Primrose & Brimstone

by Mueller, Jason

  He grabbed the drill to release the screws that held the door shut shambled down the hall to Kyle’s bedroom, the thumping increased as if they could sense he was close by. He stood there heart breaking all over again.

  “Amanda honey.” He said between sobs. “I love you sweetheart, I want you to know that. I love you and Kyle both and I’m so sorry that this happened to you. I feel so helpless, so alone, and I can’t imagine living without you two but I don’t want you to suffer.”

  He sank to the floor arms wrapped around his knees weeping again. Memories, hopes, and dreams flooded his mind again threatening to finish driving him mad. He had to do it, he couldn’t wait anymore, he needed to do this and get some sleep, to move on somehow in a world that seemed to be burning out of control with no help coming.

  It was now or never. He crawled up from the floor and unscrewed the door. He opened the door with a slam from his shoulder knocking them both backwards with the door. He walked to the living room where he had room to maneuver, the two ghouls right behind him.

  Amanda came at him first; she was raging, shambling and uncoordinated, her blood streaked face in a nasty hate filled grimace as she came for him.

  “I’m sorry…” He swung the hammer, she staggered back blood flowing from the gash, and Kyle kept coming causing Jeremy to circle around the coffee table keeping the slow-moving child at bay.

  Amanda made another lunge for him, he swung again this time there was a popping sound as the hammer went through her skull. His darling wife fell to the floor twitching as she died.

  Jeremy stood there lost in the moment and grief until he felt little hands grabbing him. He jumped back and instinctively swung the hammer. It was over, the two lay there dead.

  He drug the bodies out to the garage, unsure of what to do with them for the moment, he would deal with them tomorrow. He staggered inside grabbing a beer out of the fridge and a bag of chips. The release of finally setting them free made him realize how hungry he really was. He sat watching the news which was on every station trying to remember when the last time it was he had eaten and it must have been lunch three days before, the day of the outbreak.

  When he was done with his beer and chips he staggered to the bedroom collapsing. He knew tomorrow was going to be hell dealing with the bodies and the aftermath of what he had to do but it was over and he needed to sleep. So, he did, restless nightmare riddled sleep.

  The next day he awoke, at first, he had thought the whole thing had been a dream, but quickly the realization that it was no nightmare hit him, knocking the emotional wind out of him.

  He got up showered and shaved, other things he hadn’t done since the outbreak. He felt a little more human physically at least, mentally he was numb. He grabbed another beer from the fridge marveling that the power was still on despite the world being in shambles. For breakfast he made a sandwich and went and plopped down on the couch, today he would dig a hole and bury them, but for now he would eat his sandwich and watch the news.

  Five hours later Jeremy sat down wearily on the couch again, tired and too numb to eat anything. Amanda and Kyle were buried, it had been grueling back breaking work. He buried them in the back yard behind the privacy fence as to not attract any unwanted visitors like other people with the rage virus.

  Moving the bodies broke his heart again as he lovingly placed mother and son together snuggled together in an internal embrace. He felt as he had died a little more with every shovel full of dirt thrown over them and yet felt a sense of relief when he could no longer see them too.

  He picked up the remote to see what else was going on in the world, what new city was besieged by the ragers. He was greeted with large letters on the big screen “Cure Found!!!”

  On the screen the news anchor was happily celebrating with a guest discussing the new breakthrough for those who had been infected and still living.

  Jeremy sat stunned.

  “NO!” He screamed at the TV. How could this be? How could they find a cure less than 24 hours after he beat the brains of his wife and child in with a hammer?

  He screamed at the TV until he was hoarse, his mind was completely gone now, what bit of sanity he had left had snapped at the turn of events. How could he live knowing he killed them when there was a cure?

  Jeremy began to hyperventilate, he couldn’t breathe, and the pain in his chest and head were pounding with each beat of his heart. He staggered out of the house, blindly running away from the house as if he could run away from the tragedy that was unfolding.

  The truck tried to swerve out of the way but couldn’t. Jeremy was crushed against the trunk of a tree. He was numb. He thought of the absurdity of the situation and laughed as he died while onlookers gathered around him watching silently.

  SHADOW

  Andrew Weber was led into the small interrogation room handcuffed and shackled. The black box and chain held his hands uncomfortably in position restricting his movement, but he was used to it. He was excited to be there. The chains did nothing to ruin this moment for him; after nearly thirty years of incarceration he would finally be vindicated. He was placed in a chair in the middle of the room. Two large correctional officers stood off to the side. There was little he could do to harm anyone chained as he was but the prison staff were leery of him as many had died in his presence over the decades. He always maintained his innocence but no one believed him. He always told the same outlandish tales of shadows doing the killings or destroying prison property. He was already serving a life sentence so there was little that could be done to him.

  He had agreed to this interview because he was tired of people calling him crazy. He had no illusions that he would ever get out of prison alive and after so many years in solitary confinement he really had gone crazy and he knew it. He wasn’t sure if he could be free and not hurt anyone at this point and in his mind at least there was always the shadow. It was always so eager and so quick to kill that sometimes Andrew feared even for his own life when the black figure would go about its grisly work.

  Jimmy Garcia M.D. walked down the brightly light and sterile corridor toward the room that had been set up by the facilities Internal Affairs department. They had been happy to help in any way they could since the Cedar Lake Facility was federally owned and operated and the inmate to be interviewed had been responsible for a number of murders and other mayhem since he entered the penal system twenty-nine years before. He was a forensic psychiatrist with the FBI so he pretty much had free run of the place. It still amazed him how much power went with a laminated I.D. with those famous F.B.I. letters on it gave him. He mentally went over all the information he could remember about the subject as an Internal Affairs officer acted as a liaison and escort to the interview room. She chattered away nervously making Jimmy wish that she would just shut the hell up and let him concentrate and get his head together before he met the subject.

  Finally, they reached the interrogation room 7B. Jimmy for the life of him couldn’t figure out why the room had such a strange number but was afraid to ask the chatty officer because she was likely to tell him in way too much detail. He dismissed her when they arrived. She looked heartbroken that he hadn’t invited her in to stay and walked away with shoulders slumped as if pouting.

  Jimmy stood outside the door breathing deeply for a full minute relaxing his mind and his body before he entered the room. Predators like Andrew Weber or any inmate that has been locked down as long as Weber had been developed amazing abilities to profile and read people themselves. If he seemed nervous, anxious or unprepared Weber would smell it like a shark smells blood and there was no telling what direction the interview would go.

  Andrew Weber looked up when the interviewer and criminal profiler came into the room. He dressed and carried himself like an F.B.I. guy. It kind of put Andrew off a little as he was expecting to see a stereotypical shrink; maybe someone older looking, not as capable looking or as confident. Weren’t most shrink’s nerds? This guy certainly wasn’t. He moved fluidly
like a man of action. It all made Andrew wonder how much time this shrink spent in the field?

  “Mr. Weber. I’m special agent Dr. Garcia it’s nice to meet you. Is there anything I can get you besides the items that you requested?” The agent said reaching a hand out to shake hands with Andrew. The guards cautiously stepped forward not liking the interaction but said nothing. Prison guards just don’t argue with FBI agents. It never turns out well but they sure as hell wouldn’t casually shake hands with this creepy son of a bitch they both thought seemingly in unison.

  “Nah I’m fine doc. From what I’ve seen you’ve done what I asked so I’m good. So let’s get to it. It should be an interesting time.” Weber smirked as if he alone knew some clandestine secret no one else did.

  “OK, Mr. Weber let’s get started then.”

  “Call me Andrew, Mr. Weber was my father. I know that’s kind of cliché but I hated that son of a bitch.”

  “OK, Andrew. Garcia said with a smile. This fucking guy might be bat shit crazy and a murderer but he had character he thought. OK, First question. What was it like growing up in the Weber home?”

  “What was it like growing up? We were dysfunctional as hell I guess. We were poor as hell too. Daddy drank and mama was strung out on pills. Daddy spent all his time at the bar and mama whored for her pills. She’d do anything for her pills; Norco’s, Xanax, Adderall. You name it, she’d fuck for it.”

  “Is that literally or figuratively?” Garcia asked.

  “Seriously, she’d fuck anyone for a fix. I saw her fuck six guys once for a fix. Us kids we used to watch. We always watched not because we really wanted to but the stupid whore never closed the door. Hell, the whore would give her cunt away in the kitchen, the living room, on the floor, on the couch. We’d be trying to watch cartoons and that stupid whore would be bellowing as some asshole plowed her pussy for twenty dollars.”

  Garcia was a little shocked by the nonchalant way Weber was describing the events and his feelings about his mother were very clear. Interesting, he thought.

  “The Sad part is I think the dumb bitch would have been the same even if she wasn’t addicted to pills. I think she was just a whore through and through. I never seen anyone crave dick so much in my life. Dad, he was a mother fucker. He’d come home drunk as hell. He’d beat the shit out of her and then he’d fuck the shit out of her if he wasn’t too drunk to get it up. It didn’t matter where either. On the floor, the couch, table. Hell, the old bastard didn’t care where he fucked her.”

  Garcia was taken aback by Weber's candid remarks about his childhood. In nearly twenty years with the agency he’d never heard anything so raw, so much pain in a man’s voice in an interview. Normally the subject was trying to play games and be tough or prove how crazy they were for legal purposes but Andrew Weber truly seemed sincere. Almost like he was releasing the pain of his past in hopes of redemption. Not from the law but from his own tortured mind.

  “Go on Andrew.” Garcia was so glad that this interview was being recorded through the two-way mirror. Of course, Weber knew that he was being recorded he’d signed the release to do so. The camera was out of view to make the setting seem as normal as possible.

  “I think he hated us.”

  “Why do you think that? You had four brothers and a sister, right?” Garcia asked. He’d spent hours going over Weber's file committing various things to memory. It made the subject feel more at ease and that they had value as a person that you took the time to learn about them. It also made the interview seem more like a chat and that helped make the subject more at ease.

  “Well, he said it all the time. He’d come home and beat the hell out of mom, fuck her and then beat the shit out of us. My sister Mandy he’d fuck her too. He was a horny fucker.” Andrew said with a look of disgust on his face as god knew what images flashed through his mind.

  “You mean he molested your sister literally?” Garcia asked shocked at the matter-of-fact way that Weber had made the statement.

  “I mean. Andrew continued. That he would fuck her in her pussy, her ass, and her mouth. He treated her like mom. He treated her like a whore.”

  “What about you boys?” Garcia knew it was early in the game to ask such a charged question but Weber was so forthcoming that he thought he would try it.

  “What do you mean?” Andrew asked as if he didn’t know what the question was.

  “Did your father abuse you boys sexually also?” Garcia made sure not to single Weber out but included all of his brothers giving him a bit of anonymity in a confession of abuse.

  “You’re a sick mother fucker!” Andrew exploded. “How the fuck are you going to come at me like that? Fuck you this interview is over!”

  Garcia knew he’d struck a nerve and a gold mine. He just needed to gain Weber’s trust. Andrew Weber was convicted of killing his entire family and blaming it on his shadow. In fact, one of Weber’s request for the interview was that a light be placed on one side of him so that his shadow would be projected on a wall. This was easy enough to do obviously. Garcia had found the request laughable, he wasn’t worried about some psychotic manifestation coming to life and killing him.

  “So, your father molested his children?” Garcia changed the question to see if it would help to make it even more generic.

  “I don’t want to talk about it!” Andrew screamed. Garcia watched as spittle flew from his mouth exposing yellow stained teeth.

  “Andrew, you realize that as an FBI profiler I already know the answer, right? I only keep asking because it’s important for you to admit it. It’s your story, not mine. I don’t want to make any assumptions.”

  Andrew did an about face and muttered about how his father was a good man, really. Garcia obviously didn’t buy it of course but years of experience had taught him that pushing a subject too far would cause them to retreat and trust would be broken and the interview would be over. He also knew there was a time to push, they needed you to push, but the time was not the present.

  Garcia leaned forward a sign to Weber that he had his full attention. “So, tell me about the shadow.”

  Weber's eyes lit up and his countenance changed from anger to excitement. Garcia had him focused again.

  “Yeah, yeah the shadow.” Andrew mumbled as he looked toward the wall where his shadow plainly could be seen mimicking Andrews sitting position.

  Garcia thought when Weber looked at his shadow he was a little nervous acting. Maybe for Weber it really was a psychotic manifestation in which he truly believed that the shadow was the killer. Garcia had always doubted Weber’s claims believing they were just a ploy to be found not guilty by reason of insanity. The insanity plea had gotten very hard to get in modern times but it still happened. Weber’s story had always seemed too elaborate to suit Garcia as he’d studied the case files.

  Andrew shifted in his chair as best he could with the restraints binding him. “I think it started when I was young. Real young actually. It would be hard to put a date on it. Maybe five or six years old. The shadow would do things and us kids would get in trouble. Shit like knock over lamps or break a dish. Silly shit like dumping the kitchen garbage can on the floor. The old man beat the hell out of us for that shit. My brothers and I all swore up and down it wasn’t us but the old man didn’t believe us. Just like people don’t believe me now. My brothers never saw the shadow they just knew that I claimed that the shadow had done it. They considered it like an imaginary friend or something.”

  Andrew paused for a moment collecting his thoughts. “It got worse as we got older I would say.” “It would push one of us down the stairs or knock over the refrigerator.”

  “Really?” Garcia didn’t believe for a minute that a shadow could do any of these things and wanted to see what Weber’s reaction would be if he dismissed it. “I wouldn’t think a shadow would have the power or ability to knock over a refrigerator are you sure it wasn’t one of your brothers?”

  Andrew didn’t react to Garcia’s disbelief but expected it
and it seemed to not bother him at all. “No, sir. I know for a fact that it wasn’t one of them. Most of the time we would all be together and things would happen. No one ever noticed the shadow but me. I could feel it separate from me and I would watch it go. I never understood why no one else could see it?”

  Because you’re fucking crazy dumbass. Garcia thought to himself and then checked himself. It was unprofessional to have those kinds of opinions and if Weber had been through half of what he claimed growing up, then he might actually feel a little sorry for him.

  “OK, Andrew, when you felt the shadow leave you how did it feel?” He continued not wanting to lose any momentum.

  “It felt like it would tear away. It hurt a little, I always imagined it to be like if your soul was ripped out of your body. It always felt like I was living in a dream then. It was scary at first but in time it became normal. Hell, with all the sick shit going on in the house a shadow with a mind of its own didn’t seem that strange at the time.”

  Garcia certainly couldn’t argue with that. The physical, emotional and sexual abuse could have only created predators out of the chaos. “What would happen when these things happened? I mean when the shadow would do things like knock the refrigerator over?”

  “The old man would come busting in usually in a wife beater and shit stained underwear and beat the fuck out of us. Beat us half to death it seemed. He’d use whatever was handy belt, extension cord, his fist. It didn’t make much difference to him.”

  “Andrew where was your mother in all this?” Garcia made sure to keep a neutral perspective about the mother. If there was going to be any open judgment, it would be by Weber and not him although he couldn’t imagine any mother acting like this woman allegedly acted toward her own children.

  “Mom? She was either passed out or had the hell beat out of her too. The dirty ass old bitch!” Andrew fumed.

  “Why are you so angry at her Andrew?” Garcia asked taking a more personal tone, hoping that Weber would think of him as a sympathetic ear and come forth with more information and help him to understand the events that led up to the murders.