A minute or two passed as Zephyr stared out from his second-story window and waited for Ross to plead his case over the talkie again. No communications, though. Radio silence, good buddy. Whatever the old bastard was doing, he apparently didn’t see fit to tell him about it. This, of course, troubled him on many levels. First, that Ross felt so compelled to deliver these guns he was willing to break in to do it. That was not the action of a completely sane human being, was it? Second, that he’d gone incommunicado as he committed this old-world felony. Now, that part -journeyed beyond rude, beyond wrong, and smack-dab into creepy country. Third and most obvious, he didn’t seem to be carrying any of the aforementioned weapons into the backyard. Well, maybe a handgun. So what was he doing back there?
Zeph, it’s time to stop the pretense, man, he thought. Your good pal here is seriously off. He never wanted to give you any guns and you know it. It’s all been bait and since you aren’t biting he’s moved on to Plan B. It’s just that simple. And if he actually breaks in and doesn’t find you up there, shit is going to get real.
He despised that interpretation but also accepted the possibility. Suppose it was true. How had he gotten here? Zephyr imagined Ross waking earlier with a ruthless hangover and his own icky feelings about his drunken ramblings the night before. Maybe he’d realized that he’d somehow revealed himself, reached out to Zephyr for verification, and found it multiple times when he’d refused the man’s invitations. How different would this day have played out if he’d just accepted the breakfast offer and pretended nothing had ever happened? He almost wished he had. The boy was still pondering this when Ross emerged from the side of the house and trudged back toward the truck.
The walkie blipped back on. “Hey now. You get some more of that comfy old sleep, huh? Rest is the best thing for ya right now and nothing beats home sweet home for that,” Ross said.
Zephyr was terrified that merely moving his talkie might generate some kind of reverb and signal his acknowledgement and proximity. He finally set it carefully on the bed near the window and resumed spying.
“Yeah. I ain’t gonna bug you no more about those guns. I’ll just hold onto ’em, let you snooze. I honestly don’t think you’re even gonna need ’em, anyhoo. You still got that pinky-dink Glock, ain’t ya? That’ll suit a boy like you just fine. Me, on the other hand – well, I’m the hunting type, as ya know. Long-range rifle with a scope; the kind of gun that could shoot the ticks off a deer’s ass from a quarter a mile off. Now, that’s a weapon for someone with purpose. Someone who’ll do whatever he’s gotta to survive. You wouldn’t know what to do with a gun like that.”
There was something in the man’s voice now. Was it anger? Condescension? Sarcasm? Maybe. Probably. Even so, Zephyr didn’t think that was all of it. It was also what he couldn’t detect, which was the trademark jolliness. Not so much as a particle of it. It’d been blown away. This man was not the happy-go-lucky senior with whom he’d shared breakfast and stories.
“Yep. You just keep on sleeping in that big ol’ bed of yours and you concentrate on feeling so much better,” Ross spat. “I’ll be here when you’re up and about and feeling right again – just me and these rifles. We ain’t going nowhere, that’s for sure. Just around this here city. Matter fact, never really know when I might get the urge to take a drive, maybe swing by your neighborhood and look around. Check in on ya. Just the type of guy I am – always looking out for my friends. Like to keep ’em in my sights.”
He might’ve kept on talking. Zephyr thought about it later but couldn’t be sure. The truth was that Ross could’ve confessed to killing Kennedy just then and there and he wouldn’t have heard a word of it because his ears had diverted all bandwidth to his eyes as they stared wide at his parent’s house, now billowing deep, black smoke from somewhere on the rear side.
For all of his preparation, he was perfectly unprepared for this — demonstrated repeatedly by his obtuse line of thinking upon seeing the darkening smoke. He thought, there’s been a car crash. Then, no, I think a house is on fire. Then, wait, is it my house? Shit! Oh my God! It’s my house! Followed by, why isn’t Ross doing anything? Does he not see the smoke? And finally, the overdue, sickening realization: you stupid, stupid dummy. He did this, man. That asshole is burning down your freakin’ house!
Zephyr thought again of the old man reaching back into his truck for something and now pictured that unseen something as a plastic tank of gasoline.
“You…” he began, looked at the gun in his hand as though discovering it, and moved to the window.
Ross remained in his truck, undoubtedly ready to admire his handiwork. Zephyr pulled back from the window again, unlatched the safety on the weapon and then shuffled forward once more. His heart fluttered and somewhere in the depths of his mind, reason and fear gave way to thundering red chaos—- a flashing mass that drowned out everything as a nuclear explosion does ground zero. The aftermath of all actions seemed inconsequential. All that mattered was that Ross was vile and dangerous and that he wasn’t at all a friend but the grim reaper with a smile; that he had just set fire to the last remnants of Zephyr’s missing family.
The bastard was going to pay. Now.
Zephyr cracked the shutters. Slow. Don’t be hasty. That asshole’s not going anywhere. He looked again to make sure the old man remained in place and as he did his talkie blipped on the bed.
“Boy. You there?” Ross asked.
He gave no reply. Instead, he pocketed the device and focused on the man in his truck. Ross seemed to be locked on his parent’s house, so Zephyr quietly raised the window pane. When he was finished, there was a six-inch gap between the pane and the frame, a layer of screen the only barrier between him and the outside world. He could hear the breeze outside now. He poked the barrel of the gun between one of the high cracks in the shutters and pressed it to the screen, lined up his right eye to the sight and adjusted it until he had a bead on the old man’s head. If his aim was true, he’d catch Ross on the left cheek. It would not be pretty.
He had no confidence with a weapon, very well expected to miss and decided to up his chances with numbers. Not one shot, but five. Take aim and keep shooting – hope something hits. Something would have to hit. Are you sure, though? Take a breath and be sure this is the right thing, he thought, but this line of reasoning was obliterated in a flash. He’s burning down your parent’s house and he thinks you’re hiding somewhere inside. He’s trying to kill you, dude. What’s the difference? Do it!
He checked and rechecked his aim. Ross hadn’t moved. Was he asleep or just transfixed on the house? He couldn’t tell. What did it matter at this point? He was going to be wide awake one way or another in a matter of seconds. Zephyr held his breath. Then he squeezed the trigger.
Blam!
He closed his eyes and pulled again. Four more explosions.
The sudden silence was agonizing. He couldn’t believe he did it. He opened his eyes and peered through the window, prepared for the horrific aftermath of his actions. But there was no change. No shattered truck window. No bloodied Ross.
He’d missed!
He let go of his breath as his legs wobbled and threatened to give way. What the hell had gone wrong? Confusion everywhere — the entire ordeal dreamlike, disorienting, and nightmarish. Why the hell wasn’t Ross outside clutching his face and screaming right now?
The old man stepped from his truck and as he did Zephyr fell back from the window. He could see the hole his shots had torn through the screen, but he hadn’t hit anything. Not Ross. Not even his damned truck. How was that possible?
It finally dawned on him.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “They’re blanks.”
And then he ran.
He was halfway down the stairs when the bedroom window exploded behind him amidst a cacophony of gunshots. His feet felt heavy and stupid and he nearly stumbled twice. Reality seemed to have slowed as he struggled for footing. At last, he made it to ground again and then bolted for the re
ar sliding door. Gunfire rang out and more glass shattered somewhere toward the front of the house, maybe the entryway or living room window. Ross might’ve been shouting something. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. He pulled against the door, it didn’t budge, and panic seized him. Time stopped and his mind agonized for the answer to the riddle, but no solution presented itself. He aimed his gun at the glass, ready to shoot, and then thought, it’s locked, Zephyr. It’s just locked! His shaking hands unhinged the latch and the door slid open. More gunfire in the background, but he never turned around. Instead, he sprinted into the backyard and beelined for the stone wall on the opposite end.
Zephyr never felt slower or more vulnerable as he raced for that wall. He was a deer in a hunter’s sights. Somewhere behind him, gunshots and yelling. Ross was closer, maybe inside the house. He couldn’t tell and he dared not look back. He just had to get over the wall and he’d be all right. If he could just get to it.
The barrier was tall, thick and presented no real challenge for him. Pieces of stone jutted out at irregular angles that he used for easy grip and footing. Within seconds, he had scaled the wall and landed in a muddy flower bed on the opposite side. He hunched over and caught his breath. His heart raged in his chest, but he didn’t pause. Instead, he raced through the backyard and into the clearing that comprised Green Field Court, another gated cul-de-sac adjacent to the one that engulfed the now-smoldering remains of his parent’s house. It entertained more lavish houses that looked like his own. He hurried toward a huge bush at the edge of the home’s front yard and peered to the left and right for signs of the old man or his truck. He wasn’t there.
He kept going, running from street to street, scaling fences and walls, and moving from backyard to front yard, as the houses become decreasingly lavish. On and on he did this until the sweat on his brow ran down his face and the sun in the sky dipped below some mountains in the distance. All the while, he was careful. He approached clearings with caution and didn’t navigate a traceable pattern. Every few blocks, he’d choose a different path and angle off in a new direction. He knew the area well enough that he had some idea where it would lead him.
Eventually, his feet landed on cement and he found himself in a weeded, dilapidated backyard with an empty pool and several rusted, dismantled dirt bikes. He sat, drew his knees, leaned back on his hands and sucked in air. He’d been going forever and it had all finally caught up with him. He needed a break. Cover of night was closer than ever now, but he could still see well enough to know that he’d come a long way from the old neighborhood. That was good, at least. He didn’t think there’d be any way for Ross to follow him. He was tired, though, not to mention hungry and thirsty.
The backdoor to the house wasn’t locked. As he stepped inside, the stale air smelled of old cigarettes.
“Hello! Anybody here?” He said it loud enough to be heard by any occupants, but not so loud that the sound could be carried outside. There was no reply.
The kitchen was a cliché. Disrupted, messy, gross – empty beer cans, dirty plates and discarded fast food wrappers blanketed the countertops and filled the sink. A few glass ashtrays overflowed with cigarettes, some smeared in lipstick. It was a dump. He heard the hum of the refrigerator and opened it. Inside, a pizza box, a case of beer, two cans of soda, some mustard and a jar of pickles.
He wolfed down pizza, drank soda and thought about the day’s events. Specifically, the real possibility that his gun had fired blanks and what that suggested about Ross. The old man had loaded the weapon in front of him. Zephyr had watched him do it. If they were just blanks, what did that even mean? He figured that Ross had finally turned on him after he repeatedly refused to meet him, but if he’d sabotaged his gun the night before…
He reached into his back pocket, found the walkie-talkie and turned it on.
“—amn shame there’s nobody to put out the flames. On the bright side, ain’t like you can’t find another house to sleep at, right, boy?”
Chills.
The old bastard had probably been talking at him all afternoon. Zephyr wished he’d flipped the talkie back on hours ago. He was positive Ross had said more than a few things he’d never be able to take back, made threats, revealed himself to be a full-blown sociopath. A psychopath. A killer.
“I knew ya wasn’t up in that old mansion of yours,” Ross said.
Yeah, right, Zephyr thought. You knew shit.
“Not cuz I went up there and had a look around, either. I just took a whiff of the place and knew you wasn’t there because I couldn’t smell no coward up in there. It’s got its own stench. Kind of like dog shit, but more putrid. Powerful as a skunk. Yeah, soon as I couldn’t smell that, I knew you musta’ high-tailed it out.”
Zephyr pressed the talk button on the walkie and then let go.
A pause. “Well, now, that you, boy? You finally thinking ’bout growing a pair and saying hello to your old pal?”
“Hey Ross,” Zephyr said, unable to resist. “Yeah, how you been, old man?”
“He lives! Well, would ya look at that. I wasn’t so su—”
“Hey Ross. Do you have a twin, by chance?” Zephyr started. The fear was gone now. “I mean, because here I was camped out at my neighbor’s house and along comes this fat, bald, ugly and stupid motherfucker, and do you know what, Ross? That dumb piece of shit looked exactly like you. A perfect doppelgänger. Can you guess what I watched this walking turd do?”
Ross might’ve started into a reply but Zephyr didn’t wait.
“I’ll tell you. This twin of yours, he goes into my parent’s house, has a look around, lights the place on fire and then waddles back to his truck so he can sit on his fat ass and watch the place burn down. Does that sound like something a brother of yours might do?”
Nothing for several seconds. “Well,” Ross finally said, “I sure ain’t got no brothers like that.”
“Well,” Zephyr said in a mock tone, his heart racing, “why don’t you just go fuck yourself, then? Take one of those guns you’ve been trying to give me all day – what a nice guy you are, looking out for me like that – and go blow your brains out.”
“That’s no way to talk to your friend, now is it? I swear. I try to—”
“Seriously, just cut the crap. We both know what you did.”
“Whatever you say, boy. All I know is I come to your house to try and drop off your guns and the place is on fire. So I go in to try and wake you up and you’re not in there. Next thing I know, you’re shooting your gun off at me.”
“My gun loaded with blanks, you mean? Thanks again for looking out for me like that, old friend.”
Ross chuckled into the talkie. “I was afraid you’d shoot your feet off if I gave out real bullets. Can you blame me? Good thing I didn’t, too, or you’d have shot me instead. And by the way, I don’t appreciate all that.” He sighed for effect. “Listen, boy, this is all a big misunderstanding. I’m not the boogie man. Let’s just talk this all out, man to man.”
“Uh-huh. Like the man-to-man you had with Jerry. I think I’ll pass on that one, thanks.”
“What’re you talking about now, boy?”
“Are you seriously going to keep this up?” This charade wasn’t just tiresome, it was infuriating. “Listen, I don’t have the energy to argue against your lies. We both know you’re a low life and one way or another you’re going to pay the price for what you’ve done. You better hope that people never reappear because if they do I’m bringing the entire police force to your house.”
The old man cackled into his microphone. “OK, boy. You do that. In the meantime, you just remember there ain’t nobody but us. So maybe you oughta zip that big mouth of yours before I find you and shoot it right the fuck off.”
There it was. A little taste of the real Ross. Even after all of it, all the lying and conniving, all that he’d seen the man do, those unexpected outbursts shocked him. He still wanted to believe that the day was one big mishap, the aftermath of a sitcom-level misunders
tanding. But he knew better, and it was outbursts like those that reassured him.
It was stupid to engage Ross at all. He should’ve stayed silent, left the bastard to his diatribes. He just couldn’t do it, though. Not after all that had transpired. Not when he saw the man set fire to his parent’s home. Not after the blanks and not after the smug gloating. The way Ross painted it, Zephyr deserved everything he got because he didn’t invite the man over for breakfast – a meeting that, in hindsight, might well have ended in his extermination. No, screw that. He couldn’t take proper revenge, but he could at least let him know that the secret was out. He could call Ross on everything he’d done and maybe put him back in his place, even if just a little.
“Yeah, I thought so, boy. You bark a lot of bullshit until someone barks back. But we both know that even if you had the balls to do a damned thing ’bout it – and let’s be honest, you don’t – you ain’t got no spirit, no plan, and no weapons. Nothing. Hell, I’ll tell you where I am right now if I actually thought you’d show up to meet me like a man.”
Zephyr ignored the insults. If they were designed to goad him, they failed. He couldn’t have cared less what Ross thought of him. That being true, the old man did have a point: he was weaponless. Well, shy of useable bullets, anyway. Of course, Ross didn’t really know that, did he? Not for certain. Not now. After all, a lot of time had passed since he’d sprinted from Fairfield Court.
“You can think what you want, old man,” Zephyr said. “I’m sure you’re feeling pretty high and mighty right now with all you’ve accomplished. I mean, it’s pretty spectacular when you think about it. First, shooting a guy in the face who just lost his entire family. Nice one! Gave yourself a little pat on the back last night for that one, I’m sure. But you didn’t stop there. No, sir. This morning, you woke up – with a massive hangover, I’ve no doubt – and thought, ‘Shit, ya know what would make a nice encore to murdering that tormented guy I met? How’s about terrorizing that teenage kid who thought I was his friend? Hell, yeah. Plot to kill him. Maybe burn down his house. Now we’re getting somewhere!’”
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