Beers and Fears

by Tim Meyer

  Blaze gasped for oxygen. He realized that Tina had continued to scream at him throughout the entire struggle. His eyes rounded on her, finding Tina holding herself, crying and shaking. He went to Tina, authority and purpose in his steps.

  “I told you not to do this.” Spittle flew from his lips.

  “What have you done?” Tina’s words came out in hyperventilated bursts.

  “You didn’t listen to me.”

  “You…you…” She pointed a shaky finger at the bodies behind him.

  “I thought you were better than this.” He felt tears brim his eyelids.

  Tina backed away. Her expression morphed from horror into fear.

  “Don’t hurt me. Please. Don’t hurt me.”

  Blaze stepped closer. “You were so sweet. So nice to me.”

  Tina shook her head, one hand held out to keep him at bay while her other arm covered her breasts. Blaze grabbed her by the shoulders and tossed her across the floor. She landed hard.

  His mind replayed the scene with the young man in the upstairs room. Watching his lover through the window. With someone else.

  “You cheated on me.”

  Tina climbed to her feet. She glanced around at her options for escape.

  “Blaze, no.”

  “You betrayed me.”

  “No.”

  Blaze closed the gap. He backhanded Tina’s face. She faltered against a stack of pallets. Her hand flew to her reddened cheek, a small trickle of blood along her lower lip.

  The young man stood behind Tina, a raw scar rounded his neck where the rope had been. Blaze nodded at him. The young man nodded back.

  Blaze rubbed his own neck. It burned as if he, too, had recently been hanged. He reached out for Tina. She shoved her hands against his chest, attempting to stay out of his reach.

  The young woman looked over her shoulder. Blaze’s eye connected with hers as he looked down on her from the ancient pane of glass upstairs.

  She smirked at him.

  Blaze dug his thumbs into Tina’s eyeballs. She shrieked louder than the firefights he had been involved in during the war. He pressed harder, blood and gelatinous fluids oozed from the tortured sockets. Splatter coated his vision. Tina clawed at Blaze’s face, her fingernails carved fresh grooves of blood. Blaze forced his thumbs deeper until they poked through the thin, muscular membrane behind her eyes. Having reached her brain, his fingers ended Tina’s life. Her body crumpled to the floor.

  Blaze stared at his hands, inspecting the gore that remained beneath his fingernails.

  The young man smiled at Blaze.

  He felt a presence to his right. Blaze turned his attention to find the little girl standing by the door.

  She raised her finger to shush him.

  ***

  “What the fuck, man!”

  Dougie screamed across the storeroom. Blaze jumped at the sharp tone in his dealer’s voice. He fought the urge to yell back at Dougie. Instead, he opted to quietly drift back into his trip. The carnage surrounding him pleased his broken spirit. It had been cathartic.

  “You’ve lost your fucking mind!”

  Blaze suddenly felt awake. He looked around the room.

  This hadn’t been a trip.

  He had really slaughtered them.

  Tina.

  Dougie charged at Blaze. He shoved Blaze hard, knocking him backwards. Blaze had been surprised at the strength his scrawny, hippie friend had. He never would have surmised that a bag of skin and bones could summon such force. Dougie’s sunglasses skittered off his face.

  “You did it now, Blaze. I can’t help you clean up this shit.” Dougie bent to retrieve his sunglasses. He placed them on the top of his head. Blaze wondered why hippies wore sunglasses at night. It didn’t make any sense.

  Three mobsters funneled into the storeroom behind Dougie. One of them was as large as a bull. His neck was wider than a truck bumper, his turtleneck sweater straining to keep its shape. The other two men wore tight-fitting leather jackets that creaked each time they moved.

  Blaze blinked. He felt as if several gallons of ice water had been dumped on his head. The delicious, ethereal cocoon of his high dissipated into the rafters. His wounds suddenly reminded him of the reality he had awakened to. The itch of needing more heroin rummaged under his skin like thousands of ants.

  “We’re both dead, man. We’re fucking dead!”

  Blaze stared beyond Dougie at the young man. He understood the young man was dead. Had been for many years. The early American garb. The ancient glass window pane. Yet, somehow, the ghost of the young man had reached across two centuries to influence Blaze to exact revenge. Blaze closed his eyes and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He argued with himself that it had simply been the drugs, and his damaged psyche from the war, that had caused the destruction. Not a ghost.

  The little girl smiled at him from the doorway.

  Blaze shook his head. “No. No.”

  Dougie pulled a revolver from the waistband in his faded jeans. He pointed it into Blaze’s face. The muzzle still warm from his trousers.

  “Tony’s gonna kill us both, man. No way is he gonna let this slide. You fucked me, man. You fucked me!” Dougie pressed the gun harder into Blaze’s cheek.

  Blaze stared at Dougie. He tried to comprehend how he had gotten here. Images of him riding his first bike as a youngster and going to his first school dance replayed in his mind. Flashes of killing from Vietnam smacked him in between cherished memories of life before he went overseas. It had all been so simple back then. He had a family. Friends.

  His parents refused to open the screen door. They stood inside, condemning him for sinning by taking another human’s life. He had pleaded with them that he had had a job to do. They didn’t understand why he hadn’t run away to Canada like the neighbor’s kid. They blasted him when they found the pockmarks along his veins, scabbed up and raw. Another sign of sin.

  It had been more than a job though.

  He had liked it.

  The killing.

  The smell of fear.

  The hopelessness in the eyes of his enemy.

  The aftermath and horror.

  Blaze teared up. His vision blurred.

  It will be okay. Close your eyes and come with us.

  Dougie ranted on about how much money Tony had invested in his exploitation films. How much Tony stood to make off this deal, even with supplying Blaze and Dougie with free dope.

  You should have listened. We warned you to walk away.

  I DIDN’T UNDERSTAND YOU THEN.

  Do you understand now?

  YES.

  Well, it’s too late. You brought your evil to their hands.

  I’M NOT EVIL.

  The laughter.

  I’M NOT EVIL.

  You fool yourself. You believe in an ideal, but you have proven the opposite.

  I DID WHAT I HAD TO SO I COULD SURVIVE.

  At first. Then you crossed the line into madness.

  NO.

  They knew what you could do. It’s what brought you here.

  NO.

  They showed you their pain. And you sympathized with them.

  NO.

  You connected with them.

  I THOUGHT THEY WERE BAD TRIPS. I THOUGHT IT WAS THE HEROIN.

  The high only thinned the veil. It brought you closer to them.

  Blaze dropped to his knees. Above him, Dougie yelled some more before stuffing his pistol back into his waistband. Blaze only half listened to Dougie apologizing for having to kill him. He explained it was his only option to keep Tony from whacking him. He said it was only business, but Blaze had made it more than just business with this mistake.

  Blaze rested his face in his hands. He apologized to a God he used to believe in but had long ago forgotten after all he had seen. All he had done. He tried to will his regrets across the universe to his parents so they could live their final days in peace. It wasn’t their fault. He cried harder for what he had done to Tina. She had be
en so beautiful. And kind. Always there to listen to Blaze and encourage him on bad days. Looking out for him, knowing what hell he had been through. He had repaid her kindness with violence. Hatred. Jealousy.

  Dougie ordered the men who had followed him inside to take Blaze out. He said to make it extremely painful, as retribution for ruining everything. Blaze lifted his head so he could look his killers in the eyes. He needed them to see what he had seen when he had stolen lives.

  A steel blade gleamed in the fluorescents before plunging into his stomach. The knife hurt more as it slid out of his skin than it had going in. Blaze felt the flesh clasp at the blade, not allowing it to pull away freely. He stared at the face of the mobster in the leather jacket. The man’s face had been replaced by the woman who was sliced apart. She grinned at him. She whispered thanks for helping her. Blaze felt particles of his soul drift from his wounds. The remnants flew into her mouth, giving her more sustenance.

  The little girl stood by the door. She smiled at Blaze and winked.

  The knife penetrated his body dozens of times. In between stabs, the other leather coat mobster pulled a cord tight around Blaze’s throat. His hands flew up automatically to fend off the choking. He felt the burn of the cord as it dug into his flesh. Blaze’s eyes were tightly closed, but he still saw the young man off to the side. The specter fed on the remains of Tina’s corpse. He turned a blood-soaked grin toward Blaze. A slight nod and then the young man again turned his attention to the rotten meal beneath him.

  You’ve made them stronger.

  Blaze gasped for air. The desperation to breathe overrode any pain associated with the stab wounds which continued to sap him of blood and life.

  Now they will accept you as one of their own.

  He wished for one final trip to numb his pain. To take him away to someplace far from reality. Life was too painful. Too hard.

  The little girl was by his side. She squatted low and tilted her head as if she were trying to figure out what Blaze was thinking. It appeared to be an inquisitive look. With a touch of madness.

  The cord released from his throat. The knife ceased its slashing. He choked on the newfound oxygen which rushed through his nostrils. Blaze spit up blood. He rolled his tongue along the back of his teeth, tasting the metallic flavor. The pain of his injuries was so intense that it replicated the high of his addiction. It overwhelmed his senses with a calm acceptance of his fate. His sins needed to be cleansed. The man with the stretched-out turtleneck sweater stepped forward. Dougie pointed down at Blaze and spoke to the hefty hitman. Blaze didn’t hear what Dougie said. The only sound pumping through his ears was the voice that had visited him time and again.

  It will be okay.

  I DON’T WANT TO DIE.

  Death is a passing only. From one life to another.

  DEATH IS FOREVER.

  They scare you into believing that. But, in death, you will live again.

  I’M NOT READY TO DIE.

  Are you ready to be born again?

  Blaze felt his body jerk about. He shifted his focus to the man in the sweater who now rummaged through his stomach as if he were looking for the prize in the bottom of a Cracker Jack’s box. The man removed yards and yards of intestines. He’d tug them up and out, holding them aloft like a proud butcher over his sausage. Casting his intestines to the floor with a splat, the man yanked on one of his kidneys, twisting it until it tore free with a bloody rip. He shook the gore from his hands like he had just picked up after his dog without a paper towel.

  Blaze closed his eyes again. He folded inside his mind, revisiting battles and failures. He’d finally reached a point where he hoped his life would disappear as quickly as possible. He understood this was a fight he wouldn’t walk away from. A war where he had become the casualty instead of the survivor. Blaze knew the underlying current throughout this world. His parents and church had taught him it was love. Love made the world go ‘round. Love one another. But the truth had been revealed. Love was a drug to seduce mankind just like heroin.

  Evil is what the world was made of. Evil made man turn against his neighbor. Evil tricked everyone into believing they were different. Better. But the truth was much more real. The darkness crept in to shadow the light. Evil used the shadows to hide and slowly tear away the fabric of life.

  Evil had been all around.

  Forever.

  A lone tear ran down the side of his face.

  Blaze released his final breath as he stared at the little girl, still squatting next to him.

  Still hushing him.

  ***

  Tony had been furious with what he had found at the brewery. He had scheduled time to drop by and check on his investment. The snuff film they had finished at the new location had already proven lucrative, netting a few thousand dollars in his own pocket, after paying his vig to the head of The Family. Plus, he had taken care of Carmine and Lucille DeFrancesco with the same stroke. Using them as the “actors” had eliminated any possibility of them cooperating with the Feds about his involvement in the Capuano murders. When Tony and his crew arrived at the brewery, they had strolled in on a high note. Until they had found the mess.

  Dougie had apologized profusely. He claimed the veteran had gone mental and wiped out the broad and his film crew. He explained how it would never happen again and he had done his part to take out the nutjob soldier. Tony gritted his teeth as he listened to the kid beg for forgiveness. While Dougie rambled on, Tony had decided how to handle the cleanup. It would be nothing personal, but Dougie had to go. If Tony were honest with himself, he had only kept the hippie on because he kissed Tony’s ass so well. From a business standpoint, Dougie’s profits were slowly drying up as his clientele overdosed or went to jail. Tony’s other distributors were much more profitable, electing to wholesale smack to dealers who then handled the problems with their own distribution channels. Much cleaner for Tony and it provided more of a cushion between his ass and the street. Dougie’s last few ideas had ended in financial losses. But Tony loved his latest idea. The underground films tapped an insatiable market Tony hadn’t realized was desperate for fresh creations.

  Tony rested his hand on Dougie’s shoulder. He spoke softly and explained to him that it wasn’t personal. Business was business. And Tony had to cut his losses. He couldn’t afford to have any loose ends. He kissed Dougie’s cheek, pulled his jacket lapels tight and made his way to the door. There were plenty of locations they could tap for their monetary gains. There was no lack of desperate folks who would do anything to save their asses from overdue debts or to get their hands-on whatever vice they had to have in order to satisfy their problems. The brewery was caput. Once the mess had been cleaned up, Tony wouldn’t dare return to the scene, giving the fates a chance to catch up to him.

  He nodded at Salvatore as he crossed the threshold to the parking lot. The door closed behind. The mumbled tones of pleading and begging relaxed Tony. Gunshots reverberated inside the building. His men emptied their guns on Dougie and his three men.

  Tony reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out the gold tin that held a row of his favorite smokes. He enjoyed the taste of Lucky Strikes. His old man had sworn by them when he returned from World War II. Tony liked to think he carried on his father’s traditions by smoking his favorite brand, God rest his soul. He lit the tip and shook out the match. The sulfuric taste burned through the cherry on the end. Tony released a long plume of smoke through his nostrils while he picked a loose leaf of tobacco from his lips. He waited patiently as his boys finished the killing and then picked the bodies clean of cash and identification. Tony was both careful and resourceful.

  A chill tickled his spine. He found it strange since the night wasn’t cool enough to deliver such a reaction. He couldn’t help but feel as if he were being watched. Tony glanced around the parking lot and up the street. Nothing stood out. The feeling lingered and pricked at the back of his neck. Tony ground out his cigarette under his expensive loafers. He stared up at the old
window on the second floor.

  The window was dark.

  Something about the frame of glass gave Tony the creeps. He couldn’t shake the sensation that there had been a pair of eyes up there. He shook away his paranoia, blaming his mother’s old-world superstitions and tales. She had used stories of witchcraft and vampires to scare Tony into doing his chores or going to bed early. He missed his mother dearly, but he didn’t miss her guilt trips. Tony certainly missed her cooking, God rest her soul.

  Tony made a sign of the cross and kissed the gold ring on his pinky, the one with Jesus on the cross. He opted to wait in the car instead of standing in view of the creepy upstairs window. Tony sat in the back seat of the Cadillac, lighting another cigarette.

  He peeked up at the window one more time, sure he would find the devil staring back at him.

  ***

  The smell of gunpowder hung over the bodies like a smoky mist. It overpowered the ancient musk of beer and dust. Nothing stirred within the bowels of the brewery. Not even the rodents.

  A door upstairs slowly creaked its way open. The hollow echo of boots making their way down the wooden steps drowned out the sound of blood dripping from fresh wounds. The footsteps approached the center of the storeroom.

  You should have listened. We warned you to walk away.

  The unearthly voice waited through the silence.

  In death, you will live again.

  Again, silence.

  The disembodied speaker drifted toward Blaze’s corpse. It hovered above, drawing the remnants of life particles that had not yet dissipated into the ether. The essence fed its core, brightening the source of all that had laid in wait, hiding for an eternity to be rewarded for its patience. Its obedience.

  There would be more work to do. The demons understood these players would be replaced. A never-ending trail of souls would cross the threshold, bringing new horrors.