Dead Man Walking

A man with nothing to lose avenges his daughters death.

I peer out the window and watch the rain cascade down from the heavens. In the corner of my eye I see the luminescent motel sign flicker. One by one, squad cars appear outside my room. Their lights cut through the darkness and pierce into the soon vacant space.  It wasn’t supposed to end this way, but then again, when do things ever go as planned?

(Flashback)

“Daddy swing me, swing me,” my daughter says excitedly. She runs over and slides into the swings. I dart after my little girl, racing her to the swing. I wrap my hands around the chains, take two steps back, and let go. I hear Bailli giggle as she flies forward. The wind running through her coarse blond hair, she leans her head back and starts laughing. She swings back, and I push her again. With each push, she goes higher and higher; it looks as if she is trying to ascend into heaven.

“Daddy, I’m ready, I’m ready,” she says barely able to remain in the swing.

“Okay, let me get into position,” I tell her as I run to the front of the swing. I extend my arms and wave my fingers to signal I’m ready. She takes a deep breath and leaves the seat. Time seems to slow down as I notice her blonde hair floating in the wind.  With her dark blue eyes and her beautiful ear-to-ear smile, she reaches up for my hands, and I spin her around before setting her down. She hugs my leg and looks up at me with a grin wider than the sea.

“Ready to go home?” I ask her, as she nods her head up and down. She lets go of my leg and takes my hand. I notice the piles of lifeless autumn leaves all around as I see leaves whisking in the wind. The breeze is chilly, but not to the extent of needing a coat. The leaves crunch under the weight of our feet. We get to the car, and I put Bailli in the back of my 2014 Volkswagen Passat TDI. I trot around the car, hop into the front seat, and put my hands on the hard leather steering wheel. Glancing back at Bailli who’s fast asleep in her car seat, I turn around and put the key in the ignition and that’s when it starts. Images of that night flash by in my head…the knock at the door, the photos. I muster up what I can and shake those God-awful memories out of my head. I twist my wrist and hear the roaring engine fire up. I push in the clutch with my left foot and put the car into gear. I release the clutch while slowly pushing on the accelerator until I feel it catch. I drive home in silence while I listen to the soft little hitch in Balli’s breathing, reminding me of my reason for carrying on. When we arrive home, I delicately carry Bailli inside the house. I reach her room and gently lay her down on the bed, pull the covers up on her and slowly stroke her hair. You remind me so much of your mother. I lean forward and preciously kiss her forehead, and then, exit her room and walk to my study.

Air escapes the couch, as my body falls against it. I don’t know how that little angel does it, losing her mom. For God sake, she’s only five years old. I rub my face and take a deep breath. Why, why does life have to be such a b***h? Especially to the innocent ones, it’s not fair. My thoughts wonder as my eyelids grow heavy, and I drift asleep.

An icy, eerie feeling runs through my veins. I’ve seen this before. My heart races as my brain pieces together to this horrid puzzle. A sudden, persistent rapping upon the solid oak front door echoes down the abandoned hallway. I shoot to my feet as my pulse quickens, heart beating painfully in my chest. Muscles strain as I take a step toward the door, hands shaking as I reach for the doorknob, fearful of what awaits on the other side. The old oak door opens slowly as a flashing light bleeds through. There is an officer standing in the opening who is holding a tan folder.

“Sir, I have some grave news,” the officer says as he puts a hand on my shoulder.

“What’s, what’s going on; is my wife okay?” I ask him with sorrow in my eyes. “Please tell me she is okay,” I tell him with tears trickling down my face. It’s futile seeming as though I already know the answer.

“Son, there ain’t no easy way to say this,” the officer tells me with his hand still on my shoulder. “Your wife was killed in a car accident about half an hour ago. I’m tremendously sorry,” he said, removing his gentle hand from my shoulder. I feel my legs tremble as I collapse to the floor. The tears came rushing out uncontrollably. The sound of little feet comes running down the hallway. Ten feet behind me is my four-year-old daughter Bailli.

“Daddy, where, where is mommy?” my little girl says, confused by all the chaos.

“Come here Bailli,” I say, giving her a hand motion signaling its okay.

“Daddy, is mommy coming home?’’ she asks with tears beginning to swell in her eyes. She wraps her warm petite around my chest and begins to sob. As though she knows the answer to the question in which she asked. The officer squats beside me and hands the folder over. The pictures made me cry even more because the accident was too gruesome to handle. There was nothing left of the car, and the right side was caved in. Shards of glass were protruding from my wife’s face; her body was leaning to the left. The look in her lifeless eyes was horrible. It was as if she knew she wasn’t going to live. To be able to hold her daughter, watch her dance recitals my emotions ran. I dropped the folder, and pictures scattered across the stone entry. I grabbed my daughter and held her tight. An alarming sound buzzed in my ear.

Gasp! I took a deep breath to slow my heart rate. The alarm in my study was blaring. My feet slide across the cold mahogany wood floor. The room was set to 72 degrees. The sun glistened through the bay window in the living room. As my body passed through the light it felt like I was filled with new life. The house was filled with sunlight signifying a new day. Thankfully it was a Saturday so I didn’t have to go to work. However, I did promise my daughter that I would take her to the park. The door to her room creaks as I push it open, and make my way to her bed.

“You are my sunshine, my little sunshine, wake up, baby girl,” I softly whisper to Bailli. She turns in her bed as her eyes flutter open. “Get dressed and come into the kitchen to eat so we can go to the park.” She nods in response as I get up and leave the room.  The bacon sizzles as it gets pushed across the pan. Footsteps come storming down hall.

“BACON,” my daughter yells as she slides across the floor.

“Hey, what did I say about running in the house,” I scold her as she skids to a stop.

“Sorry daddy,” she tells me with her head lowered.

“It’s okay Bailli, it was for bacon,” she grins and jumps on the stool. I slide the plate of bacon across the granite countertop.  The crisp bacon crunches after every bite. She is so wonderful; she’s the only thing I have left. Slip my shoes and coat on and grab my keys. Bailli darts past me and jumps in the car. She gets all buckled, by the time I get into the car. My feet slide into the car and I close the door. With a twist of my wrist the engine fires up. We cruise down three blocks to the park where she loves to play. The car door slams shut; damn she’s fast. The bench seat is cold as I attempt to sit on it. Bailli’s running on the playground, diving through tunnels and jumping on the bridge. She’s having a blast. I stick my hand in my pockets; damn I forgot my wallet in car.

“Bailli I’ll be right back, I’m going to the car to get my wallet. Don’t leave the park,” I yell as I run to the car.

“Okay,” My daughter faintly says. My feet are soaked from the dew on the grass. There is condensation on the driver side door. I dry my hand off after getting in the car. There it is sitting in the cup holder, I quickly snatch it. While returning to the playground I notice Bailli is missing. Quickly I bob and weave throughout the playground.

“BAILLI, BAILLI, BAAALLLII,” I franticly yell as I stumble around the playground. Off in the distance a car peels off, leaving tire tracks behind. Seeing Bailli’s body in the back seat. I take off after the car and slip due to lack of friction. The car turns a corner and drives out of sight. My phone beeps as I dial 911 and press it to my ear.

“Hello, what’s your emergency?’’

“My daughter has been abducted,”

“What’s your location and what does she look like?”

“She’s blonde, five years old, weighs 42lbs, and is three foot three. My location is 1010 E. Oak Dr.” Later that night I saw my daughter on the TV screen.

A week later and still no word about my daughter, a vibrating phone makes its way across the marble countertop. There’s a raspy voice on the other side.

“Sir, we found your daughter,” The man said with no emotion.

“Where is she?” I asked hesitantly.

“She is here at the morgue, I’ll wait here for you,” he said before I hung up the phone. After twenty minuets of driving I finally arrived.

The cool air of the morgue hit me like a ten-ton truck; it was almost suffocating. My footsteps echo as I descend down the hallway. The corner greets me as I approach the table.

“We found her body stuffed in a two foot by two foot box, they strangled her with a wire cable, and broke her bones so she’d fit in the box.” The corner says while he stares at the body. Being to shocked to say anything, I just stand there in horror. Her face is or was filled with fright.

“We can have her body cremated if you wish,” he says still looking at the body. My head slowly bobs up and down.

“As you wish sir, I’m sorry for your loss,” He says finally looking at me. I storm out of the room engulfed in rage. The doors fly open as I walk outside to my car. My fist flies at the car, when it makes contact I clean the passenger side mirror. The car door slams shut; I fire up my engine and race home. Pulling into my driveway I notice a note taped on my door. After exciting the car, I slowly approach the letter. I snatch the letter of the door and open it up.

 

Hello Eren,

            I don’t know if you have figured it out by now but I kidnaped your daughter. See how doing the right thing comes back to bite you in the a*s. You should have turned the other cheek five years ago and you still might have your daughter. So in a way, her death is your fault. Ahh, you have no idea how fun this was for me. I’ve been stalking you for the past year. To be more specific, I started shortly after your wife died. I’m so proud of myself, just for the fact I had the patience to pull this off. It was a good game but checkmate.

Sincerely,

Pfc. Chatman

 

My fist clenches the paper, that son of b***h. My fist hit the door, I’m going to kill you if it’s the last thing I do. The phone beeps with every button I push, ring, ring, ring.

            “Hello?” a masculine voice asks from the other side.

            “Hey Alexander, its Eren,”

            “Oh hey what’s up?”

            “A lot really, do you still run Intel for the Air Force,”

            “Yes I do, why you ask,”

            “I need you to run taps on someone named Pfc. Jesse Chatman. I don’t need his background I just need to know where he is,”

            “Umm okay, yeah I can do that. Why do you want his location?”

            “He killed my daughter, now I’m going to kill him,”

            “Yeah, no problem,”

            “Thank you,” I hang up the phone, turn around and walk back to my car. The anger in which I feel flows through me like a raging river. With a flick of my wrist my phone opens. I dial 396-486-9673 and wait for him to pick up.

            “Hello, this is Draxious,”

            “Hey Drax, its Eren, get the gear I’m on my way,” I tell him before I quickly hang up the phone. Punch the combo in to open my garage door. The door slowly opens and reveals the beauty within. It is an 8 cylinder 69 Dodge Charger R/T. The exhaust roars out of the car as I pull out of the garage. My charger races down the road to Draxious’, swerving in and out of traffic. The car skids to a stop outside of Draxious’s house. Ding-dong, the doorbell chimes as my finger presses it. Draxious answers the door.

            “I need into your weapons vault,”

            “Make yourself at home, you know where it is,” passing by Draxious I enter a small room illuminated by a single light; along the walls were guns, ammo, semtex, and detonators. A bag falls at my feet “knock yourself out,” Draxious says. The black Nike duffle bag is quickly filled with a silenced M9, ammo, pliers, a meet hook, and a couple things of semtex.

            “Got what ya need,”

            “I think I do,”

            “Alexander called and told me what happened, kill ‘em all,”

            “I plan on it,” with my head down I walk out of his house and to my car. While entering the driver seat my phone goes off.

            “Hey Eren, its Alexander I didn’t find the guy you were looking for, but I did find one his hired guns. His location is 4700 E. Sickle Rd.,”

            “I’ll be dammed that’s only one block away, I’m gonna pay him a visit,” with that being said I exit the car with the bag in hand. Walking never hurt anybody, so with the bag in my left hand I head to his house. 

            My right fist pounds on his door. It opens slowly, reveling the hired gun.  

            “Can I help you?” he asks. I sling my head forward, striking the bridge of his nose with my forehead. He stumbles back and falls down; I calmly walk in and kick the door closed behind me. With both hands covering his broken nose, he stands up.

            “Who do you work for?’’ I demand.

            “I aint telling you s**t,”

            “I guess I’ll make you,” bending down, I pull a pair of pliers from the bag. He backs against the wall. My left hand grips his mandible, holding his mouth open. I grab his right canine with the pliers. My hand yanks down ripping out his tooth. He falls to the floor in agenizing pain. You can still see the nerve endings attached to the tooth is self.

            “Now see, I didn’t want to do that,” he looks up at me, blood seeping out of his mouth. He scoots back into a corner, shaking his head left and right. I crouch in front of him and take his hand. A dull butterfly knife twirls through my fingers, which should I start with. How about this one, I slide the knife across his left index finger. Blood runs out of the wound. The sound of the knife grinding through the bone sends chills up my spine. He yells in an unsustainable amount of pain, as the finger spirals to the floor. I slid around so my chest is behind his back.

            “Who hired you?”

            “His name is John Clark, he lives on the other side of town. His address is 4567 Summit Circle,”

            “Now was that so hard?” I asked, while I slide the blade across his throat. Blood emerges from the laceration and cascades down his neck. I then reach into the wound, grab his tongue and pull it through his neck. Columbian necktie, the lifeless body twitches in the corner. Walking over his body, I grab my bag and exit the house. Quickly I walk to my car, which lies a block away. I slide my key in, unlock the car, fire the baby up, and casually drive off. I need to go home burn these clothes, and take a shower.

Click. The garage door opens and I gently pull in. Walking into my house I take off my shirt and grey hoodie and toss them into the fireplace. After emptying my pockets, I toss my pants in as well. Scratching the back of my neck, I walk into the bathroom and turn on the water. The steam from the water fogs up the room. The hot water runs down my back as I slowly inhale and exhale. Standing up straight, the water floods my face. My hand runs through my coarse black hair. There is nothing more dangerous than a man who has nothing to lose. The muscles in my body relax due to the hot water. It is as if the water is penetrating my skin and submerging every knot I have. I catch myself falling a sleep, so I shake my head to keep me awake.  With a twist of a nob, the water is cut from its source. After drying off I slip on some compression shorts, athletic shorts, and a white shirt. I lay in bed thinking about my deed I have to complete. My body relaxes and I drift a sleep.

Beep-beep, beep-beep, my alarm goes off at six in the morning. Gotta get an early jump on the day. Hastily I get dresses, grab my bag, and get into the car. The garage door opens and there he is. John Clark came to me; that simplifies things.

“I saw what you did to my hired gun,”

“How do you know I killed him?”

“I stopped by last night to have a few beers and saw his body, assuming it was you,”

“Come get me, I’m standing right here,” he arrogantly walks into the garage. The door falls shut behind him. He whips out a berretta M9 and scans the room. A monkey wrench strikes his hand knocking the gun to the floor. He lets out a little scream. It’s almost pitch black in my windowless garage.

“Haha, it’s okay I still have my right hand,” He says laughing manically. The wrench strikes his knee, crushing his patella.

“Now who’s your boss and where does he live, tell me the first time and I might spare your life,”

“He lives on the east edge of town, the big white house next to city line,”

“Thank you,” I tell him, as I slowly stick a screwdriver in his left eye. Due to the screwdriver, his eye makes squishing noises right before it pops the cornea. Water and the aqueous and vitreous humor shoot all over my. He bellows out in pain, I put my free hand over his mouth to quite his scream. Bleeding out of his eye socket he covers his face. The screwdriver then pierces his skin just under his ribcage. It continues it’s way in; eventually it pops his diaphragm. After removing the screwdriver he squirms and squabbles from the excruciating pain. The door reopens and I pull out in my car, I close the door and speed down the road.

It’s about a twenty-minuet drive to the edge of town, plus adding that times that already expired. So I should be there roughly around eight thirty. After forty minuets, I arrive due to my car needing gas.

The doorbell echoes through the house, I press it one more time. Still no answer, hmm okay then. Digging through the bag I pull four small things of semtex. I insert the detonation receiver in all four semtex. Bending down, I attach all four semtex on the bottom of the rug. I soon then return to the car, recline my seat and wait.

The sound of a car door closing grabs my attention. Mysterious man walks up to the house. The man is wearing bark blues jeans and a leather biker’s jacket. As soon as he stepped on the mat I detonated. The blast severed both of his legs from the knees down. Flesh was frayed from the end of the wounds, blood was profusely running out. Grabbing the meat hook, I dash out of the car and made my way to the house. The meat hook cuts through the bottom half of the jaw and comes out through the mouth. His mandible flies off by moving my arm ninety degrees. Leaving his dying body on the steps as I return to my car.

The engine roars as I drive further out of town. Eventually I come across this old rundown motel. Pulling in I notice a bright fluorescent motel sign. Lets see if they have a room.

“Hi, my name is Tiffany how can I help you,”

“I would like to rent a room for two days,”

“That will be sixty five dollars,”

“Here keep the change,” I tell her as she receives a one hundred dollar bill. She hand me the room key and room number.

“I know who you are,”

“You do?”

“Yeah you are all over the news,”

“How bad is it,”

“Well the cops want you dead,”

“Eh, it could be worse,”

“How so?”

“They could want me alive, anyway thanks for the room,” pushing the door open I make my way to the room. Lying on the bed I close my eyes and fall asleep, only to awake five hours later to my phone going off.

“Hello?”

“Eren, it’s Alexander I found your boy.”

“Where is he at?”

“A wood cabin an hour outside of town,”

“Eastside or west,”

“East,”

“That means I’m only half an hour away, it’s my lucky day,” with it being only eight pm I decide to go for it. Once again I enter my car speed off.

His house is an elegant two story white manor, with a prestigious landscape. Luckily for me he has vines running up the side of his house. With carefully placed footsteps I make my way over. Glancing up, I tug on the vines, sturdy enough; I climb up and through an open window. Walking down the dark hallway, I go through a door to the right. The door squeaks, as it opens but not enough to wake the man. I place my hand over his mouth and hold a knife to his throat.

“Nothing is scarier than a man with nothing to lose,” I put tension on the knife but releasing it. Blood drops trickles down his throat however not sever enough to kill him. Quickly and unexpectedly I stab him in the throat over and over. Blood is squirting out in every direction. He is kicking and thrashing his legs, he begins choking on his own blood. I stab him over twenty times. The knife tumbles to the carpeted floor.

I leave the house and go back to the motel, when I am back in my room I take out my phone and dial 911.

“911, what’s your emergency,”

“My name is Eren Laut, I just murdered Jesse Chatman. I am currently in the motel outside of town, room number eight,” and I hang up the phone. Thunderclouds begin to roar as lightning illuminates the night sky.

(Present Time)

I peer out the window and watch the rain cascade down from the heavens. In the corner of my eye I see the luminescent motel sign flicker. One by one, squad cars appear outside my room. Their lights cut through the darkness and pierce into the soon vacant space.  It wasn’t supposed to end this way, but then again, when do things ever go as planned? Looking back at my life I planned on losing my wife and child. I always dreamed of giving her away at her wedding.

My hand encases the grip of the M9. It ends tonight. Approaching the door I leave the magazine on the bed. Raindrops spray my face as the door opens. The red motel sign has ceased its flickering.

“Daddy,” my head snaps up. A figure that closely resembles my daughter is standing next to a squad car. I take one step closer.

“Fire,” Crack, crack, crack, crack. Four rounds tear through my flesh. One strikes in my right shoulder and the other three hit dead center in my chest. My splash against the water covered ground. Crimson red blood, spilling from the bullet wounds.

“I told you daddy, I told,” the figure tells me.

My extremities start to go cold; the rain cools the fire I feel within. It seems I have breathed my last breath, as my soon lifeless body falls forward.