by Athan,Jon
As the men chattered in disbelief, Lucas dropped the drug-addict facade. Stony-faced, he drew the revolver from the back of his waistband. With his finger on the trigger, he aimed the gun directly at the dealer's head. He was ready to kill in broad daylight for his stash of drugs and money. The dealers stepped in reverse, glaring at the robber with sharp eyes.
In a stern tone, Lucas said, “Go ahead and empty your pockets. Toss everything on the floor, then get on your stomachs.” He glanced around the edge of the sidewalk, looking for a bag or a stone – looking for the stash. He asked, “Where is it? Where's the shit?”
Lucas furrowed his brow and tilted his head as the dealers scoffed at him. Before he could utter another demand, the tall man slapped the gun out of the ex-convict's hand. The revolver clicked and clanked as it bounced across the sidewalk. The audacity – the balls – in the dealers made Lucas freeze and reconsider.
To his utter dismay, he didn't have time to strategize.
Lucas was pushed to the ground. He immediately wrapped his arms around his head and curled into the fetal position. His defense was useless, though. His dome was clobbered by a barrage of swift jabs. His stomach and ribs were stomped. Occasionally, a kick would slip through his arms and land on his face. His jaw was punted like a football.
He counted the passing seconds, gritting his teeth through the pain. He could feel blood spilling down his forehead, dripping off the tip of his nose. He could taste the blood in his mouth as his teeth were painted red. During the most trying times, seconds felt like minutes. He opened his eyes upon hearing a set of footsteps – the sound of people leaving.
Face smeared with blood, Lucas glanced over his shoulder. He sighed in relief as he spotted the absconding drug dealers. There were no police in sight, the pair simply didn't want anything to do with the killer. He could see other pedestrians across the street, but no one seemed bothered by his beating. People walked and talked, straying away from the drama.
Lucas scowled and muttered, “He thinks I'm sick, but just look at all of you...” He stood on all fours, coughing and grunting. Blood dripped from his fluttering lips and spattered on the sidewalk. He whispered, “You... You can't even help another man. You're as bad as me. It's bullshit.”
Lucas' eyes widened upon spotting his revolver on the curb of the sidewalk – the dealers didn't bother to rob him. (In their minds, Lucas was a desperate junkie and the gun was fake or hot.) The ex-convict staggered towards the firearm with one hand on his damaged ribs. With pain surging from every inch of his body, he could barely muster the energy to limp.
He shoved the gun into the back of his waistband. He patted the dirty footprints off of his black leather jacket and raggedy jeans. His white shirt was already stained with droplets of blood. It didn't bother him, though. He was sure he could conjure an excuse – I cut myself shaving. He grabbed a crumpled flier from the floor, a piece of paper stained with mud, then he rubbed the sheet on his face. He tried his best to clean the blood to an acceptable standard – acceptable to him, of course.
As he staggered towards the curb, contemplating the failed robbery, Lucas said, “If that's the way it's going to be, then I might as well go for the real jackpot.” He stood on his tiptoes and stared down the street, looking towards the church a few blocks down. With a spark of determination in his eyes, he said, “Yeah, I can do it without him.”
***
The door chime echoed through the dingy liquor store, sliding across the dark linoleum flooring and bouncing off the chocolate-brown walls. There were several aisles to the left comprised of free-standing shelves. The racks were filled with junk food, small meals, and magazines. To the right, there was a counter with a cash register. The area behind the counter was known as the Drunkard's Paradise.
Lucas shambled into the small shop, dragging his feet towards the cash register. He took a gander at the cashier. The young man wore a checkered button-up shirt, blue jeans, and black sneakers. His black hair was slicked back with goops of sticky gel. Obviously, the establishment didn't care for uniforms. Still, the ex-convict recognized the young man – he was a regular, after all.
Lucas stopped in front of the cashier, then he stared at the racks below the counter. The shelves were filled with candies of all flavors. He grabbed three chocolate bars, two bags of gummy worms, and some chocolate peanut butter cups – the latter were for himself. He tossed the junk food on the counter, then he leaned forward. The pain made him giddy.
As he stared at the cashier with a grimace of pain, Lucas said, “That's all for today. Ring me up, Jorge.”
Jorge gazed at the injured customer with a furrowed brow as he scanned the products. The injuries were horrid, but the blood plopping on the countertop was much more worrisome. The cashier would have to spend his time cleaning it up.
Baffled, Jorge asked, “You alright, Lucas? You need some band-aids or something?”
Lucas smirked and shook his head. He said, “No, no. I'm good. This is just a... a scratch. I cut myself shaving.”
“You were... You were shaving your forehead? With what? A kitchen knife or something? Jeez, man, that looks nasty.”
Disregarding the cashier, Lucas asked, “How much do I owe? Huh? Come on, I've got shit to do today.”
“It's going to be $7.35.”
Lucas tossed a crumpled ten-dollar bill on the counter. He stuffed the candy into his jacket pocket and said, “Keep the change.”
Jorge smiled and said, “Thanks, man. Come again.”
Lucas limped out of the liquor store. He hobbled down the street with his eyes focused on the palatial church. The church wasn't his destination – he didn't plan on spending his day confessing – but he used the building to give him a sense of direction. The beating had temporarily disoriented him after all. As he reached the crosswalk across the street, he took a gander at his selection.
Children of all ages played in the park in front of the church, stampeding like majestic stallions on a track. He leered at the children, trying to identify the perfect prey. He needed an unpopular child without an attentive parent – a child dragged to the park to get some fresh air. He preferred to abduct boys considering there were less of them on the market.
Supply-and-demand also worked in the deepest crevices of the criminal underworld.
As he staggered across the street, Lucas whispered, “Which one should I take?” He groaned as he flumped onto the first bench, finding some comfort in the seat. As he stared at the children in the sandbox, he whispered, “Which one will treat me best? Who's the lucky boy? Come on, show yourself.”
Lucas watched the children from afar. Little girls tried to spin the merry-go-round as fast as possible while boys tried to swing to the moon. Kids maneuvered across the jungle gym, escaping from their pursuers in the spiraling slides. Parents chattered on the sidelines, discussing their kids and tinkering with their phones. The mood was jolly. The sheer innocence was vexing.
The ex-convict's eyes widened as he glanced towards his left. A boy, no older than eight years old, strolled down the walkway. The boy had wispy brown hair and speckles on his round face. He wore a red-and-white striped shirt and blue jeans. His appearance was oddly captivating. His innocence was not irritating – it was mesmerizing. The boy reminded him of a young Dean. He could feel butterflies in his stomach as he watched him.
As the child approached, Lucas said, “Hey, son. Come on over here. I've got something for you.” The boy hopped and staggered away, shocked by the blood on Lucas' head and clothing. Lucas smiled and said, “Don't worry about the blood, son. I'm an actor. I just finished a scene for a big movie. A superhero movie.”
Lucas swiped the blood from his forehead, then he licked it off his finger with a large grin on his face – see, it's just fake blood. Of course, the blood was real and the taste was oddly satisfying.
The boy furrowed his brow and stuttered, “Re–Really? Which one?”
“Oh, I can't tell you that. It's a secret. I don't know if I ca
n trust you just yet, but you never know. I might tell you. Hell, I might even get you a role in the movie. You can be a sidekick. How does that sound, kiddo?”
With glowing eyes, the child said, “Wow! Really?”
Lucas nodded and said, “Sure, sure. I mean, to prove I'm a good guy, a superhero-type of guy, I want to give you something.” The bag rustled as he pulled the gummy worms out of his jacket pocket. With the candy in hand, he extended his arm forward and asked, “You want some candy?”
The child bit his bottom lip and glanced around the park. He knew better than to accept candy from a stranger, but he couldn't resist. He was wooed by the killer's promise and baited by the candy. He snatched the bag from Lucas' hand, then he quickly stepped back. Lucas couldn't help but smile. He thought: shy, just like Dean. He was patient, though. He didn't bother to grab the child's arm and drag him away. He had already planted a seed of deceit.
Lucas said, “Go ahead. It's all yours, kiddo.”
The boy nodded and said, “Thank you, mister.”
“There's more where that came from, too. I've got a house full of candy. Every candy you can think of. I'm just having a little trouble because I fell down a little earlier. I can sure use your help to get home. What do you say?”
“I... I think I can help. I mean, I can call my mom and she can take us.”
“No, no. We can't do that. If you're going to be my sidekick, you can't call mommy for help. Besides, you don't want her to take all the candy, do you? Listen, you help me get home and I'll give you something special. I have a special gummy worm that changes flavors when you suck it. I'll give it to you if you give me a hand. Deal?”
The boy sighed as he glanced down at his sneakers, pondering his options – candy or safety? While the child contemplated, Lucas turned his attention to the sandbox. The devious smirk on his face was immediately wiped. He could see a distraught woman talking to a police officer while glancing his way. Putting two and two together was simple.
She's snitching, he thought.
Infuriated by the interference, Lucas scowled and said, “Never mind, kid. Beat it.”
Lucas stumbled away from the bench and lurched towards the sidewalk. A twinge echoed from his stomach and ribs, causing his legs to wobble with each step. He could hear a woman's shrill shout and a barrage of footsteps. He didn't have to glance back to discover the obvious – he was being pursued.
From the park, a male officer shouted, “Wait!”
Despite the pain, Lucas sprinted down the sidewalk. In his condition, he figured he only had a few seconds before the cop caught up to him. Running was not his best option. He slipped into an alley before the cop could turn the corner – barely evading his prying eyes. He ran towards a dumpster, then he hopped inside.
The garbage emitted a revolting stench. Yet, he willfully allowed the trash to swallow him. He buried himself in the garbage, hiding under rotting food, used toilet paper, and wet cardboard. He preferred a temporary visit to a dumpster over a long stint in prison. While burying himself, he drew his revolver and aimed up at the lid.
Lucas tightly shut his eyes as the sound of footsteps emerged from afar. The footsteps were accompanied by a police radio. The racket continued to grow louder for five seconds, then the noise slowly dwindled. The officer barely entered the alleyway to take a quick peek. He returned to the sidewalk and continued the pursuit.
The ex-convict whispered, “Lucky Lucas... You're a damn lucky bastard, Lucas.”
He seized the opportunity to abscond. He quietly climbed out of the dumpster. He ran down the alley, crouching near the adjacent brick wall. He grimaced as he held his hand to his ribs. The pain was insufferable, but he refused to stop. Freedom and some broken bones, he thought, or prison and some broken bones.
The choice was obvious.
Upon reaching the bad side of town, the serial killer shambled into the first abandoned building he could find. He entered a condemned apartment complex and fell down to his buttocks in the hallway. He breathed heavily as he tried to recompose himself. Staring at the dusty ceiling, he couldn't help but reminisce about his past.
Lucas whispered, “I was wrong. I can't live the way I used to. I can't do it. The world is different. It's all changed. I need Dean as much as he needs me. I know he needs me...”
Eyes brimming with tears, he sniffled and shook his head. Since the night of his release, he had been with Dean. He had developed a special friendship with the young man. He yearned to have his companionship again. He couldn't handle the crippling loneliness on his own, he couldn't accomplish his goals without a helping hand. If he tried again, he feared he would end up in prison.
He realized Dean brought balance to his life. The couple argued on occasion, they had different methods, but they worked well together. Dean's weaknesses were covered by Lucas' strengths – and vice versa.
As he stared at the neighboring door, Lucas said, “I know where you are, Dean. You're with that girl, aren't you? Aren't you?!” He nervously chuckled as he shook his head, struggling to maintain his sanity. He said, “Even if you aren't, I'll take her and make you come to me. I'll make it happen, son. I promise, I'll fix everything. I'm just... I'm just going to need a bigger knife.”
Chapter Seventeen
The Moore Household
The lucent moon and stars illuminated the suburban community, scrubbing the streets with a milky glow. Although some trash lingered on the streets, the neighborhood fared much better than other areas in the city. The rusty traffic sign at the corner read: Fifth Street. There was a small red house on the very same corner.
Standing on the sidewalk across the street, Lucas watched the one-story house with narrowed eyes. He was mesmerized by the humble structure. The other houses did not matter to him. The neighbors were swallowed by the darkness, whisked away by the ominous shadows. The little house on the corner was his only target – Lori's house.
Lucas whispered, “I'm here to take you home, Dean.”
Nonchalant, the ex-convict jogged across the street. The man moved swiftly with the night, dancing with the darkness. He crouched as his sneakers sank into the moist lawn. He scrambled towards the bay windows to the left of the front door, moving with rapid steps. Upon reaching the window, he knelt down and peeked inside.
Through the filmy glass, cracked blinds, and dusty curtains, he could see the small living room. There was a large TV in front of the window, but he could see past it through a narrow crack. A man and a woman sat on a black sofa towards the center of the room. Considering the pair were older than Lucas, he believed they were Lori's parents.
The old man's bushy black hair was combed over a bald spot towards the center of his dome. He wore a white wife beater, plaid boxers, and black socks. He had skinny limbs and a protruding belly – a roly-poly figure of sorts. From his dirtied clothing to the scowl on his face, he seemed like the abusive-type.
The woman seemed like a victim, timid and fidgety. Her dark blonde hair was tied in a tousled bun. Her lips and cheeks were unusually flushed. Her blue eyes were surrounded by vibrant red veins. She wore a blue bathrobe above a matching nightgown. To the everyday eye, she looked like a person being held hostage.
Most people wouldn't understand why she decided to stay. She acted as glue, trying her damnedest to keep a broken family together.
Lucas scoffed at the couple as he crawled away. He peered through the front windows on the right side of the house. He could see a desk, a computer, and several bookshelves. The room appeared to be a home office. He couldn't imagine why Lori's father would need an office, but he could conjure a few reasons – work, movies, porn.
With his back on a wooden fence, the ex-convict slinked across the right side of the house, sidestepping towards the backyard. He moved past the makeshift office, then he stopped at the neighboring room. He didn't find his prime target, but he found something very special. Eyes glowing like a lion's at night, Lucas gazed into the small room and smiled.
Lori's young
er brother, Ricky Moore, rested on the bed to the left. He solely wore a white tank top and black shorts. Strands of his slick black hair dangled in front of his face. Unlike his austere father, Ricky was a suave young man with plenty of potential. Judging from his lean physique and the football gear sprawled across the floor, the young man seemed to be seizing every opportunity in his path. He was determined to leave his poor life behind.
Lucas was not particularly interested in the teenager's appearance, though. The high school student was fully captivated by a horror movie playing on his tube television. The scene depicted a savage home invasion – two men breaking into a peaceful home while recording the act. The ex-convict recognized the scene.
As he watched the violent movie, Lucas whispered, “Henry... Henry and Otis. I remember watching you two before I went to prison. You won't match what I'm about to do, but... but that was a great movie. I have to watch it again later.”
Lucas smirked as he continued his trek. He kept his eyes locked on the television as he slowly departed, like if he didn't want to take his eyes off of the movie. I can just steal it after I'm done here, he thought, hell, I might just steal the entire house. He stopped at the neighboring window. He didn't know what he would find in the Moore house, but he had an idea – he simply wasn't ready to see it.
Gazing into the bedroom, the ex-convict could see Dean and Lori resting on a twin-sized bed towards the left. The bed was solely illuminated by a lamp on the adjacent nightstand. The dingy light revealed the couple, cuddling and chattering. With smirks plastered on their faces, the pair seemed genuinely happy.
Lucas muttered, “You bastards... You selfish bastards...”
Like a person catching his lover with another person, Lucas was hurt by the discovery. His heart was broken, shattered into a dozen bloody pieces. His legs wobbled and his breathing became erratic. A medley of strange emotions crippled him – love, jealousy, anger, hatred. For such a savage man, some of the feelings were unusual.
Yet, he couldn't help but feel aroused by his findings. He could feel his jeans tightening around his crotch. The young man and woman only wore their undergarments. Lori donned a pink brassiere and a matching thong. Dean wore gray boxer briefs. The couple kissed and fondled each other, obviously preparing to make love.