Entry Wounds: A Supernatural Thriller

by Brandon McNulty

  “Don’t change the subject,” he said. “This is about you and me.”

  “Okay, then. Fine. How are you and I any different, Ken? You had a gun in your hand, I had a gun in my heart. I could either shoot down my soul or point Cupid’s arrow elsewhere. And that’s what I did. Once I got to know Pete, I fell in love. Forbidden love, sure, but not twisted love. Not by any stretch. It was genuine. You’d be surprised by the conversations we shared. Pete is wise beyond his years.”

  “Pete was,” he corrected. “Not is. Was. Pete’s no more. All because he took those pills. All because you molested him.”

  “I loved him!” She rose to her feet, gripping the fire poker with both hands. His gun no longer seemed to faze her. “He was seventeen. The age of consent in Pennsylvania is sixteen. If I weren’t his teacher, it would’ve been legal. I told him we should wait till he graduated, but on the first week of school he came to my classroom and spilled out his soul. He said he was tired of being afraid. Nothing scared him so long as he was with me. Then he proved it to me. It started with the purest, most beautiful kiss I’ve ever received. I couldn’t bring myself to stop him, and I’m glad I didn’t.”

  “You’re glad?” Ken now fingered the trigger. “You’re glad you wrecked his life? You’re glad he sought refuge in drugs? You’re glad he overdosed?”

  “Of course not. I’m glad for the moments we shared. I’m glad he made love to me. And I’m proud to be carrying his child.”

  His finger slid off the trigger. “What?”

  A voice boomed from the hallway. “You stupid whore!”

  Ken glanced over his shoulder.

  Dom Marconi limped through the threshold, the lower half of his face slathered in blood from his damaged nose. He looked grotesque, zombie-like. His eyes, however, were wide with fury. He snatched a lamp off an end table and flung it at Angela, forcing her to duck.

  “Whore!” Dom’s voice vibrated with hostility. “You weren’t supposed to get knocked up! You were supposed to be careful. That was our deal.”

  “Wait—wait!” Ken said. “You’re saying you knew about this? You knew she was with Pete?”

  “I caught them upstairs,” Dom said. “Almost had a goddamned aneurysm.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Ken said. “Pete was a kid.”

  Dom pointed a bloody finger at Ken. “Clearly you’ve never been married, pal. Certain secrets stay within the home.”

  Ken aimed at the man. “Certain secrets can push someone to overdose.”

  “How was I supposed to know?” Dom gestured at Angela. “She said she loooved him and needed him. I just let the lovers be.”

  “Bullshit,” she said. “You only kept your mouth shut because you knew I could spill your secrets.”

  “Hey, I’m not the one who ruined some kid’s life.”

  “Oh, you’ve ruined your share.” She looked at Ken. “Shoot him. Get your last kill and leave.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do,” Ken said, steering the gun away from Dom.

  “Well, you can’t shoot me,” she said. “Not while I’m carrying Pete’s child.”

  “Child?” Dom boomed. “You fucked a child.”

  “I made love to a younger man, you jealous cuck.”

  “You’re dead, woman!”

  Dom stormed toward her, his blood gleaming in the light from the blaze. He chased her to the rear wall; she stood her ground and swung the fire poker at him. When she missed, he seized the business end. One harsh tug removed it from her hands. He assumed a batter’s stance and swung, smashing her shoulder.

  She cried out in agony and fell against the bookcase. Her eyes flicked toward the corner of the room, where her revolver lay waiting.

  “Angie, you fucked a little boy!” He kicked her knee, and she dropped to the floor. “Got knocked up by a goddamned kid! The fuck is wrong with you?”

  The fuck is wrong with both of you? Ken thought.

  “My arm…” She sat up, whimpering, cradling her arm. “It hurts.”

  “Oh? Your arm hurts?” Dom readied himself for another swing. “Then let’s send the pain elsewhere.”

  “Stop!” Ken said, lifting his gun. “Both of you, stop!”

  Both Marconis froze as he extended the revolver toward them. The weapon shook in his conflicted grasp. He yearned to shoot them both. What he’d seen and heard from Angela and Dom disgusted him. Ken had tried to restrain himself, while these two chose the polar opposite. Angela had tricked him into nearly murdering Soward as part of a cover-up, and now Dom was on track to cave in his wife’s skull. Now they watched Ken as if each were in a trance.

  The fear in their eyes moved him.

  Growling, he pointed his weapon toward the floor.

  A whoosh immediately followed. The fire poker swung toward Angela’s head. When she dodged, the metal tip whacked a book spine. Dom forced her to retreat toward the corner of the room. He swung wild, catching a leather chair, gashing the material. White foam spilled like pus from an open wound. His next swing shattered a decorative urn on a bookshelf.

  Angela screamed, backed toward the corner. Desperately, she threw herself on the floor and slid toward the revolver. Her hand snatched it, and she spun to turn the gun on her husband.

  The blast roared through the room.

  Dom flinched but remained upright. It was impossible to see where he’d been shot. If he were hurt, he didn’t show it. He stood over Angela, set his feet, and raised the fire poker overhead like a warrior intent on slaying a beast.

  With a gargling roar, he chopped the poker downward.

  Ken fired.

  The bullet struck Dom’s lower back. Blood burst across his white button-down, a sight so satisfying Ken dropped to his knees. After twenty-four hours of nonviolence, he savored the release. It was as though his darkest grudges were freed through the barrel. He accelerated the satisfying process, pulling the trigger again and again, cycling madly through the near-empty cylinder until he unleashed another shot.

  Dom flinched through a series of clipped, awkward dance steps. The steel poker thudded to the carpet, and he slumped forward, ready to drop. He grabbed a nearby shelf, fighting to stay upright when a bullet caught his neck. He made a sound like a wet hiccup and rocked forward, flopping onto the floor in front of his soon-to-be widow.

  Ken kept shooting. Every blast diminished his hunger like biting into raw meat. He hammered the trigger repeatedly. And then the most bizarre thing happened.

  The snubnose slipped from his grasp.

  His hand muscles relaxed. The numbness left his fingers, and cool air brushed his tender palm. As his fingers straightened, a strange paranoia seized him. He felt abandoned. Naked. Weak.

  A moment later the sensation passed.

  The revolver thudded to the carpet.

  His hand was empty.

  Joyous shouts shook his throat. He laughed and collapsed onto his side. When he reached out to break his fall, his hand jolted with pain. After holding the gun for four straight days, his unbent fingers roared with sharp, hot electricity. His thumb was no better, and his exposed palm was as raw as an open blister.

  Even so, he laughed. He laughed till he cried, then laughed some more. He might’ve done so for days, but Angela spoke and disturbed his reverie.

  “Ken,” she said. “You saved me.”

  He pushed himself upright and rubbed his eyes. Ahead, beyond Dom’s blood-splattered corpse, sat Angela. She leaned against the bookshelf, holding her shoulder, grimacing. The strain on her face softened as they locked eyes.

  “Thank you,” she said, nodding at her deceased husband. “Listen, you should get out while you can. Cops’ll be here soon.”

  That made sense. He should run. Catch up with Robby and Hannah. Get motoring before it was too late.

  But, mysteriously, he found it impossible to leave. As he stared past her disheveled hair into her black eyes, a wild spectrum of emotions surged through him, from his highest hopes to his deepest regrets. He wan
ted to kiss her and kill her and everything in between. Before him sat a lover who accepted him despite his highest crimes, but also a teacher who had molested their student.

  That left him wondering about something.

  “Angela,” he said. “Why me?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why me?” he said. “Why pursue me if you loved Pete? Why betray him?”

  “I didn’t betray anyone. I loved you both. Two amazing men. I know it’s unconventional, but sometimes society’s rules do more harm than good.” She winced, clutching her wounded shoulder. “It’s like I said in the pool the other night—I was tired of living the same movie over and over. Tired of limits, rules, repetition. Tired of being afraid.” She nodded toward the doorway. “You’d better hurry.”

  Ken didn’t like her answer, but she was right about him needing to hurry. He lumbered to his feet, cradling his sore hand. He tried to stretch his fingers, but the thunderous pain worsened. He’d have to make do. He looked around for something to safely hold the revolver with. Her Pooh Bear blanket was puddled on the couch. With his good hand, he grabbed it.

  “Be safe in LA,” she said. “I know you’re upset with me, but if you change your mind, I’ll meet you there.”

  From outside, he heard the faint whine of a police siren. He couldn’t stay much longer. Looking at Angela, he saw someone repulsive but also someone twistedly human. Someone like him.

  Once he left for LA, he would be a lost, lonely man. A man with six unbearable secrets and only Robby and Hannah to confide in. But those two couldn’t understand him like Angela did. He doubted anyone else could.

  As the siren’s wail became louder, he pictured himself in his family’s old LA apartment. Pictured himself sitting down to a plate of Mom’s signature curry. He could smell the spices, taste the flavors as they danced over his tongue. When he finished chewing and looked across the table, there was Angela. And in her arms was their baby.

  No. Not our baby. Pete’s baby.

  Then it dawned on him.

  “Wait,” he said, clutching the blanket. “When did you find out you were pregnant?”

  “Recently. Why?”

  Ken remembered Pete Chang sitting at the scuffed-up desk in his classroom. He recalled the boy’s aggressive lack of eye contact. The moping face. The hostile glare. The abrupt trip to the bathroom. Flinching at the mention of girl trouble.

  Now it all made sense.

  “It was this week, wasn’t it?” he said, struggling to control his tone. “This week you realized you were pregnant.”

  “Right,” she said.

  “And you told Pete.”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Did you tell him about your plan?”

  “Plan? What plan?”

  “Your plan to act like the baby was mine.”

  She opened her mouth but said nothing.

  “When I found this yesterday,” he said, pulling the broken sketch pencil from his pocket, “you said Pete had come to your house for help with Soward. Initially I thought he’d snapped the pencil because he was impatient, tired of waiting all night to hear what you had to say. But now I get it. He didn’t snap the pencil out of impatience but because he couldn’t stand seeing you with another man. He knew about your plan to invite me over and manipulate me.”

  “Manipulate you? No…”

  “You used me!” With agonizing regret, he recalled the sex by the pond yesterday. Him trying to pull out. Her wrapping her arms around his back. Him with no choice but to come inside her. “You used me because you couldn’t admit to the world that Pete was the father. You needed a stand-in, a substitute, but you couldn’t blame your husband. That’s why you went after me—the nearest available Asian man.”

  “No, that’s not it at all!”

  “It sure is. You didn’t love me—you loved that I fit into your scheme.”

  “That’s not it!” She eyed the fire poker on the ground between them. “I’ll explain everything when we meet again. You need to leave.”

  Flashing blues and reds shimmered behind the window sheers.

  Ken did need to leave. But if he left now, she might get away with everything. Even if he sent the police an anonymous letter, it wouldn’t convince anyone. He had no concrete evidence against her. Just truth from the mouth of a liar.

  With a sudden lunge, he reached for the fire poker.

  So did Angela.

  She snatched it from the floor with surprising speed. Then she was on her feet, swinging the weapon high and wide, daring him to get close.

  Outside a car door slammed.

  Time was running out.

  There was only one serious choice.

  Ken grabbed the gun—with his bare hand.

  Her jaw fell. “Ken, are you out of your—”

  He shot her before she could finish.

  Chapter 63

  Ken dove into the musty van, slammed the door, and crawled beneath the backseat until he was hidden. Hidden from Robby, from Hannah, from the outside world. He didn’t want to be seen. Never again.

  Robby raced off, tires squealing on wet pavement. Hopper woofed, limped over to Ken, and licked the stubble on his cheek. Ken, lying there uncomfortably in soaked clothes, welcomed the tickling pressure along his face. It took his mind off things, if only for a moment. He reached out and patted the pit bull’s head like Dad always used to.

  “You sure took your time, Ken,” Robby said. “You did shoot her, right?”

  Ken cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

  Robby and Hannah each sighed in relief.

  “And you brought the gun?” Hannah asked.

  “Yeah,” Ken said.

  Another double sigh.

  Shutting his eyes, Ken pulled Hopper closer. The dog’s unwashed fur carried the smell of their living room. It transported Ken back to a rainy day months ago when he and Hopper had dozed on the couch while Dad snored in his recliner. There had been nothing particularly special about that day, but Ken welcomed the memory of it. He savored it. Then Hopper’s snout poked against his jacket pocket. Against his gunhand.

  “Almost at the highway,” Robby said. “Ready to head west?”

  “Yeah,” Ken said, “but first do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  “See if you can find a shooting range. An outdoor one. Somewhere we can regroup for a few minutes.” Ken swallowed hard. “Gotta show you something. Something you should know about this gun.”

  Hannah located a place on her GPS. Twenty minutes later they arrived in a muddy parking lot somewhere out in the boonies.

  Ken climbed out from under the backseat and glanced through the rain-streaked windows. Oaks and elms towered outside. Ahead, a dozen wooden tables were lined up beneath a weather-beaten roof. Target boards stood in the distance. The setup resembled a driving range at a golf course. Too bad Ken hadn’t grabbed a cursed golf club that required him to win six major tournaments or something.

  He exited the vehicle and pressed his feet into the mud. The soggy earth sank beneath his weight. His knees ached brutally. Without the adrenaline from earlier, he had nothing to energize him. Now he was a man at the end of his line, a line drenched in drying blood.

  He approached the nearest wooden table. Posted on a nearby support beam were warnings, safety rules, and explicit reminders to “only point your gun at what you intended to shoot.” An abandoned notepad lay on the ground nearby, scores jotted across the top sheet.

  Hannah approached, holding her side. “What’d you want to show us?”

  “Yeah, man, hurry this up,” Robby said, checking over his shoulder. He bounced in place, still rattled by withdrawal. “Even if nobody’s after us, I’d like to get back on the road. Driving helps me focus.”

  Ken saw no point in hesitating.

  He removed his gunhand from his pocket.

  Both of them flinched.

  “What? How?” Robby said, backing away. “Thought you killed Angela.”

  “I killed her husban
d,” Ken said. “Then I dropped the gun and…things got complicated. She had a weapon. The police were outside. There was no time, so I grabbed the gun again.”

  “Ugh.” Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. “Okay, don’t panic… I’m sure we can find five scumbags to kill.”

  “Six,” Ken said. “I’ll need six.”

  “Six?” Robby said. “But didn’t you pick it up to shoot Angela?”

  “Exactly. I shot her. I didn’t kill her.”

  “What?” Hannah gawked. “But she tricked you into going after Soward.”

  “She did. She also lied about some terrible things. But I didn’t kill her.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Had my reasons.” Ken took a deep breath. “First was practical. There was a cop right outside. If I executed her, the cop would’ve chased me. But as long as she was screaming in pain, the cop had to help her.”

  Hannah frowned. “What other reason?”

  Ken chewed his lip.

  “We deserve to know,” Robby said. “We’re in this pretty deep with you.”

  Ken met his brother’s eyes. “When I grabbed the gun again, I realized something. I realized that whether I killed her or not, I’d have a twenty-four-hour deadline. Killing her would lower my bullet count, but if Angela died, everyone would mourn her. They would never learn the truth.”

  “What do you mean?” Robby said.

  “She molested a student of mine. And got pregnant by him.”

  “Eck,” Hannah said. “Wait—then why’d she send you after Soward?”

  “Soward saw Pete leave school with Angela the other day. After what happened in the principal’s office this morning, I’m hoping Soward will piece everything together and notify the authorities. When that happens, things will get dark for Angela.”

  “Yeah.” Robby itched his stomach. “I’m worried, though. She can tell the cops where we’re headed. You probably should’ve killed her.”

  “I wanted to,” Ken said, “but she deserves worse than death. I want her to face the guilt, the shame, the punishment. I’d rather kill six more people than give her an easy out.”