Cemetery Drive

by Lucian Clark

  ouch with two matching recliners and a coffee table. An open design that had a little breakfast nook leading to the kitchen and from what I could see, a dining room with an over-sized dining table. The walls were filled with various rewards given to Gideon and his companies. The space felt large and empty, barely lived in. A show of wealth and power as opposed to a home.

  “I know why you are here. You can stop making a show of it. Sit. Sit.” The way he talked made the hairs on my neck and arms stand on end. Not a care in the world. He didn’t care about the gun pointed at him. He didn’t care that Jack was dead. He didn’t care it was his fault. Carefree. When I did not move, he gestured to one of the leather armchairs in the expansive entryway.

  “Sit.” That cold and commanding voice. It shot through my heart. The same way he talked to Jack. Had talked to Jack. Cold. Indifferent. More like talking to an annoyance than your husband. The person you’re supposed to love. I kept my gun pointed at him, circling to stand across the room from him. Keeping the door at my back in case I needed to make a quick getaway.

  “He’s dead because of you.” The words slid past my lips. Burning. The words were hard to say and yet here, they came out so effortlessly despite that pain or maybe, because of that pain. Gideon had to know what he did. Had to know he wasn’t going to get away with murder.

  “No. He’s dead because he killed himself. I wasn’t the one who decided to well, you know.” Gideon placed the drinks on the coffee table as he spoke. He then placed his fingers to his head to mime a gun and then made a cartoonish gun firing noise. Gideon’s massive form lowered to sit on the couch, resting his arms on the back of it. Despite his size, he didn’t even sink into the soft leather.

  My blood boiled, my anxiety being replaced with anger. Jack was barely cold in his grave and he was already making jokes about his death? Air hissed passed my teeth. He still talked so plainly about the events, as if there were years between them as opposed to just days. How could he have moved on already? Was there no remorse or guilt in this man? Did he even truly feel emotion? My finger tensed on the trigger, threatening to shoot him dead now. Not yet, he had to admit what he had done first.

  “You’re a liar! It’s all your fault!” I was screaming. The gun shook wildly in my hands. “He had nothing! You made sure of that!” Every fiber of my body was on fire. All the rage. The sorrow. The hurt. “I can prove it was you!” Spit flew from my lips as I yelled like a rabid animal.

  “Oh can you now?” Gideon raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “I waited for him. I never saw him. You killed him and then when you realized you couldn’t move and hide a body, you staged it like a suicide.” My throat was hoarse and it hurt to talk, but I had to make Gideon admit it.

  “Judah.” Like an annoyed parent trying to sooth a child during a temper tantrum. Did he even see the gun in my hands? “He ran away. The police brought him back in the middle of the night. Apparently he was staying with the Hendersons.”

  “Bullshit! I spoke with them. I saw them call you when I left.”

  “They called me because they were worried a drunk was going to come banging on my door.” Gideon laughed, slapping his knee. “If only they knew how right they were! The same night even!” He laughed harder.

  “And what about the threats? How did you say it? If Jack wanted to leave he would ‘leave in a body bag’?” I stepped forward which caused Gideon to shift his weight, his icy eyes now focused on the gun.

  “He could have stayed.” Gideon said, eyes locking onto mine. There was not a hint of remorse. No humanity hidden in those depths. Just a cunning. A dare. He took a sip of the drink, gesturing again towards mine.

  “With you? A monster?” The words bubbled out of my mouth and my throat on fire. Instinctively I reached for my flask, but it was empty. That glass on the table looked so tempting and I swallowed hard. “You’re a fucking monster, Gideon.”

  “We’re not so different. You and I. Only I was successful while your business failed. Isn’t that right?” Gideon spoke coldly, but the words cut like a knife.

  “We’re nothing alike. I loved Jack. You used him.” I snarled, feeling my lip curl back to expose my teeth. There were tears streaming down my face that I couldn’t control.

  “Really? You showered Jack with gifts, placing yourself in a significant amount of debt to buy Jack’s love.” Gideon grinned, puffing his chest out in perceived victory.

  “I gave him everything he wanted. As he deserved. I didn’t give him gifts to say ‘sorry for abusing you’.” Gideon raised his hands and I could see the panic starting to set in as I refused to drop the gun. I kept my finger on the trigger and I could see him nervously glancing at it.

  “You don’t know anything about me.” I spat. I blinked the tears from my eyes to keep my vision from blurring. The last thing I wanted was for Gideon to see me lose complete control.

  “Oh, I know much more than you think, Judah Moretti. What’s the real reason you never moved home? Did you tell Jack about Georgia?” Gideon took a drink, his eyes never leaving me. The corners of his lips started to twitch upwards, sensing another way to get to me.

  “Of course.” My hands had began to shake, and I lowered the gun. It suddenly felt like dead weight in my hands. Where was Gideon going with this?

  “Did you really tell him? Does he know about your business partner? Oh what was his name…” Gideon snapped his fingers as he thought. “Oh yes,” a sneer crept across that flat sculpted face. “Ethan. That was his name.” My arms fell as Gideon said that name, the gun thumping dully on my thigh. Ethan’s name struck me in the heart – a name I hadn’t heard in years. A name I wish I could forget but was always there at the back of my mind. “I wouldn’t be your first kill, would I?”

  “Shut up,” I whispered.

  “Poor Ethan. You were drunk and dumb. Wrapped your car around a tree and made it out without a scratch. But poor, poor Ethan. Ejected from the car and -” Gideon ended his sentence by clapping his heads together. I grimaced in disgust.

  “Shut up.”

  Gideon continued. “Your business failed soon after. Then your mother died. Tragedy just follows you, doesn’t it, Judah?” Gideon’s sneer turned into a grin, his all too white teeth gleamed in the bright light of the living room.

  “Just. Shut. Up.” I growled the words through clenched teeth. The metal of the gun bit into my hand as I clutched the grip tightly. My eyes squeezed shut in an effort to strangle the tears.

  “Ethan. Your mother. Jack. Who’s next?” A slight pause. “I guess it’s me, huh?” Gideon laughed. A deep, resonating sound. So sure of himself. He was so fucking sure of himself. “No wonder that pathetic little whore-”

  “Fuck you.” If you’ve never fired a gun, you’re not ready for the sound. The outdoor range didn’t prepare me for the sudden concussive burst that seems to shatter the world for a second. No ear protection to cut it down in the slightest. One second and it’s done. That’s all it takes. The bullet travels through the air and hits something eventually. The ground. A beer bottle. A target. Gideon fucking Bellview.

  “You don’t get to insult Jack like that. Not anymore.” Before I realized what was happening, I fired a second round into Gideon as he clutched at his chest. His eyes wide with fear. I realized then that he didn’t think I would do it. He didn’t think I had the guts to shoot him. All movement stopped with that second shot as my ears rang and my vision swam.

  Death isn’t like it is in the movies. Everyone knows that. I don’t think anyone is really prepared for how degrading it is. I stood there, staring at Gideon slowly bleeding out on the couch. Blood pooled under his feet and on the cushions, dripping down the leather. I don’t know how long I stood there, consumed by the ringing that drowned out everything but my own blood rushing through my body. My legs felt weak underneath me as I swayed with the room spinning around me.

  As Gideon lay there, dead or dying on his several-thousand-dollar couch, my legs took me around the house. Searching. I
didn’t know what I was looking for until I found it. The bathroom. The place where Jack had lay, bleeding on the floor. It looked pristine. Shining. Beautiful. The floor was various shades of gray, meant to imitate wood as opposed to tile. On the far wall under the window was a massive clawfoot bath tub and two stand alone sinks. I could imagine which one was Jack’s as it had already been cleared of all of his personal effects. The toilet was in a separate corner with its own door along with a standing shower. Then my eyes saw the bullet hole in the wall. Small and dark against the wall behind the bath tub. No trace of the horrific loss of life that had happened within its confines.

  The tile was cool. That was the only thing I thought as I laid on that floor with my knees pulled to my chest. Time meant nothing on that floor. I cried. I screamed. I beat the floor and wailed until my hands were raw and red. Every emotion that I had channeled into those bullets to murder Gideon Bellview were now bubbling back up and spilling out. And why the fuck did I keep saying his name!? Hell, there were parts of me that I still don’t think quite fully comprehended that I had just killed him. He is dead because of me. The thought bounced around my head much like the ringing of the gun shots.

  Everything was on fire. The pain and the agony. The absolutely desperate feeling of loneliness and loss. Every negative emotion flooding through all at once. I needed it to end. Jack could make it end. I just had to go to Jack. We could be together and then it would never hurt. It would never ever hurt like this again…that emptiness filled and swallowed me. Did Gideon get what he deserved? Will I get what I deserve?

  The cold metal and acrid taste of gunpowder pulled me back to reality. The click of me cocking the gun kicked me in the gut. I slowly pulled the gun from my mouth, knocking my teeth against the barrel. Slowly, I got up and left. I walked right past Gideon’s corpse, right out the front door. I left it swinging wide and proud. Gideon’s dead body in full view of the whole fucking world. Finally getting what he deserved way too late. The damage had been done.

  I thought killing Gideon would make everything go away. That it would make me feel better that in some way so that Jack’s death wasn’t in vain. I thought it would make the pain go away. That maybe closing that chapter on Jack’s life would make it end for me too. I thought of so many different excuses and ideas to justify my actions. Regardless of what I came to, it all pointed to the same conclusion: the world was better without Gideon Bellview. Maybe Jack would be happy about that. Or maybe he would be disappointed in me.

  And yet, the pain was still there. Jack was still gone. And I had to figure out what to do with my life now. Killing Gideon brought no sudden revelation or clarity. There was no direction to be gleamed from this act of violence and I was still as lost as I was before. Still as hollow as I had felt on that bathroom floor with a loaded gun, cocked and ready to fire, pressed to the back of my throat.

  No one but me knew what truly had happened to Jack. Gideon would not face the justice he deserved. He would die a victim of senseless violence, gunned down in his own home by a criminal. How long did I have? My freedom was surely fleeting. What did anyone do when they knew their time was limited? I had no bucket list and doubted I would have time to complete one anyway.

  The padlock of the mausoleum rattled against the iron gate it kept shut. The same type used on the gates to the cemetery. Everything felt cold under my hands. The groundskeeper would be here soon. And then, what next? Surely the police would come looking for me. Two shots fired. Potentially armed suspect on the run. Two glasses indicating the victim knew the killer. Surely some hair and fiber in the bathroom if they knew to look there.

  Before me the mausoleum stood open and dark. It smelled of dust and faintly of decay. You would think something full of corpses would smell worse, I thought. From the inside, I could see that the stained glass windows let in no light due to the years of dirt and grime that had built up. The dead do not peer out like the living peer in.

  The chirping of the birds came followed shortly by the first rays of morning sun. Mourning doves, I thought and I couldn’t help but smile softly at the irony of it all. Light broke through the grime, creating long and foreboding shadows that threatened to hide more than just the caskets inside the crypt.

  Against the back wall lay Jack’s casket. A deep mahogany wood that had a sheen on it that had been long lost on the others. A few of the caskets were starting to deteriorate; long past trying to stand up to the test of time. The shadows made it impossible to see if they had begun to spill their contents as well. I sighed softly feeling the familiar sting of tears well up in my eyes.

  My hands were shaking as I placed that emerald ring on top of Jack’s casket. The wood felt warm underneath my hands despite the coolness inside the crypt. Both my hands pressed hard – as if I was trying to resurrect him. I wasn’t a saint nor was I Jesus. Jack was gone. Forever. Tears slid down my cheeks and I did nothing to wipe them away or stop them as they fell. Time passed and I just stared at the emerald ring on that mahogany wood. It was beautiful.

  Reluctantly I lifted my hands and turned to leave. As I looked back, the ring seemed to be alight with an internal fire in the morning sun.

  “We tried.” I whispered to no one before shutting the door of the mausoleum.

  END

  About The Author

  Lucian Clark was born and raised in South New Jersey. Their works have been featured across numerous platforms such as The Advocate and in anthologies like Werewolves Versus and Postcards From The Void. They’ve also been featured on several podcasts to talk about horror, activism, and their writing. With a passion for all things spooky, horrific, and queer, Lucian can often be found on social media talking about werewolves, rats, and My Chemical Romance.

  When not actively writing or reading, Lucian is also the curator of the queer horror website, GenderTerror, which features original art, stories, interview and more. They can also be found playing video games or with their pets (currently some rats and a cat). They are active in local and national social activism with a focus on LGBTQ+ rights and reproductive justice.