by Jon Athan
In a hoarse tone, raspy from the physical and emotional pain, Alexa asked, “How did all of you get away? Why did the trial end like that?”
Jessie stared down at the floorboards and said, “It was everything... You never found the gun, you couldn't identify the shooter... Caden's dad fixed everything. Owen, he... he has connections and money. He knows cops, he knows prosecutors... He could buy my house, your house, any house. He's a unit leader, you know? He's the top dog around here, so he has power. He got us out of trouble. We were supposed to live happily ever after, but then you came back. That's it, man. That's your story.”
The truth was finally revealed. Closure was finally achieved. Yet, the couple didn't feel better about the situation. Their blood boiled in their veins, their hearts rapidly pounded in their chests. The web of deceit surrounding Lucia's death expanded beyond the small crew of neo-Nazis. Unfortunately, they didn't have the time or energy to kill them all.
Ryan said, “Stop recording.”
***
Alexa tapped the screen and lowered the phone. Ryan opened the closet on the right side of the room and shuffled through the clothing. Jessie watched as the distraught father emerged from the closet with a wire clothes hanger.
Jessie said, “Wait. What are you doing? Huh? We... We had a deal. We–”
Ryan rushed behind Jessie. He pushed the hanger over his head, then he lay back on the bed frame and pulled the hanger back at his throat—effectively strangling him.
His head situated on Ryan's crotch, Jessie wheezed and croaked as the thin metal sank deeper into his neck. He tried to dig his fingers under the metal, but to no avail.
Ryan held his breath and pulled back on the hanger with all of his might. The thin metal started to slice into the neo-Nazi's neck, causing blood to dribble down to his chest. Veins bulged from Jessie's neck and brow while his eyes practically protruded from his skull. His cheeks became blue and his lips whitened.
Yet, the man still clung to life. Unlike the movies, strangling a person to death required a strenuous effort.
Ryan closed his eyes and whimpered. The stab wound on his stomach caused insufferable pain. He didn't enjoy the feeling of strangling someone, either. He could feel Jessie convulsing, but he couldn't stop until he was dead. It took four minutes to strangle Jessie to death—and those four minutes felt like a lifetime.
Ryan released the hanger and Jessie's lifeless body fell to the floor. Out of breath, the father said, “Now, we... we just have to deal with those two.”
Alexa glanced at the bodies, counting each corpse in the room. She said, “There's Caden, his dad, and the other one—the shy one.”
“We'll deal with him when he crosses our path. Right now, I need you to upload that video. Put it up on YouTube or Facebook or something. Just get it out there. We can't lose it,” Ryan said. He groaned as he stood from the bed frame. As Alexa uploaded the incriminating confession to the most popular social media websites, Ryan said, “It's almost over, Alexa. We know the truth now. So, we just have to kill Caden to end this—to avenge her.”
In the hallway, Caden whispered, “I haven't heard Jessie in a while. I think they killed him. What do we do now, dad? What–”
“Quiet,” Owen said. He glanced over at his son and whispered, “Keep your finger on the trigger and keep your eyes on that door. They'll have to come out sooner or later and Vincent still has his eyes on them from outside. We're playing the 'waiting game' now. As soon as they come out, we shoot 'em.”
Caden nodded in agreement. He lifted his revolver and aimed at the door. His hand still trembled, but he was determined to kill the couple.
In the bedroom, Ryan pushed the mattress back onto the bed frame and said, “Since we've reached the end of this... this madness, I'm going to need you to call 911. Tell them to bring everyone: police, paramedics, firefighters.”
“Firefighters?” Alexa repeated, blatantly confused.
Ryan nodded, his eyes cold and serious. Alexa returned the nod. She could see her husband had a plan. She stood from her seat, then she stumbled across the room—hopping on her only good leg. Ryan reached over to help her, but Alexa shook her head and waved her arms, as if to say: no, I can do this on my own.
Alexa entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She sat on the toilet and dialed 911. She thought about what she was going to say as she listened to the ringback tone.
Hello, we're having a deadly battle at a neo-Nazi's house and people are dead. Can you send help? It sounded ridiculous.
As Alexa called the police, Ryan sat on the floor near the door and stared up at the ceiling. He tilted his head so he faced the right side of the room. He wanted to project his voice so he wouldn't be shot through the wall.
He shouted, “Caden! Mr. Clark! Are you still there! Have you been listening to our little chat?”
Still standing at the top of the stairs, Owen shouted, “We're still here! We're ready for you, boy. Come on out. Let's finish this!”
“No, no, no. We don't have to jump to that, Mr. Clark. It's not necessary. Not yet, at least. I want to talk about a trade. We'll let you live if you give us your son.”
Caden barked, “Fuck you, traitor! Fuck you! Family sticks with family... That's how it is! That's how it's always been! Now come out here and catch a bullet!”
Ryan responded, “Come on, Owen. Your son is garbage—human trash. He's a neo-Nazi, a child killer, a pedophile...”
“I'm not!” Caden interrupted with a furious shout.
Ryan continued, “We recorded his confession. As soon as that video goes live and when the police discover what happened here, if Caden's not dead, he'll end up in court again. You won't be able to get him out of trouble, either. He'll go to prison for life where he'll be raped for years until someone finally decides to put him out of his misery. We can end it tonight instead. Let us kill your disappointment of a son and spare yourself.”
Owen gazed at his son, as if he were actually considering the deal. He wouldn't sacrifice him for any selfish reasons, though. He was simply worried about his son's future. He's right, he thought, he'll get slaughtered in the pen. He lowered his head and sighed in disappointment.
Eyes brimming with tears, Caden shook his head as he stared at his father. He could see the regret and sorrow in his father's eyes. He knew his father blamed him for Natalie's death, he feared his dad actually believed he was a pedophile. He grew tired of Ryan's mind games.
He pulled the trigger and shouted, “Come out!”
The bullet struck the door under the knob and penetrated the dresser, missing Ryan by a meter. The sonorous gunshot echoed through the house.
In the bathroom, Alexa winced and cowered upon hearing the gunfire. She was still on the phone, though, so the police operator also heard the gunshot.
The female operator asked, “Ma'am, are you okay?”
Alexa responded, “I'm fine. Just hurry. They're going to break in here soon. Send everyone.”
“Okay. I need you to stay calm. Find a safe place and hide until we arrive. Just to verify, you said the address was 232 Tap–”
Alexa disconnected from the call before the operator could finish. She already gave her all of the information anyway. She was solely concerned with her husband's well-being. She hopped away from the toilet and opened the door.
As she peered into the room, Alexa whispered, “Ryan, are you okay?”
“I'm fine,” Ryan responded. He scrambled across the room, slipping and sliding until he reached the bathroom. He asked, “How did it go?”
“It's done. They heard that gunshot, so I think they believed everything. They're going to send everyone. What do we do next?”
“We give them a signal. We're going to start a fire.”
Chapter Sixteen
Firestarters
Ryan ran around the bed and approached the closet. He ran his eyes over the bulky shirts and coats. He grabbed the thinnest shirt in the closet—a white button-up—then he returned to t
he bathroom. He squeezed past Alexa and approached the medicine cabinet. Flammable, he thought, it needs to burn. His eyes stopped on a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
As Ryan dumped the flammable liquid on the shirt, Alexa leaned on the doorway and asked, “What are you doing?”
“We're going to burn this house down, inside-and-out. Check the rest of the medicine cabinet for anything else that's flammable. You're going to need it.”
Alexa reluctantly nodded. She wasn't completely sold on the idea, but she trusted her husband. She looked through the medicine cabinet. Hydrogen peroxide wouldn't burst into flames like rubbing alcohol so that was out of the question. She grabbed a can of spray-on deodorant and two cans of hairspray.
Ryan kicked the wall under the toilet. He lit the shirt on fire with the stainless steel lighter. Due to the rubbing alcohol, half of the shirt was quickly swallowed by flames. He shoved the burning shirt into the gaping hole on the wall, then he stepped back. An orange glow illuminated the room as the fire roared.
The plan was simple. He hoped the burning shirt would weaken the structure of the house by starting a fire inside of the walls. His plan didn't stop there, though.
Ryan grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol, wrapped his arm around Alexa's shoulder, and said, “Come on. We have to work fast.”
The couple returned to the master bedroom, closing the bathroom door behind them. Alexa leaned on the wall, trying to keep her weight off of her broken leg. She watched her husband with a raised brow, baffled by his plan. Ryan ran around the bed and approached the window on the right side of the room. He thrust his elbow at the window, shattering the glass with the strike.
Ryan beckoned to Alexa and said, “Come here. Break the rest of the glass while I burn the rest of the room. If this room is going to burn, I'm going to need some air.”
Alexa stuttered, “O–Okay.”
As Alexa hopped to the other side of the room, Ryan ran to the closet. He dumped some rubbing alcohol on the shirts and coats. With the lighter, he lit the clothing on fire. The flames spread like a fire in the woods, slowly swallowing the entire closet. He repeated the process on the bed and the curtains: he dumped rubbing alcohol on them, then he lit them on fire.
Smoke rose to the ceiling, undulating towards the edges of the room. Waves of grayish-brown smoke poured out of the windows, as if they were being vacuumed through the openings. The smoke in the bathroom seeped into the bedroom through the gap under the door, too. Just as planned, the fire was spreading.
Vincent stared up at the second floor, befuddled. A flickering orange glow poured out of the bedroom windows and illuminated the darkness. The billowing smoke partially obscured the light from the fire. The young neo-Nazi kept his hands on the back of his head as he stared at the burning house. He didn't know what else to do.
He whispered, “A fire? What the hell is happening up there?”
He gritted his teeth and paced in front of the house—fretful, frustrated, frightened. He thought: I have to do something, I have to stop the fire. He ran towards the house and planned on searching the closets on the first floor for any helpful tools.
He murmured, “There has to be a fire extinguisher somewhere around here...”
In the bedroom, Ryan rushed to Alexa's side. He poked his head through the broken window. To his relief, the trellis on the side of the house reached the master bedroom.
Ryan grabbed Alexa's shoulders and said, “It's going to hurt like hell, but you're going to have to climb down.”
Wide-eyed, Alexa asked, “What? What are you talking about?”
Ryan placed the lighter in her pocket and said, “I need you to climb down. I want you to continue burning the first floor of the house. Burn the curtains, the books, the tables, the chairs... Burn everything. Those two are probably still in the hall waiting for us. We might be able to trap them if we burn the first floor while they're up here.”
“Wha–What... What are you going to do?”
“I have a plan, Alexa. Trust me.”
Alexa gazed into Ryan's eyes, dismayed by his vague response. She felt as if she were staring into the eyes of a martyr. She could see the agony, the tragedy, and the determination in his eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him.
Teary-eyed, she caressed his beard and said, “I love you, sweetie. I never stopped loving you.”
“I never stopped loving you, either. I'll never stop loving you. I'm going to see you on the other side, okay? We'll be back together when this is all over. Now, get down there and let's finish this.”
The couple shared another kiss—a passionate kiss fueled by unadulterated love. Alexa clenched her jaw and nodded, determined. Ryan held her arm and helped her climb out the window. Alexa whimpered as she carefully climbed down the trellis. She moved slowly, but she still had to use her broken leg. She fought through the pain.
Ryan watched his battered wife until she reached the center of the trellis. He wished he could have taken her job, but his duty was arguably more dangerous.
He turned towards the room and whispered, “Now it's my turn...”
***
Owen and Caden aimed their firearms at the door, surprised but prepared. Smoke seeped into the hall from the gap under the door. The sound of crackling wood, crepitating fire, and thudding footsteps echoed into the hallway. The pungent scent of smoke meandered into their nostrils.
Caden asked, “What do you think they're doing, dad? They–They're going to burn themselves alive if they don't come out soon, right?”
“They might have already escaped. We might be aiming at an empty room.”
“But, Vincent would have warned us, right? What do we do?”
“Be quiet and be–”
Hinges squealing like pigs in a slaughterhouse, the bedroom door swung open and plumes of smoke danced into the hallway. The neo-Nazis lifted their weapons and aimed at the doorway. They couldn't see anyone through the smoke and darkness, though.
Before they could utter another word, a figure shambled into the doorway. The brawny figure contrasted against the fire's orange glow in the bedroom.
Caden shouted, “It's him! Shoot!”
Caden crouched and pulled the trigger, taking a step forward with the gunshot. The bullet struck the figure's chest, causing him to convulse. Owen took a deep breath and adjusted his aim, then he pulled the trigger. His bullet hit the top-left part of his forehead, blowing a chunk off of his head. Bits of brain splattered on the neighboring wall and blood dripped down to the floorboards.
The figure emerged from the smoke—Reece's body. Ryan held Reece's body in front of him, using the neo-Nazi as a human shield. He ran forward, then he pushed the heavy dead body onto Caden. The weight of the body caused Caden to tumble into his bedroom—Reece's dead body situated on top of him.
Caden screamed and squirmed upon spotting Reece's burned, mutilated face. He could see his friend's brains through the gunshot on his brow, too. His friend's blood dripped onto his cheeks. He retched and cried, hysterically frightened. He couldn't control himself. His cowardice surfaced and his hyper-masculinity vanished.
Before the racist could reload his rifle, Ryan tackled Owen. The men tumbled down the L-shaped stairs, their skin shredding and bones popping on the sharp edges of each step. The back of Owen's head hit the wall behind him as he rolled onto the landing. Ryan rolled down the entire flight of stairs and ended up in the living room. The fathers were dazed by the tumble, coughing and groaning.
Outside, Alexa grimaced as she hobbled onto the patio—dragging her broken leg behind her. She entered the house through the back door. Despite the carnage, the neo-Nazis never checked the patio door.
She pulled the can of sunscreen out of her coat pocket, then she lit the lighter. Like her husband, she used the common household items to create a makeshift flamethrower. She sprayed the homemade flamethrower at the windows in the dining room, setting the curtains and blinds aflame. She sprayed the fire at the table and chairs, too, but the furniture wasn't
flammable. One chair barely caught on fire. She pushed the chair closer to the dining table, hoping the flames would spread.
As she glanced around, she murmured, “I... I need more. The curtains aren't enough. I need... I need something else. I need–”
Alexa stopped as she gazed into the neighboring den. The curtains, the rug, and the sofa were flammable. The books on the shelves caught her eye, too. As an avid reader and an advocate of free speech, she wasn't fond of burning literature. However, if certain groups could burn books for irrational reasons, she figured burning the novels to kill her daughter's murderer was perfectly justifiable.
She limped into the den, ready to burn the house down.
Ryan staggered to his feet in front of the fireplace, disoriented by the tumble. His vision was blurred and the room spun around him. He rapidly blinked, hopelessly trying to focus his vision. He glanced over at the staircase. To his dismay, the neo-Nazi vanished.
Ryan muttered, “That bastard... Where did you go?”
“Here,” a hoarse voice said from over his shoulder.
Ryan turned around, but he didn't have the opportunity to react. Owen struck Ryan's stomach with a fire iron. The pain from the strike was amplified due to the cuts on his stomach. Before he could hit him again, Ryan grabbed the fire iron and pushed back against him. The pair grappled across the living room, wrestling for the weapon.
Ryan tackled Owen to the floor in front of the burning fireplace. The fire iron landed in the fireplace. Ryan struck down at Owen with a barrage of jabs while Owen wrapped his arms around his head and tried to block the punches.
Vincent already searched the closets on the first floor. He stood in the kitchen and watched the fight, awed. Since he knew him, he never saw Owen lose a fight—it was impossible. He shook his head, refusing to get involved in the brawl. He can handle it, he thought, he always handles his business. He finally found the fire extinguisher in a cupboard next to the stove. He grabbed the fire extinguisher and ran out of the kitchen, then he slid to a stop.