by Chuck Buda
Chapter 3
His muscles were tight. Even with a good stretch, Michael noticed his age catching up with him. There was a time when he could just lace up his sneakers and start running without stretching first. Those were the days. Now he had to walk at a brisk pace for five minutes and then stop to stretch for another five minutes before jaunting off. Forty years old is the new thirty, he teased himself. His left hamstring was feeling tight and his shin splints were barking in both legs. He thought for a moment that all he needed was for his plantar fasciitis to kick in and he would be sidelined some more with his “old man” injuries.
Despite the body aches, Michael enjoyed the run. It was peaceful at this hour. No cars on the streets and no nosy neighbors waving to him as he jogged through the neighborhood. Dumont is a small town, situated in a little over a square mile. It is surrounded by upscale communities filled with doctors and Wall Streeters. Quaint little capes adorn most streets with a smattering of ‘McMansions’, the overly large homes squeezed into tiny lots. The rest of the homes are colonials with an average age nearing a century. The streets are lined with huge sycamore trees which shed their bark, leaving piles of shavings on the asphalt and sidewalks.
Michael turned the corner to head up the main drag which bisects the neighborhood. He couldn’t believe that he had gotten them into this mess. The guilt was overwhelming at not being able to provide a better life for his family. A college degree and two decades of working his butt off to earn promotions and raises and yet, here he was. Broke and going nowhere fast. What the hell happened to the “American Dream?” It seemed everywhere you turned there were more stories of foreclosures and bankruptcies. Large companies were failing, heck, even the bank he worked at was struggling with its financial decisions over the last few years. Nobody was safe but he found no consolation in the group misery index. He cared about his own family first. Stephanie chose him when she could have chosen someone with a better financial outlook. After all, she came from money. Her parents were well off after several business ventures and some real estate run-ups through the 80’s and 90’s. She should have a better life. A more prosperous life with no financial worries. But he failed her.
The poor kids, too. Although they had no choice in who their parents were. But they both deserved better. Andrew was thirteen now and growing up so quickly. He was starting to show interest in girls, styling his thick brown hair like the pop stars. His grades were good. He was very skilled at baseball and it helped that he was lean and strong for his age. Andrew never complained about not having the best digital gadgets and expensive trinkets that all his peers had. He was content to use last year’s model or the less popular brands. What a great kid. And then there was Allison. Little Ally was so beautiful, taking after her mother. She had the same long blond hair and smoldering brown eyes. She was daddy’s little girl in every sense. But Allison was plagued with health issues. Another generous hand-me-down from her failure of a father. She had a rare disease that affected an infinitesimal portion of the population, which he just happened to have deep within his bloodline. The gene was recessive for many generations but every so often reared its ugly head and Ally was the lucky winner. The poor girl had years of transfusions and a few surgeries to try to alter her chemical attributes but nothing cured it. She never complained about all the treatments and never felt sorry for herself. If you didn’t know her situation you would swear she was a typical, happy ten year old girl. But Michael knew. He was the one that gave her the disease through his lineage and now he was the one who was going to kill her because he couldn’t fund the new experimental procedure that could save her precious life.
As Michael’s thoughts ran away with him, his mood began to change and he felt sick to his stomach. Michael dropped to his knees on someone’s front lawn and vomited. His back arching in spasms. His face contorted in anguish as he continued to heave after his stomach no longer supplied the contents. He started to weep and rolled over into a fetal position, cradling his knees to his chest as he cried. Hard. He was lost in his hopelessness, unconscious of how he might appear should somebody pull back their curtains and find him like this. He failed. All he had to do was provide for his family and protect them. The two things that were most important to him and he couldn’t do it. They lived check to check and borrowed liberally from credit cards and loans to bridge the gaps when emergencies arose. They always seemed to pop up. And an evil disease was eating his beautiful little girl from the inside and he couldn’t fight it off for her. He was useless. His family would be better off if he just killed himself so they could collect the insurance money. And then Steph could find a real husband with money. And the kids could have a real father who provided and protected them. But he was even a failure at that. Too much of a coward to take one for the team and sacrifice himself so that they could win. What a disgrace. An utter failure.
After several more minutes of self-loathing, Michael sat up and tried to compose himself. It felt cathartic to release all the pain but it left him exhausted. He slowly stood up and got his bearings, not even remembering which street he was on. He realized he was near the town’s park and it was a quick walk to his favorite bench. The bench was in a perfect, secluded alcove offering spectacular views of the summer sunsets. Since he was in the area he figured he would give it a test run in the middle of the night, enjoying the moonlight and canopy of stars.
As he started to head in the direction of the park, Michael thought he heard the sound of tires peeling rubber. It seemed odd on such a quiet night but he disregarded it as kids being kids somewhere in a distant parking lot. He wished he were young and carefree again. But life had dealt him some hurdles he would have to overcome. Resigned, Michael walked the rest of the way to the park.
Chapter 4
Sitting on the bench brought tranquility to Michael. This was the first opportunity he had to enjoy the spot at such a late hour, not that it was on his bucket list. The stars shone faintly as the luminescence of the full moon dulled the rest of the sky.
Michael thought about his earlier hysterics and wished he could have buried it deeper inside. He liked to present a tougher exterior to his wife and kids even though he rarely displayed outward toughness. He was a proud man but he wasn’t proud about his outburst at this moment.
The silence was broken by the sound of screeching tires, this time much closer. Michael spun around on the bench just in time to catch a small silver hatchback sliding sideways at the corner of Charles Street and Hillcrest. The small car jumped the yellow curb and crashed into a large landscaping bed with a huge ornamental grass in the middle. Before he could comprehend what he just saw, Michael witnessed a large black pickup truck without its headlights on slamming on its brakes. It skidded to a stop just in time to avoid jumping the same curb. The pickup truck looked sinister as it was lifted higher than the factory issued package, and its tricked out grill resembled a big black maw about to devour whatever stood before it.
Just as quickly an extremely large man in a black and red flannel shirt and faded blue jeans hopped down from the truck. He left the door open and walked over to the driver’s side of the crashed hatchback. The large man smashed his fist through the window and yanked out the much smaller bald man by his throat.
“What are you doing, you lunatic?” Michael yelled at the large man as he dashed across the park. It seemed excessive behavior for an obvious incident of road rage. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He tried to wrap his arms around the large man as he approached from behind. The man was so big and muscular that Michael felt like a rag doll dangling off the brute’s back.
While choking the bald driver, the large man swung his messy-haired head backwards, smashing Michael nose. Michael immediately let go and thumped to the ground in a spray of his own blood. Now he was seeing his own set of stars. This wasn’t what he originally had in mind. The pain was excruciating and his eyes were totally watered over, blood continuing to poor out of his nose. Michael tried to look up at the mo
nstrous being and as his eyes strained to focus he realized a huge boot was coming at his temple. It connected and all the lights went out for Michael. He was face down in a pool of his own blood and unconscious.
Realizing that the “hero” was out cold the huge man re-focused his attention on the bald driver, who was still struggling to breathe through the massive fingers that clamped his windpipe shut. Spittle was flying. The beast reached his right hand to the back pocket of his blue jeans and removed a folding knife. With one hand, he deftly clawed the saw-toothed blade open. With his rock-hard forearm, he pinned the bald man against the side of the hatchback, continuing to choke him with only his left fist. The flannelled attacker spiked the knife into the temple of the bald man, instantly killing him. As brains bubbled up from the wound, the man wriggled the knife back and forth until it freed from the dead man’s head with a slurping sound. He wanted this scalp. He worked his knife down the horseshoed hairline. Maybe it would make a good prop for Halloween this year, he thought. The flap of flesh flopped down over the bald man’s face. A heinous skein of bloody meat. The large man ripped the scalp from the final threads of skin while the body crumbled at his feet. The exposed skull smacked the mulched landscaping with a squishy sound like a boot stepping into a muddy swamp. He inspected the scalp closely, turning it at different angles. Some of the ends retained hairs from the horseshoe shape, creating a gruesome curtain-like effect which pleased him. So he plopped the bloody flesh upon his head. He admired his faint reflection in the hatchback’s backseat window, like a woman trying on a dress in a fitting room.
Pleased with his horrifying image, the large man turned his gaze upon the bonus body. He chuckled to himself that there was always a hero and the hero never survived. He wondered if they would remain so heroic knowing what their chances were against him. As a battler of ill-fated “heroes” the large man was still undefeated. A champion over righteous do-gooders. He spat and then crouched over Michael’s unconscious body. The lumberjack’s head titled to the side as he scrolled through his inventory of terror, trying to decide which brutality to inflict on the unconscious man.
Behind the large man an SUV came to an abrupt halt next to the pickup truck. The door opened and the driver hurried over to the scene of bloodshed.
“What the hell are you doing?” The well-dressed man acted dumbfounded at the large man’s lack of pace, afraid that they would be discovered momentarily. “Why aren’t you cleaning this up? And who the hell is that?” He pointed at Michael lying in a pool of blood. The large man looked down at the unconscious body and then looked back at “the suit” with a grin on his face.
“And what the hell is on your head? You sick bastard. All I needed you to do was to kill Doug’s wife so he would understand that I mean business. And now we have two more bodies and a park full of smashed cars. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? We need to hurry before this place is crawling with cops. Shit, there’s probably people watching us right now through their bedroom curtains. You goddamned imbecile.” The well-dressed man was exasperated and ran his fingers through his slicked back hair, the mousse darkening his gray-peppered temples. He felt like he was hyper ventilating so he tried to calm himself down with a deep breath. Looking down at the bodies he collected his thoughts and got back to business. The large man rolled the unconscious body over and stood up.
“Wait a minute. How did he get here?” the suit asked incredulously. He recognized Michael Wright immediately even through the bloody visage. Great, he thought quickly, now how am I going to get out of this? This sick bastard will never let me keep him from his ugly craft. Think. Quick.
“Dunno. I was killing this guy here when Captain Big-britches jumped on my back. I never saw him coming,” said the large man. He despised the way the suit spoke to him. He didn’t have to answer to anyone, especially some little prick in a tie and jacket. The large man daydreamed briefly about stomping on the short, rich guy like a little bug.
“Okay. Okay. Why don’t you get out of here right now and let me handle this one for you. You need to get out of sight fast before someone sees your truck and that ridiculous uniform of yours.”
“This is my lucky shirt. I wear it for all my jobs. You don’t like my shirt?” The large man took a step towards the suit.
“It’s very nice, okay, Martin? I just meant that it is highly recognizable because you are always wearing that shirt in public.” He held his hands out in front of his chest to hold off Martin in case he made a move towards him.
“I’m shocked that you want to get your hands dirty. I thought you don’t like messy situations. Isn’t that what you call me for? To handle your messes?” Martin felt his adrenaline pumping and struggled to control his urges.
“Yeah, well, I need to finish this one for you. Your truck and that shirt stand out like a sore thumb around here. It will be harder for someone to i.d. me.” He sighed loudly. “Please. Leave now. And take off the goddamned scalp, will you? You look like a goddamned monster.”
Martin smiled and slowly walked towards the suit. He stopped right in front of the suit and leaned into his face. He wiggled his eyebrows up and down several times in mockery, the bloody hair-piece moving in rhythm. Then he began laughing and brushed into the suit’s shoulder as he walked past to his truck.
A chill ran down the suit’s spine and he closed his eyes in disgust. He waited for Martin Pike to leave, listening for the truck to drive away.
After the truck left, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then crouched down over Michael Wright’s body. He felt for a pulse and was relieved that it existed. He didn’t understand what Michael was doing here at this hour and cursed his luck for having to deal with this wrinkle. He stood up and looked around. Nobody appeared to be looking out their windows. The distant sound of a wailing siren started and he knew he needed to leave. He looked down again at Michael.
“You almost got yourself killed, buddy. You have no idea how close you came to death.”
He hustled over to the SUV and slammed the door shut. He fired the engine and screeched away quickly using all the horse-power under the hood. As the SUV turned left at the end of the park, two police cars arrived at the scene.
Chapter 5
The sun blazed through the kitchen window in the early morning. Rays of sunshine highlighting the cherry wood cabinets above the black stove. The forecast called for another glorious autumn day in the low 70’s.
Stephanie came down the stairs yawning in her bathrobe. She shuffled her fluffy slippers along the tile floor and stared out the window to take in the view of the park across the street. Everything was still so plush green but would soon turn yellow and orange and brown with the season. The warmth of the sun spreading across the smooth skin of her face. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to enjoy the moment of peace.
It was time to make the lunches for the kids before waking them up for school. Stephanie prepared the coffee maker. She reached up in the cabinet above the toaster for a mug and then switched on the coffee maker. She knew Michael liked to take a coffee in a travel mug while he drove to work. Stephanie stopped in her tracks. She realized suddenly that Michael wasn’t here. When she woke up and saw that he wasn’t in bed she figured he had already gone downstairs to get ready for work. Now that she was downstairs and there was no sign of Michael she began to wonder where he was. The back door to the kitchen swung open and Michael entered with a huge bandage across his nose and two black eyes that made him appear to be a raccoon.
Stephanie gasped. “What happened to you? Are you all right?” She hurried over to him and raised her hands to touch his face.
Flinching back with his hands stopping hers, he said, “Don’t touch. It still hurts really bad.”
“Oh, my gosh. I don’t understand. Where were you? Who did this to you? What happened to your face?”
“It’s bizarre. I went out for that run last night.” He paused and sat down at the table. “I ended up going to the park and then something awful happened.”
“What? Michael, tell me what happened.”
“Well, I was just sitting on that bench that I love, the one by the baseball field and then, out of nowhere, this car just flies up into the park and crashes into the bushes. Before I knew what was going on this big truck pulls up and, I still can’t believe this, this guy gets out and he’s killing the man who crashed into the park.”
“He’s what? But why?”
“I don’t know, Steph. Like I said it was bizarre. Next thing I know I am running up to tackle this guy and get him off the other one who crashed...”
“Why would you do that? Why wouldn’t you just run to get help?”
“I don’t know. I never thought I could do something like that but it just happened. I saw this poor little guy getting pummeled and then I shot off to help him without really thinking about it. I just reacted.”
“Oh, my gosh. Michael.”
“And then next thing I know he head-butted me in the face and I’m bleeding all over the place. And that’s all I remember. After that, I woke up in the emergency room with two cops who were asking me all these questions and I couldn’t even answer them. It’s like I blacked out. They said when they got to the scene I was lying in a puddle of blood and the other guy was, dead.” He paused and exhaled.
“You, killed, the man?” Stephanie asked horrified.
“No, no, no. The guy who crashed into the park was dead. I have no idea where the big guy went. He must have fled because the cops wanted to know who else was involved. They figured out that I couldn’t have killed him since I was out cold. Plus they found a large boot print in the blood on the ground, so they knew somebody else was there.”