by Mitch Goth
Only a few miles into the heart of Dallas, Kellen pulled the car to the roadside in front of a small sandwich shop. Overtaken by her hunger, and more than likely not wanting to expose anyone in public to the face or mannerisms of Ezra Grazer, she left him in the car. This gave him time to think and absorb the situation he found himself in.
Was she truly lacking that much judgment? The woman seemed so on top of things before, so in charge of the situation. But as he was noticing, leading the situation did not mean leading one's own mind. Her urge to feed brought her to the point of leaving a convicted serial killer unattended in downtown Dallas.
There were no shackles pinning him down, no concrete walls or iron bars separating him from the rest of the world. No, there was nothing, aside from an unlocked car door. He could watch the world go by, all the innocent souls. It would not have been outside the realm in which the government saw him to get out of the car and take a life or two. But no matter how the state perceived him, it wasn't like him to do such a thing. His talents were not to be spent on bystanders.
As Ezra observed the world through the glass and metal encasement in which he found himself, an odd recollection returned to him. Throughout this maze of short, brick buildings and tattered telephone wires, memories returned. He had seen this place before, many times actually. The sandwich shop was new. It used to be a dry cleaning service. One he used often. They weren't the best, nor were they the cheapest. But they never asked questions when a minor slip up left a spot of crimson or two on his collar. In addition, they were close enough to home for comfort.
At that, it all hit him. How could he have been so dumb? How could he forget a place such as this? Ezra stifled a chuckle at himself. Sometimes he couldn't quite believe the ignorance his own mind was guilty of.
The rules would be broken, but he had talked his way through rule breaking enough times in his day to make this a minor hiccup up in both his and Kellen's plan for the near future. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Just as he shut the door behind him, Kellen came walking out of the shop. Immediately, she set the sandwiches she'd gotten on a table beside the entrance and put her hand on her gun, staring him down with the intensity of a raging inferno.
"I told you to stay put," she said, caressing the grip of her weapon. "Get back in the car."
"Or what? You're going to shoot me?" Ezra replied in a stern monotone.
"Damn right."
"You won't shoot me. You need me. Stop playing tough when the situation doesn't call for it. It makes your head seem too large for your shoulders. If you don't mind me saying, that is."
"Get back in the fucking car, now!"
"No promises," he replied with the oddest response to that question he could think of. Right away, he saw the fruits of that minute labor. Her grip on the gun loosened, her head cocked, and an eyebrow raised a few millimeters above the other. She was confused. And it was in this haze he had his chance to act.
Ezra wasted no time. He darted down the sidewalk. It wasn't until almost half a dozen long, fast strides in he heard Kellen start her pursuit. She yelled at him, but he paid no mind to the noise. It wouldn't be anything he hadn't heard before. He didn't want to bother looking back either. He knew she wouldn't catch up. She wasn't out of shape, she seemed to take good care of herself actually. But even with his lack of proper work behind prison walls, Ezra had never forgotten his Army training, his martial arts agility. No matter how fast she ran, he could always go faster.
The further he ran, the more the surrounding setting morphed. The short, commercial buildings melted into residential space. It wasn't the same way he had left it but it was, for all intents and purposes, similar. The homes were more unkept, some were even burnt out and boarded up. Quite the opposite outcome he had hoped for throughout all this work and effort. But at least he delayed the inevitable, which was all he could hope to do.
In his temporary trance, Ezra didn't notice the sound of Kellen's yelling getting closer. But, one sharp call to him brought his reality crashing back. She was gaining inches and he needed to act. On impulse he turned a sharp right, directly into a chain-link fence. With a one arm lift, he was over the fence and running through someone's backyard. He wasn't far now, only a block.
The fence rattled once more. It sounded like she had trouble with it. That bought him time. He hopped over the other side. Ezra continued this throughout all the chain-link fences of these homes. Each time, he could hear less and less of Kellen's calls. For the first time in a long while, his training in the Army, the best strategies for a quick getaway, were coming in handy.
At the end of the block came a taller, wood-paneled fence. Even with its extra height, Ezra hopped over it without even touching his foot to the top. After that, he made another sharp turn and out the home's side gate. It spat him out where he wanted to be, the old corner that seemed so familiar, and so different.
The road he once lived on was now lined with cars that either looked broken down or paid up with drug and pimping money. The homes were sagging and gray, like an unwise elder who, even in crippling age, continued to smoke several packs a day. It was a bitter sweet sight, and the longer he looked at it, the more noticeable the bitter became.
Kellen was getting closer again. Ezra darted off once more. Halfway down the block was all he had to go. Then it was there, right before his eyes. His only wish then was that it could have been something easier to look at. Ezra's old home wasn't one of the burnt out kind, but every opening was covered in plywood, which was itself coated in thick globs of spray paint. Some designs spoke of different gang affiliations, while some showed knowledge of his identity, and contempt at that knowledge.
Not wanting to waste another moment, Ezra rushed up to the front door and kicked it in with one swift blow. Another helpful piece of Army training he was glad to be using once again. It was at this point where the rush stopped, nothing could keep him going, because he was where he wanted to be.
Ezra entered his old foyer. It was dark, dusted, decorated with sloppy spray paint designs just like the exterior. It was hardly the same home, but he recognized it all the same. All the furniture was gone, either seized by the police or stolen away long ago. But he could piece it all back together in his head and no matter how it looked now, it was all still the same to him.
As he strolled into his former living room, loud stomps came into the entryway. He knew that his tour was coming to an abrupt end, but he didn't care. Ezra kept on his recollections.
"Ezra." Kellen panted. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Ezra turned around. He was surprised to see Kellen had her gun drawn and pointed at him. "Kellen, I meant no harm by it."
"Shut the fuck up. You're going back to prison, right now."
"If I go back to prison that girl dies. That blood will be on your hands if you force me back."
"Stop it," Kellen's anger was intertwining with another, far different emotion. "Stop doing that shit."
"What shit?" he wondered, knowing the answer.
"Stop using that girl's life as a pawn in your game to stay out of prison." Kellen's eyes misted. Although he could tell it wasn't from any kind of sadness.
"Why all the bother?" this was a legitimate question from him, but he knew it didn't sound like it. He could see just how overwhelmed she was in that moment, he could see everything she didn't want anyone to notice. Every bit of her was showing through. Even in the dim light of the boarded up house, he could see it all.
"I just want to save this girl. I want to stop this son of a bitch from taking another innocent life. There's time now. There's a lot of it. But I can't help. Instead, I'm babysitting you. I should be out stopping him from hurting someone, but I'm stuck with you. This isn't how my job is supposed to work. This isn't how life is supposed to work. I need to stop this person, this fucking serial killer. But instead of stopping one, I'm setting one free."
"Kellen-" he started.
"Stop that."
she cut him off. "Stop talking to me like I'm a peer. I am Agent Monello. You are a criminal, a lower form of life. Stop talking like we're equals. You will never be my equal."
"No need to lash out at me. I apologize for my action, but I had to get back to this place."
She took a moment to look around, even more confused than she was before. "Your home?"
"It was. If it is of any interest to you, every crime I committed, was committed on this house's foundation. In the basement actually. I'm surprised they didn't raze it."
"They should have." She looked at it with a grimace.
"Don't be mean. This was my mother's home, my home ever since I was twelve. I took a break from it for my tours overseas, but I always came back here."
"What about before you were twelve?" Kellen inquired. She looked to be genuine in her interest.
"What does it matter to you?"
"If I'm spending all this damn time with you, I should get to know you, shouldn't I? Whether you're a killer or not, I'm forced to drag you around, which means I'm forced to know you."
He shrugged. "I was raised in New York City. As far as I know my father and brother still live there. But I haven't heard much from them. They were far too busy for me before I went away, I'm certain nothing has changed since then."
"What makes them so busy?"
"Wall Street. It keeps them busy and keeps them rich. Too rich to bother with me or my mother." Ezra paused, peering around the room. "Our mother. He was never much for paying any support. But we did just fine. The house used to look rather nice. Even when she passed, I still kept it nice."
"What the hell happened so fast?" Kellen took another once over. "It looks like it's been abandoned for decades."
"The thing I was trying to stop came flooding in upon my absence."
"What do you mean?"
"They didn't tell you my motive?"
"They haven't told me shit."
"My goal was to erase the problem before it all came through. The only problem was, I could only fix the issues once they leaked in. First came the drugs, and there was nothing to do about the kids who did it. Druggies are not criminals, merely victims. But when the dealers came soon after, I saw a chance to act."
"You killed them?"
"With ease. The first four were dealers. Then the pimps slithered in too. At first I paid no mind, until the neighbor girl got sucked in by one. Some skinny little punk. She was so nice, so smart. He got her hooked on coke, and she'd do anything and everything for him after that, no matter how he beat her. So one day, I beat him back, and dumped his corpse into a blast furnace. Of course, I was stupid enough to keep a memento of that one. Gold teeth, the grills they all wore then. Still had DNA of him after all that time. Silly me, I suppose."
"You beat a man to death?" Kellen wondered. He saw her tensing up again. Her gun was still in her hand, but had lowered.
"Simply expression, I'm far more surgical than that. Brutality is for the weak, who must show strength in force rather than in power. There was a difference, and many around here didn't see it. That's why they got caught. Me, well, I knew when enough was enough, and left a trail of crumbs after a while. It became apparent that, try as I might, no matter how scared they all were of the disappearances, nothing would stop them. Now here it all is. A destroyed, crime-filled ghetto."
"Sorry," Kellen said.
"Why the hell are you apologizing? I am a serial killer who ran away from you. Although it's nice to see that I still have the power to persuade an audience. I was always quite the manipulator. From what I hear, I get it from my father."
"Shut the hell up." Kellen's apologetic attitude faded.
"We should get you back to those sandwiches anyhow. Your hunger is making you irritable. Besides, I've got a new goal. All of this is in the past."
"And what goal do you have now?"
"Catch a serial killer. Someone just like me, only far different. In his own ways worse."
"Who's saying I'm still not taking you back to prison after that?" Kellen asked with a smirk.
"You won't do that. No matter the tears you shed, you know that I am the key to that girl's survival. Just be happy I'm smart enough to only run off once." He walked by her and out the door. She followed quickly.
"How do you do that?" she asked as they stepped off the stoop.
"Do what?"
"Turn people's minds around like that?"
"It's simple when you know what buttons they have and how to press them just right. Luckily, I am observant enough to catch everyone's buttons all the time. I just don't always press them. Be happy about that, Kellen." He betrayed her previous order, knowing it wouldn't cause much of a stir out of her now.
"What are you going to do next, guess my weight?" she grumbled.
"One hundred and thirty-six," he replied, looking her over as he spoke. She glared at him and he was certain he'd gotten it. "Don't test me, you'll lose."
"To answer the question, no you're not going back. Not until this all gets done. You got your furlough, use it for good or you'll get the needle. It's simple as that. If you run off again, I'll put a bullet in you. Either way, if you keep fucking around, you'll die. And that's fine by me."
"So fiery." He smile. "There needs to be more people like you. But, my death shouldn't worry you. It should be Megan Mickelson's death that plagues your mind."
He watched Kellen's expression change. She cared heavily for the girl, and he was unsure why. There was something off about this FBI agent escort he had chosen, and Ezra was determined to find out what it was.
15