“Tha perpei na pantrefteis prin pethano,” her father yelled from the dining room. The term spoken in his native language meant, “You’ll have to marry before I’m dead.”
Drea finished washing her hands, then dried them off with the hand towel hanging on the cabinet below the sink before turning to face her. “I’ll get married once I’m ready. I am certainly not in a rush. Did you know that 60 to 70 percent of officers’ marriages fail?”
“Well, now, who told you to go be a police officer? Certainly, not your parents. You could always quit.”
“All right.” Drea threw up her hands. “I wasn’t aware that I was walking into an ambush.” She started to head for the door.
With pleading, blue eyes, Mrs. Alanis begged, “Please, don’t leave,” stopping her daughter in her tracks. “I’ll keep your father calm.”
“I would appreciate it. I kinda had a tough day today,” Drea admitted.
“Well, help me get this food into the dining room, and you can tell us all about it.”
* * *
Meanwhile, Gertrude proceeded to craft her creation. She kept her mind busy thinking about what she’d make for dinner. Aunt May had bingo that night with the ladies at Transfiguration’s recreation building. The Catholic Church often hosted events to occupy the community. Bingo, carnivals, raffles, even State Fairs were held there on the grounds. There was no way May would be spending her Thursday night standing over a hot stove when she could congregate with like-minded individuals. Every elderly lady on that side of town would be in attendance, inkers for blotting and crossword puzzle books in tow for intermissions.
Considering her night alone, Gertrude hoped to eat her dinner with Ronald that night. I hope he doesn’t have any dinner plans.
“All right. I’m all yours. What are my instructions?” Ronald pushed the wheelbarrow up the driveway in her direction.
His words were like music to Gertrude’s ears.
* * *
After a long day of dropping fries and reheating chicken patties, Arthur strolled into the house, tossing his keys on top of the television before making his way to the kitchen to empty the contents of his bag onto the already-cluttered table. He took out the gnat spray, pulled the trigger, and began slaughtering the lot of them. Sure, washing the dishes would make more sense, but the way Arthur saw it, he’d already slaved all day at the fast-food restaurant preparing orders. Of course, he had no idea what actual slavery was like, but all he had to go off to form his opinions were his limited mind and experiences. Arthur loathed the job. He felt as if it kept him stuck, a captive of poverty. Yet, he blamed his financial situation on everyone but himself. Time after time, his bitterness and lack of effort had kept him from obtaining love, eventually allowing an ineptness to overtake him. An ineptness he’d allowed to manifest into a monster Ronald had recently come to discover.
After exterminating the hoard, he snatched open the bare refrigerator to grab one of the only things it housed beside a carton of milk, some cheese, along with a pack of frankfurters. The flat forty-ounce bottle of malt liquor from the night before would surely wash away his woebegone mood. Arthur twisted off the cap, then took several long swigs, gulping down a third of it as he stood in front of the opened fridge.
He hissed as he wiped the trickle of alcohol from his thin goatee with a swipe of his forearm, relishing its taste. That hit the spot. He made his way to his bedroom, placing his beer on the nightstand after taking another gulp. That’s when his gaze shifted to the space beneath the bed. He proceeded to kneel beside the mattress, reaching his hand underneath to pull the cardboard box toward him. The moment Arthur placed the box containing his most precious belongings atop the gray comforter, a feeling of languor overtook him. Blinking lethargically, he had already begun to feel the effects of the malt liquor. However, there was the possibility that it could have been the sedative Ronald added to the bottle during his visit.
Even so, Arthur unzipped his pants, allowing his bulging member to poke through the opening. He was eager to be stimulated even before he had begun perusing its contents. Either way, by the time Arthur had opened his box of goodies and began pleasuring himself there on the edge of the bed, the sedative did its job. With his stiffened penis in hand, he tried shaking himself awake, but it was too late. Arthur’s head fell back, taking with it the upper half of his body.
Chapter 11
Falling Hard
Meanwhile, Ronald and Gertrude admired their handiwork.
“Look at it, Ronald. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
The two of them, Ronald and Gertrude, stood on the sidewalk in front of the yard gazing at the colorful flowers.
“My mother would have liked it,” he remarked, recalling how much his mother loved flowers. Tears nearly filled his ducts until he realized Gertrude’s gaze had shifted from the landscape to his person. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Gertrude cut right to the chase. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Aunt May has bingo, which means I’ll be eating alone. I hate eating alone.”
“As long as you’re doing the cooking, I’d love to. Should I come to your place, or will we be eating at mine?”
“Well, it’s much easier for me to cook at my place. Besides, we have a dishwasher.”
“Are you calling me outdated?”
“All right now, Chris. Jumping to conclusions must be contagious today.”
Ronald chuckled. “You know I had to get you.”
“You could always help me do the dishes if you’d like.”
“I think I’ll pass. I’ve done enough hard labor for one day. I’m looking forward to relaxing and eating a home cooked meal now that you’ve gotten me all excited.”
“Any requests?”
“Do you know how to make goulash?”
“Do I know how to make goulash? I guarantee you haven’t had goulash as delicious as mine. How about you come over around seven o’clock? Dinner should be ready by then.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The two headed up the walkway to go inside—Ronald proceeding to his unit and Gertrude to hers.
Ronald had more work to do before he was due to be back in Gertrude’s company. Without being sure of how much of the sedative Arthur had ingested, let alone if he’d drunk it at all, he was taking a risk going back there. If Arthur had ingested the drug and since recovered, he’d definitely know he’d been slipped a mickey. Not having drunk the beer at all would result in Ronald having to go about things the hard way. Either way, what had to be done would be. Two hours should do it. He committed himself to the time.
Ronald hurried to his bedroom to change, dressing in a pair of blue coveralls. A hood had been fashioned to the collar to help further conceal his identity if he was spotted at the scene. He grabbed his keys and a legal-sized clipboard with a few sheets of paper pinned to it. To avoid running into Gertrude on the way out, Ronald exited the back door, cutting through the yard to get to the driveway.
Alerted by the sound of his engine, Gertrude glanced out of the kitchen’s bay window just as Ronald backed out. Let’s hope he’s going to pick up a good bottle of wine. She continued filling a pot with water to boil the pasta.
* * *
During the ride to Mr. Columbus’s house, Cecilia’s eerie presence perched silently on the backseat. Ronald could tell something was wrong since she’d refrained from uttering a word. The darkness around her eyes seemed even more apparent that day. Hostility oozed from the sullen scowl plastered on her face. Each time Ronald glanced in the rearview mirror, there it was, that scowling stare.
“Is that look directed at Arthur or me, dear sister?” Ronald asked, having noticed Cecilia’s discord earlier that morning.
“I would never harbor any ill feelings toward you, dear brother.” She masked her distaste for Ronald’s recent choices with a sly grin.
He accepted the untruth, then mashed the gas pedal further to the floor, focused on Mr. Arthur Columbus. The short ride
down the highway provided the time he needed to come up with a plan. By the time he pulled around the corner from Arthur’s house, Ronald had a clear vision of how he would handle the situation. He hopped out of his truck with the clipboard in gloved hands, looking as if he were canvassing the neighborhood to check the electric meters alongside each house. To his surprise, he had yet to see a soul outside their home. No little girls playing double Dutch, no little boys riding their bikes.... As Ronald walked over the hopscotch diagram drawn in chalk along the sidewalk, he recalled a memory.
* * *
Back then, he and Cecilia were inseparable. They played along the walkway just beyond their front porch, Cecilia taking her turn to make it through the course. Her red Chucks hopped from one square to the next about the fractured cement.
“Step on a crack, you break your mother’s back,” young Ronald declared.
Cecilia stopped in her tracks, teetering on one foot, averting other flaws in the foundation. “Hey, no fair. That crack isn’t even supposed to be there.”
“Doesn’t matter now. You stopped, so I win.”
“You tricked me.” Cecilia grimaced, flipping one of her pigtails behind her shoulder, then resting her hand on her hip.
“I’ll race you for it.” Ronald took off running.
Cecilia gave chase, maintaining a close distance. Every time Ronald glanced to his rear, his sister was on his heels.
“Time to kick it into overdrive,” he yelled before shifting to increase his speed. It was an announcement he should have kept to himself. You know what they say, loose lips sink ships. With the uttering of his declaration, Ronald’s plans were thwarted by the kick of his twin sister’s foot. He’d gone flying through the air but only for a moment before his body crash-landed on the ground.
* * *
The sight of Arthur’s home forced the not-so-fond memory to fade, bringing him back to reality.
“Hey, hey . . . Have a drink with me,” the drunk man staggering up the block toward him insisted.
Ronald lifted his hand to let the man know not to come any closer. “Back up,” he insisted.
“I just wanna have a drink with ya,” the stranger staggered nearer.
A neighbor across the street came tearing out of her screen door. “Get in the house, Tony. You leave that meter man alone, or you’ll regret it. Don’t make me call the authorities.”
“Ohhh, come on, Karen. I just wanted to have a drink with him,” Tony slurred.
Karen defiantly waved her spatula in the air. “I mean it, Tony. You get inside your house and stop causing a ruckus,” she demanded, quickly moving to close her housecoat as it undid itself.
“You’re such a party pooper, Karen,” Tony clamored, waving his hands flippantly in the air as he fumbled back up the street to his dilapidated flat.
The nosy, middle-aged woman griped but went to shut herself inside of her home. “Low-life scoundrel.” She slammed the screen door, then the front door immediately after.
This is a disaster, Ronald thought. Maybe I should just turn around? His stomach felt uneasy. Second thoughts about going inside had just about won out when Cecilia laid her hands on him, sending his arm trembling.
“What on earth?” Karen blurted as she spied between the vertical blinds dressing her living room window. She thought Ronald’s tremor odd, but the loud horn that erupted down the street stole her attention.
Another neighbor attempting to leave home blared their horn at Tony, who’d paused, chattering to himself as he blocked their driveway’s exit. It took a few honks accompanied by angry words for Tony finally to move along. Once he had, Karen looked back, but by then, Ronald had disappeared completely.
Cecilia led her brother to the garage in the back. He took his time surveying the scene. Ronald had to find a way inside without breaking any windows. Walking around the structure brought him to a row of metal drums with tattered cans and broken glass scattered atop them. Aluminum cans, as well as broken glass, nearly blanketed the grass around the rusted drums. In plain sight, the revelation came to him in a flash. It wasn’t just target practice. That’s when Ronald pushed over one of the drums hoping the top would come flying off. To his dismay, they required more effort. He continued, thrusting the heel of his boot against each barrel one after another until all six were laying on the ground, every one of them still holding its seal.
The shed not fifty yards from there would hopefully furnish a tool needed to pry one open. After picking the padlock, Ronald managed to find a crowbar amongst the rubble of rusted tools.
That should do the trick, dear brother. Cecilia encouraged her twin as he tore by, determined to enforce her will.
Digging the thin end of the metal crowbar into a groove along the top of the barrel, Ronald used the weight of his body to pull back on it, his jaw bulging through clenched teeth.
Suddenly, out flooded a mass of disgusting liquid and dismembered limbs.
He coughed, gagging from the fetid odor as he backed off the horrific scene. Nearly losing his stomach’s contents, Ronald choked back an upheaval of vile liquid forcing its way up to his esophagus.
“If you’re gonna do this, dear brother, you need to see what it is he’s done,” Cecilia pressed him.
After a few forced, deep breaths, Ronald was tearing back toward the barrels. One after another, he pried off each lid. When he finished, there had to be body parts of at least a half-dozen mangled women in various stages of decomposition being eaten by gigantic maggots splayed about Mr. Columbus’s backyard.
“Now, do you see, brother? He must be punished,” Cecilia demanded.
Ronald turned to the house where Arthur lay. His dick, although softened, remained in his grasp.
Ronald entered the house through the back door in search of the man who’d viciously murdered all those women scattered across the lawn.
As his gaze fell upon Arthur, he thought about ending his life right then and there. Taking him back to the house, though, would allow him to take his time torturing him. Even so, something just didn’t feel right. He’d already fulfilled his quota for the day, metaphorically speaking. Not to mention, he worried that Gertrude might see him return with Arthur’s body. Maybe I should just call the police. All the evidence they need is outside, he reasoned with himself.
Ronald had made his decision. He was going to call the authorities and let them handle it.
“Where do you think you’re going, dear brother?” Cecilia blocked his path out of the bedroom.
“There’s no need for me to do anything here. There’s no way he’ll get away with what he’s done. Joe was different,” Ronald explained, passing right through the apparition.
Defying Cecilia’s orders wasn’t something her brother typically did. Instantly, she clenched his arm—completely forcing her will upon him.
And just like that, he transitioned. With bucked eyes and clenched teeth, Ronald tore through the house headed straight for the kitchen. It was there he’d found his weapon of choice. The wild-eyed avenger pulled a butcher knife from Arthur’s kitchen cabinet, judging its sharpness. Then he stretched his neck from side to side, working out the kinks.
“It’ll do,” Ronald proclaimed before he darted off to commit cold-blooded murder.
Chapter 12
Second Chances
Detective Barnes was seated at the table in one of the local Coney Islands waiting for his number to be called. The lonely bachelor often ate at restaurants, preferring his food to be cooked, not burnt. He had yet to get the hang of cooking entire meals, washing pots and pans, and cleaning stovetops. Barnes had trouble even imagining himself doing anything other than being a cop. He ate, slept, and breathed justice. And though he was there to get a good meal, it was Barnes’s duty that fueled him.
Barnes got a whiff of the filthy stench before looking up to see the fidgety man wearing the oversized jogging suit. He stood near the entrance, waiting for a waitress to assist him. Aware that he looked less than presentable, he tried
to look civilized, hoping they would be willing to look past his filthy clothes and dirt-smudged face. His fingertips poked out the top of cheap cotton gloves meant to keep his hands warm on days that turned into frigid nights. The duffle bag on his back felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds after having lugged it around all day.
The vagrant had been on the run, going from city to city, even state to state, to get away from his past.
“You can seat yourself,” the cashier announced over the public announcement system as she eyeballed the drifter-looking stranger. She was sure she had never before seen him in there.
He sat down in the booth, removed his mason jar full of coins from the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, twisted off the cap, then began counting.
One of the waitresses approached to take his order, “Good evening, sir. Can I get you something to drink?”
The vagrant looked up, addressing her with the same kindness she had shown him, “Good evening, Sharon,” He read the name etched on the lapel of her shirt. “I’ll just have an apple pie and a cup of water. The pie is no more than three bucks, right?” He pushed through the quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies coupled in the palm of his hand to ensure he had enough.
“How do you feel about corned beef?” Barnes chimed in to inquire as he approached. Even though the detective was dressed in his suit, he had put away his badge, being officially off duty.
“I’d say it’s pretty good. I haven’t had the pleasure of ordering it from this particular establishment.”
“Sharon, can you put another sandwich on my order and an extra fry? We’ll take it to go.”
“Sure thing. An extra order of fries, another corned beef sandwich, and an apple pie.” She jotted down the meal before leaving to process their order.
“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?” Barnes asked once the waitress was out of earshot, out of respect for the man.
It was apparent that he was embarrassed about his situation. He lowered his head. “I make my own way.”
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