by Caleb Meeks
The doors opened on the top floor after a lengthy trip up. The top floor receptionist greeted me with a grin. Are you the man I just heard from the front desk about?
I put on my friendliest smile. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Mr. Barnaby is right through there.” She pointed towards a wooden door far too large for an office. I walked through it and was immediately greeted by the business legend himself.
He was on the phone as I walked in. The man was a “legend” for his business savvy, not for his visual appearance. He wore a suit far too tight for a man of his stature, clearly needed to shave, and perhaps take a shower. He looked like he was oozing grease from his pores. His hair appeared to have been slicked back with the sweat on his forehead. Not a professional looking man by any stretch of the imagination.
“I’m going to have to call you back, I have business to attend to.” He said as I closed the door behind me. “I didn’t expect you so early.”
I smiled. “I’m punctual.”
“Clearly. He stood and stuck out his sweaty hand. I begrudgingly gripped it. “Hank Barnaby, nice to finally meet the legend himself.”
“Pleasure to meet you, as well. You’re a legend in your own right.” I said, trying to keep the bad guy persona as muted as possible, at least for now.
“Well, I appreciate it, but no one is more of legend than you. I mean come on!” The first time was acceptable, the second was clearly an attempt at getting me on his side. One of the least attractive qualities in a business partner. He didn’t need to know that, though.
I smiled at his overdone compliment. “The things I’ve heard about you really don’t live up to the real thing.”
He raked his hands through his hair, in an effort to compliment his own attractiveness. “Well, the reports are never quite as good as the real thing.”
“Confidence is key.” I said. Clearly, he didn’t realize I was not meaning it as a compliment. True hopelessness.
“Yes, I’m sure you are well aware of that. You wear it well.”
“Yes, I do. And, as much as I appreciate the compliments, I am a very busy man, and didn’t fly in just for them. I did, however, fly in for business. I’d appreciate it if we could get to that.” Given his history of assault, the rigorous complimenting made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t planning on having to kill him.
“Of course, my apologies.”
“Thank you. Now, what business venture might you have had in mind?” I asked, genuinely curious what kind of juncture he had inevitably drawn up.
“Well, as you know, I’m a big follower of everything you do. However, I’m also very aware of what’s been going on, as I’m sure you are too. Things are changing. People are turning on each other. Hit men are being hired. In a traditional sense, the two of us should be turning on each other. After all, it seems like a few have already taken that approach with you. I’m sure more on the way. And, I’m sure there’s someone at the helm of it. I trust, though, that if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already.”
I smiled. “Not necessarily. I’ve been known to like to play with my prey before I kill it.” I shifted back in my chair, settling into it, but also giving him time to appreciate the comment in full. He squirmed in his chair, but laughed to cover it up. “However, you are correct that we would typically be enemies here. A merger between our worlds would certainly create a bit of a stir. I’d be ignorant not to mention that it might not be the most welcome stir, however.”
He pushed the first comment to the side for the moment. “I can’t disagree with you. If we agreed to become allies, it would likely create a rather unpleasant bit of publicity in our shared world. I still see a benefit in a juncture, though. Whether or not there is a negative reaction, it shouldn’t sway our decision. If we partner up, then we have enough manpower to deal with whatever gets thrown our way.”
“That is also true, though we have different methods of cleaning up messes. I feel like I would be mainly in charge of that.” I stood up and walked to the floor to ceiling wall he had installed in the office. It overlooked the city in a stunning way. People on the ground could hardly be seen from up here. “Tell me something, Mr. Barnaby.” I turned to glance at him over my shoulder. He had leaned back in his chair and put clasped his hands around the back of his neck.
“Anything. Ask away.”
“How did you gather such an impressive business empire?”
“How did you gather such an impressive crime empire?”
I smiled. “I asked first.”
“Very well.” He said. “I guess I saw something and I wanted it. And I didn’t take no for an answer.”
“Yes, from what I gather, you’re quite fond of that approach.”
He looked at me with a look of stunned confusion. “Excuse me?” By now he had gotten up from his chair, and was standing opposite me.
“Pardon me. I just can’t quite ignore the twenty-seven rape and sexual assault charges you have against you.”
He looked absolutely horrified. “How do you know about that?”
I laughed. “Remember when you called me a legend in the crime world? Well when you are, as you put, a legend in the world of crime, it gives you some pull when it comes to things like that. I also have made myself very aware of the amount of money you have spent paying off officers, attorneys, doctors, and even victims.”
He tried to ease the look of terror on his face. It worked momentarily but was quickly back. “I mean, boys will be boys. I’m sure you understand, Judas. Right? We’re men here, we have needs.”
“Hm, I can’t quite find myself agreeing with you there. You see, I’ve had the urge to kill you a handful of times since I walked in this room, yet here you stand. So, no. I do not understand. Here’s the difference, you can’t bend me over and force me to do anything you want me to do. I don’t think I can do business with someone who operates that way.” He looked completely stunned. “I came here to see what you knew, Mr. Barnaby, I wasn’t really interested in a business venture. Why everyone thinks they can get me to join up with them, I don’t know, but the answer to the unspoken question of a partnership is most definitely no.”
Chapter Twelve.
I have an odd tendency to look at myself in the mirror. Not like I’m looking at myself for vanity’s sake, but it’s an interesting personal experiment. A mirror gives you the closest look at your own being that you’ll ever get. It’s a personal experiment because you can look into your own eyes and see just how much of yourself you actually find.
Tonight, there was almost nothing within the man in the mirror that looked familiar. Admittedly, the demons hovering over my shoulders probably had something to do with it. Still, it’s not uncommon for me to look at my own face, my own body, and not see myself. I guess when you’ve changed so much, it becomes harder and harder to see yourself anymore.
My skin was a Van Gogh of painful memories. The most painful of which spanned across the front of my chest. Not more than a few inches, but carried a storyline fit for a novel. It’s rarely on display, but most who have seen it never ask. It’s jagged, unlike a surgery scar, and carries a far more gruesome story. Even to just run my hand along it brought back feelings I fight not to think about.
I walked over to the bathtub. Heat radiated from the water that was almost overflowing. While it was uncommon for me to end up sitting in a bathtub, it was sometimes where I ran to when I felt overwhelmed. Tonight was one of those nights.
I stepped into the water, silently submerging myself in it. It burned, but the pain took my mind off everything else for a moment. The whole house didn’t make a sound, painting a nervous stillness that I couldn’t get out of my head. Call it paranoia, but it was one of those nights where I felt like I wasn’t alone. They were all in my own head, I know, but sometimes those are the most dangerous creatures. I ran my hand along the scar across my chest. The skin around it tingled at the thought of the memories. I didn’t want to go back, but it was pushing against my o
wn suppressant abilities. It’s when I start to look back at my past that those demons I always talk about really come out to play. They like to prey on my weakened defense system. There aren’t many nights when I’m weak enough to let them in, but that’s why they always hover, just waiting for a chance.
It was to the point that I could practically feel the claws scratching up against my back. I could almost feel the wicked hands gripping my shoulders, like they were trying to comfort me about what was coming. It’s odd how something that isn’t really there can make you feel so strongly that it really is. A different person would have pushed back, said a prayer, maybe even left the house. Me? I just slid down the ceramic edge of the bathtub until my head was covered with water. Maybe they’d be gone when I came back up…
▪
My mother and I managed to make it through my father’s years of abuse. It was hard, especially since no one saw it. Being schooled at home meant that I was hidden away from anyone who would notice me needing help.
She worked three different jobs. Dad was barely home, but that’s when salvation came. He left when I turned sixteen. And while most kids would be devastated to learn that their father left in the middle of the night, without even a goodbye, my mother and I were finally starting to look up to life. Maybe we could finally have a decent shot at a good life.
She kept working her three jobs, and I worked one job too. It was a nighttime grocery store position, stocking shelves. It was out of the spotlight, and simple. I would have worked more, but she insisted that I get some kind of college education. I decided to do it online, considering the small town we lived in didn’t have much of a continuing education program. That, and I had gotten used to the seclusion. So, even though it was hard sometimes, we always managed to pull through.
Months passed, and we were doing really well. Money was starting to look better, and we were finding ourselves happy, and not just the fake happy we’d been putting on for years. Genuinely happy. We finally weren’t being woken up in the middle of the night to a drunken man, who could only give out black and blue thank you’s. We weren’t waking up to shattered vases because he was drunk and confused. We weren’t woken up by a man who was gushing blood out of his arm because he was trying to shoot up while drunk, and gouged out a vein. We never knew what was going to come home, but we knew a feeling now that we never thought we’d feel. Peace.
Flash forward about a year and a half, and I was still doing well in my online courses. No, it wasn’t my favorite thing to do, but I was good at it. That’s what mattered. I still lived in the same house with my mother. I wasn’t a particularly relationship, or friendship oriented person, and she wasn’t in the mindset to think about that either, so it was never really a concern for either of us. Everything really was looking pretty good. We were happy. Yes, we had to work really hard, but it was our life, and we were happy with it.
Until the night he came back, broke down the door, and brought every single one of his demons crawling right in with him…
▪
I burst up from the water, unaware of how long I had been under there. The feeling of panic had not subsided but was escalating. That meant it was just getting started. I knew I wanted to get out of the room, though. It felt like the walls were closing in around me.
I shakily stepped out of the water, grabbed a robe that was slung over my bed, and walked out of the bedroom door. It felt like there were hands gripped around my lungs. I stumbled out into the hallway, and eventually found the staircase. I wasn’t in full control of my body, almost like I was on autopilot. I bumbled down the stairs and ran into the wall at the bottom. I was running like something was chasing me, but I knew there wasn’t. I blinked to clear the smog from my eyes, then instinctively made my way from the bottom of the stairs into the kitchen. From there, I saw the back door to the first floor porch, and knew that was where I needed to be.
I stumbled towards the door, still feeling like something was chasing me. It was locked, as usual, which gave my muddled brain pause, but I quickly managed to undo it and slide the door open. The cold open air smacked into my body, reminding me just how hot I was. It was fresh and cool though, which brought momentary clarity to my mind. I unsteadily walked out onto the porch and collapsed onto the furniture out there. The familiar fog clouded my mind, and I quickly knocked out again.
▪
I still remember everything that happened the night he came back in sickeningly exact detail. I was lying in bed sleeping. It was around two o’clock in the morning. No light was coming in through the window. My bedroom was up the set of stairs right next to the front door. My mother’s bedroom was down the staircase and off the kitchen.
There was a loud crash that rang throughout the entire house. I immediately flew out of the bed and went to the window. There was a car in the driveway that I hadn’t seen before, but I knew it wasn’t supposed to be there. I walked to the door and could hear distinct chatter. Because of the walls around the stairs, it blocked most normal sound in a surprising way. Whatever was making the noise was clearly infuriated.
I walked over to the nightstand and pulled out the gun I had just recently bought. My mother never wanted a firearm in the house, but what she didn’t know didn’t hurt her. And if she knew, then she’d have known I didn’t necessarily obtain it legally.
I opened the door slowly, trying to make sure it made the least noise as possible. Once in the hallway, I could hear the voices more distinctly. It sent chills down my spine. My father’s voice rang up the stairs, and the pain from all the past abuses rattled through my body. When I heard my mother’s voice pleading with him, though, it snapped me out of the fear. I made sure the gun in my hand was not on safety and was cocked, and then made my way down the stairs.
I rounded the corner, and immediately the feeling of terror crept into my mind. My father stood there, but he didn’t look like the father I knew. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and because of that, I could see the bony spine protruding out of his back. His skin looked decayed, and he hunched over slightly. He looked dead.
It was at that point that he sensed my presence behind him, and slowly turned around to face me. My mother noticed me too, and I could read the fear on her face. He looked me right in the eyes, and I did the same, but it was completely unfamiliar. I couldn’t see even the slightest bit of recognition in his eyes. What I looked at was bloodshot eyes, seething rage, and an animalistic desire to kill. It wasn’t my father.
“Call 911.” I said, hoping that wouldn’t send him towards her. He was so distracted staring at me with that evil look on his face. I don’t even know if he heard me say anything. She quickly made her way to the phone, which he didn’t notice either. His eyes were set on me, completely.
His hand was dripping blood on the floor beneath him, presumably from breaking the window to get in. I was standing on small shards of glass, but the fear from the situation made the pain unnoticeable. After breathing heavily for a few moments, he charged towards me. I didn’t have enough time to stop him, or even get out of the way, and seconds after he charged towards me, his shoulder connected with my sternum. I was slammed to the ground, the spot on my chest immediately throbbing. Still though, I managed to keep hold of the gun, but before I could even draw it, he had lifted me back to my feet. How a man as emaciated as he was managed to pick up a guy like me is a testament to the power of drug induced rage. He threw me into the wall and connected with me again, this time with the whole weight of his body. The force rattled through my whole body, and this time I dropped the gun. He didn’t seem interested in picking it up, which was the only way the situation could have been made worse.
It took everything in me to divert the force he was exerting towards the wall. I did, however, and he crashed into the wall next to the stairs. His body broke the wall. It didn’t seem to phase him. He was back up on his feet and breathing heavily again. He charged for me again, but this time I managed to land a solid hit to his chest. I could feel it crack from the
impact, but again, it didn’t seem to affect him at all. A punch like that to a normal man would have easily caused unconsciousness.
He very subtly convulsed, then blood oozed out of his mouth. He didn’t seem to realize that either, since he didn’t even try to spit it out. He just let it run down his chin. It must have caused some serious internal bleeding, but he behaved like it was a simple paper cut. I didn’t mind the adrenaline, though, because it kept me from feeling the two fingers I’d just broken.
He stood and stared at me for a moment. For a brief second, I thought he might have been having a lapse of consciousness, but I quickly realized he was just recouping. Instead of running towards me, he ran past me.
I took the opportunity to bend over and grab my gun, which was conveniently sitting at my feet. It was apparently a second-long mistake. Upon standing back up, I felt his presence behind me, so I turned around. As I did, I felt his whole weight collapse on top of me. Again, I was in a position where I couldn’t get my gun into place. It was at that moment that I realized he had run past me to pick up one of the glass shards from the broken window. It slid across my chest, raggedly ripping both the T-shirt and the skin under it with painful precision. I sharply inhaled, relying on the adrenaline to cover up the pain. I could feel the blood pouring out of the wound instantly but couldn’t focus on it.
I used all the force I could muster to wriggle myself out from under his grip and slammed my foot into his chest. Surprisingly, it caused him to stumble and fall back off of me. I felt his already splintered sternum shatter beneath my foot.
I used the opportunity to throw myself back against the wall behind me. Numbly, I raised the gun in my hand and set my finger on the trigger. “Stop.” I whimpered. I didn’t expect him to listen, but something inside me begged him to. I’d admittedly dreamed about killing him since I was a teenager, but now I just wished he would stop. I didn’t want to kill him. He continued to get up, eyes dead set on my eyes. “Please don’t make me do this.” I said, tears starting to well up in my eyes. He got to his feet and took a step forward. “Stop!” I screamed, tears now rolling down my face. He took two steps towards me, showing every intent to follow through with whatever he was planning on doing to me.