10 victims?”

Barry took a deep breath of frustration and calmed before he spoke. He knew that they were watching this now and they were tapping him for information that they did not yet have. “There is a phrase that is painted in blood that has never been publicized. At every scene “Menerva be Praised” is painted somewhere in blood at every site.”

“Interesting, that would seem to narrow it down to one occult. I still think that there is more than just one person involved.”

“What makes you say that, and what evidence do you have to support more than one?” Barry asked, trying to keep from being irritated noticeably over the phone.

“C’mon now, one person taking out six people, seriously, that’s hard enough to grasp, but then one verses 11 people or 15? Impossible! There are only indications of a minor skirmish at any of the sites. You are going to have to do some serious convincing if you want me to concede that one man walking in and taking out 25 people without a major battle. How do you think it was done?” Agent Wanker asked.

“Kitchen staff first, bartender, then he entered the dining/bar area. The victims at the bar died from a long narrow knife wound to the heart. The tables were done in a style that resembles the restaurant scene from the movie “Men in Black,” the bar/restaurant was very dimly lighted, there were low watt light bulbs over the tables, but low house lighting in the rest of the place. In Ripley, Ohio, it was similarly lighted except the lights over the pool tables. Anything else Mr. Wanker?”

“What about your crime scene Mr. Stoller, how did one man take out your five victims?”

“High walled booths and a large kitchen, and low romantic lighting. This person is quick, lethally efficient, and silent. He obviously doesn’t stumble or stomp around. It would almost be guessed that he might have a military specialist background.” Barry said. He was beginning to have a hard time keeping the irritation from surfacing.

“You think this guy is spec ops?” Wanker asked.

“I said almost. I really don’t know. Somehow I doubt that or we would be swimming in victims.” Barry said.

“You don’t think we aren’t now?” The agent said sarcastically.

“Agent Wanker, you know full well what I mean. I count 54 vics that we know of as of right now. We, I don’t know about your agency, but we have no clue as to where, who, he or she even is. But we are presuming it’s a he, but have no idea where this person will strike next. Can we work together on this or are you just drilling me for information then kicking me aside, or are you just going to tell me once again that none of this is related?”

“Calm down sheriff, we need to work together on this. We have the same information now that you do. The one thing we did not know was the phrase at each crime scene. We only knew or thought we had a possible link with three until we saw the news. We need this guy or group off the streets. We have our profiler working on it now. I’m sure some of the cities have already done so. We will, more than likely, come to the same conclusions. I would rather cooperate, but I can come in and take over if you insist or block me out. That sheriff is up to you. I would rather have your help. You have been investigating this and have more information than most. Now, can we compare notes?” Agent Willie Wanker asked.

“Absolutely, remember, I called you for help. I just do not want my department treated like coffee runners and personal gophers.” Barry said.

“Okay, let’s get to work.”

The exchange wasn’t as pleasant in Paris, Illinois. In fact, FBI agent Maynard Pillsby only lacked a swastika and the infamous toothbrush mustache. “Who’s in charge here?” He demanded.

“Police Chief Larry Ingraham, he’ll be back from a meeting at 11:30. Can I help you?” Asked the dispatch officer.

“I want to know who is in charge of the 15 body count murder scene? The agent demanded. He had yet to identify himself.

“That would be Detective Winebelly. He’s, uh, I didn’t get your name?” The dispatcher asked.

“That is because I did not give it.” He fished his ID from his pocket and flashed it so fast that the dispatcher thought it was a fake. “I’m FBI Special Agent Maynard Pillsby from the Chicago office and I don’t like having my time wasted young man. Inform him that I need him here NOW!”

The officer leaned back, smiled, and asked, “Which one?”

The agent leaned across the desk and glared at the officer. “Let’s start with the chief. Do you find this amusing because I don’t? We in the FBI don’t have time to be amusing. Now, pick up your little phone and call him!” He placed both fists on the desk and the other two moved up to the desk that was standing behind him in dark sunglasses. Inside a room with no windows, and no windows in the doors.

The officer pressed a button under the desk on the floor which sent a silent alarm to the back. He held up a hand. “Alright, alright, I’ll call him. Just keep your diaper dry.” He picked up the phone and looked up a number and dialed. “Hey chief, yes sir, I really hate to bother you but we have a situation at the desk. Yes sir, any second now. You will? Personally? Thank you chief.” That was about the time the room filled up with heavily armed officers. “Oh, they’re here now chief, yes they made several threats. He did claim to be with the FBI but with all the experiences I have had in the past, this guy is nothing like any of them. Okay, wait one. The chief wants me to inspect your ID properly so I can read it and verify it’s authentic, or.”

“I showed you my ID. I will not show it again!” The agitated agent said.

“He’s refusing sir. Yes sir.” The officer pressed a button on the phone and cradled the handset. “You’re on speaker sir.”

“Thank you sergeant. Now, before you say anything. You are surrounded by a roomful of officers. You and your cronies will slowly remove all your credentials, and hand them to the desk sergeant. Any resistance or hesitation from any of you, you all will be taken down, cuffed, searched, and placed into separate cells until your boss, who if you are real, I know personally, will verify who you are. You do not enter my precinct with Gestapo like tactics. If you are who you claim to be, a formal complaint will be filed in Washington with Agent Stephen Ailberry. I hope you know who he is. If not, I’ll inform you. He is the head of the FBI as well as a close personal friend of mine. You have until the count of three to produce your credentials. One.”

“I’m taking over this case, you have to answer to me, I do NOT have to answer your questions. I’ve already told your desk lackey who I am!” Two things happened on short order then as the Chief skipped two and said three and the room full of officers tasered all three men, tackled, handcuffed, and searched all three. By the time they were done, they were sitting in three different interrogation rooms and Chief Larry Ingraham was sitting across from agent Pillsby. There was also a speaker phone in the table’s center and the connection was just made to the FBI in Washington.

“Hi Carol, let me speak to Agent Ailberry if he has a minute, please. Thank you. Tell him it’s Larry Ingraham and I have a slight problem that I think he would be highly interested in. Thank you.” There was a faint click and hold music played.

The wait was less than a minute when, “Larry, are you okay? How can I help you buddy?” Carol said there was a problem?”

“I’m sorry that I have to call you Steve, I have a so-called agent sitting in front of me who claims to be an agent from the FBI’s Chicago office. He walked in blowing steam and making threats. He claims his name is Maynard Pillsby. I have two others that were with him in two other rooms. I need to verify that he is who he said he is. He introduced himself but flashed his ID so fast that my officer couldn’t see then, when he asked to see them again and examine them, he became animated in his verbal assault.”

“Hold on Larry.” The line seemed to go dead for a few minutes then came back to life. “I gave the info to my secretary. We should hear something back in a second. While we wait, do you want to file a complaint?”

“Normally I would not, but I do want to file this time. You do not treat my staff in the manner that he did. I can understand coming in and taking over a case, but we are fellow law enforcement, there was no reason to come in using Gestapo tactics, and that was a direct quote from my officer and from what I heard myself. So, on a separate topic, how are Sarah and the kids?” Larry asked.

“Starting her last semester in college and looking forward to it being over with.” Steve was abruptly interrupted.

“Are you serious? This can’t be happening. I was sent here to do an investigation and your bullshitting?” Pillsby shouted.

“Pillsby, I would highly advise you to shut the hell up. I know you know who I am. It’s part of knowing the chain of command. I say one way or another and you either walk out of there with the Paris PD. Or the other is where you get locked up and you are no longer an agent of the FBI. It’s your choice. With the way you just interrupted your superior, I can bypass any investigation and make a decision here and now. It is now your choice. Also, your two goons would follow you into the mire. So I had better not hear anything from anyone in that room save who I am talking to. But yes, I now have the information in front of me, and sadly, he is one of mine. He has an excellent track record and is one of my more decorated agents. He has also been written up several times for his abusive tactics. I’ll look into this personally, Larry. I am sorry about this.”

“Unfortunately, Steve, it does happen. I’ll fax you the complaint. See you soon.” Larry said.

“Bye Larry.” And the speaker fell silent.

Larry sat and leaned back against the padded steel chair. “Wish to continue your tirade or do you wish for full cooperation? All of this would have been avoided if you had come in and treated my staff with respect that they are due. The choice is all yours. There are also a couple of things that I do not and will not tolerate from anyone. Firstly, you do NOT come in making demands and ordering or treating MY personnel like slaves. Without us, you wouldn’t solve anything. And secondly, and this is even bigger, you never, ever, scream at a department head. Do you understand? Have I made myself perfectly clear?” Larry spoke low and with pristine articulation of each and every word which was delivered in a very low and menacing tone.

Maynard sat and fumed. He should be making the demands. That’s how things were supposed to go. The FBI was supposed to be in charge, not some back wood, flat foot, redneck small town wannabe. He would acquiesce for now. “Crystal clear.”

“Now that we have an understanding, my department is at your disposal for assistance, not for abuse or degradation like you have already displayed. It’s a two way street Mr. Pillsby, I would highly advise against trying to make it a one-way street again.”

Joe was rethinking on going to Shelbyville. Menerva told him he was invincible. She wanted him to go to another place first, then Shelbyville. He already had Shelbyville planned. Would she mind if he did that one first, and then move on? It was for her, it was all for Menerva. Joe became confused. He would sleep on it. Menerva would tell him what to do, if his goddess remained silent, then he would do Shelbyville first, then move on to the next location for his humble art exhibit to Menerva the great. Joe was very confused.

He ate and then made ready for bed. He prayed she would give him guidance, she always had before.

That night, Joe slept soundly with no dreams, no interruptions, not once did he wake up.

Joe awoke refreshed, but distressed. Menerva had not guided him as to what he should do. He puzzled among his reasoning and came to one conclusion. She trusted him to make his own decision. She had left him in control. He was going to please his goddess and to do two close together. He decided to do a small restaurant bar on the main highway through town. It was back off of the road so it would be easy. He had plans for that one, and then he would go to Blytheville, Arkansas. He would do his research on both. Shelbyville was just on the other side of town. It was so easy, he was guided by the goddess herself, how could he possibly fail?

He went to work on Shelbyville and the restaurant/bar. He had found that it had just gone under new ownership. That was perfect. Things would still be in transition and the number of volunteers would vary greatly. He might only have staff. He might have up to 10 to 20 volunteers.

It was getting cold and people were dressing accordingly. Joe wondered if he shouldn’t break for the winter as more clothing meant more work to bring someone down. He would see after Shelbyville and on his visit to Blytheville. But he knew he was going to have to do that one too, and do it soon after this one.

He decided to only go two weeks since he knew the area and the eateries so well. He had actually eaten there when it was still a sports and biker bar hang out. But he hadn’t seen any large amounts of bikes since they sold the place. Not that it mattered, but some of those guys made him really nervous. But hey, Menerva had made him invincible.

The local law enforcement had pooled their data and the FBI had that data and had gone hi tech. they were researching if anyone were targeting the towns first by looking them up online. What they immediately discovered was that everyone searched the little whistle-stop towns for any odd reason. They had so many names and internet service providers’ addresses that they had assigned four teams of 10 people per team to sift through the mountains of data.

From college students to people just browsing small towns, it was tedious work. But as with all tedious work, it was paying off. In less than a week, the mountain of endless searches was now down to less than a thousand. A few days after that, it was down to just over 300. They could see the perpetrator at the end of the tunnel.

Joe was all set. He had observed the place for two days and was ready for his craft to be displayed in reality. Tomorrow, it would happen tomorrow.

The FBI had disseminated the list and had six different IP addresses, and they all came out of Indiana. Agent Richard Hurtz received a phone call.

“Agent Hurtz, this is Agent Ailberry in DC. You have been keeping up on the artist cases I presume?”

“Yes sir, I have. We were wondering where he is researching from or living at. I presume that since you are calling me that he is close by?” Agent Hurtz asked.

“He is closer than you think. The teams have narrowed it down to six IP addresses out of Shelby County. Make sure your team is ready to go when we get a name and address. I don’t think we’ll have a lot of time. He is probably already researching his next target as we speak. We need to get him before he leaves.”

“Yes sir, do we have any locations yet?” Agent Hurtz asked.

“They are working on that. I’ll call back when they have the addresses.” Ailberry said.

Joe had everything set. It was slow every night a half hour just before closing. Between eight and 13 people was all that was inside.

It was cold. The rain was starting to freeze already. There was a Harley parked up by the building. The usual three cars that belonged to the staff and 10 other vehicles including the bike were the only ones in the lot.

Since he had just less than two hours before they closed, he ordered a meal and listened to the music. Not something that he listened to but someone paid for the jukebox tunes. Joe ate in the loud country style atmosphere. When he finished, he walked to the restroom then into the kitchen.

Agent Hurtz was given the six addresses where four addresses were at the town library. One was on a cell phone owned by a one Joe Anthony Smith. The address was 600 west, about 12 miles south of town. The last IP address belonged to the same man at the same address. The assault team mounted up in full riot gear and left Indianapolis in the direction of the small town some 20 miles away.

Joe caught the cook alone and off guard. The large butcher’s blade severed his arteries, larynx, and almost his entire head. He quickly pulled the now cooling body behind one of the ovens for the time being. The manager hearing the disturbance came out of his office to find a long slender blade sticking out of his rib cage and had sliced through his heart. He was fading fast. The silent man pulled the knife and went looking for his next volunteer. He found a waitress returning a serving tray. She too fell to the long thin blade entering just below the ample left breast in an upward angle.

Agent Hurtz and the assault team pulled up the drive and surrounded the small house in the middle of a field. After a search of the garage and out building, they forced their way into the building. Just because the car was not there was no reason to believe that the perp was not at home.

Joe exited the kitchen and entered the dark bar area. The barkeep was shocked to feel fluid, his fluid spraying and pouring down the front of his clothes. Joe had slit his neck from ear to ear. The bar area was dark, bit not that dark. A customer at the bar stood and backed away. The alarm brought the rest of the curious customers over to the bar area where Joe eyeballed the man who shouted, seeing a threat to his immediate safety, he back stepped and threw open his coat, the others also seeing imminent danger pulled pant legs, shirts, and jackets all pulling weapons and drawing down on Joe. Joe, oblivious to his danger, rushed the man to silence him. The man held up his left arm taking the knife between the radius and the ulna. He opened fire only grazing Joe’s hip. The seven others seeing the life and death of the man opened fire as well. Their shots did not miss their intended target.

Joe pulled on the knife. He stepped back, his body beginning to register the pain from the impacts. He looked confused at the man, anger formed in his face as he brought up the knife for another strike. The man brought up his weapon and fired as well as five others to stop the threat once more. Two of the customers were on the phone to the police. The five were body shots. Though none was life threatening. It was the man’s shot that put Joe down for the final count. The .38 entered just between the nose and the right eye at the upward angle and exited the back of the skull. Though he had 19 rounds in his chest, stomach, and one grazing wound to his hip, the trained cop that pulled the final trigger was in reality overkill in ending Joe’s life. He watched as Joe dropped the knife and appeared to look up, and collapse to the floor. Two remained on the phones and others went to the injured man who pulled his badge and placed it on the bar. Two more badges appeared as they searched the kitchen area deeming it clear and finding the three initial victims.

The FBI discovered an empty house but verified that this was the man they were after as soon as they located the map in the bedroom along with a calendar. “Agent Hurtz, police radio is calling an all available units to a shooting in town, the report is a man stabbed and killed three people and was taken down when he stabbed a local cop in the arm. This could be our man.”

“Let’s go!” He pointed at two agents. “Stay here and secure the scene and see what else you can find.” They ran out and raced for town.

By the time the FBI arrived, there were ambulances, fire trucks, and at least 15 police cars surrounding the building. Hurtz walked up to Detective Barnaby Shyster, displayed his credentials and asked. “What do we have Detective?”

He’s a dark male, approximately mid to early 20’s, possibly Samoan. He’s tall, assaulted and killed three staff in the back and then the bartender. The man at the bar, Officer Kelly, yelled at the man to stop. The perp hopped the bar and came at the off duty officer. He backed up and the man was on him before he could really react. Thankfully there were other citizens and law enforcement in the building. They opened fire. The perp pulled the knife free. Kelly said he looked confused, and then went in for round two. There were more shots to stop him. Kelly’s shot was to the head. I am pretty sure that was the one that put him down. You guys got here quick, you know this guy?”

Agent Hurtz sent two agents to look for a red KIA SOUL. “I believe he is the one that the media has titled the Artist. If I’m correct, this man is Joe Anthony Smith.”

“The politician? He’s the state representative for this area, are you sure of the name?”

“I thought it sounded familiar, and yes, I’m sure. This is going to get messy for all of us. If this is the guy, this will be a total of 58. I think that is a record somewhere. It doesn’t make us look good, but he is gone so there will be no more added to his case.” Hurtz said. “Also, we just left his house. There is concrete evidence that he is The Artist. There is a map with pins at the murder locations in different colors. There was also a calendar with dates and times. We found evidence that his next hit was going to be in Blytheville, Arkansas. Two weeks away instead of three. This scene is two weeks from the last one. I wondered why the time escalation. There were also a statue and quite a few paintings and lithographs of the goddess Menerva.

The off duty cop was being prepped for transport. Agent Hurtz walked over. “You are more than likely the only survivor of The Artist Joe Smith. Your 15 minutes of fame or shame will begin as soon as the talking heads realize who the perp was and who you are.”

“Who, I don’t get who you’re talking about.” The man said.

“What’s your name?” Hurtz asked.

“Darrell, Darrell Spotskowski, why?”

“Have you heard of the man that everyone’s been looking for? Who has been killing people and posing the bodies?”

“Yeah, I heard about him, we’re supposed to keep an eye . . .” Darrell stopped in mid-sentence.

”Meet Joe, The Artist, Smith. We just found out who he was a very short time ago.”

“I don’t feel so good!” Darrell said as they strapped him down for the ride. “I didn’t want to kill him, he kept coming at me. Even the others tried to stop him. They all hit at center mass. He just wouldn’t stop!”

“Your last shot stopped the threat. That was all you and the others did. You stopped a threat that had taken a total of 58 lives. You did not only what you had to do, you did well.” Hurtz said.

“That still doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve never had to draw my weapon in my 12 years of duty.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better. Only two of the others had to use theirs before when they were deployed in Afghanistan and Beirut. All you guys ended a reign of fear and mass murder. He had already scheduled another murder scene in two weeks in Arkansas.

The paramedics wheeled him away. Another agent approached. “We found his red KIA in a dark parking space just around the corner. There was a trash bag and a Goodwill receipt for shoes. Probably the ones he has on.”

END

 

Fallen Angel

            “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, Amen.”

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned.” The man said in the adjoining box said. “It has been three months since my last confession. I have been struggling with pride and envy, Father. I’m trying really hard but it’s difficult. But of late I am struggling with anger, Father I have been robbed twice and my home broken into in the last month. I don’t know what to do. I’m out of cheeks to turn. Father, can you give me guidance?”

Father Enrique Son sat in silence, and then slowly spoke. “My child, envy and pride are conflicting sins. They are sins of a personal passion. You need to try humbling yourself before God and eschew the things you are envious of. For those sins your penance shall be 15 Hail Marys and 10 Our Fathers. I absolve you of those sins. Do them no more. Your issue and sin of anger will be most challenging. You must forgive your aggressors and those who wish to do you harm. Jesus forgave those who tortured Him. By his example must we live as well.”

“Father, have you ever been robbed?” the man asked lowly and thickly.

“No my son, I cannot say that I have.” He couldn’t lie to him. He had no experience and could only empathize with him.

“It’s easier for you to say to do something when you have no practical experience in the matter. You have no idea how I feel in this matter.”

“This is true, my son. But I must still follow our Lord’s teaching. It covers all situations child. I absolve you of your sin of anger. Please come by the office and let’s talk on this matter. Would that be agreeable to you?”

“Yes Father, thank you.” He said and walked out.

A few minutes went by then another parishioner entered the confessional. Father Son began. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been two weeks since my last confession. I am struggling with anger and lust. Last night a group of masked men broke into my home, beat my family, and robbed me and my family of our worldly possessions. I’m upset about the possessions, but I’m angry about being violated and my family being beaten. I should have been there, but I was at work, I was at work.” The man faded off with a sob.

“Your anger is understandable, my son. Our Lord displayed anger with the money changers in the synagogue and threw them out. It is how we respond to the actions of the sinners that attack us. I absolve you of your sins, my son. Penance is four our Fathers, but you mentioned lust?” Padres worldwide liked hearing about lust. It usually was very innocent and light, but occasionally, it was sordid, dark, and evil. So when lust was mentioned, it was like dropping the coins in a slot machine. You just never knew what you were going to get, and this would be no different.

“Yes Father, I did. I am ashamed of my current lust. I have never before lusted for violence, Father. The increase of crime in this area has everyone terrified. The police are overwhelmed and asking for outside help. I am afraid of my lust Father. I can usually overcome my vices. But this one I am really struggling with. How can I overcome this one, Father? I need your help.”

“Truly a valiant challenge, my son. Allow the police to do their job.”

“Father, I was a Marine in the Special Forces, Recon. My lust is to help the police, if you will.”

“My son,” the Father calmly said, “the police frown upon vigilantism. Plus, your family needs you now more than ever, what would happen if someone were to get the upper hand on you. Your family would be losing their protector.” The Father winced as soon as he said this realizing that this is why he was here, now, pouring his soul to him for redemption. “Though you were at work, there was nothing you could have done. Your time to protect your family is now. Be observant, but only act if you or your family is in eminent danger.” Enrique’s words were echoing hollowly within his own head. His own world before he accepted the faith of a peace maker. He was one of many like the man sitting on the other side of the confessional screen. Every confession was supposed to be anonymous. But Father Son knew the man on the other side of the wall. Tom Collins was the husband, father, and daddy, to four wonderful and well behaved children. The oldest was about to turn 10. Tom struggled daily to be a food person, former Marine sniper and what the corps called a “Get it done guy.” He tried to put all that behind him to the point of avoiding the police department after getting out of the Marine Corps as most commonly do. Tom worked in advertising. Though he was successful, his demons haunted him mostly at night. He had been to several therapists and they purported that it was all in his head and could be quelled with a mild sedative. True, the sedatives incapacitated him physically, but it locked him in that world that he ran from during the day. At least without the sedatives, he could wake up and escape the aftermath of the job that he was more than happy to begin, but all too soon became his hell on earth. 10 years after his honorable discharge from the Marines, followed by a year of being pursued by the police department for employment and guaranteed placement into a SWAT team. He was hassled at every corner until his constant refusals, they finally left him alone, but left the door open in case he ever changed his mind.

This poor soul struggled for peace. Just a few years ago when he moved here, crime happened elsewhere. Now it seemed crime settled in this neighborhood and festered, took root and bred as to what seemed a training ground for every evil known to man.

Enrique could relate all too well to Tom. But he managed through God, prayer, and busying himself by helping others at every waking moment, he managed to keep the demons at an arm’s length.

“My son, I wish you to come to my office. Will you do this Tom? I may have an idea that may help you. Can you be at my office after you get off work tomorrow?”

“Yes Father, but I don’t understand.”

“All will be made clear tomorrow. Your spirit is troubled with your past. I know someone who relates to your situation. Are you willing to at least try?”

“Yes Father, I will be there tomorrow.”

“As for your sins, you penance will be two Hail Marys and one Our Father. I will see you tomorrow.”

The man left the booth a little lighter in spirit than when he walked in. wasn’t that the job of a priest? To make the parishioners feel better about themselves and be the go between them and God. He didn’t think he could absolve sins. He was just the middle man. The Savior worked that department. He could tell if someone was lying by the tone in which they spoke. Oddly, they all sounded the same, hushed, humbled, and penitent. It was difficult for one to even conceive entering the confessional.  It took serious conviction to enter a confessional and pour one’s transgressions verbally to another person, rather that person represented the All Mighty, or they looked upon the person on the other side of the wall as just another person in whom they could confide in privately. Father Enrique had heard everything from regretted abortions to incest to rape, extortion, bullying, being bullied, robbery, fornication, and even murder. The latter ranged from self-defense thru first degree manslaughter.

But of late, most of what was confessed was a growing patter of fear, anger, and a lust for revenge. The crime rate didn’t just double in this city. It multiplied to a power of at least 10. The police force was grossly understaffed to handle the skyrocketing crime rate. The mayor struggled to find assuring words and then finding the funds to fight the crimes that they never had before. It was clearly out of control. The real problem was you could usually tell who or why the crime was on the rise. But not this time, some just lost their minds and went on a crime spree. Then more joined that group, and on and on until crimes were going on all the time day and night. This city needed people like Tom and many like him. But he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not unless someone acted first.

The rest of the day followed suit of the fear and hate of the crime in the community. Father Son ended for the day and went back to his office, removed his vestments and sat heavily into his overstuffed office chair. He had been in the diocese for what, 10 years now? He had to think because it all blurred together. The daily struggle, the constant reminders of his past. He poured a glass of Bushmills and took a long pull and hoped that as it burned going down that it took the visions of his past away. The first one never did, nor did drinks two, three, or four, the visions would begin to blur around five, sometimes it took more to begin the blurring. Tom had his demons and Enrique had his. Though different, both men handled their demons very much in the same way. Enrique had tried to bury his past, tried to forget what he had done as a job just a short 10 years prior when he walked away from that life. A life that was, damn!

The next day was more of the same. The confessional had developed a constant flow of tortured souls. One after another, it never seemed to end. Father Son had to stop and take a break himself. Never had he been so busy. He, himself, had to take a one hour prayer break. Then it was back to the Lord’s work.

The confessions were getting more and more desperate, angrier, and more pleading for the Lord’s help and intervention.

The day ended, the Father took extra care in hanging his vestments. He started by pouring himself a double. Each day was getting harder. He had the next day off from confessions, but he had two appointments. One was just someone trying to sell the church an idea for fundraising. The second appointment was Tom. Father Son sat heavily and looked down at the bottom left hand drawer. It was the large square drawer that had its own lock. When Father Son was assigned to Common Town, he had carefully organized his desk. There were certain items that the Father carefully packed in that drawer. When he locked the drawer nine years ago, he locked that life away forever, or so he prayed. He was going to unlock that drawer to show, try to show how a person can overcome his demons.

The man known as Father Enrique Son, a peaceful, gentle soul, and calm negotiator, had a very dark past. He had a past that only a select few with a high military clearance knew about. There were many holes in his military records that left many unanswered questions. All people that knew him then only noticed that he would disappear for days, weeks, or months on end and to not ask any questions. The Father searched and successfully retrieved the key and inserted it into the lock. He pulled back his hand and looked at the key. He reached out and noticed the slight trembling of his hand.

His past was dark, lonely, and deadly. Enrique turned the key and looped his fingers around the handle to open the drawer. He hesitated, and then slowly pulled the drawer open. The drawer loudly protested its movement as he pulled it all the way open. Inside the drawer rested several vertical folders, some small picture frames, a few plaques, some ribbons, and numerous medals and ribbons. Gallantry, Expert Pistol, Expert Rifle, Martial Arts, and sniper were the repetitive awards. The folders contained non-classified items and records that exposed only a fraction of Enrique’s past. He kept a secret folder of images of those whose life he forever altered. This was the term he used when the pain began to be too much for him. It was nothing like the movies where the star relished his job and looked for a reason to pull the trigger and watch the target drop with nothing more than the collapse of a body. The harsh reality of the horror of looking at a face or head through a high powered scope as the projectile entered the head as it literally blew everything out the opposite side as the entry wound distorted and the whole head began to unravel like popping a water balloon with a massive mist of matter exiting out the back coating everything within its splash zone. If it was a close quarter’s fight, Hollywood portrayed the fight lasting forever or one getting shot or stabbed and the fight ending then and there. He had seen insurgents taking numerous rounds and still continued to fight to end his opponent’s existence. Hollywood had a poor conception when it came to glorifying something they had no idea about reality. Fantasy was pretty, clean, and a happy ending with a cigar, a pat on the back, and some pithy, comedic one liner making a joke of the whole operation. No hang-ups, no nightmares, no reliving every target after it was over. The reality was messy, silent, violent, mind numbingly loud, and always, always life altering. The task was to separate yourself from every operation. In this, some are successful, in some, the weight becomes too much and they wind up drinking themselves to death, dying of a drug overdose, or eating a bullet.

The latter is what Enrique was looking forward to just before he found God. The diocese offered him a chance to help himself as he helped others. They knew he was prior military. But never knew his real job. Tom would be the first to learn some of what his job really entailed. He felt, he hoped this would help the man with the tortured soul. One thing a soldier will not do is talk to an outsider who has not been in the shit, and Father Son hoped this would get Tom to open up about his real issue. Or at the very least, show him that someone cared that was very close by. Maybe Enrique needed this as much as Tom did.

The father poured another triple shot of the Irish brew and perused the pictures. His hand written notes on each one. He had to research for his early contracts. This was not only a big no, no to do this military wise, it was also very bad for the mental psyche of the individual.

Enrique carefully replaced the contents back into the drawer and relocked the violent past of Gunnery Sergeant Enrique Son. He climbed the ranks by being efficient and never failing a mission. He didn’t have the record, and that was one record he did not want to be known for.

Father Enrique Son looked at the nearly depleted bottle of Bushmills. He looked at the last quarter inch of golden fluid in his glass. He had omitted the usual mandatory three ice cubes to not only cool the drink but to make an attempt to water the brew slightly. Tonight, he needed the full strength for the full effect. Tomorrow was going to be hard.

The first meeting with a salesperson is always a waste of time with some people always trying to sell something. This time was no different. The salesman had even titled his product. “Condoms for Choir Boys.” It was all he could do to not bodily throw this idiot our on his ear.

After he calmed somewhat, he had poured a healthy dollop of Jamesons with the three mandatory ice cubes this time, and was halfway through when there was a knock at the door. Tom entered and looked at the Father, dressed in black, and holding a glass. “Have a seat my son. We have some things to discuss, some things that might help you and maybe help me also. Firstly, let me tell you about my past, things I’ve not talked about to anyone, most do not know.” Tom looked at the glass. “Does this offend you Tom? I can put it away.”

“No Father, I was just, well, I thought priests only drank wine.”

“Some only drink wine, I personally don’t like the taste, but I do for ceremony sake drink the blood of Christ. But I do enjoy my stronger drink, especially for something as difficult as this.”

“I’m sorry Father, I don’t mean to be a problem.” Tom said getting

Up.

“Please sit down, Tom. The problem is not with you. You see, I have my own demons that I battle daily.” He opened the drawer and began pulling out the medals, ribbons, and plaques and laid them in front of Tom on the desk.

“Father, why don’t you have these displayed on your walls? These are major accomplishments!” Tom said impressed.

“Because of what they represent my son.” He said getting another glass and adding ice and filling it two fingers with the brew and refilling his own glass. He pulled the first folder and handed it to Tom. “I got out of the Marines as Gunnery Sergeant Enrique Son. I was a Sniper and Special Operations. My job was to take care of sensitive matters.” Tom perused the first folder which was innocuous in its contents. The second folder contained his assignments with many obvious holes. Tom looked at the father, who handed him the third folder, the one with the pictures, newspaper articles. All contained hand written notes. Tom’s eyes grew wide. “That last folder is not supposed to exist, Tom. I am sharing this with you in the strictest confidence that I know what you are going through and the trials the community is putting on you. I’m not ashamed of my past, nor am I proud of it. In many ways, I wish it would just go away. The images and faces come to me when I sleep. I came to my faith which has helped me deal with my demons. I’m not just someone pretending to understand, I do understand. I think I can help you, with God, there is always a way.”

The two talked for a long time, sometimes crying, sometimes with a smile and a laugh.

“Tom, my son, you can call me anytime, day or night, if I don’t answer, leave a message because I will be in the pulpit or in confession, but I will always get back to you as soon as I can. In that I swear to as a brother.”

Tom got up and hugged the Father. There was some relief in his features. Enrique felt some relief as well. He replaced the items back into the confines of the large drawer, closed, and locked the drawer. He picked up the empty glass and left his office.

The next day was more of the same, listening to confession, and then talking to the parishioners. That afternoon, he was to go out and visit the shut-ins. He enjoyed this part of being a priest as he got to see his flock in their own settings. And the visits were always pleasant.

He had been to a few houses and had noticed several works of crude graffiti along the way. He also noticed something else, he was being followed. This was odd in knowing that priests carried little to no money. They carried a wallet and a cell phone that was it. He knocked on sister Barbara’s door. She and her husband had not been well and couldn’t get out due to illness. Father Enrique would pray with them and share a cup of coffee.

After his visit, he left and began his return trip back to the church. There were two following him from the house. By the time he had gone 10 blocks, the two had grown to four. He was one block away and in view of the church when the now five stopped him.

“Gimme your money god man.” one said.

“I carry very little. I don’t even have 20 dollars.” Enrique replied.

“I don’t give a shit, gimme your money and your wallet, and if there is enough, I might not kill you.” The young punk said.

Enrique’s training took over sizing up the five noting that he saw no weapons. If they had weapons, no one had them out, at least yet. “Please my child, I am a man of the cloth, not a man of substance.” The punk pulled a gun and pointed it at Enrique’s face.

“I said gimme your money and wallet, NOW!” he shouted. The other four closed the distance. In less time that it takes to blink, Enrique was in possession of the punk’s weapon and had him at gun point. He pulled his cell phone and pressed 911. Enrique did not hear the line connect as one of the others rushed the priest who discharged the weapon into the thug’s face. The slug entered his nose and did its nasty business as it passed through his head. One down, Enrique spun and shot into the one charging him in center mass. He dropped temporarily, but managed to re-enter the melee, the other three hesitated only long enough to realize that he did not surrender his belongings as ordered. They also attacked. The thug’s weapon malfunctioned and the other two had pulled knives. The first one found himself weaponless and with several broken fingers and then realized that this was no ordinary priest, and that his stomach had been slashed and his intestines were being eviscerated. The other never stood a chance as he made to stab Enrique in an upward motion, but in a move so smooth and practiced. He blocked, spun, and buried the knife into the man’s chest pulling as the blade penetrated. He twisted the blade and blood sprayed from the wound from a heart that had been perforated but still tried to pump blood. The last punk found the malfunctioned weapon and worked the action to charge another round, Enrique saw and heard the boy’s feeble attempt and was on him. The struggle was short and swift. The weapon was forced to point at the chest and then discharged. The punk, now only looked like a scared teenager as he looked down seeing the red spreading from the hole in his shirt. He looked back to the man who bested him and his friends and collapsed to the ground. Enrique Son looked at the all-to-familiar carnage and something in him changed. These punks were part of the problems causing his flock to come to him for help, guidance, and hope. He heard a small voice pleading for someone to pick up the phone. The Father did and asked for police to come as fast as they could.

It took 10 minutes for the first of six police cars to arrive. They looked at Father Enrique Son, then at the carnage behind him. He was covered in blood and was uninjured.

One officer summed up the scene as, “People say that a gun is the quickest and most devastating way to kill, those idiots have never seen what a knife can do!”

They interviewed the priest at length not fully understanding how a priest could overtake five assailants and look like he was on his way to a Halloween party. They took his statement, and all he would reveal was he was a former Marine. They would learn more when they checked his background much later. But they would never learn as to why there were gaps his records.

He was allowed to return and he spent so long in the shower that the water ran cold. He had to have Father Calhoon fill in so he could piece together his actions vs. his emotions. Father Calhoon, learning about the night before told him to take what time he needed.

But his mind was already assembled. It had turned cold, dark, calculating, and very, very deadly. A plan did not formulate that day. It came into existence and fruition during the melee last night. It was just the implementation of the plan and how he could remain innocent in all this. But if they attacked him, it would automatically be self-defense, right? Not exactly, baiting would come in eventually. He would also have to stay away from the news entirely. To have a price on his head is one thing, but to have a price on his head with an 8X10 glossy distributed by local media would have every one of them beating down his door to kill him and anyone who might know him. He had five down, now many remained.

That night, for the first time in years, there were no demons to attack him while he tried to sleep. And for once, there were no dreams at all. This should have worried the man that had always dreamed. And for the last 15 years, those dreams were fraught with nightmares of targets past, and the stour emotions with each one. He had long since ceased waking and screaming, now he awoke with a violent start and ready to combat the shadows that plagued him.

When his alarm went off, he was already awake. He always woke up just before the alarm announced its presence in the room. Sometimes he shut the offensive tool off to maintain the silent serenity. This morning he lay in the silence with an air of lucidity. His job, his mission was not yet complete. His mission was clear, his targets unknown, and his cover intact. He needed a few tools. He loved the K-bar, it was silent, dependable, and kept a razor sharp edge. Two silenced nine millimeters by Glock and the IBA XM-3 .308 rifle by the Iron Brigade Company.

He could get urban camo anywhere. Everything he acquired used common ammunition and with silencers, the ballistics would be extremely difficult to trace. He made a few old contacts and placed his orders.

It was 10 am, he had confessions to hear. He had to keep up appearances. After the day was done, he began working out again. Enrique always felt refreshed after a good work out. He felt as he did when he first graduated boot. There were five boxes of various sizes in his office. Four he knew and recognized. But the fifth one puzzled him. There was a note taped to the inside flap of the top.

“Gunny,

So good to hear from you. It has been a few years brother. The four boxes were what you ordered. I know the area and thought you could use this. All the employees that work here know you personally, save two, but they are just kids. What you have cannot be traced. All that can be found out about any of it is that it is American made. I have a private range outside of the city so you can sight in the MX-3. The silencers are best tech. You’ll need to go through them after 90 rounds. They’ll begin chuffing if you don’t. I saw the news. No names but I know your work and that cursed area. Call when you need something Gunny, there is a prepay phone and tactical armor in the box. Good luck.

Gunnery Sergeant D Mills”

Enrique opened the packaging and removed the items afore mentioned in the letter. They were snug. But better snug than loose. He locked the office door and pulled open the four boxes. The first box was heavy, 500 rounds of .308 and 500 rounds of nine millimeter ammunition. Two boxes contained the Glock nines with affixed silencers. There were instructions on how to refurbish the chambered silencers. The last box contained the MX-3. The scope was better than what he ordered and the long silencer assured that he would remain undetected unless someone heard the action.

He started with the nines, disassembling them and reassembling them with a practiced smoothness and familiarity that company representatives would have been proud. He liked the Glock for its reputation. Not so much for the caliber. The nine millimeter was notorious for their reputation as a bleeder rather than knock down power. Regardless, they would still ruin someone’s day. The last was the .308. He took his time going through this one. He jumped when one of the cell phones vibrated and played the Marine Hymn. He picked it up and read the screen. It said, “Gunny Sergeant Mayhem.” He flipped it open.

“Gunny?”

“Sarge, how are you?”

“Question is actually, how are you?”

I am well and unharmed. The five I encountered were not trained. But that could change. I know they’ll come after me. Thank you for the armor.”

“Don’t mention it. When do you want to sight in the .308? I’m ready when you are.”

“What kind of range do you have?”

“Indoor shooting area and a covered firing line. 500 meters of open terrain and a covered and lighted target area. I have windage markers every 100 meters with target mounts at 100, 150, and every 50 meters to the embankment 500 meters out. You’ll be unseen, unheard, and no one can follow you without being seen.”

“How about tomorrow after confession, around 1600?”

“Will you need a ride?”

“If you would please, and wouldn’t mind.” Enrique said.

“Yeah I mind. I don’t wanna pick up my brother, duh!” Mills said sarcastically laughing. “I’ll be there before 1600.”

“Thank you, see you then. Stay frosty.”

“You do the same. Ciao brother.” And he closed the phone ending the connection.

Father Enrique knelt in front of the crucifix with the image of Christ, His arms outstretched with the wrists nailed, head tilted at an angle with the crown of thorns, and his feet nailed in place. Enrique looked up at the image. Confused on levels a simple man would not understand. A normal man would not see, a religious man wouldn’t even conceive of such an idea, let alone making it real, and bringing it to fruition. But Enrique Son was none of the above, not anymore, maybe he never was. But recently that thing that bothered him gave him his demons at night. Those five took his demons with them.

On one hand, he was saddened. It brought him back into a realm that he prayed he would never have to return to. But on the other hand, he was grateful, the demons, now gone, allotted him a new purpose, to protect his community. He had no family, so he had nothing to lose. He knew his odds were good for a while. But they would eventually get him, but they had to catch him first. As long as he stayed ahead and had no routine, he would be safe. He also needed to stay out of the limelight. That was proving to be difficult as they were like roaches coming out of the wood work. News ninjas, that’s what they are. They popped in from nowhere, cameras instead of weapons, shooting, trying to get a good picture. That was his biggest challenge, he never had to deal with talking heads before, and he didn’t want to have to start now.

He had everything packed and ready in two business like briefcases. Mills would pick him up out back. It was a secure parking area and courtyard. He poured and nursed a shot of Bushmills from a freshly opened bottle. He like the taste, the burn as the golden liquid traced its way down his throat. The way the golden mixture flowed in the glass. He noticed something else. He had returned to appreciating his brew and not using it as a tranquillizer. He sat and gently swirled the fluid studying the action of the contents.

His face grew grim.

His muscles in his face twitched.

Enrique growled and balled up his fist. The stour returned. He dropped to his knees and called to the Almighty, “God help me! I’m confused. Why am I feeling like this when I should be tormented? What should I do?”

The next morning found Enrique at his post once again hearing confessions. He was running on autopilot. Then he started listening to the confessions again. People were praising the priest that took out the five mobsters. People were sad about being tormented in their own homes and angry, but happy that a man, not just any man, but a man of God pushed these thugs back. It gave them hope.

Enrique had his sign. It was a sign in spades.

Confessions were slowing down and it was nearing quarter to four when the door opened and closed. Father Enrique said the intro but received nothing but silence. After a half minute, a gruff voice asked, “Hey buddy, you got paper on your side? This side’s out.” followed by a whispered hiss of a laugh.

“Mills, I swear,” and started laughing himself.

“Lobby’s empty, let me know when you’re ready.” Mills said.

“Let’s go to my office, where did you park?”

“Out front.”

“Go out and pull around to the back. I’ll have security meet you and guide you in.”

“Done, be right back.” Mills said.

Enrique went to his office and collected two cases leaving the armor behind. He wouldn’t need it. He met Mills in the courtyard as he turned the old Humvee around. The windows were darkly tinted to keep anyone from seeing in, and it was definitely beneficial in this case. They left the courtyard and made their way out of the city. Soon there was nothing but long flatlands with spans of rolling low hills.

They pulled off the main road and onto an isolated road that Enrique didn’t see until they were on top of it. They continued for another five miles until they reached a heavy fence with a gravel path that was blocked by a large sliding pipe gate. They gate started to open as they approached. Mills drove through the opening and up and over a rise that quickly hid the road from view.

They drove for another 15 minutes until Enrique heard the crack of a large caliber weapon. He smiled.

Another rise then they descended into a small valley. They followed the bend in the road. The road ended at a parking area but a covered area was just 25 feet further than the end of the recognized path. The covered area extended past the 30 car parking area and into a long double row of benches and support beams and shooting stands. He looked down range and saw the windage flags. Then he could barely make out the backstop on the other end. He could see the targets at the 50 through 300 meter distances. “Nice, are you sure this is only 500 meters long?”

“Well actually, 500 meters is a pretty damn good shooting distance, but the total length of the range is 750 meters. That’s for the real gamblers, let’s get you set up.” Mills said.

Soon, there were targets at 50, 100, 200, 400, 600, and at 750 meters. The last two were just for fun.

The 50 meter was initially for sighting in and mods made to the rifle, once Enrique was satisfied, then the next three targets were for fine tuning. The next two were gentlemen matches between Mills and Enrique and for the priest to get back into shape and practice distance shooting. Then they installed the silencer. It was one of the newer designs. The older designs actually used a rubber grommet that contacted the bullet slowing it down. The newer cans were touchless and claimed to improve shoot ability. Mills had a couple of repacking kits, he was curious on how long the new cans lasted over the old ones.

Then it was off to familiarize himself with the silenced nines. He was going to be very happy with his tools. It was almost time to get back to work.

The weapons cleaned and packed, they drove back to town. It had been a long day and Enrique was behind on his evening duties and prayers. When he finished, he would slip out and scout the area around the parish. Each night he would search farther from the area, and then try to locate the meeting area of these thugs, if they have one, and if they do, he’ll find it.

He was out 45 minutes before someone approached him. It took little time for their intent to be known. “Hey old man, gimme your money!” he demanded.

“Go and earn it like I did, then you’ll have your own money.”

“What did you say to me old man?”

“I don’t believe I stuttered. I said.” But the punk cut him off.

“I heard what you said. I just can’t believe you were stupid enough to say it to me! See old man, this is how this works, I say gimme your money and you hand your money over to me and you don’t get hurt, and I gets paid. Now let’s try this one more time, gimme your money!” the punk said.

“No.” Enrique said rather curtly and sounding bored.

The thug moved in along with three of his cronies. “I’m not asking you again, old man.”

“Good, that means that I won’t have to say no again. Now who are you?”

“Who the hell are you?” one of the cronies commented. “Probably too stupid to be scared.”

This caused the other two to laugh.

“Aren’t you going to pull any weapons on me?” Enrique asked in the same bored tone.

“What’s a matta foo, are you really too stupid to be scared? This is my neighborhood. I’m the boss here.”

“Oh, sorry, I did not know that I was in the presence of aristocracy, these must be your trained monkeys.” The older man said smiling and warming up to the conversation.

“You son of a bitch!” the one said. “I’ll let you walk away if you just give us your money. I might just walk away. . .”

Enrique smiled. The man felt his own life shudder in that smile. “How about this, walk away, now, and I’ll let you live.” This enraged the two men and the one paled slightly as he took one step backward.

One of the three lurched to assault Enrique and found himself landing on the asphalt. Enrique spun and caught the man by his head. He continued his turn taking the head with him until he heard a cluck as the neck reached and continued past the breaking point. The man collapsed in a heap. He was still alive, he just couldn’t move anymore as he lay unconscious. The first man started to rise, Enrique pulled his blade and applied the tip to the base of his skull where it joined the vertebrae. With an upward angle, he shoved the blade in until it stopped at the hilt. He jerked the handle, pulling the long blade out of the thug and released the body. He turned and looked at the leader. He moved to the second attacker and run the blade into his chest. He removed the blade in similar fashion and stood facing the leader of the threesome. “You should have left when you were given the chance. Now it’s too late.” The man’s pants darkened in the electric sun of the streetlamp.

In one smooth motion, Enrique threw the sharp knife that promptly buried itself deep into his neck just below his Adams apple. The thug grabbed at his wound wide eyed as he fought to remove the obstruction that was keeping him from breathing. The man calmly walked up and grasped the handle of the knife and jerked. The blade pulled free, bit unfortunately, the life giving fresh air did not flow. He was drowning as he gasped for air. What air passed through was gurgling in a flood of another life giving fluid that was now free flowing in a pressure free detour into his lungs. Enrique, the old man, stepped back in front of the thug and wiped the blade on the front of his shirt. Then he stepped around back of him and placed the tip of the blade in the bend of the thugs neck where the neck meets the shoulder. He increased the pressure as he held the man from resisting. “It’s all about decisions in life, some good, and some bad. You could have chosen to help people rather than rob and terrorize then, that was a bad decision to stop people’s progress in their journey. They chose to be good.” Enrique increased the pressure pushing the knife into his neck area at a 45 degree angle. “I am presuming that you have hurt a lot of innocent people during your short time as a worthless thug. You have one more appointment to keep. I’m here to make sure that you keep it. The steady pressure pushed the blade slowly deeper. The thug stiffened at first then fell slack as his life left his body. The now limp body sagged to the ground and Enrique removed the knife and looked around. He searched all three bodies taking cell phones, paper, and anything that might lead him to the next level of thuggery.

He found nothing to help him, really. Two did have over four thousand dollars on them. Apparently, this type of thug based urban terrorism was quite profitable. He couldn’t call this one in. It would look like he was out looking for trouble. Then people, mainly law enforcement, would begin looking into his past. On the surface, no one looked at a man of the cloth as anything but a mild mannered, soft spoken, gentle, and anything but a violent vigilante. Although there were a few with unpalatable reputations that made the whole look bad. But that was only a few.

He looked around to make sure that he left no evidence of his being there. The big ones were cameras, finger prints, shoe prints, or any other incriminating evidence. His commination must remain unknown to all but two others. Mills was one of them and his younger partner who he had met but once. Still, the less that knew the better.

Satisfied, he checked himself for injuries or blood from his victims, his sudden increase in new clothing would raise more than a few eyebrows. He had another thought as he felt the money in his pocket, was the money marked? He could look at it and hold it up to the light, or expose it to infrared or black light, but what if the serial numbers were traced? He could always claim that they came through the collection plate. Better yet, he would have Mills exchange them and he would have clean money while the possibly dirty funds left the country. The plans and organizing were now falling into place. His longevity would determine on how long he could remain undetected as well as unrecognized. Both were equally important. So far, the thugs that could identify him or encountered him could speak no more. Like the pirate saying goes, “Dead men tell no tales.”

The news tripped across his handy work by chance. The police called in a specialist and a profiler. The news went to investigate and found three known gang members dead. The talking heads were quick to twist the story as a robbery and drug deal gone badly. That made Father Son smile ever so slightly. He had a meeting with others of the ordained sect about the moral of the flocks and to try to come to a decision as to what they could do. In the end, it was agreed to preach and pray peace, patience, and to love and to let law enforcement do their jobs to clean the streets.

The rest of the day was spent hearing confessions. It was more of the same, anger, fear, dread and they were all joined with relief of more dead urban terrorists. Who cares how it happened, it happened, and it was being taken as a sign from God. They had hope. Some offered ideas on how to be rid of them from opening the stadium, rounding up all the gangs and placing them in the stadium with weapons and low concussion grenades that maimed but not strong enough to kill. The reason was controlling the structure damage. Another idea was to trick them into thinking they won a prize and gassing them when they come to collect. Some were so bizarre as to actually make the Father worried due to some of the farfetched ideas.

In the end, he felt almost dirty. His flock wanted solutions and results for the crimes committed by the lawless thugs. Another term continued to emerge with regularity. They were describing the thugs as urban terrorists. This was a phrase the Father Son would soon adopt himself.

Enrique was going out two to three times a week, and out of the three times a week, he would encounter trouble two of the times. If he only went out twice a week, he would encounter problems zero to two times a week. A lot of the encounters depended on what day of the week and what time of the evening he went out.

The media was having a heyday with the mystery vigilante, hero of the city since the person was only taking out bad guys and known gang members. The police were offering a reward for the person’s where-a-bouts, and the gang members had a contract on the person’s head if they could ever identify who was doing the killing. Finally, the citizens loved whoever was offing the thugs/urban terrorists because crime was shrinking noticeably in their neighborhoods.

Enrique was now coming to grip with what he was doing. His head cleared but he couldn’t stop until his self-appointed mission was done. He did have to go through the papers and news to get an accurate tally. Eight weeks and the count were over 120 gang members gone. Of course some mothers denied that little “Thuggie Small” was a banger and never carried weapons. Of course police arrests records show that “Thuggie Small” as well as other bangers had a long list of weapons related crimes such as armed robbery, weapons trafficking, and extortion just to name a few.

He was searching the community for a high perspective point. The only obvious high point was the water tower. He had to watch for air traffic. Last thing he needed was to turn into a sitting duck because of being seen by a cop chopper or some aircraft enthusiast out on a night flight. The nice thing about a quality suppressor is that they are silent and the perps will have no indication as to where the shot came from. He could carry a small tarp that was made to look like the tower in color and texture. The main problem was getting to the tower and then climbing up and down from where the action was. The alternative was to sit on a tall rooftop and hope. There were still lots of targets. Just how many he still had no idea.

He would operate until he could either no longer operate or until someone successfully got him in their sites. Enrique returned unchallenged this night. Tomorrow would be a full day of confessions. He was both looking forward to his lot, but also loathing it as well. Confession had become both praise of his now side work and a condemnation. He was tortured enough without being old about the evils of what he was doing, though none knew but a couple others. Their words were aimed at him. They just didn’t know it.

He packed his gear away when he got back to his room, walked to his office, turned on the desk light, and poured himself a triple shot. Downing the contents and then proceeded to pour another.

Enrique awoke, face down on the desk. He sat up with a pen, a stick note, and three paperclips stuck to his face. He checked the time. He had an hour and a half before his first confession. He showered, shaved, and donned his vestments. His appearance was a little mottled, but no one would see unless they saw him enter or leave the confessional. He quickly ate egg and toast washing it down with orange juice. He walked to the congregational hall.

It was as he predicted. Back to back of the Lord’s will being done by the mystery vigilante making the streets safe for all once again, this was heard off and on all day. There were also a few that thought that the vigilante was just a murderer. Let the police struggle to gain control. Then the door opened and slowly pulled closed with a soft click. He said his bit and waited. “Father forgive me for I have sinned. I have lusted after the vigilante wanting to either be him or be with him.” It was Tom Collins. “I know this is wrong Father, but I can’t help myself. I want to help him, but I made a promise to Father Son, what should I do?”

“Keep your promise, my son. This vigilante could be killed at any time. Even sooner if his identity is ever learned. His actions are not sanctioned by the authorities. Let them deal with this.”

“I understand Father. But I also believe I know who the vigilante is. The most qualified are employed by the police or sitting in these two boxes. I know it isn’t me Father. Can I see you in your office later today?”

“You can visit me anytime, my son. But I feel that your presumptions are way off track. I finish here at five, come see me then. For your penance, five Hail Marys and three Our Fathers.”

“Yes Father, see you at five.”

Father Enrique barely heard any confessions after Tom left. Did he really know or was he only assuming. The door opened and closed. The person sat and groaned. “Hey buddy, you got any paper on your side?”

The Father smiled. “Mills, what can I do for you today, my son?”

“Checking on your supplies, this is the safest way to do so. What do you need?”

“Two ceramic knives, and a box of nines, rapid expanders, 180 grains, and two more repack kits for the nines. I hope I am making a difference.” Mills cut him off.

“If you stop now, you will be discovered. The ones you are encountering are sent to see who you are. To try to identify you, and to try to get that fat contract that seems to grow every week. You’re winning, crime is down 39 percent. From what I am hearing, their numbers are decreasing fast. The ones that aren’t killed are leaving town to keep from being killed. But if you quit, it will give them time to think, do research, put things together and discover you. Then nothing will stop them from getting to you.”

“Thank you Mills, that’s all I need for now. Is there anything I can do for you, my friend and brother?”

“Pay the bill I send you if you quit. I don’t need anything, just keep watch of your six, and stay frosty.”

“Done, and thanks again.”

Five o’clock came and went and no Tom. He arrived 20 minutes after five while the father was contemplating his schedule. He had to constantly change it up to keep from developing a pattern. So far, no one was able to identify him or even follow him. He just hoped it lasted. He also predicted that there would be but one ending. Either it would be a shootout with the thugs or he would be shot to death by the police. Either way, his outcome was bleak at best. He wouldn’t shoot anyone who was not a thug. No innocents and so far it was too easy to tell the difference.

As the weeks went by, the thugs sought him out as an easy mark, then he would leave only the bodies, and if he used a weapon, he would score the barrel to change the mark on the slug. He always modified the same spot as to just not add to the marks.

Enrique hit the fishbowl lottery one night at about 11:45pm. He was on the roof of a building across the street from a suspected thug quarters. The sniper rifle was soundless, flameless, and unsearchable at night beyond 100 meters. He was perched at 150. It was literally fish in a barrel. What he didn’t get inside, he got as they came running from the building totaling 34. Their numbers were dwindling fast. His mode of kill was varied and the media heads were now assuming that a small army was attacking the gang members. There were many names flying around about the vigilante army.

People were feeling safer, crime was plummeting. The police department was more flummoxed than anything else. No clues, no witnesses, no hints, no evidence what-so-ever, and what surveillance video was watched and available determined that the perps were taken out at long distance by a very good sharpshooter. They did find what they thought was his roost, but it was only from the angle. Upon investigating the possible shooter’s spot, the only evidence was some scuffed and displaced gravel where someone might have sat or moved around. But there was not enough evidence to even prove that this was where the shooting had come from. It could have come from inside the upper floor windows as well. But the detective was sure this was the spot regardless of evidence or lack of evidence.

Enrique sat in his office. How many more before it stopped? He guessed that the thugs were abandoning the sinking ship like the rats that they were. The ones remaining did so for fear of threats of death. This had to end soon. Tom knew he was the person eliminating the thugs, or at least he thought he knew. Enrique did not know for sure.

He thought back on the meeting with Tom. “You’re 20 minutes late my son, is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Father, but I feel I know that you are the vigilante. The first instance was where they attacked you and you took out all five. An average person cannot do that. Only a trained professional can do that.”

“I’m sorry, my son, but you look in vain. Be at peace and keep your promise.”

“You are not denying it Father. I want to help this person.”

“Nor am I confirming it either Tom, do not pursue this person. They won’t even wait for a trial. The police will learn who he is and shoot him on sight! He has killed so many.”

“So many that needed to be punished. Innocent people are perishing at the hands of these evil terrorists. There has to be some accountability. This person can do the work quicker with two!” Tom said trying to convince the priest.

“How do we know that there is not more than one? It would seem that there would have to be at least two or three to have done all of this so far.”

“Or one highly specially trained soldier. You can’t fool me Father. I’ll discover who he is, and I will help him.”

“If no one has been able to discover his identity, how is it that you think you can? Keep your promise and protect your family. They need you now to protect them. You can’t do that if you are out and away from your family, or dead from being caught. If you go out looking for this man, get into a fight for life situation and win and the police show up, they will think you are the vigilante. Just think about your actions Tom. They may shoot on sight.”

“I have Father, I have made my decision. I need to find this man and at least offer my expertise. If I’m rejected, then so be it.”

Enrique looked at the man long and hard before replying. “You must follow your conscious and heart, my son. I can only offer you advice. This is why you seek me. Do what you must, but remember your sworn obligation, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and your children. What would happen to them if something happened to you? Just keep that thought in the back your mind and heart.”

Father Enrique tried everything to keep him from pursuing after him in hope to help him. He knew it could all end violently. He was only going through the motions now as a priest. He tried to keep something of his faith, but it grew dismal week after week. How would God look upon one of his messengers turned messenger of death. The mere thought used to run chills down his spine to his very soul. Now, he felt nothing.

He had taken to leaving by one way and entering by another way to keep anyone from following or accidently seeing him. True, he wore clothing to disguise himself when he left, but who would he really be fooling? In truth, he could only be fooling himself.

He walked around baiting to be mugged, robbed, or just assaulted. He knew they were there, he could feel them watching him. He had to change up his disguises. The thugs were getting wise and spying their marks before an attack. As long as they didn’t shoot before coming out of their little hidey holes to rob him he should be okay. He wore the body armor religiously now. It had saved him twice already. The black and blue welts were now healing to an ugly green bruising. But it’s still better than leaking fluids.

Bingo, three were coming out of a house on the left. He was an old man tonight. Easy mark, right? They came out and Enrique immediately noticed the curtains move from the house that they just left. He looked across the street and saw a similar scene.

This could be it. Could this be his end? Or were they just witnessing a possible robbery/killing. Were they initiating new prospects for the gang? Enrique needed to keep the ones outside between him and the window peepers. It would be difficult as soon as any action started. It could possibly end up like shooting fish in a barrel, and he would be the fish. He pulled in his arms feeling the bulk of the silenced nines. His body armor fit him like a finely tailored suit. He could move freely in it.

The three continued to advance on the old man. The old man looked at them and kept walking. One stepped into the street while the other two watched from a safe distance. The one walked up to the old man. “Hey, old man, you lost?”

In a gravelly old voice he replied. “I, I don’t know where I am. I think I am lost.”

“Come inside sir, it’s not safe out here. The gangs are being selective in their attacks. They’re looking for that vigilante or vigilantes. Come inside, we can call the cops or call you a cab. I won’t touch you unless you need help, okay?”

“Okay, you’re not a gang member are you?” the old man asked.

“No sir, I’m trying to get through college.”

“What about your friends?”

“They are my classmates, we need to get inside!” he said in a rushed but hushed tone of urgency.

“Okay, I can get home by a cab.” The old man said weakly.

Enrique was on over drive. His alert meter was off the charts. This so called college boy seemed to be legit on the surface. The eyes from the windows never left them. The other two boys stayed their ground until they were on the sidewalk. The front door of the house that they came out of, opened. “Hurry, they could be anywhere!”

They all heard a noise from between the houses. “Don’t bother Holmes, go inside like a good little pansy. Leave the geezer where he is.”

The old man stood hunched over, wide eyed, and his voice trembled when he spoke. “I just want to go home! I don’t know where I am.”

“You in the wrong hood old man, if you got enough money on you, we might only rough you up and let you wonder out of here. But if you don’t, well, you’ll pay for wasting my time.”

“But I only have a few dollars.” He heard movement behind him, possibly two maybe three. Looking around, he did not like his odds. Better than 15 thugs. If he took out the obvious leader, maybe it would rattle the rest of those in attendance. He feigned pain in his chest like he was having a heart attack.

From the house, “Come on Ty, he’s an old man, let him go!”

“Shut up pansy, go inside or after we’re done with grandpa here, we’ll come inside and take care of you! Go ahead and die old man, it will save us the trouble of killing you.” He walked up to the old man and leaned down. “You should hand me your wallet before you . . .”

Ty stopped in mid threat, he was so close, the others didn’t see the razor sharp K-bar enter his abdomen and pull upward to his ribcage. He twisted the knife and sawed the blade upward cutting up and stopping at his ribcage. Blood gushed everywhere. The old man kept Ty leaning into him. The others began to taunt him. “Yo, T, just kill him already. Or at least talk louder so we can hear what you’re going to do to him.” thankfully, it was dark and the moon was covered, making It difficult to clearly see. The knife was re-sheathed and Enrique had a nine in each hand. He moaned loudly as if Ty had done something to him. The thugs began to laugh when the old man shot the thug closest to them from the hip and got him in the chest. He stood and looked down, then looked around.

“Damn T, I think I been shot!” as he swooned then collapsed.

The others began looking around and waiting for the sound of the gunshot. But it never came. Enrique dropped three more before dumping the now limp body of Ty and ducking for cover. “It’s the old man! Get him! Get him!”

As they ran for cover, Enrique shot one after another until there were less than 10. He heard a loud report and felt mind numbing pain in his back. He fell and rolled over shooting the perp point blank in the face. Another one appeared and was dropped for his efforts. Not feeling any flow of blood, he chanced a feel of the possible wound. No holes but it was really going to hurt for a while, better that than leaking fluids, he needed to live.

Another one appeared. Enrique checked then fired when he saw the weapon. Of the 15, he guessed there were three unharmed. He got to his knees and looked around. Two were ducked behind a truck. There were innocents around, he had to be careful. One pointed a weapon and Enrique ducked as he fired. The individual stood thinking he scored a kill. He was rewarded with three nine millimeter rounds to the chest. Sirens could be heard in the distance. It was time to go. He made a quick check and shot any surviving wounded thugs. Two got away, this was bad. Real bad.

The college student came out. “I shoulda known, you gotta go man! Go right between the houses and take the alley, turn right, go until you make the stream. Go right again and head about three blocks. There’s a long tunnel. There are several branches. You can go anywhere in town if you know your directions. Two got away. Not many of them left. Thank you, GO!”

Not knowing why. Enrique followed the directions and was quickly at one of the cities aquifers. He went inside and stopped, got his bearings, and moved on toward the church. He was half way back when he began to feel weak. He climbed a ladder and managed to move a manhole and climb to the surface. He found a corner and looked at the street sign. He pulled his cell phone. “Mills, I’m at 11^th and Richter. Just discovered that I got hit, need help. Please!”

“Find shade, I’m on my way. I’ll whistle two shorts. That will be me. Stay alive, brother. Help’s on the way!” Mills said.

Enrique staggered between two buildings and sat behind the dumpster. He focused on calming himself down. He felt a stream of blood flowing above the impact of the other shot. Great, this one went in. As he lay there in pain, feeling sorry for himself, he sat and waited. Fatigue was taking over. He sent a text of his location to Mills in case he passed out.

He woke up in a small room, Mills was looking him over, he had an IV in his arm and, shit, Tom was in the corner.

“Evening sunshine, welcome back to the living.” Mills said.

“Ungh! Evening, what time is it?”

“1800, you’ve been out for three days. Now before you pop your sutures. Tom over there called and said he required your presence. Life or death and only you knew and could understand. You’re covered. Relax.” Mills said assuredly.

“So what is the news saying? Two got away.” Enrique said.

“The talking heads are tight lipped if there is an ID. The witnesses account only can testify that they were helping an old man when the gang arrived. The last thing they saw was the old man turning bad ass and kicking their asses. They had never seen an old man move like a ninjer.”

“Ninjer?” Enrique asked.

“Yeah, a ninjer. You said two got away? How’d that happen?”

“I got put down by a slug to the back. It didn’t penetrate. But it hurt like hell. I dropped the one that shot me and saw one run away. He ran north between the houses. I didn’t know about the other until just before I had to run myself. At that time, I still didn’t know that I was capped.”

“There can’t be that many left. It’s not that big of a community.” Mills said.

“Is there any way to find out?” Collins asked.

“There is, it is going to raise some questions.” Mills said.

“How about this for a premise. Call a few police departments using the cover for a college thesis about gangs and the average numbers verses the population of the community, then call our PD and ask them the same question, adding in about the effectiveness or non-effectiveness of what is going on in the city? Are they recruiting faster, as fast, or slower than what the vigilante is taking them out. Do they know how many there are or how many are left? The worst that can happen is that we’ll get cussed out and hanged up on.” Tom said.

“He makes a good point. They will ask about the thesis and where else you called, what classes you are taking, and which college. I imagine they will make phone calls to verify the stories of calling the other stations. That should suffice them. Go for it Tom. If you want, the decision is yours.” Enrique said.

“I knew you were the vigilante, I don’t understand a few things. Firstly, why did you think acting alone was going to work?” Tom asked.

“It has thus far. They’re not trained, I used that against them. I’m highly trained with years of experience. They’re used to people bowing down and giving in to their thuggery and terroristic tactics. It throws them off balance for someone to stand up to them. That night I caught them off guard and sniped a whole bunch of them. I took out five of them right away. They saw their compadres fall but heard no shots. When they realized what was happening, they ran around in circles. I took out the lot of them. They never suspected where I was. I am sure the police suspect or know where my nest was by now. No trace, no evidence, but there are some things that you cannot hide.”

“Okay, secondly, what made you begin this? Everything you say, preach, and advise is completely opposite of what you’re doing. What happened?” Tom asked.

“Months ago, remember the initial news report of a man that five thugs attempted to mug a man, but the man took out all five in self-defense?” Tom nodded. “That man was me. I refused to allow the news to get any video, pictures, or even my name. I told them that I refused them any form of use of my name, image or anything that could possibly identify me. I got back home and prayed and thought hard about what happened. I asked God for a sign. That sign came the very next morning in confession. Not just one, but almost every single person gave thanks for the man whom they heard take out five thugs in self-defense. I had also begun to sleep with out drinking myself to sleep and seeing every face I saw through my scope. I felt renewed with a new purpose.” Enrique said not smiling. “I fell Tom. I fell from grace, there has to be another way. But this is the only way I know of. I took on a job that the police would not, or could not take on. The other night was close; I got away with sirens rapidly approaching. I know that the police will shoot me on sight. I’ve killed so many that they’ll deem me too dangerous to try to take in alive, and I wouldn’t blame them. Though, I would not or will not fight them or any innocent. The end only has but one outcome.”

“Not if every gang member is taken out first, then you could melt away into obscurity. Thirdly, why wouldn’t you let me in to help? What made it right for you and wrong for me?”

“Really Tom? Look at me. This could be you, or worse. I was given special, state of the art body armor, which, by the way, Mills. We will need to discuss just what the hell happened. But Tom, I have a network. I presume you have something or you wouldn’t be here. But the major factor, Tom, is this; I have no ties, no family, and nothing to lose by doing this. You have a family, a responsibility to your family, and obligations to yourself as well as them. You have too much to lose. I would have felt personally responsible if I would have endorsed you to do this, even just by helping.”

“I appreciate that Father.” Tom started to say but Enrique held up his hand stopping him.

“I lost favor with God by acting as judge, jury, and executioner, Tom, what I did wasn’t right.” He said sadly. “Mills, how deep did that slug go?”

“About six inches. It didn’t hit anything important. You just lost a lot of blood. You should be feeling better pretty damn quick. You need to finish this and begin making amends, Enrique. God will forgive you, but you need to forgive yourself first. Your parish needs you desperately. I’ve seen it when I went in to make contact. I go in every couple of days since you’ve been here. They’re worried and want you back. So no more excuses.”

“Yes mother.”

“Tomorrow, we get you vertical and see how you do. Right now, rest. We should have a good data set if the PD gives us what we want.” Mills said. “Tom, use my computer and get busy.”

Tom left the room.

The next morning, Tom and Mills began making calls and querying about crime, gangs, and current events for a criminal thesis for a doctorates in criminal psychology, profiling, and criminal studies. Two hours later, they called city PD. That interview went like the others until the vigilante topic came up.

“What is the relevance of that question to your thesis?” the officer asked incredulously.

“A weighty portion in this case. A profiler has to be able to establish a background, history, and a rough description by available evidence.” Tom said.

“Okay, enlighten me, how much do you know of our case, now, take into consideration that I cannot go into details. Nor can I really discuss anything that isn’t already in the media, but I am curious to hear your perception and what you think of the person’s profile, purpose, MO, and what made the person in question start this journey of being the law?” the man asked.

“Okay, let’s begin with the why, something obviously happened to the person that triggered a revenge mechanism. An average person would sit back and hound the police and the media making a nuisance of himself. I am also presuming that the vigilante is male, considering the pattern of brutality of the attacks will take a well built and very strong individual. He would also have to be specialty trained, special operations maybe, a Ranger, Green Berets, Navy SEAL or something equivalent with sniper training. So he has a military background. The why could have been someone close to him was killed, a better term for this application would be brutally murdered. Possibly his family, and with nothing left to lose and seeing nothing in the line or results from authorities, sorry, nothing personal, he decides to take care of it himself. Let’s get back to describing him, well built, between five foot eight and six foot. He is somewhere between 165 and 220 pounds, possibly Caucasian, but definitely light complexion. He feels the need to not just track down those who wronged him, but has taken it on himself to better society by eliminating the entire threat, the entire gang. The problem will remain as to a successful conclusion, then what, move to another town? He hasn’t injured anyone innocent, so he poses no threat to innocents or law enforcement. As far as his pattern, I’ve not been able to detect one. He hits hard, fast, and it ends as fast as it begins. He obviously studies his enemies to make sure that no friendly casualties are incurred. That was what I was able to deduce form the media and newspapers.” Tom said.

“You really need to look us up when you graduate. That or you know who the person is. Do you?” the officer on the line asked.

“Not a clue sir. But I will look you up when I graduate. Is a military background a plus?”

“Definitely, now how did you come to the height of the person?”

“From the descriptions of the people that the news said he grappled with. Some were short, and some were very tall.” Tom said. “But back to one of my original questions. When this started, could you tell me the gang population per community or number per city? Or is that sealed information?”

“I estimated that there were around 600 gang members given death rates by violence and new prospects.” He said.

“Has that number changed due to recent, uh, events?”

“I’ll say, the population dropped fast. Many left the city for fear of being hunted down and killed. Some actually turned themselves in confessing to crimes that were still open just to get the police to protect them, if you can believe that. With the incident last night, we believe that there are only two left. The leader and second in command were killed last night, but the two that are still kicking were challenging for the leadership seat. They make the leaders look like choir boys.”

“I know you can’t speak personally on this, but how does the department look at this person. How are they looking at stopping him?”

“Professionally, he’s a rogue menace. The department has authorized stopping him by any means possible. Obviously armed and extremely dangerous, and to take no chances. Personally, and this is so far off the record that it’s not even in the same state, and I will deny any of this if you get stupid enough to print it. But talking to you, I don’t think you will. I think this bastard should get a medal for doing what no one else could do. But I’m not allowed to say such things. What are your thoughts?”

“I am in agreement for what I am hearing and reading. He has only targeted known gang members. My opinion would change immediately if he hurt or started hurting innocents, then it would show a psycho on a murder train, if you excuse the expression.” Tom said.

“You don’t think he is there now?” the officer asked baiting a response.

“No I don’t, he’s too calculated, and he knows what he is doing. As crazy as it may sound, I don’t think he’s dangerous, unless you’re part of this gang. I don’t even think he would resist law enforcement if they find him.” Tom said cautiously.

“For his sake, I would like to think you’re right. But I’m still not taking any chances.”

“That’s all I have sergeant. Thank you for your time.”

“Glad I could be of help. And I was serious about coming in when you graduate. I could really use a mind like yours!”

“Thank you, I will, good bye.” He said as he hanged up the phone.

Mills looked at Tom. “Well?”

“I have a job when I graduate, or a firing squad. There appears to be a shoot on sight order if they find him. The sergeant sounded like he all but worshipped the guy. Enrique has caused many gang members to see the err of their ways and actually turn themselves in confessing to crimes that had been unsolved for police protection.”

“But is there a number of remaining gang members?” Mills asked.

“The reports are two remaining. The leader and second in command were killed the other night but the two that remain are much worse than the leaders. The sergeant referred to the situation as the two remaining make the former leaders look like choir boys.

“Hmm,” Mills said rubbing his chin. “Interesting choice of words.”

“Last two,” Enrique said, “Then I can stop.”

A week later, Enrique was up and about. They watched the talking heads to see what was going on in the community. It took a week for the remaining thugs to begin their new reign of terror. They were obviously baiting the vigilante to come after them. He would soon enough. For only being two of them, they were in full gear creating mayhem, fear, and all sorts of terror.

They had to be stopped, permanently.

Enrique worked to get his strength back while Tom and Mills did more research. They were narrowing down the possible were-a-bouts of their hide-outs. Enrique was coaxed to going back and continuing his pontiff duties.

His flock was glad to see him and hoped his journey was a success. He assured them of just that. But he might soon be needed again. He just didn’t know when.

He was still uncomfortable from being shot, but the more he moved around, the better he felt. The two started robbing homes during broad daylight. It was as if the police were powerless to do anything about the two thugs. Mills was inspecting the wound and happy with the results, but unhappy with the look on Enrique’s face. “What’s on your mind brother?”

“We, I, we have to stop these two, I can’t understand the police. They should have apprehended them by now. But no one had seemed to even try to make an effort. It’s almost as if they are running the PD.” Enrique said. “That wouldn’t surprise me in the least. The evidence pushes that direction. Even from the beginning, they have been inactive against the gangs, but very active on trying to stop the vigilante. This really concerns me when the police protects the criminals and condemns and then convicts the honest citizens. What will they do when those last two paychecks are gone? Will they come full force to find us? Will we have to flee for our very lives?” Tom queried.

“I will be the one they will be looking for. It’s not like I’m innocent. I have taken many lives. Whatever they do if they find me, they will justify one way or another. It is only a matter of time. I won’t fight the law, which would place me below the urban terrorists that I have been fighting.”

“You must do what your heart guides you to do. A good man told me that and I pass it to you Enrique.” Tom said.

Another week passed and the crime spree of the two took on comical proportions, seven days and six rapes, 14 stolen vehicles, 29 breaking and entering, and nine murders. “They have been busy little thugs, haven’t they? I think we can now pay them a visit in their own house.” Mills tossed a sheet of paper accompanied by a photo. “An address and confirmation that they are using this building as their HQ. I also found out that the police know about it as well, but for some reason, won’t do anything about it.”

“Then that leaves it up to us then.” Enrique said.

“I don’t like it Son. The math just doesn’t add up on this one.” Mills said.

“I think we need to watch it.” Collins replied.

“People are being wronged and are dying. How long do you think we should wait while they kill and steal?” Enrique asked not real happy with the sudden turn toward caution.

“Just a couple days, I’m well aware of the additional crimes that will incur, but I don’t want to go into a hot zone where cops are part of the formula. I don’t want to fight cops!” Mills said.

“I won’t fight cops.” Enrique said harshly.

“And what if police are protecting them? What will you do, walk away?” Mills said.

“To fight another day, yes.”

“But you said that people are being wronged and are dying!” Mills said.

“Using my words against me isn’t? You know what I mean.” Enrique said.

“I know, but you need to see a possible scenario that you might have missed.” Mills said.

“Believe me, I’ve thought of every possible scenario, instance, and person. Why do you think I’m still alive?” Enrique said.

“Oh yeah, about that, you’re welcome. These last two may take time and patience. I recommend that we stake out this place for at least a week. You know I’m right, Son.”

“I can watch form the west side, Mills can watch from the south side, leaving you to cover the north easterly side where the best entrance is.” Collins said.

“How do you know where the best entrance is in this building?” Son asked.

“I’ve been inside that building several times. I made a few deliveries to a business that used to be in there. If we can get back in there and spend a good hour, I can wire that place for a nice fireworks display.” Collins said.

“How long do you need to collect the Pyros you need to do the job?” Mills asked.

“I have most of what I need already, but the rest I can have by Friday. That’s four days from now.” Collins said.

“Great, get on it. I’ll go drive around and scan the layout. I might get lucky and see them walking around.” Mills said.

“I wonder if there are any blueprints of the building online . . .” Collins started but was cut off by Son.

“Worst thing you could do, first it would send up flags and flares, second, it would pin an IP address. Do it from home, they know who you are. Do it from the library, they will know it was you, it will just take them a fraction longer.” Son said.

“Good point, technology is great, and it also sucks. I think I can remember enough of where I was, I will calculate on that and then multiply by six. It might be overkill, but hey, the job will be done!” Collins said.

“Just need to make sure that there are no innocents involved.” Son said.

“But if they’re in that building. They are far from innocent. That I can guarantee, and before you ask, if there are cops in there, they are dirty.” Mills said.

“But they’ll still play the cop killer scenario to build it up.” Son said.

“That’s a possibility. But it is a well-known thug hangout. The only way they could play that is if they think they can get people to believe that they were raiding the place, which wouldn’t be likely. Also, they have displayed to the populous that they will not fight organized crime.” Mills said.

“Okay, I’m convinced. Tom, do your thing. This needs to end. I agreed to observe for a week. It’s the smart thing to do.” Son said.

The rest of the evening was spent in planning on the assault. Enrique Son prayed. But it wasn’t as fulfilling as it had been just two months ago. He felt like a hypocrite. He had fallen, and fallen hard. He had become numb to so many things that he had had once held dear. His only focus was to end it and attempt to get his life back to some semblance of normal. That was his goal, and goals were good to have, and he really wanted to achieve this goal. His options were not good if he failed. Enrique shook the thought from his head. He didn’t want to think about the failure option. “Keep it positive.” He said softly. “What?” Mills asked, “I didn’t catch that.”

“Oh nothing, I just thought out loud, sorry.” Son said.

“No problem unless you start to argue, then I won’t know how to handle that one will I?” Mills said jokingly.

“You won’t, that I promise.” Son said.

For the next week, the only thing they saw enter and leave that building were the two thugs. On two occasions they saw the police captain enter the building with the two then leave alone. It seemed to the three that they could be looking at a police captain on the take. It’s going to be interesting to watch this one playout.

By the end of the week, Collins was ready for his part in the “Operation atomize.” As he took to calling it. There were lots of opportunities to act, and act they did. The place was wired to detonate with a push of a wireless button. It had to be done. These two had sealed juvenile records. Why was that, he didn’t recognize any of them. They either had something on important people, or were related to important people. Collins was ready, but he had a very bad feeling about the aftermath. Though he knew he wasn’t followed, he found no cameras in the building or outside. He didn’t even find any kind of surveillance on neighboring buildings, but he still felt as though he were being watched. It was a feeling he dreaded. Every time he had that feeling, bad mojo went down.

Collins had gone back in twice before the day of Operation Atomize. Nothing had been moved or disconnected. There were no signs of tampering. He designed and built the system in such a way that if anyone did anything to any of the wires, their day would become very short, very violent, and very loud.

“Are we ready?” Son asked suiting up with the body armor.

“Set!” Mills replied.

“Set, but . . .” Collins trailed off.

“Second thoughts?” Enrique asked Collins.

“Hells nah, but I got an uneasy feeling about this mission. When I feel like this, bad shit always comes down guys. It has to be done, tonight, but we need to watch our six.” Mills and Son eyed each other.

“Should we scrub for tonight?” Son asked Mills.

I don’t see how we can. We will rotate parameter when we get in place. We need to time it just right. We can detonate by glass three blocks away. Catch them as they enter and there won’t be enough to reclaim with a wet vac and a sponge. I would rather detonate from a distance and not have to take a chance on exposing ourselves.” Son said.

“They closed in and stacked their hands as a team before the game. “For the good of the community!”

“For the safety of the town!”

“For the protection of the people!”

Each one aimed at a different vehicle and took off. There was a tall parking structure three blocks away that one could see the main entrance. Son parked there. Mills took the west side so he could monitor the west side of the building while Collins took to the North West side of the building.

Mills and Collins were focused on the mission. Father Enrique Son sat in the silence. His mind started as focused on the mission, but soon began to waver. He started this out of anger, revenge for himself and his flock. But as he sat, a horrible feeling came over him. He had become what he hated most. He was no better than those he pursued, claiming right verses evil. His ear piece spoke.

“Movement toward the front, be alert.” Collins said.

“Targets confirmed, I say again, targets confirmed. Be ready, E.”

Enrique snapped back to the moment. But his thoughts were overshadowed by what he had become. He looked at the building with the two people entering, then he looked down to the remote he had in his hand like it was some strange exercise toy. Repulsed by its operation but unable to discard it for what it was, a lethal detritus.

“They’re inside. Now, E, Now!” the ear piece echoed. Enrique stared in astonishment as his hand pumped the strange exercise toy of death. Once, nothing happened, twice, it was like cranking that damn Jack in the Box, you know what’s going to happen, but you still jump anyway. Thrice, the building leapt from its foundation and turned into ruble and powder. Fourth squeeze was shock, a needless squeeze. Two more bodies on his long list of deadly sins. “May God have mercy on my worthless . . .” the side of Mills head turned inside out and ending up looking like a burst pink, red, and grey water balloon ending with a large spray of matter, a .50 caliber sniper bullet ended his prayer before he was able to say, “Amen” praying that the Lord was listening.

Collins was closer to Mills and heard the large weapon explode. He looked through his binoculars in time to see Mills tip forward and collapse below the barrier wall of the parking garage.

Enrique heard the run like hell command in his ear piece. “Scramble! Scra . . .” was cut off by a large weapon detonation at close range. He knew not to look. This wasn’t his first ambushed rodeo. They were either going to kill him or make an example of him. He just wondered what connection the kid had on the police chief, mayor, or the whole shebang to wait until the entire gang was taken out, and then take out the executioners only after they had done their dirty work. Enrique, already on the move, had a knife in one hand, his suppressed nine in the other. They were going to have to earn their capture. It took them no time to reach his position. But he was moving and already over 100 meters away turning around a dark corner. He remained covered from head to foot in black to blend in with the night. His survival deeply depended on his cunning and training. Apparently he had been selected as the patsy. It was justified if they knew who did all the killing. But they were grasping at straws. They knew, or at least thought they knew who had committed all the killings. But they really were still heavily in the dark.

Now all of the gang’s members who caused all the mayhem and urban terrorism were gone. Their mode of thanks was to kill who they thought was responsible, not arrest and bring to trial, mind you, just total annihilation.

“Two men who only helped him, neither one pulled a trigger, slit a throat, or ended a life in this were now gone. It wasn’t right. They went after him in the same manner as, as,” Enrique stopped in a shadow. The cops went after him exactly like the thugs, like they were trained by them.

He took off again. His thinking was still analyzing as he made his way down to his goal. “They knew who it was all along. Apparently the thugs got greedy or the cops just lost control of them. He was their hitman. He brought the criminal under control giving the real criminals back control!”

Enrique had to plan this carefully. He needed to interrogate a cop. And there was only one way that was going to happen.

Enrique managed to escape the area and arrived at the parish. He went to the very back building that was used for storage now. It was the original building with lots of hidden rooms and passageways.

He found the area he wanted. The power was still on in the building and crude wiring had been installed in the 40s, a turn switch lighted a hanging light bulb that dimly lit the room.

After a few trips in and out of the room, he was satisfied with its set up. The old wooden chair occupied the center of the room with a spot lamp aimed at the chair. The only other items in the room were a card table, an audio recorder, and a video camera that was also aimed at the chair.

“Now to find a participant.” Enrique said to no one in the room.

He re-entered the street and discovered news vans driving around. He knew they were closing in on him, he had to act quickly.

He strolled around in the shadows until he spotted a cruiser with one lone officer behind the wheel. Before the cop could react, Enrique had the man pulled from his cruiser and disabled. A quick glance in the car told him everything he needed to know. There was a picture of Mills, Collins, and himself on the seat. He took those as well. He turned off the portable radio and removed it from the officer and his gun belt. He donned both until he had them back at the parish and in the ad hoc interrogation room. Secured into the wooden chair, his personal items by the recording equipment on the table, and the radio droned at low volume. Enrique sat behind the light, waiting for the soon to be informant to awaken.

The man stirred, Enrique activated the recording equipment. It took an additional 15 minutes for the man to become lucid.

The man raised his head and looked around, fear registered on his countenance as he squinted against the spotlight.

“Would you like some water?” Enrique asked. The man nodded his head, a tall shadow approached him and opened a new water bottle and held it to his lips. The man drank.

The shadow stepped back out of the camera’s view leaving the uniformed officer squinting against the light once more.

“There will be a few rules, and the rules are simple. I’m going to ask you some questions and you are, and I can’t state this strongly enough, you are going to answer. I do not wish to harm you, but if you make this difficult, you will leave me no choice. All I want is answers. The truth shall set you free, and it really shall. I am trained to read people. I can tell if you lie to me. I also have a punishment system in place for when I catch you lying, so let’s both avoid that area. You really don’t want it, and I really don’t want to use it. Let’s start simple, what is your name?” the voice asked.

“Officer Mike Turner.” He said looking in the direction of the voice.

“Are you afraid right now?”

“Duh, you going to off me. What do you think?” Mike said.

“I told you, if you tell the truth, I will not harm you. You don’t believe me?” the voice said.

“No I don’t. You have me tied to a chair with a light in my face. I think you’re recording this too.” He answered noticing the slow flashing red LED of the camera.

“Indeed I am. This protects both of us. Now it’s question time. First question, why weren’t the two men apprehended when the building blew up. Why were they killed at long range instead of arrested?”

“They killed a lot of people. They didn’t want to take a chance on being killed.” He said.

“I think you’re leaving something out. They never harmed anyone not directly linked to the gang. They had never hurt innocents or law enforcement. In every instance, they only harmed known gang members. I ask again, why were they shot and not given the opportunity to surrender?”

“I, they were afraid.” He said obviously hiding more in his answer than he intended to show.

“Do you feel the metal under each hand?” Turner nodded. “Their copper sheets, they are connected to 220 volts of AC current. I have a switch, and a regulator. Here, let me demonstrate.”

There was the snap of a switch. Mike cringed but felt nothing, at first.

“HA! What, did you forget to plug it in? Is it hooked into a GFCI? Or . . . OH MY GWAD!” he hissed through gritted teeth as Enrique turned up the power in the regulator. He snapped off the switch and the current stopped. Enrique increased the regulator by 20 percent.

“Now, you felt the demonstration voltage. I have increased the voltage. Let’s try that question again. I want the truth.” He said.

“I don’t know.” He said, Enrique snapped the switch and Mike gritted his teeth in obvious discomfort. This lasted for five seconds.

“Next time, it will be more than uncomfortable. I highly advise that you start talking. They say you can die from one amp if you get it long enough. This is a 30 amp circuit. I have little reservation to turning it on and walking away. That is entirely up to you. Now, one last time on question number one.”

“They were under orders, no contact except for the third one. Arrest him and put him in the hospital and make the injuries look like he resisted. I swear it’s the truth!”

“Second question, how long did they know who the three vigilantes were?” Enrique asked.

“What are you talking about? No one knows who they are.”

There was a loud snap as the switch was thrown, the officer groaned as the electricity coursed from his hands, up through his arms and made contact in his chest. Two seconds, three seconds, four seconds went by when the cop opened his mouth to cry out. At five seconds there was a loud snap of the switch as the power was shut off from the chair. The sudden silence was agonizing. “Now, as you were saying, oh, and for a point of reference, I just increased the power 30 percent. Try to remember that when you try to be a hero to protect your corrupt brothers.”

“They found out when Super G got away and the leaders died at the scene. One of the witnesses knew two of the vigilantes.” He said breathless from the shock.

“They wanted them to finish off the gang. The corrupt upper echelon figured on taking over then cleaning up the vigilantes making it looked like they did something and looking good to the community.”

“What did the gang have on the upper echelon? Why were they bowing to these urban thugs?”

“I can’t tell you that, they’ll kill me if they know I told you this.” Thought was interrupted by a familiar loud snap. This time a mind numbing throb pulsed through his torso, reaching into his brain and legs. Five seconds seemed to last an eternity. “Snap!” the power was mercilessly cut and the officer collapsed. His head was hanging from the exertion of the charge.

“Now, as you were saying, I just increased another 20 percent. I really don’t think you want to test me anymore. Now, if you please, continue.”

“Dammit, fine, the top two were related to the police chief and the mayor. There was a lot of dirt discovered from the top down. We were told to monitor until the timing was right. The last shoot out took down the founding individuals.”

“So who is this Super G? Who was the other guy?”

“Not saying,”

“SNAP!” that was not gritted silence this time. The cop cried out in obvious pain. His body shook as the voltage coursed through the least path of resistance. Four, five, and SNAP! The pain eased leaving a harsh tingling and convulsing as his body twitched in the chair. His head lulled to one side.

Enrique walked over and poured a little water in his mouth seeing that he drank it, he gave him some more, and then walked back and maxed out the dial. He repositioned the camera to get the best view of the officer. The last jolt loosened his bladder and his pants were urine soaked. “Now, as you were saying?”

“Super G is Mayor Sam Westborn’s son. We’ve been forced to cover for him for years. The other is police Chief Aaron Swanson’s son. They have literally gotten away with murder while we were ordered to look away. Any investigation that points to them was quelled and threats of death soon followed. I kept my mouth shut as well as the rest of the force. The more we covered up, the worse it became and the more egregious the crimes became. It seemed that their goal was to emasculate the city and take over. The Mayor and Police Chief left us powerless to stop them.”

“So they know who all three of them are?”

“Yes.”

“They’re planning on a public execution of the remaining vigilante then?”

“What?”

Never mind, so what was your job tonight? Now remember, there is a full 220 volt 60 amps of electricity waiting and ready for the next lie. I don’t like being lied to. You know this all too well.” Enrique said.

“I was patrolling for speeders.”

“Last chance on the truth. I just warned you about lying. My switch is at 100 percent. At 60 amps, how long do you think you’ll last?”

“Dammit, you’re going to get me killed!”

“Get you killed? I really don’t think you appreciate the thin line that you stumbled over once again. Your corrupt brothers are the least of your worries. You see, I’m the man you are supposed to be looking for. Too bad you didn’t cooperate when I asked you too. I had not injured a cop all this time feeling that they were working with limited capacity and heavy restrictions. Not simply volunteering to cover up, and bury criminal activity to protect criminal offspring of criminals. This makes you in cahoots with the criminals. Cops needlessly murdered my friends, my brothers without even allowing them the opportunity to surrender, and for point of truth and admission, they never hurt anyone. I did all the work. I pressed the button, the last clearing was all me, they only came to pick up my pieces. Your trained thugs essentially murdered two innocent men. They were only observers. Your organized mob allowed a band of miscreants to murder, rape, pillage, and embezzle against the community in which it was sworn to protect against the very people that ran them because of two internal bad boys. Good night!” Enrique hissed and with a loud, familiar, and final snap, 220 volts coursed through the officer’s body as he shook and convulsed with the AC current. He left the video running and removed the audio and converted it to a file he could email. Then he sent it to all of the news media sites. He closed the borrowed laptop and left the room with the body still convulsing to the high voltage.

This was a new development. Enrique had no plan for this. He wanted to mourn his brothers, but he knew time was short. He had to develop a plan. He really had no plan to escape, only to allot enough time to see which news crews would pass the audio files to the talking heads. He already knew what would happen next. But the new development of a corrupt police force changed everything. He wouldn’t resist. He walked to the next building. It was a covered passage so he wouldn’t be seen. He went into another older building that had tall towers and a cathedral with a very high ceiling. The towers were even taller. This would give him a great view of the street below.

He slowly climbed each step in deep thought. Had he done the right thing? It would seem so since the police refused to protect the constituency. They would still take it personally. He seriously doubted his chances of leaving the building alive.

He had two options. One, he could try to surrender and would hope he would be allowed to surrender, or two, he could fight his way out. His odds were only slightly better than none. He topped the stairs and opened the floor panel allowing him access to the bell tower. The slats were angled to keep out the weather but not the cold. The bell hung, unused, and filthy with time. Its replacement was three large speakers suspended from the rafters in the ceiling and aimed at the slatted openings.

He took his time as he looked out of each opening through the slats. Each told a similar tale, streets packed with news crews and police. Yeah, they knew alright, and he was not going to be walking out. They were going to execute him on live TV. He was going to become a martyr for public safety.

He climbed back down and proceeded to look for a tunnel to get him out of the building and out of the area. But he was not successful. His time was up. There was nothing left for him to do but strip and walk out the door and lay down. Will they shoot? Maybe, but it would be on live video and it would cause a huge investigation. He stripped down to his underwear and peered out the door. News cameras were everywhere. Cops were everywhere, all their attention was focused on that very door. It seemed as though they knew he was coming out.

He opened the door and let it open wide. He held a white T-shirt in the opening, and then stepped out in the doorway itself. He had dropped the T-shirt and had both hands in the air. Enrique Son stepped out and gingerly eased down the steps until he got to the bottom. Officers charged and dove on top of him. There was a pile of about 10 officers. There was gun shot and all movement stopped.

One by one, the officers got up. The media zoomed in trying to ascertain who had been shot, and who did the shooting. The last officer got up covered in blood, but not his. Enrique did not move. He lay motionless. No one could tell who pulled the trigger, but it was obvious who had been shot.

The media became a buzz of questions. “Who shot the Father?” “Why was he shot?” “Was he resisting?” “We just witnessed him walk out and lie down, why was he shot?” “There was no resistance.” “Was he even the right person you were looking for?” “Something isn’t right here, this just doesn’t add up.” And on and on the questions and insinuations flew.

Not one single officer answered a single question until the sergeant arrived and spoke with a few of the officers, then approached the media. “We will have more after a full investigation. But at this time, it appears to be a suicide. He had apparently acquired an officer’s weapon and shot himself.”

The media smelling a scandal immediately replied with. “Whose weapon was it? We saw no officer holster his weapon. Something smells of a cover-up. It’s all on video!”

The local investigation ended a couple of days later with the final results. “Findings in the shooting death of Father Enrique Son was found to be of his suddenly becoming combative as officers attempted to cuff him. He wrestled a weapon away from an officer, and was shot during the fight over the weapon.” The speaker of the investigation committee finished thinking that they were going to just accept his report as fact. He was sadly mistaken.

“Bullshit!” came the first reply from more than half of the media’s talking heads. “He laid face down spread eagled, even if he wanted to, he would not have been able to resist with 12 officers on top of him. You and your committee obviously did not watch one single frame of the videos that all of the news crews had taken. It was difficult to see, but we even know who shot Father Son. Those videos are now in the hands of the FBI pending the results of your findings. I think you will discover that you are going to be answering a lot of questions. I would like to know what your department is covering up. Or am I going to have to wait until we hear from the FBI’s investigation committee?”

Another talking head shouted out. “Careful or they will tackle you and shoot you saying that you were resisting arrest!”

The officer giving his report said. “No more comments, this interview is over.” As he turned and walked away.

END!

 

The Poser

            The woman stood over her subjects. She looked upon them as a mother would look upon her sleeping child. She had positioned them as if they were in the middle of a sexual encounter. Positioning her subjects was always her passion. She always examined her subjects and positioned them according to her mood and how her subjects looked when she acquired them.

Her latest subject had a blood engorged unit. So here they are, the man on his back and the woman riding him cowgirl style. That was another thing. She always used how she currently felt when she worked with her subjects. She was an artist after all.

She checked everything to make sure that everything looked natural. Now satisfied, she began to take pictures. She took the pictures from every angle imaginable. She always made sure that this takes at least three hours. This assured her that when she released them, that it was easier to move them.

The photo shoot complete, she turned to the duo on the bed. “I’m done, you can go now.” She said. It was a moot point to speak to them. They couldn’t hear her or wouldn’t respond if they did. They had died from carbon monoxide poisoning. It was odorless and tasteless, and she had an ample supply and access to as much as she wanted.

In her pure genius, she had every room in the hotel plumbed from a valved baffle system. She could pick just one room, or she could gas the whole lot. The baffle system plumbing ran through a series of secret passages. The hotel was built during the civil war and the secret passages had been conveniently left off of any prints of the property. There was nothing to prove that they existed. The building was originally part of the underground rail road. Many buildings built like this had no records of the secret passages.

So, there it was, just inside the main secret tunnel inside the main office were a panel with 30 small valves marked with the corresponding room numbers on them. The system ran on a quarter inch piping system. Carbon monoxide was so toxic that it did not take much to annihilate her intended victim or victims. The challenge was the body disposal. She had lots of acreage, but it was all open terrain. She did have a garden. She did bury other victims but it was a lot of work and she had them planted 10 feet deep.

In the work shed she saw a solution in the form of a small wood chipper. It was big enough for everything but the torso. She would have to be more creative in that area. That will come later, maybe with the wheel loader.

The job completed, which the term work only was easier by not having to dig as deep. But the effort was replaced by dismembering and the cleanup. She needed to move the outhouse that she used when she was in the back of the property. She was stricken with a brilliant idea. She dug the hole almost 20 feet deep. No grinding, no constant digging. She would just let nature take its course and cover the bodies with Lyme. There would be no smell, breakdown of all but the bones but that deep they’ll never be discovered.

Carla B. Winslow smiled and finished by relocating the outhouse over the new pit. She drove the backhoe back to the work shed and went inside. The cars were never an issue. Treat a guy right at a scrap yard and he will make everything disappear into little strips of metal.

Carla was 37 years old, divorced and technically widowed. Her estranged husband died just before the divorce finalized. The autopsy report read suicide, he was found in the garage, sitting behind his motorcycle as it was still running. His body was lying behind the bike. The coroner presumed that he was sitting cross legged in some kind of meditation. They suspected foul play but couldn’t find any evidence to support their suspicions. So they never actually closed the case. They would always come back to it when they thought of a new way to approach the case. The original investigator knew that Carla committed the murder, but nothing could be proven otherwise. She had more holes in her alibi than in a screen on a sieve.

The issue was simply a matter of carbon monoxide poisoning. It took a lab to break down the air sampling verses the blood sample. But budget short comings and lacking the proper facilities and man power stalemated the investigation. The tests alone were ridiculously expensive.

The new detective looking into the case called in a favor from his old precinct in the city. The samples were on their way to be tested. All reports surmised that Carla was involved and guilty, but there was no proof. He was struggling to make any kind of connection between her husband’s death and the woman accused. Two had said that she was trained in the use of toxic gases. This was going to be a ship board coffee type of night. Ship board coffee is a term endeared to the Navy and the strength of said coffee. Usually two levels above espresso and just as thick. It would take a few days for the samples and results to return. Steve decided to look at all the evidence that was collected in the case which was actually a staggering amount of evidence concerning it was initially flagged as a suicide. So far, none of the evidence was making any sense.

A party of five checked into the hotel. Carla looked at each one, studying everything about them. One took her studious demeanor as an act of attraction. She smiled and winked at him.

While the others left to retrieve their luggage, the one man lagged behind to try to lure her away later that night. It almost worked on her, but she let him believe that it did work and that she would meet him later in the room. He was looking forward to meeting her later. She, in turn, was looking forward to meeting him as well. But in a much different capacity than he anticipated.

The detective, John Quebec Public, yes, that is his real name, opened the first of several personal files on Carla Bridgette Winslow-Crackenbush. She was born July 13^th, 1969 to a one Rhonda Crackenbush. Father, Phillip NMI Crackenbush. Phillip worked as a butcher at the local meat processing plant.

She had anything but a normal upbringing as her mother was in and out of mental institutions until Carla’s 13^th birthday when in the middle of her birthday party, Rhonda walked in, smiled, everyone sang happy birthday, then Rhonda produced a double barrel shotgun and pulled both triggers blowing her head completely off and a ravine between her shoulders with the atomized remains oozing down the walls, paintings, chandelier, and anything or anyone else caught in the splash zone. “No doubt that left a permanent impression!” John whispered. Carla was institutionalized for three months and under suicide watch after seeing that she wasn’t a threat to anyone or herself, she was released to her father, who had lost quite a bit of his mental stability to seeing his wife turn her upper body into a red and grey lumpy mist. The report said nothing of the impact of the other party goers that were in attendance. Phillip began drinking heavily, trying to erase the constant mental video of his wife smiling, bringing up the shotgun and pressing it to the top of her sternum and pulled both triggers before anyone registered what was actually happening. It was over, loud, messy, painful, and deafening. Total silence followed by panicked shrieks and blood curdling screams of children and parents alike.

Panic set before the body fell. Phillip watched the opening in the body as the arterial spray coated everything from the ceiling to everything within several feet of her. John stopped reading and tried to put into a video of what everyone in the room witnessed. He had a very vivid imagination, bit this was so horrid that it eluded him. He was thankful that he could only vaguely see what had possibly actually happened. He began reading the account once again. Phillip drank heavily to try to drown out the images. He would experience the most disturbing and horrific images that would haunt him every day and night for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, if affected his job. His job was to split the carcasses in half with the giant band saw that ran in the middle of the continuous track. He was drunk, those around him felt sorry for him and didn’t say anything about his staggering at work until he stumbled and fell into a cow carcass. He followed it trying to regain his balance as he hugged the carcass. The carcass, accompanied by Phillip, went through the band saw cutting not only the carcass in half, but Phillip was severed in twain as well.

Inside of seven months, Carla lost both her parents in a bloody scene of death and carnage. She was spared seeing her father’s death.

Carla then crawled into a very deep shell. She was passed from one foster home to another until her grandparents won custody of her 18 months later. They tried their best, but couldn’t extract her from her shell.

She graduated high school on the honor roll and had begun college when disaster struck again.

Her grandmother was sitting at the table when she stiffened, paled, and fell face first into her coffee and oatmeal of a massive heart attack. This time, doctors ran a battery of mental stability tests. She had been through several of such tests in the past. She could answer their questions before they could get the chance to ask them. Not only were they the same questions, they were in the same order. She gave them exactly what they wanted.

In the end, they sent her home with some mild medication. She delved deeper into her shell.

Then she met Barrett Bartholomew Winslow in college. He studied horticulture and she studied toxicology. He became successful while she stagnated after graduation. She still studied and experimented with animals. But the job market was nonexistent in her locality and she refused to leave town. They married and she seemed content on the outside.

She was blessed with the news that she was pregnant. She carried the baby to full term. She was the epitome of the glowing mother to be. She did everything the doctors told her to do. In the end, she gave birth to a seven pound 12 ounce baby girl. She was still born.

Doctors tried to take the limp form away, but she insisted on holding her. She demanded that Barrett take pictures of her holding the lifeless infant, which he reluctantly did. She slid so deep into depression that Bartlett sought help for her. She went for a few sessions then quit going altogether. She appeared to be better in some ways while quite psychotic in other ways. She immersed herself in her studies of toxicology. She began using bigger animals. Since she was still licensed, she had access to just about every chemical available without a prescription.

Barrett took to riding long trips on most days that he couldn’t get her out of her lab. They began arguing. Carla mostly, and that drove Barrett into a bottle to self-medicate.

Carla took serious offense to this because of her father. After several visits from local authorities concerning domestic disturbances, Barrett filed for divorce. They received a call that they thought they had been waiting for. But they were wrong. Instead of one killing the other, it was a suicide. Or so it was reported.

Barrett was found still in the lotus position, but tipped over, face down behind his idling motorcycle. There was a note that was sloppily written stating that he had heavy guilt from an affair he was having and couldn’t handle the guilt any longer.

Two problems immediately surfaced with the note and his position. First, it was learned that he never had an affair, and secondly, he had never taken any yoga or had not known of the position in which he was found. So it was flagged as a suicide but suspicious. The coroner’s report concluded with suicide. The evidence would tell the real story. Once the tests came back, John would know for sure. Would the carbon monoxide from his lungs match the carbon monoxide from the bike? That was the 64 thousand dollar question.

John rifled through all the reports finding that all said the same thing, just from different perspectives. Now he had to wait.

Carla had walked by the room several times listening to the alcohol fueled revelry become less and less intelligent. This was when she walked back to the office and opened the valves on rooms 10 and 11. She walked passed to hear total silence from within both rooms. She returned and closed the valves and returned to retrieve their keys and be rid of their vehicle.

Soon, each had a pose fit for them. Except the one that had hit on her. His was special. He was a receiver in a three way with a woman on the bottom and he was receiving doggie style. Carla thought this was pretty demented, even for her.

She took her photos and repositioned her models. They were laid out like an old sign from the Wild West where they lined up the bodies and took a photo. Two of them looked like famous people from the old west. One looked exactly like Jesse James while the other was a ringer for Doc Holliday.  After she released them, she left the room and returned a short time later with her backhoe. She loaded three of the bodies and drove out back to the outhouse. Once there, she opened the top of the seat and dropped in the three bodies. She did the same with the last two. By morning, there was no trace of them ever having been there.

She also thought ahead. She kept a total of two ledgers for hotel quests. One was for guests who left the next day while the other was kept tucked away for her models. Both were within easy reach, book one was virtually invisible unless you knew where to look.

She retreated to her darkroom in the back of the main office. She had taken to developing her own photos for fun and privacy. She didn’t want someone copying her work and trying to claim it as their own, and some places just refused to print artistic photos such as these were.

Every once in a while someone would stumble by looking for someone who disappeared. But she would show them the ledger proving that they had never been there, or at least, not signed in. Then they would leave, never to be seen again. It was only on rare occasion that they did return and try to cause trouble. In those situations, she had a hidden third ledger that she had made up by filling in random names from the phone book from the area. This way they wouldn’t be seen from investigating eyes in the legitimate ledger, nor would they see who they were looking for in the second ledger. Her planning was flawless.

Photos done and the bodies taken care of and a layer of lime, pepper, and dirt. She perused the photos, examining each one. If she found a defect, the picture was destroyed.

Carla was making her own Kama Sutra book with her own models. She was also working on a group sex illustrated. She had other illustrated books in the works that contained black and white photos as well as sepia photos. The difficulty was in how she was going to market the books. She might have to work out the details with an underground publisher. She had one that she knew. Jesse O’Brien would publish anything to make a buck. She would probably have to use his services again. He wasn’t cheap, but his work was exquisite.

John had decided to stake out the Winslow Hotel. This was going to be quite the challenge. The hotel wasn’t on the side of the road. It was off the road almost a quarter mile, one way in and out and nothing but open flat land as far as the eye can see. He had nowhere to observe from where he had the protection of cover. So, he watched from the road. There was nothing out of the ordinary. She worked the property as anyone would. She used her backhoe like a butcher uses his knives. Then she would enter the rooms and then come out of the rooms. Not all of them, but only two of them in particular. He figured she was remodeling. Well, the modelling part was accurate.

He watched for a few days. She seemed oblivious to anything but her own little world. He didn’t know if she had video surveillance or not or was just that clueless on what went on around her. It was no matter. It worked to his benefit anyway.

After four days’ worth of staring and gaining nothing but a true definition of boring and what staring at one item on a screen of nothingness, John was about to surrender when a car passed him and drove the near quarter mile to the hotel. John left for food and a much needed bathroom break and then returned. The car was parked in front of room number three.

Things were status quo until Carla walked up to the room and let herself in 30 minutes later. He started seeing bright flashes and then a pause for another half hour, and then some more flashes. After almost an hour, she left the room and casually walked back to her office. 57 minutes after that, John heard a diesel engine start, run for a couple minutes, and then idle. He couldn’t see what was going on since it was on the other side of the hotel. The engine restarted and revved and sounded as though it was going away in the distance. It was another hour before he heard the backhoe returning. The moon wasn’t that bright and there was one dim yellow light on the equipment to guide her way. She parked the backhoe and went back to the office. The lights in the room went dark and a lone figure emerged from the room and entered the car, started the engine and pulled in front of the office, got out of the car and went inside. In less than five minutes, the figure was driving past John’s position and turning south on the highway.

John was dozing off after the car left. It had been a long day and John was suffering from the lag of sitting and doing nothing but observing.

There was a sharp rapping on the car window and this startled John to a wide eyed state of confusion as he tried to assess the scene and evaluate for danger. His eyes focused on the woman’s stern gaze just inches from the glass. He sat up rubbing his eyes. On the dash sat two photos, a pair of binoculars, and a coffee cup from Duncin Doughnuts. The seat and floor were littered with various former edible detritus wrappers. But the woman continued to glance at the binoculars on the dash as she focused on the stranger in the car.

“Hey, what are you doing here? Why are you spying on me? You some kind of pervert or something? Speak fast of leak faster!” she said loudly through the thin sheet of tempered glass.

He struggled to reposition himself as he moved his suit jacket aside to retrieve his badge. She saw a holstered weapon. He started to bring up the palmed badge until he noticed a shiny black tube with a very large dark black hole. He was now staring down the barrel of a 12 gauge shotgun. John slowly raised the badge so Carla could see it for what it was. She lowered the weapon apologizing profusely as she did.

“I’m sorry, no markings, no uniform, and my picture on your dash, I thought you were here to hurt me. So why are you here watching me. I’m not doing anything but running a business.” She said.

“I need to get out of the car. Can I do that and not be fed the business end of your weapon?”

She smiled and walked up to the hood and placed the shotgun on the hood. John got out of the car with his hand on his gun. “Sorry, but when you live and run a business, live alone, and close to being in the middle of nowhere, where a call for help is an average of 10 to 45 minutes away. A girl can’t be too careful. Now, why are you stalking or doing a stake out on my property?”

“I’m trying to put some old rumors to bed. I work cold case files.” John was interrupted.

“Is this about my husband’s suicide? Are they still trying to pin a suicide on me? He was cheating. I tried to get him back but he didn’t want that. So I told him to eat shit. When I started filing for divorce, he realized that he screwed up. But by that time it was too late, he wrote me a note and sat in the garage with his bike running. I walked in and saw him keeled over behind the exhaust. That’s it!”

“AH, HAH!” he thought, tucking that bit of new evidence aside. “Well, that’s why I’m looking into this case so I can close the lid and the book on this case. If I can close this case, it will be done, filed away and gone forever. To help me do this, would you mind answering a few questions?”

“Sure.” She nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll do anything to get this done and off my back once and for all. The other detectives just wanted to make a name for themselves and tried to hang me for Barrett’s suicide. But I was too slick for them to try to fool me.”

Now he knew he had her. “How did you and Barrett meet? The numerous files weren’t real clear on that?”

“Oh, we met in college.” She looked as if she were reliving the event.

“Were you two in the same class?”

“Oh my no. He studied horticulture. He wanted to do great things studying plants.”

“That’s very honorable. There have been many advances in growing crops, plants, and trying to help trees by eliminating as many forms of blights.” John mentioned.

“He became successful”

“The files stated that your field of study was gastro physiology?”

“Oh no, not even close, I was studying toxicology. The effects of the toxins and other poisons on animals and humans.”

“Well, I can see their persistence in this case. With this being right up your alley, you can appreciate their suspicions. Do you work in the field as well as run the business or did you put that on hold?” John asked fishing for something new.

“Oh no, I’m still researching, I have a lab in one of the rooms.” She said proudly.

“I’d love to see it sometime. Ever consider being an on-call advisor for the police?”

Her eyes got hard and dark, then just as fast she regained control. “At one time, I did but there were no openings. I was offered positions in other cities but Barrett refused to leave so we stayed.”

John looked at his watch. “Dammit, I’m supposed to be at a meeting at 11:30, its 10 now and I’m not presentable! I’m sorry Carla, but I really must run.” John hoped she bought the subterfuge.

“Is it about Barrett’s case?”

“It’s the only one I’m on at the moment.”

“I hope to hear good news soon.” Carla said.

She seemed to buy it. “I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Don’t forget your street howitzer.” He said getting back in the car.

She picked up the shotgun and waved as he backed away from her and onto the highway. All he needed now was that toxicology report on if the gases matched or not. If they did, the case was closed. If they did not, then she would be hauled in and another case opened. That car never returned. He was tired, but he was a light sleeper as fast as traffic was concerned. Granted, she did get the drop on him, but a quiet stepping 130 pound person verses a 3,000 pound car? He would have heard the car returning then leaving again. The car also left with a different driver and no passengers. It arrived with two reasonably tall people. The driver that left with the car had lots of head room.

One step at a time, John had a feeling that the Carbon Monoxide from the body was going to be pure and not contaminated with residues of heavy metals as being consistent of going through an engine.

He was well away from the hotel when he dialed his friend at the lab in town. It was answered before the end of the first ring. “Metro Crime Lab, Hank speaking.”

“Hank, this is John, how are things?”

“At a low right now. You’d be bored to tears here, but you’re about to perk up there. You were right by the way, I owe you 20 bucks. How did you know that the Carbon Monoxide readings would be different?”

“It was a hunch. Did you fax me a hard copy?”

“It should be on your desk by now. If not, ring me and I’ll resend it.”

“Thank you Hank, I owe you. Can you give me a break down?” John asked.

“The body sample had a lethal dose of pure CO in the lungs and internal tissues. The only place that had the vehicular CO was topically. Nothing in the nose, mouth, or other areas you’d think it would be if the person was breathing it in.”

“I owe you Hank, you helped crack this case, it’s done. Now I need to find more bodies that I’m sure are still on the property.”

“Sounds like this one might make the news?” Hand asked.

“More than likely. You’ll know when it does. Thanks.” I’ll collect that 20 when I see you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t forget that 20. I’ll have it when we meet again. Ciao.”

John returned to his office to find the toxicology report on his desk. There was a note attached to it as well.

“John, is this part of the Winslow case? If it is, come to my office.” It was signed Captain Pierce. This could go both ways. John put that thought aside, for now. He read the full report. Toxic levels in the body with the lethal levels of CO in the body were devoid of any heavy metals or other contaminants verses the exhaust CO with heavy metals and other contaminants. It was a case of night and day. The hard part would be proving where and how she killed him. He had the solid proof that she did it. His job was half done.

His next task was finding the driver of the car. This would prove a daunting one. He only had a dash light description of the man. He had searched and came up empty until one night when John passed a tow truck with the same person driving. He was sure of it. He turned off his lights and spun the car around. He followed the driver until he stopped a quarter mile up the road from the Winslow Hotel. He parked and walked the distance to the back of the hotel. Carla met him and gave him a set of keys. They spoke and the man went into the back of one of the rooms. John heard an engine start and he ran the distance back to his car. The man should have arrived before John did, but he was nowhere to be seen. John relocated his car concealing it from view as he now waited for the man to return. It had taken some time as the man was obviously out joyriding the car.

The man arrived and pulled the car up behind his tow truck, shut off the engine, and started the tow truck. With practiced ease the car was off the ground and easing back to the road and back into town. John was not far behind.

As soon as the man entered the wrecking yard, John turned on every light he had on his undercover car. From the response from the cab, the man was close to a full on pants load. He stopped and put both hands outside the window.

John got out. Weapon drawn and side stepped to the back of the truck. “Driver, open the door using the outer door handle and exit the vehicle. I need to see both hands at all times.” To which surprisingly, the driver complied too, to the point of trembling right out of his pants.

“On your knees, place your hands behind your head.” He dropped to his knees so fast and hard that it made John cringe in pain. “Do you have any weapons?” he demanded.

“In the cab, sitting in the center console, a .357 mag, another back at the controls in a mailbox mounted on the bed. A .44 mag, that’s it. What did I do?” he said now in legitimate fear.

“We’ll talk about that in a minute. First, tell me about this car? Why is it on your hook? Is it stolen, abandon, or confiscated?”

John eased up and placed the man in hand cuffs, he frisked him, helped him pull up his pants and then sat him down.

“Carla called and said that she had another car for me. She gets a lot of cars. The ones that she gets then decides that she doesn’t like, she calls me. I go out, hook them back here, she gets scrap weight then I crush them.

“What about the car from last week?” John asked.

“Which one?” the man asked.

“How many were there?” John asked surprised.

“Three, she had been to a couple junk auctions I guess. There was a Mitsubishi Milan, a,” he paused trying to remember, “Oh, a Ford Focus, and a Chevy Cavalier.”

“It was the Cavelier. Tell me about that one?”

“She called and said she had a real Junker for me to scrap. She wasn’t kidding. That thing was a real pile of shit!” the young man said in a disgusted tone.

“Okay. Tell me about your arrangement?”

“I don’t understand.” He said.

“Okay, what’s your name?”

“Barry, Barry Stoller. I work here at Harvey’s scrap and salvage. I live in a small apartment. . .” John stopped him.

“That part is not important right now, Barry. What kind of agreement with Ms. Winslow do you have in towing these cars. Are there others towing also or is it just you. How does she contact you and does she pay you? What, how, shit, just tell me how this started and how long have you been doing this?”

“I’m the only one she trusts to do this. She pays me third of the scrap weight she gets on each vehicle. She first called and said that the hotel business was slowing down and that she was buying and selling cars. The ones she sold were usually gone before she got them back. The others that she couldn’t’ sell, she called me to pick them up and crush them. Sometimes I don’t get any calls from her for a week or two, other times I get as many as two or three a week.” Barry said.

“And she always has the keys?” John asked.

“Yep, I can’t take them otherwise.”

“Look at the ride on your hook. Do you really believe that she couldn’t sell a Dodge Hemi?” John studied the man closely. Could he really be this naïve, stupid, or was he just playing a game here. The man seemed to think about this for the first time.

“You know, I drove this around for a while thinking what a sweet ride this was. Now that you mention it, I know a few people that would pay a pretty penny for this one.” Barry said, “Something is not right here. I also have a feeling that I am in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?”

“If you work with me, I might be able to work out a deal. Where is the Cavalier?”

“In a cube, on its way to be recycled.” Barry said.

“What about this one?”

“About to be the same story.” Barry said.

“Did you get the titles on any of these vehicles?”

Barry’s head dropped to his chest. “I just tow them and crush them. I don’t know about those things.”

“Barry, I can still help you if you’ll help me. Do we have a deal? I feel that Ms. Winslow is doing something really bad, but I need your help. Can you do it?”

“Yes sir, I don’t wanna go back to jail. I really don’t.” Barry said in a panic.

“Calm down son, work with me and we’ll see what we can do. I can promise you that you really want to work with me here. If you don’t, then what ever she is doing, you are an accomplice, or you’re involved.”

“I’m not! I just tow the cars she doesn’t sell. I will work with you.” He said.

“Okay, let’s start with this car. We are going to take it over to the impound lot. Drop it off and you give me the keys. Do we have a deal?”

Barry told him that the keys were in the ignition. “Okay, I’m going to take off the cuffs. Remember our agreement. You don’t cooperate, you go straight to jail.” At this, Barry paled considerably.

“I promise, I’ll do whatever you say.”

At the impound lot, Barry was given instructions to continue to tow as she instructs. “But instead of crushing the vehicle, he is to bring the unsellable vehicles to the impound lot. But she doesn’t need to know that.” John said that to remind him of his assignment. Then he sent him on his way after asking how much the car would be in scrap weight.

John took down the license plate, and located the registration. It was registered to a Timmy Longbow. No warrants, no criminal history. Not even a missing person’s report. He was sure that the latter would change. If she were doing what he thought she was doing. There should be a lot of missing people in this area.

John had one of the officers drop him off a couple days later. He carried binoculars, video camera, snacks, water, and two large pistols. He set out to find a place to camp and hopefully not be seen. He was sure that their next encounter would not be a friendly one.

He found a spot, concealed himself, and began the waiting game. There was already a car there. He heard the diesel engine approaching and saw the dim yellow light coming from the back of the property. Barry arrived and she tossed him the keys which he almost dropped. John watched the scene though the binoculars. She looked concerned then seemed to shrug it off. She watched him walk through the hotel room and to the car out front. When he was gone, she looked around then locked up the room and went back to the office.

He burrowed down into the sandy dirt until he was below the surface. He pulled the earth around him concealing him and trying to make it look natural. Daylight would tell the tale if he was successful.

He had relied back to his Marine Sniper Training. Short power naps when feasible and only when needed. Only now, he did not have a spotter to take turns watching. So he was going to have to have all of his senses on full alert.

Nothing happened the rest of the night. It was late in the morning when she exited the office drinking a cup of either hot tea or coffee or some kind of hot beverages. She was looking around. She walked back inside and reemerged without the coffee cup, but with her own pair of binoculars. She panned the terrain, seeing nothing or seeing everything that she should be seeing. She scanned John’s direction. She swept right over his location and didn’t even slow down, stop, or give any indication that she had made him. After she finished looking all around, she went back inside and returned with her coffee cup once more.

She sat in one of the seats and stared up the drive. It was 90 degrees from his perch in the ground. He was well concealed with a four inch tall window in which to view the entire hotel, the access road, and up the back of the property. He could almost make out a very small building amidst three tall mounds of dirt. It was either a small tool shed or an outhouse. He just couldn’t be sure from this distance.

The day wore on and she went about her business, that evening, just before it became dark, a pickup with a camper on the bed arrived and a man went into the office. A few minutes later, the man exited the office and went to room 25. Opened the door and went inside. He exited the room and moved his truck to the front of the room. Three children and another adult, female exited the truck and went inside.

It was now dark enough to see the glow of the room lights, and then he noticed that the room went dark. An hour later, Carla left the office and walked past the room. She looked around as she walked past the room a second time. She went back to the office and was seen in the back of the hotel opening the door. Then she returned to the office.

John turned on the camera and zoomed all the way in to record the whole scene. Carla made her way around to the front and opened the door and then went back to her office.

10 minutes later, she returned with a small bag and entered the room. Several minutes passed then he saw flashes within the room. Then a long pause, and then more flashes. The realization slapped detective John Q. Public’s face. She had just killed this family and was now taking pictures. He wished now, more than anything, that he had his M40A5. But was glad he didn’t. How many victims? How many? 45 agonizing minutes later, she emerged from the room and casually walked to the office. She was inside almost a full half hour before she was seen walking to the backhoe, igniting the engine, and slowly roll to the back door. She came out with a small child in her arms, paused, and then unceremoniously tossed the little body in the bucket. She did this with all three children and the woman. Carla struggled with the man as she dragged him out and rolled his limp form into the edge of the bucket, then tipping it back. She took what belongings they had inside and placed them in the bucket and proceeded to drive by the dim yellow light to the back of the property. By all that is holy. This will stop her forever. Had he known that this is what she was going to do? He strained to see where she had taken the bodies. The sound of the engine seemed to emanate from around the piles of dirt, but since there were no rear lights on the backhoe, it was only a rough guess. The only indicator was when she turned around and he could make out the dim light in what he knew to be the area of the dirt piles.

John wanted to cry, he wanted to vomit, he wanted to kill Carla, bit most of all, he wanted to bring her to justice.

She re-parked the backhoe and soon Barry arrived to take possession of the pickup. Carla, as the ritual from last night finished and returned to the office.

John wasted no time breaking camp and made his way back to the road. Once there, he made a phone call.

“Captain, I need a ride, I also need a search warrant for the entire property for the Winslow Hotel. Probable cause is murder. There are bodies on the property. I witnessed her haul off a family of five in a backhoe to the rear of the property. The vehicle was just driven away. Yes sir. I was on a stakeout watching her property when I saw it happen, I have it on video. I can be at your office as soon as I can get picked up. Thank you. See you then.” he disconnected the call. He kept moving around. This was a good strategy as he waited across the street. He saw the glow of a red flashlight beam. He drew his .45.

“I know you’re there John. Don’t make me look for you. Did you enjoy my little show? I did it especially for you. The children added a special touch, don’t you think so? Come on out John, let’s talk.”

John trained the .45 on the red beam. Focused on the area of the search pattern then centered. He slowly squeezed the trigger just as the red light found him. The auto barked three times. There was flash as her shotgun announced its presence only once. And it was a wild shot. The beam dropped to the ground. John dived to the left and lay prone. Hearing finally returned and he heard someone gasping for breath. The person wheezed and gurgled as the breathing began to slow. The red flashlight moved as if someone was trying to pick it up, or just move it. Regardless, the light ceased its moving. Shortly the gurgling was followed by a long bubbling sigh. Then silence.

John dialed 911. 20 minutes later, John saw the flashing lights of rescue and reinforcements on the way. He couldn’t quite make out any sirens yet, but he knew they were there. Carla was right.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               The reinforcements took 25 minutes to arrive, well within the 10 to 45 minute average time. He remained in place until he had guided the lights on her limp body.

“Nice grouping in the dark.” The coroner said. “Two were center mass and only one was off to the side. How many shots fired?”

“Three.” John said.

It was beginning to get light out, there was no need for a search warrant now as they entered the office, stopped and backed out. “Open every door in this place. Don’t take any chances. She was gassing people somehow and we need to find the source.

It was late in the afternoon when they entered the darkroom. Photos of the family of five were hang drying. She had them posing as if they were still alive. The room had an elaborate photo lab with one entire wall of shelves full of photo albums dating back several years. John pulled the very first album and opened to the first photo. It was of Barrett sitting in the lotus position as in deep meditation.

There were hundreds of books containing thousands of photos. This was going to take months to sort out.

All three ledgers were located as well as the secret passage containing the intricate baffle system to deliver the CO. but that was nothing in comparison to the graves all over the property, in the garden, then in the deep holes of the outhouse. Those were measuring four feet by four feet by 25 feet deep. Not only had she dumped the bodies in the hole and used the outhouse as a hiding spot, but there was evidence that she used the outhouse as an outhouse also.

John could only remember her history jacket. An officer walked up beside him.

“That’s some messed up shit right there. Ever see anything like this before detective?”

“I wish I had never seen this. Someone ate this woman’s lunch and left her with an empty bag, Sarge. I can’t believe this went on this long without anyone noticing.

END

 

 

The Nursery Rhyme Killer

“The boy stood on the burning deck.” The professor looked upon his captive audience. “His feet were full of blisters.” He continued with the second line still studying the faces of his students. He always used this poem to really mess with their young minds. Terry’s class, Criminal Psychosis of a serial killer went much deeper than just telling a story of a person. This class studied the how, why, and the motive of the act of the criminal being studied.

Terry took innocuous limericks and broke them down into a tale nothing less of something that the Great Edgar Allen Poe or Stephen King might write about. “He tore his pants upon a nail.” He quoted, one more, one more line to go. He noted that they were now waiting for more. “And now he wears his sisters.”

“I need you to now analyze and break down the poem and tell me about the person being described in the story. You can team up. That’s how many investigations get some really good ideas and crack cases. You have until 15 minutes before the class ends. Use your time wisely!” he said and the challenge was in their hands. Some began scribbling right away while others took to seeking out a helper and getting a profile.

A couple was done early and Terry listed them to go first. When the time was at hand, he ordered them to cease writing and pay attention.

Paul stood and looked at his classmates. “I thought he was a fire bug with a bad wardrobe and a lust for his sister’s things.” He said.

“Good start, good start, Meg, tell me about the boy?” Terry asked.

Meg addressed the instructor. “The boy is damaged goods. He is careless in his approach to the fire. He was born into a preacher family with a ridiculously strict upbringing. He has obvious gender issues about wearing women’s clothing.”

“Next! Meg is at least in the parking lot.”

“The young arsonist is struggling to get away after burning down his family’s house boat or boat. He couldn’t reach his room after rending his trousers and quite possibly the only room he could access was his sister’s room. He could have burned his feet when he ran back for a good pair of trousers.”

“Next.” The instructor goaded.

“The boy stood on the burning deck after he had just murdered his family or friends or who he had just murdered. He realized that his clothing was covered in blood and only had time or only lusted after the clothing his sister wore. So he claimed to tear his pants upon a nail to hide evidence of his crime as it burned below. But one must go back before the fire. Why did he start the fire? Did he think that he was going to hide evidence of his heinous crime? Was it a spontaneous act since he was standing on a burning deck with no shoes? Why was he still standing on the deck instead of swimming in the cooler water? Where was this crime committed, meaning what state and what time of year? Does he have some kind of psychosis? Did he stay to make sure that none would try to escape? This story has too many questions, professor.”

“Now that is thinking outside the box people. There will be cases where you will have to do just that. You’ll have to put yourself in the mind of the criminal. What did he do, why did he do it, and what did he do after that? Did he go and make a sandwich? Did he watch some TV? Did he go to the bathroom to cleanup? Or did he just kill, rob, and leave?” He looked around the room at the puzzled faces. “In my career, I have seen every instance I have just asked you to ponder. Paul was a young man. Dating a young woman, but also in a quandary over his wife finding out. There was an argument and in a blind rage, he backhanded her. She spun and fell against the counter crushing her windpipe. He, thinking that he had just knocked her out, left her on the floor, took a shower, made himself a sandwich, and went to watch TV. After what we calculated to be almost four hours, he realized that she had still not gotten up. She still lay where she fell. He panicked and left the apartment, ran to his girlfriend’s home and got into an argument there. She ran into the kitchen and grabbed for a kitchen knife. He arrived just as she removed it from the butcher’s block that her parents bought her for graduating culinary school. They wrestled for control of the knife when he shoved her and they crashed into the wall. A shocked look on her face as she paled and began a slow slide down the wall with the knife protruding from her body. The knife had entered her serratus and pushed through and into her left lung, lacerating the heart in the process where the young woman died of drowning in her own blood. Not a pleasant way to go. Here’s another one.

Mary had a little watch, she swallowed it one day. She took a dose of castor oil to pass the time away.” He looked around the room. The confused stares told him what he needed to know. Finally, one student raised his hand. “Yes, Steve.”

“Mary had an oral fixation. She put things in her mouth that she thought she would like the feel of. Some teens with hair, pencils, fingers, or little children, that is how they discover the world around them with textures and tastes, but with Mary, it was texture. She accidently swallowed the watch. Her guilt was such that she could not deal with the loss so she took a dose of castor oil knowing that it is intended for topical use only. It can be ingested. But the ingesting must be heavily diluted with water. We can presume, however, that she ingested an undiluted dose and possibly continued to do this until she collapsed from dehydration and other issues from ingesting the castor oil.” Steve sat down.

The instructor, quiet for the first time since the class started, sought for the right words. He finally smiled. “Class, even though these are simple rhymes. There is a story behind each one. Steve, knowing the aspects of castor oil deduced an excellent explanation of Mary’s demise. Remember, some cases are simple, some are challenging, but there is always an explanation to everything. You will scratch your head, in some cases, the solution will evade you then pop up giving you a nice face palm. How do you solve cases?”

Several hands were raised. “Kara?”

“By closely examining the evidence. I guess like Sherlock Holmes?” she said.

“What made Sherlock Holmes such a great detective in the story books, how-be-it a cleverly crafted fictional character? But he still used the highly used and successful techniques of observation. His character missed nothing. He knew evidence, weapons, poisons, and he was highly educated. You are here, that shows a desire to be a better investigator. For our next meeting, read chapters 16 and 18. We will return to chapter 17 when it pertains to our studies later in the semester. Also, there may be a quiz over those chapters, so make sure you have at least one scantron and a number two pencil. See you next week.” The students packed their gear and exited the class room which was also the forensics lab.

He sat at the desk, waiting for the projector and computer to shut down. He was looking over some nursery rhymes and their history for future classes. When everything stopped, went dark and the drives spun down to their rest state. He rose, grabbed his case, stopped his searching on his smart phone and locked the classroom as he left.

That night, a figure had slipped into the St. Mary’s of Eternal Peace diocese and wandered upstairs. It was a tall structure with a bell tower at the top. The fourth floor was the priest’s living quarters. The figure had searched the second floor finding only storage and other necessities for the daily activities. The third floor had room for the underlings and choir boys and an occasional unfortunate soul that needed a bed for the night.

The fourth floor held pay dirt. He removed a sap from his pocket. He walked up to the Father, who turned suddenly at the intrusion. “Forgive me Father, I fear I am lost and can’t find my way out.” The priest relaxed and walked past the figure and toward the door.

“Come this way my son, is there something that I can help you w . . .” the sap made a violent trajectory impacting the base of the skull. Father Pullits collapsed in a heap on the floor. The man said, “Yes Father, you can help me. Please come this way.” As he grabbed the pontiff by the legs and pulled him into the stairwell. He listened, hearing nothing, he grabbed the limp figure and lifted him to the hand rail, then pushed him over. Father Pullits impacted three rails and the stairs before landing on his head on the concrete below.

The figure listened and still heard nothing. He rushed down the stairs and removed a glove and checked for a pulse. Feeling none, he stood, replaced the glove and exited the building.

It wasn’t until late the next day when Father Peter Pullits was marked as missing. People were called and the good father was eventually found at the bottom of the staircase.

During the autopsy, they were originally going to label the death as accident until the parishioners and all that knew him said otherwise. Further investigation proved fruitful when suspicious bruising was discovered around both ankles. The death was then marked as “Suspicious in nature.” The coroners were perplexed as the apparent hand marks on the ankles were the only suspicious marks on the body that were inconsistent with the fall.

Police asked their questions on if he had any enemies, was someone angry with him. All the usual questions were asked. The forensics team had all but blanketed the building looking for prints, strands of hair, moisture, blood, or any bodily fluids that might be found to help find or gain the identity of the killer. They found tons of fingerprints that belonged to the parishioners accept on the fourth floor. There were only three sets of prints. Of course Father Peter Pullits was the most populated set there. Another set belonged to a Brother Hugh Phallis, who maintained the building once a week. The third set was yet to be identified. They assumed that this third set had to be that of their killer.

It was decided to stake out the diocese to see if the culprit would return to the scene of the crime. They managed to keep it out of the news for the time being. Concerning there were three news crews on the scene. They did their live coverage, but then were told to hold any follow up broadcast to try to coax the person to return. Two days later, a person walked into the building. Tape was still across the door. The person ignored the tape and opened the door then made their way straight to the fourth floor and into the dead priest’s flat. The lights came on and the person pissed himself as he saw three officers with their weapons drawn and trained on him. He slowly held up his hands. “GET ON THE FLOOR!” was screamed at the man, but he stood looking confused. One officer pointed at him then pointed at the floor. The man dropped to the floor and spread out his arms and legs.

After they applied the plastic restraints, the questions flew. His continued look of confusion worsened as he sat silent. The police became even more agitated by his silence. The one who used the hand signal walked up and tried using different languages. But they all fell on deaf ears. He thought for a second then pulled his notebook from his pocket and penned a short note. “Are you deaf?” then he showed the note to the man. His eyes lit up and he nodded with enthusiasm. The officer penned another note. “Can you write?” to which he received another nod but tried to look back at his hands that were bound behind him. “Can you speak?” the man shook his head. “If I remove your cuffs, anything you do will be watched. No monkey business or it will be very bad for you. Do you understand?” The man nodded.

“Cut him loose.” He instructed.

“What?” one said.

“Cut him loose. He can’t hear or speak. He can write and I want to question him. Do I need to ask again?”

“No sergeant.” He then cut the man’s bonds.

“Give him paper and something to write with. Place him at the table over there.”

After setting up the impromptu interrogation area, the first question was from the man. “Where is Father Pullits?”

Sergeant Phillips wrote one word, “Dead.”

The man broke down sobbing.

Phillips wrote. “What’s your name, why are you here?”

Through his grief he wrote. “My name is David Allmich, Father Pullits has been working with me. In turn, I come here and do odd jobs for him and he pays me. I can’t work. No one will hire someone who can’t speak or hear. I was supposed to transcribe his handwritten notes to his computer. I didn’t know he was gone.”

“Why did you cross the yellow crime tape?” Phillips asked.

“I’m sorry. I just wasn’t paying attention. Am I under arrest for crossing the tape?”

“We need to take your fingerprints to verify who you are. Point to me where you go when you come here.”

David pointed to certain areas of the room then sat still. The other officer certified that that was where the unidentified prints were collected. They took his prints and identified him as the owner of the prints.

“Let him go.” Phillips said.

“Are you sure, Sarge?”

“Look at him, he’s so tore up over this that he couldn’t have done it. Get his address and send him home. The perp we are looking for left no prints. This person, we will presume it’s a male unless we are dealing with a female body builder or wrestler with a grudge, but I doubt that. We are dealing with a male, probably above average in height and build. But this is only a guess. The Father supposedly had no enemies. The community loved him. I’m at a loss for a motive. This could have been just a random killing, but why?

The next week, the murder of the priest was the talk of the class. The professor decided to take advantage of the free study material. “So, since this case is so fresh and the only thing we have heard is that the priest was thrown over the railing of the fourth floor landing. He’s dead, and that is all we know. So, let’s run this into the ground for about 15 minutes. That should let you forget what you studied for the quiz. So, what do we know?” he asked the class.

“He died.” One said. That received some chuckles. Some voiced offense to taking a death so lightly.

“Those offended by their humorous comment, take heed, some of you will not last in this field because you will not have developed a release mechanism. Ergo, each case will pile up and tear you down emotionally. There is nothing wrong with a little gallows humor. So getting back to the case of the mis-paced pontiff. What do we know for a fact?” Terry asked the class.

“That though there being no known enemies from those in the community, someone has to have had an issue with him.” another said.

“True, but not always the case. Who can honestly say that they have not angered anyone?” Terry asked. “So it is possible to have had someone at odds with him. But this could also have been a random act of one with a seriously sick mind. What else do we know?”

“The brutality of the crime. He was thrown over the hand rail rather than just pushed down the stairs. I feel this made it more personal in nature.” One woman said.

“Very good Gayle, nice connection. We could go on for days about this case but we would need more evidence to work with. So get out your scantrons and pencils while I pass out the tests.” A series of “Awes” and “Man” echoed throughout the room. The rest of the class time was silent, save the scratching to fill in the circles on the answer sheets.

At two am, a dark form was seen walking in the shadows just off Main Street. There were few people moving about at this time of night, most were moving in groups of two or more. Every night the figure walked the dark streets in search of that one person.

It was late Monday night when the victim portrayed herself. She was small, perfectly proportioned, and at the wrong place at the perfectly opportune time for her aggressor. But not for her.

The news announced two days after a girl went missing. She was, brunette, 110 pounds, and a high school photo was plastered all over the screen. The search for the college student was massive. Video surveillance was collected from all over the community where she was last seen. The last image was of her walking past a hotel entrance. She was alone and the sidewalk was empty. Speculations and assumptions of why a woman would be walking alone at such an hour were kicked around like a pack of kids with a flat soccer ball.

Fingers were pointed and blame was thrown. “Why didn’t she exercise the buddy system?” She went from being the average looking, not very popular girl to everyone loved her, and she was gorgeous. The media blamed everyone else. Their biggest target was the police, then they actually stooped so low as to blame the pro-gun people. “After all, it had to be a gun toting thug that abducted her.”

It had gone from a serious case of a missing person to a media circus. “Truth, we don’t know anything about truth, we only care about ratings, and the sheeple will believe anything we tell them!”

There was an old house just off the beaten path from downtown. It was a quaint little abode that was constructed when the town was new. It had been on the market for three years until the owner dropped the price to something a little more realistic. A couple with more money than sense bought the place. They were taking their first walk through as the new owners when they entered the basement. There was a violence in the assaulting odor of death that wafted their senses upon opening the door. The man took the lead and descended the stairs. His wife followed close behind as the odor did not fade in the least. They agreed that the smell had to have been from a large animal that had gotten into the basement and starved to death. They hoped that was what they found. The light panned to the room to land on a dark brown and blue tarp in the corner. The tarp was coated with what the man thought was ruddy brown paint.

He grabbed a corner of the tarp and pulled. The woman screamed and vomited. The man followed suit. The cover pulled free and exposed a bloody form of a human that was in severe decomposition and was being further consumed by bugs, and the worst, maggots and flies.

Her head looked as if it had been peeled. What skin was left lay in flaps as exposed muscle had blackened from exposure. Hair and skin lay around the body in coagulated pools of blood. The couple couldn’t exit the basement fast enough.

The police and forensics arrived and a few fell to the same shock as the couple.

Identification was found and evidence proved that it was the missing college student.

Death was caused by a crushed and collapsed trachea, which led to asphyxiation. The girl was still alive when her hair was forcibly pulled from her head. This in turn pulled huge sections of skin from her scalp. The coroner compared it to being scalped or skinning an animal.

Once again, the police and investigators were stumped. With no evidence to point to a perpetrator, there was nothing to even give an indicator of the size, weight, or nationality. The only evidence was the visual of the most gruesome crime scene most had ever seen. By the evidence, or lack thereof, they were trying to link the murder of the priest and the college student together. At this point, it was only a wild guess that they were linked.

Terry had trouble trying to calm the students as they discussed the most recent case. Conjectures were made as the killer was beyond insane and was barely functioning in society. Terry asked them if that maybe someone highly educated could have committed these crimes. It was concluded that it was doubtful that the person was educated to higher learning and even questioned if the perp even graduated high school. One student mentioned that it sounded familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. They easily understood why the investigation was stalled to head scratching.

“Do you think the killings are related?” one asked Terry.

“I’m not sure. There is nothing to link them other than there is no evidence from the killer. So I’m guessing that if it is one killer, this person is smart enough and careful enough not to leave a trail.”

“What would lead them to think that it is one person?” Mary asked.

“The very fact that the killer left nothing to incriminate him or her. That is something also. We must presume that a man is doing this due to the pure physical stretch required to perform these acts. Don’t take offense ladies, but I doubt that most of you could throw me over a hand rail or crush my wind pipe with your bare hands. Though I do imagine that a few of you would like to.” He said smiling and bringing a few chuckles from the class.

This discussion went for the full length of the class. The distraction was educational and costly. “Next week, the assignment will be what was supposed to be done today, plus, chapters 19 thru 21. We are a quiz behind and have to get caught up. Distractions are nice, but you still have to do your job.”

The media was in full feeding frenzy over the two killings. The police released a statement and a profiler’s take about the killings. Terms like “Mentally disturbed sociopath, mentally insane, and one of the most distracted and evil minds of the century.” Topped the list.

The dark figure drove around town until he found what he was looking for, the botanical garden club. He had walked in and noticed that there was no surveillance. This was good. Not that it would really have mattered. But this made his work much easier.

There were three working in the place. Ironically, one of the women was wearing a nametag that said “Mary.” This was just working too well.

There was an impending announcement of the gardens closing for the day. The man ignored the announcement by asking Mary about a particular plant. She took him back to the obscure section of the garden where they were hidden by other, taller pants. The man grabbed Mary and snapped her neck and let her fall. He tucked her under the low display table and lured another woman to show him a particular plant. He snapped her neck as well.

He was walking around when the third called out to them. Hearing no reply, she began looking for them thinking that they might be up to some mischief. She spotted the man and walked over to him and informed him that they had closed and he could return the next day. He smiled and she turned to escort him to the door. Before she could react, he reached out and snapped her neck.

Making sure that they were now dead he laid them in a row, he found some small “C” clamps and smashed the left thumb of each victim. He then spotted a display of Cockleshells. He relocated the bodies next to them. He made sure that Mary was the first one they would see. They were lying on their backs, but the man twisted their heads and forced them around to be face down or as close as he could make them.

He started to leave when he heard a knocking on the main front door. He couldn’t see the door so he was safe. He noticed an exit sign toward the back and went that way. The door had a crash bar alarm. He spotted an open window and made for that form of escape. He saw nothing when he peered out. He cleared and quickly dusted the contact areas then climbed out. He rechecked for any signs of egress. Seeing none, the man disappeared into the night.

The 10 o’clock news was a buzz about a Nursery Rhyme serial killer. They announced the botanical garden triple homicide then showed a detective talking to the media.

“I believe that it was the job of one person in all three crimes this one is patterned from the nursery rhyme “Mary, Mary Quite Contrary.” The first we believe was from the rhyme “Goosey, Goosey, Gander,” and the second murder has us baffled still. We’ll figure it out though it has to be looking right at us. The issue is why? Why murder in the first place, but why by nursery rhymes? That is the 64 thousand dollar question. We’ll get him.”

“Thank you Captain, we hope to have something to tell the viewers soon.” She said.

“So do we. I have to go, that is all for now.

“Well, there you go. Now I’m going to have to study up on my nursery rhymes and their history. I thought they were just children’s limericks. Is there history behind them? Look it up and I will to. Back to you Bob.”

“Took them long enough.” Terry thought, “Only had to spell it out for them.”

During the next class, Terry had to almost force the class to pay attention. “Hey, come on, we have to cover some assigned material so you can pass this class. Let’s get that done first and then we’ll discuss the case. I promise.” The mandatory materials were covered and every student squirmed in their seat waiting to discuss the case. As promised, the discussion went full steam ahead the second the necessary material was completed.

“Did you know about the nursery rhymes?” One of them asked.

“Actually, no, since I’m not paid to investigate the case, I hadn’t thought about it.” Terry said.

“Are you the nursery rhyme killer?” Another asked.

“Absolutely not! My life’s goal is to solve crimes, not commit them.” Terry said.

“But you always start off analyzing sick poetry.”

“I do that to make you think outside the box. Have you ever really heard the rhymes that I quote?”

“No, not really.” With the agreement of most of the class on the answer.

“Then can we move on? Tell you what. Let’s turn this case into a steady portion of the class. Would you like to do that? We could attack it as a little extra credit. So it could be a win, win. Are you game?”

With great enthusiasm, the whole class was all for the idea, the schedule  was modified to accommodate the first 10 minutes of each class to share any new information or evidence that was presented. The instructor was assigned to call the police department to see if they would share what they found for a class assignment. Oddly enough, because it was a criminology class, they were willing to share certain information with them. The students were made to sign a non-disclosure agreement. This was going to work well, the agreement that was made was that if they came to any conclusions, they would share their findings with the police. The police would confirm or deny if they were spot on, in the ball park, or not even on the same subject. Terry agreed and a medium sized folder was handed over and a form signed acknowledging sworn confidentiality with “Class only” discussions.

The folder of the copied evidence was copied and distributed, read, and another document as well as other documents pertaining to the distribution of the documents were signed by all. Students soon learned how strict and tight evidence chains were.

Finally, the ball was rolling in a controlled environment.

In a dark corner of the block. A tall figure stood staring at the building. The figure watched for a long time before approaching and entering the building. No one had paid any attention that the figure had been there every day for the past four days just staring at the building.

The man entered the building and walked straight to his directive. Three men were in their rooms about to fall asleep when one by one he entered and cut the throats of three of them. There were no cries for help, no screams in pain, and there was only the shocked gurgling and gasping for air. It did not last long as the arterial spray evacuated the body in a great spray at first, then weakened as the blood lessened and the pulse faded as the three died where they lay. Since it was a boarding house, little attention was paid to the comings and goings of the five residents and their guests. There was an aide that came in the morning and helped throughout the day until they went to bed, and then the aide left for the day. The only real need for the aide was to cook, clean, and help when if they needed it.

Once they lay silent and limp, he gathered them together and positioned then around the table with a block of cheese and a carving knife covered in their blood stuck from the block of cheese. Though it would be blatantly obvious that they were murdered in their beds, and then moved to the table was irrelevant at that time. The rhyme was more important. The scene was cleansed of any trace of his presence.

Satisfied, the man left and once again disappeared into the shadows.

It didn’t take long as the aide entered the house in the morning. She slipped and fell in the slick of blood that trailed from their perspective beds to their current resting place.

The police were, for the lack of a better term, ready for this kind of scene. Or at the very least they thought they were ready. The last thing the man did before leaving his three victims was to give them what was called a Columbian necktie. Their throats were slashed from ear to ear, it took little effort to cut deeper and extract the tongue through the gash in the throat. It was ugly, it was morbid, and it was just plain sick. The mob used to do it to make a statement. The sight of the three grotesquely open throat wounds accompanied by the tongue threaded through the center was too much for the four of the six officers. Even the coroner was mortified.

“Tell me about the three?” the detective asked.

“They were blind, they wouldn’t have hurt anyone. They couldn’t have hurt anyone. I don’t understand?” the aide said. “There are two other blind men here but they weren’t even bothered.”

“There was no need. This was done by the Nursery Rhyme killer. Three Blind Mice. You said all three were blind?” She nodded. “We have to catch this guy. How many sick rhymes are there?” No one spoke. It was the aide that broke the uneasy silence.

“There are countless, and then you have Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” The detective raised his hands in submission.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I just didn’t realize that there were so many sick poets out there. The worst part of all this is that we teach them or our kids. When did they think these were good for kids?” he questioned no one.

This one was all over the news in a matter of minutes. The news heads were scrambling and offering huge rewards for any photos or raw images that they could get their greedy little hands on. The motives ranged from sadistic hatred of nursery rhymes to fame and the notoriety. Even though there were no mysterious letters to the police or the editors or the media in any fashion. This had everyone from the analyzers to profilers to detectives and anyone else looking for something to grab onto for an opening lead into the case.

Class discussions were free and often charged with controversy. The focus was diverted away from Terry accept from two students that were almost positive that he was the Nursery Rhyme killer. There were just too many similarities to his teaching techniques and the so called outside of the box way that the murders were being committed. They had secretly gone to the detective in charge and voiced their concerns.

The detective was also confident that Professor Terry Benter was not the killer. He had taken his class when he was studying for his criminology degree. Nothing had changed from the sound of things. “But at the moment, just about everyone is suspect. So I’ll make a note of it,”

Not satisfied, they began to tail the professor. Not having the proper training in that portion of the job however, Terry picked up on it very quickly and would sneak up behind them scaring the Harry Carry out of them.

The next class was a plethora of conundrums and quandaries. Terry used a couple more nonsensical rhymes that were not well known in the public circle. “Here’s one for you to pontificate on over the weekend. Mary had lamb that had a foot of soot. Everywhere that Mary went, that sooty foot was put. There is a story behind every poem, every limerick, and every rhyme. Some are true and some are only pure speculation. Your assignment is to come up with an idea.”

A few days later, the man was at the city park and the fattest man he ever saw sat on the bench next to a wall. He watched as the man sat there every day at the same time. There was also a very large tree about 30 feet away from the bench. The man waited until nightfall and studied the tree and the bench, he measured, checked the angles and marked the tree. He used a long cut saw as to assure that it would be silent, or at least not heard from very far away. He notched and cut hoping that there would be no winds. He had learned well from two friends who used to be lumberjacks. The notches were in perfect alignment. He had a tall angle cut so the tree could not fall backwards.

The man waited for his rotund victim to return the next day. The man came and as per routine, sat in the same spot on the bench and applied his headphones, then he busied himself in feeding the pigeons.

The man untied the rope he had used to secure the tree, he placed the pry bar in the notch that he had made the prior evening. He pulled and there was a faint cracking. Soon the cracking intensified and the tree rapidly closed the distance as it fell on its intended path.

By the time the large man realized that there was danger, it was too late. He had a feeling that he should move just as the tall tree not only pinned him to the ground, but also smashed him like a bug under your shoe. It was gruesome, it was disgusting, and it was just plain messy. To add insult to injury, the man left a note next to the body that was typed on a computer then printed on an inkjet printer. Tracing was impossible. They could trace to the manufacturer of the ink, but that is where the similarity to the originator stopped. “Oh, we have traced to some Epson ink jet printer, what now?” there were millions of printers and there was nothing unusual about the print. So they would send the note to at least type the printer in case they did find a possible suspect so they could compare printers from home, work, or where ever they could track the person’s activities.

As for the note itself, it said just four syllables, “Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum.”

“This is one sick perp. Jack and the Beanstalk as done by Truly Nolan and that mallet they advertise with. We have to get this guy before he can accumulate another victim! Each murder or series thereof is getting more gruesome than the last.” He looked around and nudged his toe in the soft, bare, grassless dirt. Deep in thought when a forensics expert approached.

“Detective, we may have a print.” He said. Detective Kreeley perked up instantly.

“We have? Are you sure?” He asked more surprised by his own question than the possibility of the perp actually leaving any kind of trace.

“I believe so, we have three distinct shoe prints from around where the tree was cut down. It has to be from our perp. There hasn’t been enough time for anyone else to nose around and contaminate the scene. The one who found the vic said he heard the tree fall but didn’t hear it break, he said he never went near the base of the tree, though you might want to watch your step by the body between the body spray and the multiple puddles of vomit.” The officer said.

“When can we get the shoe prints analyzed? Kreeley asked.

“I should have something for you shortly after I get back to the lab.” He said.

“Good, thank you. Our first hopefully real piece of evidence.” Kreeley stated.

“One thing I did note, the left foot left an odd print.” He said.

“Odd how?”

“Odd as in being heavy in the heel and the toe disappears toward the end of the step. It’s almost like the toes weren’t there. The toe of the shoe didn’t even make it into the casting.”

Kreeley looked at the forensics expert with a look of question. “Possibly favoring the foot?”

“Possibly, or could be that he had no toes on that foot.”

“Anything else?” Kreeley asked.

“Not at this time, there are tool marks on the tree, but just about any new bar, pry bar, or any large bar could have made the marks. I’ll call you as soon as we have anything.”

“Thank you.” Kreeley said in deep thought. Something was familiar with those findings, but he couldn’t pin it down. He logged it in the back of his mind for later study.

By the next class, all the students were a buzz of the latest and most gruesome killing. The biggest question was of ethics, humanity, and common decency. It would seem that this latest killing only incensed the class to find anything to bring the maniacal killer to justice. All it would need would be one good lead.

The two students watched closely to the actions and reactions of Professor Benter. They concluded that the professor was one hell of an actor. But they could see through his subterfuge. He was good, very good, but he wasn’t as good as the thought he was. The two students would analyze after class.

The phone rang.

“Professor Benter’s class. Yes detective, we are discussing that now. Really? Actual evidence? Foot prints with a distinction of a heavy heel and favoring the toe if there are toes? Thank you detective. That really narrows the field, do we know what kind of shoes? We could share notes later today. Can I have a few minutes of your time later today? Four pm, thank you sir. See you then.” He hanged up the class phone handset on the wall mount and stared at the instructor, who stared back with equal intensity.

“Mr. Longwood, what was the nature or your call on my phone?”

“It was detective Kreeley sir, there is actual evidence from the last crime scene.” Barry said. The reaction was not lost on him from Terry. It was brief, but it was there. The eyes widened and his face flushed then the regaining of his control. That was it. It wasn’t excitement that flashed briefly, it was panic. The other student noted Terry’s reaction as well.

“Well, bring to light this newest development, what is it? The suspense is killing me!” This response brought chuckles form the other students.

“Detective Kreeley said they found foot prints around the area of the cut tree. Both feet, the perp favored the right foot like he had an injury to his toes or something like that.” Terry stared incredulously at Barry. Barry knew that the professor knew he was lying. Terry glanced at Tim, then slowly went back to his seat.

Tim excused himself as Terry walked over to the white board and wrote, “Damaged or deformed right foot.

Once outside the door, Tim dug for his cell phone and called detective Kreeley’s office. He answered on the first ring. “Kreeley.”

“Detective, this is Tim Fowley from Mr. Benter’s class.”

“Yes Tim, I take it you heard of the latest development?”

“Yes sir, you need to know this if you don’t know it already. Mr. Benter has a slight limp, he favors his left foot. It is slight but it is there, what kind of shoes did they find at the scene?” Tim asked.

“They were a low end dress shoe with a ripple tread design that went straight across the shoe. Could be from Payless or Walmart. Are you sure it is his left foot?”

“No doubt about it. I also saw that he was looking up nursery rhymes last week, and “Jack and the Beanstalk” was on the screen.”

“Barry asked to meet at four pm, can you be with him?” Kreeley asked.

“Yessir. I’ll be there as well.”

“Be careful, you may have something.” He said. “You had best return to class before you’re missed. Be careful and see you then.’ He disconnected and returned to class as professor Benter passed out the next scenario’s assignment. He sternly eyed Tim all the way back to his seat.

Tim wrote a small note and slid the note over to Barry while watching Mr. Benter. Barry quickly read the note and tapped the pad of his index finger on the table twice. They had their own code system that they used in many silent situations. Mostly during exams, tests, quizzes, midterms, and finals. It was as intricate as it was elaborate and it was all but undetectable. It was very loosely based on the Morse code system, but very loosely.

Class ended and the last two to leave were Tim and Barry. Benter stopped them on the way out. “You boys have promise, you question everything and examine everything twice. Could I trouble you for some time? I’d love to show you a few things, they do pertain to the case and I do think you’d be interested. I live at 3229 W. Hopper Street in apartment 3219, say six pm?”

“Um Sure. We’ll be there.” Barry said.

“I might be a little late, I have to wrap up a project in evidence class.” Tim said.

“No problem. We’ll be waiting.” Terry said.

They left to keep the first appointment with detective Kreeley. They informed him of the development and what Tim said. They made plans accordingly. Barry left first to meet Terry with Tim, Kreeley, and four uniformed officers in close pursuit.

Barry knocked on the door. There was a noise inside but he couldn’t make out the sound.

After what felt like 10 minutes to Barry, but he figured was closer to about 30 seconds, the door opened and Professor Terry Benter stood smiling and wearing a loose fitting T-shirt and a snug pair of swim trunks. “Hey, glad to see you could make it, I take it Tim is in route?” Barry nodded. “Good, good, come in, come in, I have been studying the case intensely and I think I may have it cracked.” The man said as he walked excitedly to the balcony.

“Let’s wait for Tim, this could be best if all three minds,” was all he got out when Terry suddenly turned catching him off balance and running him toward the low railing.

The last thing Barry heard as they raced to the railing was, “Humpty Dumpty missed the wall because Humpty Dumpty was freaking pushed!” The last was grunted as Barry flipped over the rail into the long shadows of the evening open air. Gravity from 32 stories up is good for science and for science fiction but not for surviving. It is calculated that many die before impact mercifully avoiding the sudden stop at the bottom. Barry was not so lucky. Witness accounts said he screamed all the way to the sidewalk and street below. Terry looked with interest at the macabre scene below. Movies and TV shows paint a very different picture than that of the hard core reality of a body falling at terminal velocity just before stopping suddenly and violently. Some describe it as a water balloon full of jello. Some leave out the balloon. Either way, it’s going to require a dust pan, mop, and possibly a wet vac. Terry stood, still focused on the carnage below chuckling as he kept repeating, “Humpty was pushed.” He stopped and a wave of ice ran up his spine as four weapons were trained on different parts of his body.

Tim was white, he saw his best friend go over and he was too late to stop it. They had never planned on this. “How could you!” Tim ran to the rail half hoping that Barry was holding on to a lower balcony railing. He cried out at the scene below. He charged Terry and tackled him and proceeded to abuse his person, punching him viciously about the head and shoulders. It took two of the officers to pull him off.

Terry made a break for the railing himself but was stopped by detective Kreeley and a sergeant. Inside of 20 minutes, the entire area was covered with various police, detectives, and forensics. The coroner who was looking at yet another horrendous mess to clean up.

Within minutes the news was all over and abuzz with the talking heads spouting about a college professor, a professor of criminology at that, was the Nursery Rhyme Killer. “A total surprise to all but two very meticulous students who, with the police, worked to identify and stop the madman. Unfortunately, his last victim was one of the two students of the professor. But be that the killings from the man the media deemed and monikered as the Nursery Rhyme Killer will be safely tucked away until his trial with the possibility of the death penalty. The assumptions were as many as the people that were watching the talking heads try to reason why he did this.

The trial was lengthy. Tim avoided the circus except the days that required him to testify then the only time he was there was for the conviction and then the sentencing. It had taken less than four hours for the jury of seven men and five women to convict Professor Terry Benter guilty of all counts of 10 murders in the first degree.

The sentence was of no surprise to anyone.

Death.

The observation room was packed for his execution. They brought in Terry to the windowed isolation room. He was given an opportunity at last words. “People, I taught students how to solve crimes. My tactics were outside the box. This class was by far the smartest class I have ever had. One more day and it would have ended like all the other classes.” As this, Keeley pulled out a note pad and made some rapid notes. “My only regret is that I won’t be teaching any more. Am I sorry? Well that is the conundrum. I’m sorry I was caught, but it did prove that anyone is capable of taking another’s life. What happens after one’s life ends? I guess I’m about to find out. Good or bad is in how you perceive it. It’s a perspective of one’s reality when you get down to it. I’m told that I’ll be confronted by those who I robbed them from this world prematurely. If that’s the case, I’ll have quite a crowd waiting. I was also told that I’ll face the Almighty. I don’t know what will happen. All right, let’s get this over with.” Terry jumped up on the cross like table. Three workers walked up and Terry suddenly jumped up. “Changed my mind, this isn’t happening today!” He was tackled as he attempted to walk to the exit door. Two more guards entered and pinned him down. He was lifted kicking and screaming so loud that even with the microphone turned off, they still heard his imprecations through the near airtight room. He was finally strapped down and double secured.

One of the witnesses began a prayer. “Hail Mary full of grace.” Several others joined in, but still unable to look away from the spectacle. The merciless, cold blooded killer that was so cool and collected just minutes before, now thrashed for his life like a moth in a low voltage bug zapper. He didn’t calm down until the sodium chloride was forced into his system. By this time, the latter was pretty much a moot point. It was reported that a certain percent die when the paralytic agent is introduced. The man, the mass murdering serial killer simply fell asleep.

One man, the father of one of the Mary, Mary victims stood. “This is bull shit! How long did my baby girl lie on the ground with a broken neck before she died? He didn’t suffer like his victims. Did he offer the same consideration to his victims? No, hell, he dropped a tree on one smashing him like a bug. His last victim he threw off a 32^nd floor balcony quoting, “Humpty Dumpty was pushed!” I’m not screaming for public executions, but I do want the punishment to fit the crime. Not just allow them to peacefully go to sleep. He violently ended 10 lives. Some so brutally that the news couldn’t even talk about how they were murdered. Seasoned coroners who had seen just about everything vomited at how gruesome some of the scenes were. This has to change. We have got to quit coddling criminals. Doing this will curb most violent crimes, or at least make them think about it before they commit the crimes.” He dropped his head and began to slowly walk away when a woman spoke.

“Yes, he killed, but what right do we have to kill him? Wouldn’t that make us no better than him?”

The man stopped, turned, and looked at the woman. “You’re doing 100 miles an hour in a 35 mile per hour zone. The cop does 125 miles an hour to catch you. Does that make him a law breaker as well? You kidnap a person and lock them in a closet. Society arrests you, puts you in hand cuffs then locks you in and eight by 10 room. What makes them better than you?” She stood silent. “Everything written on laws has a reaction for every action. A person steals, we’re supposed to lock them up. A person commits any crime, they are supposed to take their liberties away. If a person commits the ultimate crime, taking another person’s life, their life is to be taken. Or they will be free to do it again.” The man said.

“So we should kill all the soldiers who have killed in combat?” She asked firmly to make a point.

“You really did not just ask that question did you? You aren’t here because you lost a loved one are you?” She shook her head. “Then just why are you here?” All eyes in the room were now aimed at her.

“I’m here to assure that he didn’t suffer. He had rights as a human being.”

“So those people he brutally murdered did not have any rights as human beings?” he asked.

“That’s not what I am saying. Death penalty is not the answer. He could have been rehabilitated.” She said.

Detective Kreeley stopped looking at this phone and spoke. “Lady, I just linked at least 25 other killings to him just from his last comment. Still think he could have been rehabilitated?”

“Okay, I have a job for you. I have an inmate that I will have transferred to your residence and you can rehab him. He was convicted of forcible rape, murder, arson, illegal detention of another human being with intent to do severe bodily harm. I’ll have him waiting at your residence before you get home. You won’t have to worry about work. The state will pay you 58 thousand dollars a year to rehab him.”

“I wasn’t talking about me, someone else.” She said paling noticeably.

Kreeley cut her off. “You’ve never had your car stolen or broken into, or your apartment broken into, or had never been mugged, raped, or even wronged have you, Betty?”

“How do you know my name? How dare you!”

“Shut up and sit down. I busted you when you victimized Mortons Drugs down on 15^th street for shop lifting. You were pissed that you got caught. Sarah Morton cried because you made her a victim and she went to high school with your mother. You were caught again three months later stealing gas from another victim’s car. You didn’t even leave enough for the man to even get to a gas station. He lost his job because he couldn’t get to work. You did several stints in Juvenile Hall. You left a trail of victims, just like Mr. Benter in there, the only difference is you didn’t murder anyone, but you still took from others. So, what makes you any different? This man has killed 10 people that were proven in court and I need to verify and link these 25 additional victims to him as well if the evidence holds up. There may be more. So that’s 35 victims as of right now. Is there anything else you would like to add Ms. Betty Armond?”

“No.” she softly replied.

“Mr. I agree with you. The problem is with the lawyers. But until something happens, we’re stuck with what we have. And my job is to make sure that they get here, or if need be, in there.” He pointed with this thumb. “Sadly, he was my instructor as well. I wonder how many he killed to teach us.”

END.

 

The Franklin Park Slasher

            Paulie had a rough childhood. He was in and out of juvenile hall. He wasn’t a big kid, but he had a big mouth and did not know when to close it. He felt that he had to fight to prove how tough he was. He did win some, but he lost quite a few as well.

His father died when he was young and his mother ignored him. She popped pills and smoked pot with his other siblings but let him alone. He tried everything, positive attention, negative attention, getting caught shoplifting only made her angry because she had to leave the house. At 17, he boosted his first car. This got him incarcerated until he turned 18. Carol found a shyster of a lawyer named O’Brien that would do anything for a buck. He got Paulie released at 18 with his youth records sealed.

Paulie went back to small time. He didn’t like ju-vee and assumed that regular jail was worse. But crime ran in his blood like a drug. They say when you do something risky like, say, boost a car, the rush is more addicting than heroin.

He was in the process of boosting another car. He had been out for two years and he tried really hard not to do it, but he just couldn’t let it go. He saw a car that he just had to take for a ride. He had just jumped in and had jammed the screw driver in the ignition and was about to force the lock when he heard one word that made his blood turn to ice.

“Freeze!”

The voice sounded panicked and wavered as it was delivered. Paulie slowly turned and noted that not only the violent shaking of the small caliber automatic, he listened to hear if the gun rattled as hard as he was shaking it. This guy was scared shitless, and he had the gun! He was also way too close. An advantage to Paulie. He always had two or three knives with him, his hand fell to the seat in feigned effort to balance himself as he tipped further into the vehicle. Selection made, the long slender blade made a brief appearance as he knocked the little .380 out of the way. The knife shot out and up entering the man body just below the rib cage.

The man fell back with a look of fear on his face. He coughed as blood began to seep from his lips. He gasped again but could not take in a deep breath. The man knew nothing of the anatomy of the human body but received a crash course that the knife had punctured his lung creating a sucking chest wound. Paulie advanced with the blade once more. The man turned to flee only to feel the blade find its mark once again. This time in the other side. The lung collapsed from this injury and so did the man.

Paulie looked on as if he were amused by the current event. He knew he should be afraid, but he wasn’t. He watched the man slowly die in front of him.

The man’s last breath was a long, slow, exhale. Not deep, but enough to last a few seconds. Paulie reached down and picked up the .380 and slide the weapon into his hip pocket. He saw that the weapon was harmless in this man’s hands as the safety was still engaged. He searched the body, rifling the pockets for money, jewelry, credit cards, and, ah yes, the car keys.

He removed the screw driver and searched until he found the correct key and ignited the motor. He could feel the power surging in the car. He drove far away so he could have some quality time and not have to worry about being busted for boosting another car. He even put some gas in it for the guy. That’s right, he was dead. He drove the car hard. The small block Chevy was very strong, and very fast.

He found Terry and sold it to him for 400 dollars. Terry owned a junkyard which fronted as a chop shop. Terry’s crew would probably have the car stripped and gone before Paulie was three blocks away.

Paulie had walked for some time before he got bored and stole some Junker for a ride back to town.

Once he was back in town, he left the old Sentra in a McDonald’s parking lot and walked north. He went to Walmart looking for a jacket. He saw nothing he liked and left. He was walking through the neighboring housing addition south of the Walmart when he ran across an estate sale. They had tools, clothes, shoes, kitchen items, and just about everything in the house. He caught sight of a motorcycle in the garage. It was a 1972 Harley Davidson Sportster. “How much for the bike?” he asked.

“Six grand, it’s been gone through and is pretty much new.” The young woman said.

Paulie looked around and saw a leather riding jacket hanging on the wall. He removed it from the hanger and inspected it. It looked almost new save some places where the sun faded the shoulders just a little. He put it on, it was a perfect fit like it was made for him. The tag said 100 dollars. “Will you take 60 for the jacket?”

“It’s a 400 dollar leather jacket. The zip in liner is next to it. I can go 80.”

Paulie peeled four 20’s from his stack and took the liner and assembled the jacket. He put the jacket back on. It was a perfect fit.

He went home only to receive grief from his mom. After two minutes of her nagging him, he turned and left the house without so much as one word. He walked down to Franklin Park. It was a long walk from his mom’s place and he couldn’t hear her from there. It was also cooling off at night and he was now glad that he bought the jacket. Paulie found an inconspicuous place in the park and sat down. He went through all the pockets in the jacket and found a few good hiding places he could hide a few more knives. Paulie was not one to carry a gun. Even though he had one on him at that moment. He really didn’t like guns. They were noisy, you had to constantly clean and oil them, carry extra ammunition, and you just could not use one without drawing a lot of attention. Nope, he liked knives, quiet, no need for oil, didn’t have to worry about getting wet, and the best part of all was that it was quiet. It was the tool and weapon of choice to Paulie.

He decided to pawn the .380 tomorrow. It was a nice piece and he should get a good price for it.

He woke up with a start. A bum was trying to take his jacket. The blade came out and into the man’s chest. The man now possessed a look of shock as he crumpled to the ground. Paulie extracted the knife and wiped it off with the cleanest part of the man’s shirt that wasn’t soaked in blood or vomit. He stood emotionless as the body lie on the ground. The pool of blood spreading on the concrete and dirt. The killer slowly walked away. He made sure that he had not stepped in the dirt or blood as he left. He did glance around making note that no one was around.

Paulie sat on another bench smoking a cigarette that he lifted from the bum. Soon he heard sirens, it had been less than an hour before someone found the body and called the police. It was the bum’s fault, he shouldn’t have tried to steal from him.

Paulie didn’t trust anyone. He didn’t even trust his own family. His mother had stolen his money on numerous occasions to pay for drugs. His brother stole everything that he liked. He was forced to become a “Man” by his own rules. Everyone tried to steal form him, rob him, lie to him, or just wrong him any way they thought they could. But he put a stop to that by not trusting anyone. Now, it was he who did the stealing, it was he who wronged others. He was now the man, to hell with ever one else.

The media announced the cold blooded murder in the paper the next day. The talking heads gave their speculations but as usual, were nowhere remotely close to the truth.

Paulie never watched the news or anything else on TV. He did play his video games and played online. But he did nothing more. He did read what he could see in the paper in the machines. The local headline read. “Homeless Man Brutally Murdered in Franklin Park.” He read what he could then walked away. He was safe, no evidence or witnesses. He aimed his footsteps to Franklin Park.

The bench was taped off with police tape and a couple of people were inside taking pictures and making notes. He moved on. He went to another part of the park where he could be alone. He sat and looked around. It was quiet here and soon he was slumbering as he liked to do at the park. A lot of people go to the park to relax, exercise, or take a nap. Paulie was no different. He slept as the afternoon turned into evening and the trees cast long shadows on the dying grass. He began to wake slowly until he felt he was not alone. His hand found the handle of one of his knives as he spun to face the one intruding on his space. A man in his 40’s sat next to him. Paulie pulled the blade and stabbed him in the throat. He heard a gasp and already had another knife in hand as he searched the direction of the sound. She looked to be only 15. “She was a witness she has to die!” he told himself. He stabbed her, not once, but 17 times. He wiped the blade on her clothes then looked around. There were no more witnesses. Paulie turned back to the man and removed the knife from his throat then walked away re-sheathing the knives. He decided to leave the park.

The next day the media was in a frenzy over the new development. Paulie saw the paper which had a new headline. “Franklin Park Slasher Claims 2 More Victims!” he like that title. But if people only left him alone, nothing would happen to them. After all, it was their fault they were killed. They invaded his space and tried to take form him, not the other way around. He was free now to do what he wanted to do. He wasn’t in jail anymore, and he damn sure wasn’t going back. He snapped the collar of his jacket for effect. It had a nice pop to it when he did this. The leather jacket was his most prized possession. He had become as much a part of it as it had become a part of him. The two were inseparable. He had made comment that they would only be able to take the jacket when they peeled it off of his dead body, and even then he wouldn’t let it go, where the jacket went, he would also go.

Paulie went back home hoping that his mom had calmed down. But that was only a dream. He entered the house to find Carol sitting at the table with a vodka bottle, a coffee cup, a pack of cigarettes, an ashtray, and she was holding a smoking joint. She was stoned. No one else was in the house.

“What the hell do you want?” she asked.

“I live here when you’re sober, which obviously, you’re not. So to keep from being cussed again, I’ll go to my room then leave.” He said.

“Fine just go, git out!” she slurred.

Paulie went to his room and found it ransacked. He changed clothes then left the house. No words, no good byes, and no acknowledgement of one another. He just left.

Back on the street, he was his own boss. No one bossed him. He did as he pleased.

He walked around, finding himself getting a meal at Burger King. Then he refilled his drink and made his way to Franklin Park. It was late in the afternoon and there were cops driving around making their presence visible. Paulie picked a bench and sat. He sat for two hours when he got tired of one cop continuously staring at him.

He got up to leave. The cop drove by slower than usual this time. Paulie knew that the next time he came around on his repetitive circuit, he was going to stop and question him. He walked away from the cop. A man walked up behind Paulie and shoved an object against his back. “Keep quiet and give me your wallet and I won’t bleed you.” He said looking around.

“Kiss my ass!” Paulie said and began to turn. The man shoved and Paulie felt the man’s blade pierce the back of the jacket and into his back. The blade was dull and the pain was instantaneous and excruciating. The robber performed a quick search finding only a couple of his blades.

“Where’s your wallet?” he demanded.

“I don’t have one. Wouldn’t give it to you if I had one.” Paulie gritted as the man removed his knife and ran off. A few minutes later, the cop that had been watching him made his return trek to see Paulie writhing on the ground and bloody. He got out, drew his weapon, and slowly advanced.

“What happened, drug deal go sour?” he asked sarcastically.

“Commie pig, I was stabbed. The idiot tried to rob me!” Paulie gritted.

The cop called for an ambulance. “Did you get a look at him?”

“He was behind me, what do you think?” Paulie lied.

“Just a routine question, son. I will be asking more before we’re done. Try to lie still.” The officer said.

“Damn this hurts. Prick should have finished me. I’ll get him!” Paulie said through gritted teeth.

“That will be our job. We’ll find who did this.” He said.

“Yeah right! Tell another one Robin Williams.”

Soon enough, Paulie was loaded onto a gurney and into an ambulance. They were about to cut off his jacket when he fought them off then struggled to remove it himself.

At the hospital, he went through X-Ray and then surgery. Carol was called and her main reason for showing up was to rifle his clothing for cash or drugs. Finding neither, she left. She missed the leather jacket. She didn’t even stay long enough to sign any paperwork. Like a vapor, she appeared, swirled around, and disappeared as fast as she appeared.

Paulie was out for three days when he finally came to. He was met by the doctors and two of Franklin’s finest.

He was given a good prognosis and then grilled with the same questions about the robbery. Then he was asked about his relatives or next of kin to come in and help with the paperwork

Getting nowhere, they left with almost the same information that they came in with.

Paulie was released three days later with what was left of his clothes and his leather jacket. It was the only thing that was still intact. His blades still tucked away and his stash was still in the concealed pockets. They released him and he went to Goodwill and bought a pair of jeans then he thought about the cleaners to see what they could do about all the blood. But he went home first to try to hose the blood out of the leather. There was the hole in the back from the knife. He though it added character to the jacket. A lot of the blood came out of the liner but left a dark stain in the liner and around the slit in the leather.

“Clean enough, it’s not a suit anyway. He went to the laundry and washed the liner. It came out clean, but still stained. Paulie reassembled the jacket and left. He wandered around and found himself back at Franklin Park.

He began to search the park for Pills. He was the one that tried to rob him and got nothing to show for it but Paulie on his heels. It took Paulie three days to find Pills. He chose the long slender blade. He slithered up behind Pills. “Hey Pills, remember me? Now, don’t do anything stupid or I stick you right here. Walk over to that shady area, we have some unfinished business.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to stick me right here because I’m not going in there. Here I have a chance, in there . . . not so much.” Pills said.

“That’s too bad. See, I don’t give a shit where I stick you. I know something you don’t.” Paulie stepped in with the knife as it entered his back and up to the hilt. Paulie was always amazed at how easily a blade goes all the way in but seems to almost be caught in a suction and resists coming back out. He threw his hand over his mouth and forced him into the shadows. He looked around seeing only one potential witness. As he waited to see what the person was going to do, he jammed the blade back and forth and side to side before he stopped. “What you don’t know is that I am the Franklin Park Slasher!” the man’s already wide eyes looked in absolute fear. Paulie pulled the knife and sliced his throat. He looked up and saw the man approaching.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing man?” Paulie’s response was by thrusting the knife across his throat and plunging it deep into his chest. He eased the man down and looked to see if anyone else saw this. Seeing no one, he rifled the first victim’s pockets finding a large sum of money and drugs. He left the drugs but took everything else. He got to the second victim and searched him. He froze when he pulled two wallets from the man’s pockets. One contained credit cards, driver’s license, and money. The other one contained a badge. He looked at the badge. He was an Indiana State cop. “Well hell, they’re really going to step up the search now.” He thought to himself. Oh well, it’s done now!

He took the money and left everything else. They were in between a hedge fence and a maintenance building. There was a pile of dirt with a tarp over it. He dragged the bodies to the pile and covered them with some dirt and then he replaced the tarp. Hopefully it would be a few days before anyone found them. Paulie had lost count of the bodies that were piling up. But it was more than one. Either way, he’ll never make it to court. Paulie would fight to the death before allowing them to haul him in.

He waited until just before dusk, and with the warnings from the police, people in the park were scarce. Joggers were now pairing up and single walkers were rare. But they were still out there. And Paulie found them. He would kill them then rifle their pockets.

The police began to bait the park to try to catch him. It was as blatant as a prostitution sting. They might just as well carry a sign that says, “I’m a cop! Please do something stupid!” or “Hey ignore my 12 shadows that are as quiet as a heard of stampeding elephants through a bubble wrap factory.”

Even with the police’s efforts, Paulie still found victims, and the body count continued to rise. Paulie was now timing the deaths to see what worked fast and how long he could make the death take. He found the carotid artery caused death in less than two minutes. Severing the femoral artery took almost two minutes to expire. A person could survive a knife thrust to the stomach, but in the heart took less than 30 seconds.

He mocked the police by continuing to murder in Franklin Park. They tried closing off the park. The murders still happened. Even with the non-stop patrols, the murders still happened. They even resorted to air patrols. Not only did the murders still occur, they increased. It seemed that no matter how much they tried to stop the killings or even to try to stop people from going into the park, it either didn’t work, or it backfired.

There were so many cops in the park that Paulie actually thought he would be caught. Even the maintenance guys had badged escorts.

The maintenance guys were scheduled to place fresh sand under the swings. They drove their carts to the back and pulled back the tarp where they were met by a horrific odor. There were two dark spots in the sand. The cops drew their weapons and instructed the three to go ahead and dig. The first shovel met resistance. The man pulled back against the shovel handle unearthing a tibia. One worker gagged and turned away. The new wave of decay assaulted the olfactory senses causing the worker to succumb and vomit causing two others to follow suit.

The forensics’ team excavated the scene like archeologists digging up dinosaur bones. Once the bodies were unearthed, the pockets were searched and inventoried until the badge came to light. The attitude and intensity changed and multiplied as the first law enforcement officer became one the many victims of the Franklin Park Slasher. The body count was now officially 19, and the speculated guessing of more bodies in shallow graves created a search team with cadaver dogs to comb every inch of the park for more victims.

If all of these victims were from one murdering psycho, that person was a single handedly making the Franklin Police Department a laughing stock. The chief was proven correct when he saw the editorial cartoon of a skeleton with a cape, a magnifying glass, and a deer stalker hat. The skeleton was looking at a clown shoe with question marks around his head while the clown, still in the shoes, walked away with a long sword dripping blood as it was dragged behind him. To the Police Chief, it was now personal. Even though he had no clues, and no idea where to go from there. No clues, no leads, and no witnesses, he knew something would break opening up the whole case. But how many more would die until then? It seemed that no matter what he implemented, the killer countered in kind and mocked the move to stop him. The killer was either extremely smart or just dumb lucky. The chief laid his chips in the square with the killer just being dumb lucky. A smart man wouldn’t do this to start with.

Paulie had slithered into his room through the window. No one knew he was there and he planned on keeping it that way. He slept warm and comfortable for the first time in a week. They would probably find the other five or six bodies sooner or later. He smiled trying to remember the accurate count. They all had done something to earn being taken out of his way. It was their fault, they tried to steal from him, or cause him trouble, and that was something that he just couldn’t or wouldn’t allow.

Paulie hid in his room off and on for the next week. He continued to go to read the headlines. The police chief had claimed that they found four more victims in almost a week. They were also getting closer to exposing who the serial killer was.

Paulie laughed at this as they still had no clue or clues to reveal his identity. In truth, the police were hoping that the killer was following the news and would either run or make a mistake. Either way, he would win. If the killer left, he became someone else’s problem. If he made a mistake, they would personally drag him through the streets like a circus monkey before a crowd in a parade. The police chief didn’t care how it ended, as long as it ended.

It was long in the darkening sky when Paulie slithered out the window and down the street. He entered Franklin Park in a hole in the fence. No one saw him enter the park. The sky darkened as night chased away the day. There was evil to be committed and night demanded to be in place.

Paulie wandered the park uninhibited in the shadows. He saw where the police camped out. Not only could he see them, he could also smell them. Some wore way too much cologne. Some needed more deodorant, and some smelled of what they consumed at their last meal. He could understand why the North Vietnamese soldiers could easily find the enemy, they stank. He crept up on two cops overlooking the ball field. One dozed while the other kept watch. “Pretty freaking lazy to sleep in shifts.” He thought as he slithered in for the kill. The cop never knew what happened until it was too late. He saw the arterial spray before he felt the cut. He instinctively grabbed at his throat as he feebly tried to staunch the flow. He even sprayed his sleeping partner as he tried to stop the blood. Paulie changed his focus to the slumbering partner. He thrusted the long slender blade into the man’s throat. The blade severed the man’s trachea and esophagus at the base just above the sternum stopping the airway and the ability to scream. He also pulled up and back in a slight sawing motion severing the carotid artery. He awoke violently but weakly as he gasped for air. Paulie watched with bored interest as the cop bled out over his partner who had expired just seconds earlier and then went back to sleep. He looked around and slithered out the same way he went in. Paulie strolled around until he found another nest to try to infiltrate and kill. How many could he take out before they kill him or he got bored?

The next post was almost as bad. Paulie had to really fight to stifle a chortle as he saw two cops, a coffee thermos, and a box of donuts. The thought occurred to him that as fat as these two were, he could just get them to chase him and they would collapse from a heart attack. He noticed as he slipped in that the box was nearly empty and the sounds of labored breathing told him this was going to be reasonably easy. In truth the first one was easy. The second one turned out to be more alert and on the ball than Paulie thought. They grappled for the knife, then the microphone attached to his uniform. Paulie finally managed to get the other knife and run the blade across his abdomen. The slice went through the belly button and the huge man dropped to his knees and began to attempt to stuff his intestines back into this massive gut. He stepped back and watched with a mock amusement at the fat man. But this encounter was noisy. He heard whispers. He quickly closed the gap and slit the man’s throat so deep that the only thing keeping his head on his shoulders was his spine and what meat wasn’t severed because of the spinal column.

The two he found at the next station were fully alert and were quite jumpy. He watched as one was looking around and at the station he had just left while the other was literally pressing his earbud deeper into his ear to try to hear everything that was being said on the radio. He left those two and found another two man post. Neither knew what happened as both were sound asleep and it looked as if both had been out for a long, long time, and they had been at this post even longer. There was a dark spot next to where he walked in that smelled of urine. Paulie walked in and shived them both in the throat. Only a slow gurgling of air from the one, the second struggled for life giving oxygen but managed to drown in his own blood and blocked airway. Paulie walked out as if he were leaving a boring trail in a state park. Six victims, all law enforcement, which would make for a good panic among the public. Paulie could see the headlines now. “Cops Can’t Protect Their Own, Let Alone The Public.”

The police chief received the grim reports and sat heavily in his chair. He reached for the phone with a beaten resolve dialed for help. “Agent Billings, FBI, how may I direct your call?”

The conversation was brief then the chief was placed on hold. A short time later the hold muzak stopped and a voice came on line.

“Agent Binford.”

“Morning Agent Binford, My name is Harry Plumb. I’m the police chief of the Franklin Police Department. I think I may need your help.”

They talked for a long time when Agent Binford announced. “Okay Chief. I’ll send an agent down in the morning to go over what you have so far. He’ll make a report while we assemble an appropriate team to send down. I have been watching the news from there. Why did it take you so long to call for help?”

“It was originally looking like just some psycho that we thought we could catch quickly and end this. We were obviously wrong.”

“Well, I was about to send an agent down to see if you needed help. I don’t really want to waltz in down there and take over. One that’s old school and two,” he paused for affect, “we need to save face with your department and rebuild confidence within the community. We’ll be on site working with you.”

The chief thanked him and broke the connection. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

The papers were all headlining about the six people that were murdered from the park and fully noting that ever single victim was a Franklin Police officer. This did not sit well with the public at large. The public demanded action and the mayor was getting calls from the governor.

Paulie was now believing that he was invincible. They were never going to catch him because he was smarter than they were. He proved this two nights later just as night fell. Paulie found a teenage jogger and stabbed her dragging her into the bushes. There were two cops sitting on a bench just 25 feet away. They jumped and ran towards the noise, Paulie, thinking that the jig was up thought of a joke and meowed like a cat. Even putting a little trilling in the meowing. It did sound like a real cat and the police turned back to their bench without so much as a flashlight search.

By midnight, calls began pouring in about Michelle who had not returned after her jog. She was found the next morning with a note carved in her abdomen. “IT’S ME, THE CAT!” the two officers assigned to the area were questioned. Their stories matched and they were sent back on patrol with a notation for further investigation later.

The FBI had sent agents to patrol the park as well. They were easy to spot and Paulie avoided them. The FBI also sent a profiler who arrived at a description of a male, between five foot ten and six feet tall, well built, and in the neighborhood of 250 pounds, and white, could be black or Hispanic, but white was chosen. Care should be taken as the person obviously has anger issues and appears mentally unstable. He comes from an unstable home life. Upbringing fell in neglect, abuse, and possibly drugs and or alcohol. This went out to all officers. Meetings were held at the beginning and ending of every shift. There were plenty of possible suspects but there were none on the list that they were looking for.

The police were once again pulled away from looking at Paulie. He was five foot seven and weighed in at a meager 185 pounds. He was white and matched every description of the home life. He did have severe anger issues along with some paranoia issues.

Paulie smiled after reading the headline and possible description. He would once again peruse the park for potential persons for him to kill.

That night, he strolled along the stream in the lower portion of the park. At one junction, there was a comfort station with a covered area for picnics, bar-b-ques, and other kind of gatherings. There was a homeless man inside sleeping on a bench that was part of the picnic table. The man awoke and saw Paulie smoking a cigarette watching the people as they jogged, walked, threw Frisbees, baseballs, rode bicycles, and just went about their lives. Even with the caution that the police enforced upon them. It was the first warm day in the past three weeks and the public was not going to let it go to waste. Though many occasionally looked about to observe their surroundings more than usual.

Paulie jumped with the bum interrupted his thoughts. “Hey brother can I get a smoke from you?” he asked as he sat next to Paulie. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. Aren’t you Carol’s boy, Paulie?”

“You want a smoke or not old man?” Paulie snapped. He didn’t like being recognized by anyone. It always meant trouble.

“Sorry friend, just making convo you know, I’m lonely and you looked like you could use a friend.” Paulie shook his head and retrieved a cigarette from the near empty pack and handed it to the bum. “Thanks man.”

“Need a light too?” Paulie asked annoyed.

“If you don’t mind. My torch is almost empty.” Paulie lighted his smoke and moved over to the next table. Paulie continued to watch the man from his peripheral vision. He didn’t want to be disturbed and here he was being disturbed, now annoyed and growing pissed that this vagrant not only irritated him and bummed a smoke, but he also ID’d him. He had to take him out. This was intolerable, the man was half way through his cigarette when Paulie approached the man. He saw Paulie and shrank back in a practiced submission posture so he would not seem intimidating. It was wasted on Paulie as he stood directly in front of Park Bench Pete. “Why did you bother me?”

“Sorry friend, I only wanted a smoke. I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’m, sorry.” He said now truly concerned for his safety. He had nothing in which to protect himself with. Paulie already had the long slender blade in hand. He quickly looked around before bringing the blade up and into his stomach just below the rib cage. He forced the blade back and forth then with a practiced violence, he pulled the blade straight up. Causing Park Bench Pete to cry out.

From somewhere behind him he heard someone yell out. “Hey, what are you doing to that man?”

Paulie turned part way and told him to mind his own business. He heard foot falls approaching. The man was on the phone. “Dammit!” he thought and muttered removing the knife and exiting the cover and running up the hill. He managed to get away, but how good of a look did the man get of him. There were too many people around to take him out. He really should have let the man alone, but the man irritated him. He had to teach him a lesson.

Now he heard sirens as he ducked into the college bar around the corner. He took off the leather jacket and sat in the corner by the pool tables and ordered a beer.

Within minutes, the police were everywhere. They looked in all the businesses and asked customers and proprietors’ questions then moved on. Paulie saw them walk up and he slipped into the bathroom and hid in a stall. Their search was specific. They had a description but he still wasn’t sure just how good a description they had.

The police aggrandized their search to a parameter of eight blocks from the park still believing he was close by. He remained in the bar until last call. He was just drunk enough to realize he was in deep trouble and sober enough to think he could still beat them. He found a baseball cap that someone walked off and left behind. Paulie donned the cap pulling it down low still trying to be nonchalant. Someone said good night and he waved as he walked out the door with his jacket under his arm.

Outside, he put on the jacket and made sure everything was in place. So far, so good. He stayed to the back alleys and shadows until he was outside his window. He was about to crawl in when he heard voices inside.

“He’s not been here for over a Month, Carol. I think it’s time to pack the room up. I can put it in one of my storage units.” The unfamiliar voice said

“Just box it up. Do you really think it’s safe to leave this window open? This is where you’re losing heat. How long has this been open?” the stranger asked.

“I don’t know. Close it and make sure it’s locked. The police have expanded their search and we’re just outside the search area.”

“Okay,” he said. He looked out the window and back to the railroad tracks behind the house. Then he tipped back in and closed the window. The last thing Paulie heard was the lever lock struggling to slide home. He made sure that no one was at the window then walked back to the tracks.

Nowhere to go, he hunkered down in the thick bushes and fell asleep.

The train rumbled by waking Paulie up. It was daylight and the air had turned cold again. Paulie calculated that it was down in the mid 40’s. He was cold and shivering. He walked north until he met a quiet road and made his way past Walmart and out of Franklin. He stopped at the first convenient store and purchased a large coffee. He was beginning to warm up and the coffee really helped warm him even more.

It was now late in the day when he made his way back into Franklin. He wanted to talk to his mom, so he walked home. He entered the house and was met by a large man as soon as he entered. “Who the hell are you?”

“Out of my way asshole, I want to see mom!” Paulie said.

“You didn’t answer my question, I asked who the hell are you?”

By this time Carol came in from Paulie’s room hearing the ruckus in the entry way. “Paulie, what do you want?”

“This is Paulie?” Tony asked.

“Yes Tony, this is my son Paulie. Paulie, this is my boyfriend Tony.”

“Mom, can we talk, alone?”

“What about, you made your statement by leaving. So unless you have money, just go away.” She said.

Whatever, and yeah, I gots money, but I don’t want to get in the way of your latest fling. I wanted to have a serious talk, but you won’t stay sober long enough to have it, I’m leaving and this time I won’t be back!” he said and turned toward the door.

“You can’t talk to your mother like that, you apologize!” Tony scolded.

“She won’t remember anyway. And you’d better watch what you say to me old man. So park your fat ass and stay out of it.” Paulie hissed.

“I think you’d better get out.” He said.

“I was leaving before you opened your whore trap.” Paulie said.

“Excuse me you little shit?”

“Let him go, he’ll be back in a month, like always.” Carol half slurred.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Paulie said and left the house.

He was in deep thought as he walked down the tracks and found himself back at Franklin Park. The park was now deserted. Investigators and FBI were combing the picnic area that was now taped off with yellow crime scene tape. He was still lost in thought as he walked past the crime scene.

“Hey!” he heard from the direction of the scene. He hadn’t actually heard the person call out, but he did hear the foot falls rapidly approaching. The person grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, “I . . .” the knife sank deep in his mid-section. It was an automatic response from Paulie. He looked over the man’s shoulder and noted the police running in his direction and prepping their weapons. The man fell writhing on the ground leaving Paulie holding a bloody knife.

Paulie turned to run. “Freeze and drop the knife!” Paulie took another step. “I said freeze asshole! Paulie stopped and slowly turned around, still holding the knife, and he had a maniacal smile on his face.

“You’re going to kill me, but you’ll never be rid of me. I am everywhere. I am in your nightmares. Close your eyes and there I’ll be looking back at you. I will always be here.” He said as he tapped the jacket in the heart area. He lifted the knife and looked at it, then at the crowd of officers, each one pointing a weapon at him.

Three shots rang out. Three impacts of slugs against flesh. It is a sound that you never forget. No matter how much you try, and you wish you could forget, it’s always there.

Paulie tipped backward and fell to the ground as a tree falls in the forest to the lumberjack’s saw. Paulie was dead before he hit the ground.

The officers looked to where the three shots came from. The officer was holding his midsection in one hand and a smoking .45 in the other. The crowd of law enforcement split up. Most for the fallen comrade and the rest for securing the perpetrator. They kicked away the knife and ripped the jacket from the body tossing it aside to try to save his life. They wanted him dead, but at the hand of the state and by lethal injection. They tore open his shirt and saw three tightly grouped seeping holes directly into his heart. The heart, and everything associated with it was nothing but ground flesh.

Those tending to Paulie refocused their efforts to their comrade while one went to a squad car to retrieve a yellow blanket to cover the body.

An observant bum sneaked over and absconded with the jacket. Winter was coming and this would keep him warm. He was considerably larger than Paulie, but the jacket, he thought, was a perfect fit, like it was custom made for him. He found money in a hidden pocket and a knife in a custom made sleeve for that knife, further search revealed another knife in another hidden pocket as he walked away. A voice popped into his head, “I’ll take care of you. No one messes with me!” the voice said.

The police wrapped up the Franklin Park Slasher files positively identifying Paulie as the murderer. The officer that shot Paulie was Special Agent Harriet Parker of the FBI.

On the other side of town, the man with his new jacket was cleaning the blood from the holes around where three bullets penetrated the leather. Another bum walked up stating about how nice the jacket was. The man pulled the long slender bladed knife in a well-practiced move.

END?

 

The Man Who Disappeared

            Joe was always misunderstood, he would try to explain then his explanation always misconstrued. He did things for others, but when he needed help, it was never there. Many times, well, far too often he had to do tasks that required two or even three people by himself. People only seemed to go to Joe when they needed a pat on the back or their ego stroked.

The most insulting of all was when people would include him in the conversation then completely ignore him when he would try to answer their question or try to contribute to the conversation. He resorted to just walking away. It was discovered right away that no one noticed when he did walk away. People made him feel like he didn’t belong unless it befitted them for him to be there, then when their two seconds of necessary interaction was done, he was cast aside like yesterday’s refuse.

Joe liked to tinker. He was a low budget inventor. He liked to build things that made his life easier. He had lots of gizmos and doodads that functioned well when those extra hands would have come in handy. He had walls and corners full of used contraptions to help him get the job done. He was a Seabee and his skills to get the job done when the odds were against forward progress made him work that much harder to make something that made the impossible task very possible. He still managed to get it done.

There was a contraption in the hidden, back corner of his garage. It was big enough to walk in, close the door, and sit down. It was full of dials, gauges, knobs, plumbing, and wires everywhere. It was a little like something made for a steampunk show. There was a console and in the middle of this console was a lever with a black knob. He had removed it from a slot machine and thought of the novelty of pulling the lever and appearing somewhere else.

Yep, Joe was tinkering with a teleporter with time machine options. He kept this project quiet. I mean imagine what people would say if they knew or found out that their friend was building some kind of time machine. Joe could only think about what Noah went through when he was building the ark. Bill Cosby made a great bit on that. Joe chuckled at the thought. People already thought that he was strange because he would talk to himself to the point of carrying on full conversations.

His work always got done faster when he talked while he worked. He didn’t talk to others for the simple reason that no one listened anyway, so, he talked his way through his projects. When he would get stuck, he would talk each step through and he would always discover an easy remedy as to why he was stuck.

He remodeled sections of the house, but mostly he lived in the garage. Nobody minded him being out there as long as they could find him when they needed him. His phone rarely indicated its existence unless someone could not find him. Then his phone never seemed to find its peace.

He had discovered that the higher the voltage, the more favorable the results. This required a bank of batteries and several of the largest inverters he could find.

Joe worked out his schematics on the garage computer so there were no paper trail or documents for anyone to trip over. He also had everything saved in redundancy backup drives of the things he did have on the computer just in case of something accidently getting deleted or a hard drive crash.

He only worked on his teleporter when no one else was home. This way, there was less chance of it being discovered.

He loved his cars. He loved his motorcycle. Winters were miserable for him as he couldn’t go to any car shows or just twist the throttle and forget about life for a while. Joe would dream of just disappearing and going somewhere else and talk to someone who was interested in Joe instead of what he could do for them. The thought made him smile.

It was winter and he had just ordered a copy of his friends book “Timmy” by Jesse O’Brien. He had read half of the book wishing he could do even a fraction of what the boy in the story could do. But reality and science fiction rarely ever crossed streams and it was flash news when it did He did fully believe that he could teleport through current time. But the current challenges were this. Animals survived the process due to them being alive. But they did not possess an actual soul like humans do. The process of teleportation that was currently in experimentation was just this. The original body was destroyed by atomization then blipped electronically to a receiving station were a new exact body was regenerated. The issue was the destruction of the original body. What happens to the soul that makes the person human? This project worked with the body. The machine went as well so there would be no destruction and rebuilding of a new body. It was a complicated process similar to the concept of travelling at the speed of light by generating an intense beam and the machine flashing along that beam. He was getting closer.

He worked at his job and he worked from home, he loved to write, but couldn’t get any of his family to rough proof any of his work. So, he generated a web site for writers to share ideas, submit writings for proofing, flow, and basically see if any one liked it. It was the age old idea of “Let’s run it up the flagpole and see who salutes” theory. It did work pretty well, he did have to post the copyright law on the home page to remind others about not stealing or plagiarizing someone else’s work, and the copyright laws of 1976 that protects the authors work. This worked well.

He spent a lot of money to get his book on the market, and it was slowly paying off. He had finished one of his cars and was in the middle of another. The completion of the one car cut back on his time to be in the garage to work on the machine. In theory, it should have allotted more time, but there were more tasks assigned within the home taking time away from the garage. But he was getting closer.

He wrote every night to help him narrow his focus and fall asleep. His main focus was where to go. The possibilities were literally endless.

His mind ran all the time, diagnosing, studying, and solving the problems, stories, music, and something or anything that happened during the day. He analyzed seeing if there might have been a better way to have handled the situation. Oft times there usually was something better that he thought of after the fact. No good now, but if there ever were a next time.

Joe had to do some careful programming, he needed accurate maps of the earth, mountains, oceans, flat lands, hills, buildings, and all structures had to be added in the equation. He had to plot for light speed, literally. Anything in the way and both would end in a warp factor flash and would be gone. Like a fly on a bug zapper. So, he began with “Google Earth.” He talked to some of his friends in the programming world and received some great advice. But it was always followed up with, “What-cha doin, building a time machine?”

To which he always downplayed it with, “Oh no, just working on a book about time travel and teleporting and I need some good advice and some tech knowledge, that’s all, thanks.” They usually bought that line. There was no need to pursue the subject any longer. Some even offered their own hypothesis to his formula, acting as a devil’s advocate if you will. One of the biggies was the soul issue. Even thought he was on the verge of solving that very problem. That was still the lethal hurdle to overcome. His job was beginning to become redundant in being so repetitive that he could have just as well work in a factory. It seemed that every other job wasn’t just a repair, but a production of 50 or more parts. He didn’t mind the repetitive work. It was the next part was just that much farther away. When you start a production job, it took planning, organizing, layouts or jigs to be built, preproduction, and then the actual production itself. Even by that time you still couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel for the oncoming train. You were over three quarters through before you could see the actual light and not the train.

Joe was halfway through another project and jumping another hurdle with the teleporter. It looked like he may have solved the soul and body destruction by using the speed of light hypothesis. It was not unlike making out a flight plan to fly across the country or across the county. The big obstacle was to avoid impacting anything along the way. It was going to take sensors. He was going to have to have an avoidance system that can detect and correct for any obstacle. This would also keep him from being placed into a tree or landing in the middle of a body of water.

The major problem now was how he was going to test the unit. He needed to perform the test when no one else was home. This was solved by preprogramming the unit and installing a series of timers with the initial timer being in the software. It was time to leave for work. Everything was set and ready to go. He programmed the locator for the end of the driveway just a mere 120 yards away.

He found a willing, well, a reluctant participant. The rest of the family was gone for the day and Joe had one of the family pets in the chamber and secured so he wouldn’t run away. He pulled out the cars and made room for the unit to work. He activated the unit and you could hear the components come to life, clicking, whirring, spinning, and humming to life to do the job it was brought to being to do.

Everything was set. The gauges were showing optimal for the warp. Joe pressed a few keys and closed the door. The large cabinet was painted up to look like the “Tardis” from the show “Doctor Who.” It was a rolling gag to keep people guessing at what the locker truly was. Inside he was a nobody. Out here he was the king of his little domain. He at least wanted to feel appreciated. He didn’t even feel used. He just felt invisible. Well, soon he will be.

He made the final readings, checked the video feed of the pooch and clicked actuate on the screen. The big blue cabinet disappeared. Joe looked up the driveway and there it stood. He looked at the video feed and saw that the pet, though frazzled and shaken, was unharmed.

He checked the gauges and watched the high speed video. Though the dog was not strapped in, he only appeared to have experienced nothing more than the comparative sharp turn as in a car.

There was plenty of power to send the booth back to its spot in the garage. In fact, there wasn’t enough power used to even drain it down off of the full power mark on the meter.

Joe walked the dog up to his car and secured him to the bumper. He started to walk back to the garage then stopped. He turned and walked quickly to the booth. He had to really strive to keep from running to the booth. Once inside, he pressed the preprogrammed home button.

The booth hummed to life, Joe strapped himself in and grasped the handles. This would be test number two. He pulled the lever, a second of whirring and then a flash. Before Joe could blink, he was looking out of the garage from the inside the door. He shut everything off and secured the machine.

He retrieved the dog and ran inside. He grabbed a bag that contained the basic essentials. Stethoscope, sphygmomanometer, oxygen/pulse sensor, and a digital thermometer and checked both little Friskies out then himself. Friskies checked out fine and he hadn’t suffered any damages from the short excursion. He had done it, a complete success.

On days when he was the only one home, he would program different locations to check for accuracy, battery usage and the like. His last test took him to Alaska. He had used only half of the battery stores. He made it back home with five percent of the battery stores remaining.

He then installed a 200 foot heavy duty extension cord on a retractable reel. Now he could flit himself here and there and recharge if it became necessary to do so.

When everyone was home, he still felt alone. Joe was still included in conversations, and still talked over.

One day, several people were over and he sat in the corner. As usual he felt invisible. Someone would ask him a question only to talk to someone else or talk over him ignoring that he had just asked him a question. He excused himself and took his keys, wallet, phone, change, passport, and walked out to the garage. He opened the door and moved aside his bike as it was the only thing in the way.

He unlocked the box and flipped a few switches. The lights indicated a full charge and all conditions normal. Joe strapped himself in and verified the preprogrammed destination, he then pulled the handle.

In the time it had taken to light a room when you turn on the switch and the room to light, was all the longer it had taken for Joe’s homemade transporter to disappear.

Joe plugged in his booth as he put on his beach shorts and sandals. He sat on the oceans blue surf drinking a rum runner.

It was several hours later before anyone even missed Joe. All the cars were there. He didn’t take his bike, and the neighbors didn’t see him walk by. The surveillance video observed him going into the garage but not coming out.

What was not noticed, but barely perceptible, was a flash of light, like you would see when you flip the switch and the bulb flashes and goes out. And that was faint. It was a week before anyone even really noticed that the cabinet that Joe painted up like the “Tardis” was even missing. Extensive searches turned up no traces of Joe.

Joe had acquired a boat and was giving tours of the islands and diving excursions. But mostly, he only worked when he had to and the rest of the time, he basked in the sun and drank rum runners.

END

 

The Witch Doctor

            The kids watched the old man as he left the bank. They watched him every week as well as many other people. They selected specific people to watch as a potential targets. They would watch for a while then get paid as they called it. They would wait a couple of months then work on another victim. This time it was an old wrinkled man that looked to be at least 98 years old. His skin was a dark brown, his hair and facial hair was pure white. Five foot, eight inches tall and just under 115 pounds. He just looked like money. They watched him and three others over the next three weeks. He was going to be an easy mark. Old and with fat, deep pockets, it just didn’t get any easier than that.

One afternoon, they saw him fold and stuff a stack of bills in his pocket as he was exiting the bank. He stepped outside, looked around and began his slow ascent across the parking lot.

They met him before he could disappear around the plant wall. “Give us your money old man and maybe we won’t kill you.” The one, obviously the leader, said.

“Please don’t rob me, I have very little.” The old man said through slitted eyes.

“You got fat stacks old man, I saw you tuck them. Fork them over! Don’t make me wait!” he said.

“You really don’t want to rob me. You don’t know who I am do you?”

“I know what I want, and I wants my money. Now Give!” the young thug grabbed the old man and pulled him close. The old man’s eyes went from slits to wide open with what the thugs thought was panic. “That’s right, you scared now huh?”

“No one is allowed to touch me. Anyone who touches a man of my position shall be forever cursed.”

“With that, the other fools came in and pulled the shoulder bag from him and dumped it on the ground. Another rifled his pockets and found the stack of bills. The leader found a little leather bag tied about his neck. They all had touched him and had taken something from him. The leader cut open the little pouch he wore around his neck. He pulled out pebbles, a few cheap beads, a feather, an old bent penny, and a much damaged metal medallion that the leader could not identify.

The old man stood rock solid and possessed an air of fury. “What’s this shit old man, you Indian or some shit like that?”

“You could say that my young robber. Each of you had been cruel and touched Me.” he pointed at each one in turn. You will all be cursed.” The old man waved his hands as he spoke words that none of them could understand. When he finished he looked at the leader. “It is done!” the old man said.

“I didn’t feel shit! Is that all you got old man” he laughed and the other six laughed also.

“Yeah, I didn’t feel nothin!” another mocked.

The apparent leader extracted a knife from his pocket and unfolded the blade. “Tell me if you feel this old man?” he used the dull knife to tear rather than cut open his shirt. Then he had his friends pin him down as he crudely carved the letter “W” on his chest. “That let’s everyone know that you’re a witch. He said with a mock laugh. “Let’s go!” he said leaving the bleeding old man lying in the grass.

After the thugs left, the old man stood and went back to the bank. They called the police and made a report, took pictures of the wound, and insisted on calling an ambulance. The old man refused treatment.

A woman walked in and made for the old man. She was sun wrinkled and thin. Her clothes hung on her as if she were but a hanger. Her black hair was long and threaded through different color beads. She wore an old multicolored dress. Her eyes betrayed her as they were clear and piercing.

“Junea, what happened?” she said with a thick accent. An officer stopped her by holding out his hand. She stopped short of the physical contact. “What is the meaning of this? He is my father. Let me go to him!” she demanded. The cop moved aside and let her pass.

“We have an ambulance on the way.” The one said but was cut off by the woman.

“He does not need an ambulance or any of your worthless drugs. Junea, look at me.” Junea did look into the woman’s eyes. His eyes cleared and became the same piercing intensity as hers. Those in the room were fixated on his eyes and did not notice that his wounds were healing.

He stood as a man of a much younger stature, a police officer rushed to try to keep him down. “Do not touch him!” she said sternly.

“These officers and workers mean us no harm Wahla. They helped me. They will look for the robbers but will not find them. But justice will be served.” The people in the room looked at the old man with interest. “They, in time, will search me out!”

The officers looked at each other and then at the old man until one decided to test the waters.

“You’re not going after them are you?” then he noticed the wound, or rather, lack of a wound. All that was left was a scar in the shape of the “W.” “What is going on here? A minute ago he was bleeding, now it just looks like an old war wound. How is this possible?” he said suspiciously.

“We are not like you. We take care of ourselves, we are private, we only communicate enough with outsiders for business only.” The woman said.

“How much did the robbers get?” the one cop asked.

“He got 472 dollars.” She said. “It was for rent and utilities.”

“How is it that you know exactly how much he had on him?” the officer said.

“Because he doesn’t carry money unless he’s paying a bill. Today he was going to pay the rent.” She quipped.

“I asked him, sir, how much money did you have on you?”

“472 dollars, I don’t carry cash, cards, or anything of monetary value. I have no use for it.”

“You don’t shop?” the cop asked.

“No”

“Who buys your clothes, groceries, all your needs?” he asked getting perturbed by the whole situation.

“I don’t, what we have we make. Things are donated to us.” The old man said. “Now, if I may leave, I have things to get back too.”

“I see no reason to hold you. How can I get hold of you if I need you?”

“We have no phone, he comes here every other Wednesday of the month to take care of the bills.” The woman said.

“Do you have an address?” the cop asked.

“Yes, and no, you can’t have it. There is no need. He comes here every third Wednesday of the month at noon. You can catch him then.”

“It’s a bit unusual, but okay. Is there a reason we can’t have the address?” the officer asked curiosity getting the better of him.

“Because, the last time we gave out our address, we were stalked, harassed, illegally searched, and hounded until we finally had to leave town. I do not, and will not allow that to happen here.” Wahla said.

The officer held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “I won’t ask the city, it was just a curiosity question. Here is my card if they come around, or bother you in any way.”

She looked at the card in his hand and looked back at him. He got the hint and placed the card on the table. She waited until he pulled his hand back before she reached out and took the card between two fingers and dropped it in her shoulder bag. “They won’t be bothering us anymore. Of that I am most certain.”

The look on the woman’s face dared him to ask another question. He closed his notebook and turned to the paramedics who looked bewildered. “Where’s the vic?” one asked.

“He’s sitting in front of you. But you had better ask him for permission before you touch him. I’m serious on that one.” The old man shook his head and got up to leave.

Once he was upright, he took two steps and stopped. He swayed, said words that were unknown to all but the small woman. “Pappa Junea what do you see?” the officer noted that the “W” that had healed was now glowing.

“They have robbed and killed a woman not far from here.” he said what sounded like an incantation as he placed one hand on the scarred “W” and the other palm out, shoulder high, eyes clinched shut, and his head tilted skyward. “The curse begins on all of them.” He said softly.

“What?!” the officer said more than asked. He also noticed that the “W” was no longer glowing and that the scare was a shade lighter. “Ma’am, can I speak to you for a minute?” he motioned her over to a quiet corner of the room. “Okay, what the hell is going on here? What curse, what’s he talking about and what language was that?”

“It’s a variation of Portuguese. He saw those young robbers just commit a crime.”

“But what about the curse he just spoke of?”

“The curse fits their crimes. You will not understand because of your culture.”

“He’s not going to go rogue and hunt these thugs down is he?”

“No, he will most likely never see them again. I will get what money we need and we will go.” She went to the counter and withdrew the funds and then both left the bank as a call came over the radio. The call was of a robbery and murder just two blocks away.

The police arrived on the scene. The woman had been stabbed and had bled out. The really odd thing of this whole scene was a trail of blood leaving the scene.

An officer walked up to the sergeant. “Sarge, we have a witness.”

“Where?” He asked with excitement in his voice.

“This way,” he led the sergeant over to a small group standing in the yard next to a house across the street.

After the officer finished his questions and walked back to the crime scene. Forensics had gathered all the obvious evidence and was now combing the area. Another evidence gatherer was taking samples of the blood. It was literally everywhere.

The five robbers stopped three blocks away and looked at each other checking for physical damage, the four had broken bones, contusions, and lacerations all over their persons. The most disconcerting was when their eye fell upon their leader who looked as if he had fallen face first into a pile of knives, all with the sharp edges up. He was bleeding profusely.

“What the hell happened Spike? She never resisted or nothing. I need a doctor man. I think both my arms are broken. You be messed up man, how’d you get so cut up?”

“How’d you break your arms? You were there.” The leader said.

“It was that old man, it has to be, he cursed us, remember?”

“That’s shit!” the leader, Spike, said. “No such thing man. That’s stupid, yo tellin’ me that old man was a witch doctor or somethin’? They fake man.”

“Then how did you get so cut up? Bitch didn’t even have a pair of clippers! I didn’t see you cut yourself either.”

“I didn’t do shit to myself, they just appeared! Shits deep to man.” Spike said.

“That old man, he said he put a curse on us for touching him and you cut him.” one of the others said in thought as he cringed from the pain. “I’m going to the emergency room. I can’t hang with this.” He said as he turned and walked away. The other three followed suit leaving the leader standing in his slowly spreading puddle of blood. He walked in the opposite direction. Spike knew if he went to the hospital, he went straight to jail after they stitched him up.

Spike was cut up worse than what was visible. He couldn’t explain it, but he could feel the raw exposed nerves under his shirt where more cuts made themselves known. He knew he needed help. He just couldn’t go to any hospital. He did have a friend that he could go to. That was where he went.

Tom, Semic, Willie, and Stu, walked into the ER and begged for help. As with any hospital, their names and information was taken down and placed on a waiting list. Maybe five or six hours, so, they sat moaned, and waited.

Spike knocked on the door to an unassuming mobile home in the back of a mobile home park three blocks away. The door opened an inch and a half and a single eye peered at the pale figure on the other side. “Shit!” the door slammed shut long enough to hear a restraining chain slide, and then the door flew open. The craggy caveman looked around and jerked Spike inside. “What happened to you man?”

“I don’t know, or at least I have no idea on how to explain it. Can you help me?” Spike asked, almost pleading.

Let’s look at the damage. Then we’ll see. Take off your shirt. Are your legs cut up too?”

“No just my upper body.” He said removing his blood saturated shirt. He couldn’t take off his T-shirt. The man had to cut that off. The man dropped his scissors when he eased the material away from Spike’s torso.

“Damn, you look like a training dummy for pumpkin carving. You look to be one step away from your skin being flayed from your body. This is going to take a long time, and I’m not sure I have enough suture kits. You don’t know how this happened?” Spike shook his head and was on the verge of collapse. The man walked him over to a massage chair so he could lean forward and suffer minimally instead of full weight by lying flat on the wounds.

The man that looked like a caveman, known as Caveman, delicately scrutinized the wounds on his friend. “This isn’t good man. I’ve never seen anyone cut up this bad.”

“Can you stitch me up?” Spike hissed in obvious pain.

“I can, I might not have enough suture kits. I’ll do what I can now and play it as it goes.”

“Not good enough!” he commanded.

“Okay, then get yo ass up, we going to the hospital.” Caveman demanded.

“NO! No, okay. Just stitch man.” Spike said.

Caveman set to work. Critical areas first, the more minor areas can go until last and hopefully either he’ll have enough or he might be able to use steri strips. This was going to be brutal. Spike was going to look like a young modern version of Frankenstein.

All day and late into the night, Caveman sewed Spike together like a ripped up rag doll.

“Something just doesn’t feel right, man. The stitches are taking, but your skin, something doesn’t feel right. I can’t describe or explain it. I’m almost done, I’m starving. Are you up for something to eat when I finish. If you can, you should eat something.” Caveman said.

“Not up to it, weak, need sleep.” Spike said.

“We have to get something in you so you can begin regaining your strength. Fluids, something, you’re not dying here of lack of sustenance!”

Caveman finished but Spike was out cold. He was in no danger of falling so Caveman let him sleep.

The four were finally seen and X-Rayed and were in different rooms awaiting doctors to evaluate and proceed to surgery to set, prep, and place their damaged parts in their perspective casts.

All were acting suspicious and one astute nurse made a call to see if there had been a very recent crime with a description of the current patients.

There was, and, there were.

Within minutes, two squad cars were parked outside of Community South’s ER entrance and were waiting for the doctors to finish and final preparations on their casts before entering their rooms to question the potential suspects. Another officer was called in for the third suspect. Unfortunately, or depending on how you may look at it, each one thought they were the only one caught and did not know that two more were in the same situation. The forth one had no idea that his partners in crime had been apprehended. By the time it was discovered that the forth was within their grasp, he was long gone. They did have a name of the fourth and were questioning the three about the remaining two suspects that were still at large.

Stu caught wind as he was leaving the hospital that they were actively looking for all involved of the two robberies and the murderer of the woman. Spike was getting worse and more brutal each day. He knew that somehow the old man was responsible for his injuries. The old man said he cursed them, he laughed and mocked the old man. Now Stu was trying to explain how he received his broken bones. Spike cut him and he was covered in unexplained cuts all over. He had walked almost two blocks when he tripped. He almost caught himself when he stumbled and his tibia in his left leg snapped just above his ankle. He cried out as his leg collapsed under him. He impacted the ground and he heard another sound like someone breaking off a chicken leg from the carcass. The pain took a mere two seconds to reach his already overloaded brain. The onslaught of the second wave of pain was more than he could bear. He clinched his eyes as consciousness decided to mercifully take a holiday.

Stu awoke in a brightly lighted room. He brought his right arm up to cover his eyes. Correction, he attempted to move his right arm, but there was a metallic rattle, a clank as his arm stopped. Though his arm was in a cast, someone had still managed to handcuff him to the side rail. He was on his back. His leg was set and in traction. He couldn’t go anywhere anyway.

A voice made him jump. It wasn’t loud, it was just there. “Can you tell me what the hell is wrong with you guys? Semic is now encased in a full body cast. Tom jumped down from the exam table and broke his foot. Willie is in the basement. He resisted and was placed in a choke hold that resulted in a broken neck. He died four hours ago. So, now we have all of you but Spike. Can you explain to me how it is that you guys are breaking bones at random? Is there a new drug on the market? I need to know what I’m up against. This hospital needs to prep for an epidemic of broken bones if this is a new drug. Talk to me Stu, your buddies aren’t making any sense.”

Stu studied the man in the casual suit. “The old man, it has to be, the four of us only touched him. Spike cut him. We can’t move without breaking something. Last time I saw Spike, he looked like he fell into a meat slicer. I know it sounds stupid as hell, but I think the old man’s curse is real.”

“Where’s Spike?”

“I don’t know. He walked away from us. He shouldn’t be too hard to track, he was really bleeding bad. He was leaving a trail a mile wide.” Stu said now feeling the pain medication wearing off. He reached for the call button but it wasn’t there. He looked and felt around with no success.

“Looking for this?” the man held up the cord with the call button dangling from it.

“Please, the pain.”

“Who dealt the fatal blow to the woman?”

“What?” Stu asked surprised.

“Who dealt the fatal blow to the woman?”

“She’s dead?”

“Well, her throat was cut and she was stabbed in the heart. So, yeah, she’s dead.”

“Shit.” He said hanging his head. “Spike has been getting progressively more violent every time I saw him. Before we only threatened people and they would just give us their money. The old man was the first one we roughed up. I didn’t want to do it. I know the others didn’t want to do it either. Spike went wild when the old man refused. He ordered us to search him. The old man told us not to touch him. He said a man of his position is not allowed to be touched. Anyone who touched him would be forever cursed. We took his shoulder purse and Spike took a small bag from around his neck. He had some weird shit in both. Spike asked him if he was a witch doctor. He said something like that. Then Spike carved a “W” into his chest. We were caught up in the crime but were still shocked when he cut him. He said we are cursed. We didn’t feel any different so we made fun of him. Now I wish we would have left him alone. Is he okay?” the young teen asked.

The detective looked at him for some time before he spoke. “He is already healed with only a scar of the “W” remaining. We knew when you boys murdered that woman. I saw his “W” glow then he announced that your group had just killed a woman a couple of blocks away. Before that happened, he healed as he stood in front of us, he and his daughter refused any treatment. When they left, he was uninjured save the scar. The situation is quite unsettling, and this explains a lot actually.” The detective stood, looked at the boy and said. “Don’t go anywhere.” The detective chuckled as he left the room.

The detective was in deep thought was he drove back to his office. “It was obvious. The crimes committed by the teen were egregious. But had the old man committed any crimes. The teens could say what they wanted, but the old man and his daughter could just claim coincidence because they didn’t actually touch anyone, or was even in the vicinity of where they incurred the injuries.” The detective was even more confused than ever.

There was nothing concrete on the old man or his daughter. He had to find Spike, that was a given. He had to find him fast.

Spike awoke, drool greasing his face to the massage chair’s face cushion. He slowly sat up, and wished he’d thought better of it before he committed this act. He slowly brought his hand up to wipe his face. He felt grids of stitching. Spike rose and slowly walked to the bathroom. He all but screamed when he looked in the mirror. He was shirtless and the amount of surgical threading that perforated his flesh almost made him vomit. He slowly turned and looked at his back in the mirror. It was as bad as the front. His arms too, were covered with stitches. It was almost as if he had the world record for the amount of stitches.

Spike swooned and shot an arm out to catch himself. He cried out as the skin in the crook of his arm tore, leaving a ragged skin tear. “Shit, hope, I never have to run again!” he thought as he tried to find something to pull the skin back together.

He rifled Caveman’s room finding clothes to wear. He had to get out of there.

Spike left the mobile home and guided his feet back in the direction of the bank. He had to find the old man and make him remove this curse.

Junea had to go to the bank to get money to pay the utilities. He was now fully healed and had his strength back. He now carried a waist pouch and placed the money in it before leaving the teller’s window. He turned to leave and got as far as outside when Spike grabbed him and slammed him against the bank building.

“What the hell old man, why am I getting cut, my skin is splitting for no reason. What gives man? Make it stop!”

The old man’s eyes narrowed into small dark slits. “So, the evil robber makes yet another demand. Where are your comrades, Spike?”

“What, how do you know who I am?”

“Well because your friends gave you up. One is dead from breaking enough bones in his body. You look horrible, lose a fight? Since you forgot your last instruction from me, remember. No one is allowed to touch me.” Junea recited a short incantation and Spike squeezed tighter on his grip on the old man’s clothing. Something didn’t feel right. He let go of the old man’s clothes and looked at his hands. Junea reached up and with his thumb and index finger, flipped the end of Spike’s finger which popped like a small balloon. Spike cried out in agony. He slowly reached across to his hand so as to not tear the skin. “Now you have two curses on you. As to who I am, I am a voodoo doctor. I only need to make physical contact with my intended victim or touch something of theirs to cast a curse of my choosing.” Junea opened his shirt showing a slight scar of a “W” that was glowing brightly on his chest. “I will possess this scar until your demise. It now glows because you have done evil and it pulls from your life force.” A woman inside saw the two and quickly called the police. She hoped they arrived before Spike hurt or killed the old man.

“How can I get you to remove these curses?” Spike pleaded.

“You cannot, you injured me, and you violated and damaged my temple. This is simply unforgiveable. I can lift this latest curse if I so choose, but I will not. This will be a lifelong lesson for you to be kind and gentle. Slow to act and slow to aggression. Anything you do quickly can and will have a devastating effect. I recommend you walk away and never touch or let alone approach my person ever again. In my long existence, I have never been so disrespected in any manner such as this. I can also see the future. I will not possess this scar much longer. Would you like to know how you will meet the end of your pathetically tragic life?”

Spike took two steps back and turned white. It was then that he heard sirens rapidly approaching. It was too late. Three police cruisers were already in the lot.

Spike turned and ran. He felt the sudden burn behind his knees as the flesh gave way. He heard one shout to stop or he would shoot, but he ignored the warning. A shot rang out and his leg disappeared below the knee. Spike tumbled and landed full force on his stomach which ruptured like he landed on a water balloon. His left hand slapped the ground and jelled upon impact.

Junea’s scar glowed with neon intensity then slowly began to fade taking the scar with it. By the time the last of the glow faded, the scar was gone as well.

The officer cautiously approached Spike and rolled him over. The sight caused him to evacuate the content of his stomach.

Junea walked back into the bank to answer more questions and wait for his daughter.

END