the kingdom of god 1

A speck meandering through darkness. Focus on it long enough and it becomes indistinguishable from the vacuum in which it sojourns. To notice it would seem like a blunder from an otherwise faultless maker. But It is on this canvas of blackened nullity where hopes and dreams reside. Where love and tribulation live side by side like paramours in the dead of night. Look a little closer and a tale will emerge. These chronicles are familiar to us but exist as abominations in the ceaseless void.

Every story must begin somewhere. And this one begins here.

Light puckers intermittently through the greyish mist and a man is huddled under mounds of filth and turnt up earth. He looks upon the valley beneath him like a god casting a shadow on his accursed domain and like a god he sees its few inhabitants as a foolish catch. “Travelers,” he murmurs to himself.

The other man grips his weapon and rejoices like a salivating leopard. “Day travelers,” he gleams.

The man stands up on his kingdomly mound and shouts to the transgressors below. “Halt!” he ordered. The travelers stop and see the specter of a figure several meters above them. There were four in the caravan and one and one attempted a flee. But the man with the weapon rifles a bullet over his shoulder and the young traveler freezes at the kicked up dirt before him.

The two men traverse down the mound to meet their visitors and both were brandishing weapons. They inform the travelers that they were in violation of the law for this was private land. “We are not from the Agency,” the first traveler informed them.

“I figured “ said the man.

“We are fleeing the latest strikes.”

“Where to?”

The traveler didn’t answer.

The man rummages through their belongings and finds little of interest. Just enough food and clothing sufficient for a journey. Then the man looks under the hood of a shrouded traveler. It was a woman.

“I’m taking her according to the law,” the man declared.

“She’s only 15,” said the other woman.

“I’m taking you too.”

“Please have mercy,” begged the traveler. “We have no weapons. We didn’t know this was private land!”

“I’m only doing what the law allows,” said the man.

“Then the law is dead!”

The two men slew the male travelers and gathered their remains. Then they calmed the women at gunpoint then escorted them out of the valley.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia (Conclusion)

Jim reached for his six shooter but he wasn’t quick enough. The cabbie reached for the gun and pulled it from his hands. “Nice pistol you got there old man,” the cabbie said. “But you’re a little slow on the draw.”

Luckily I had the Ruger ready and fired a single shot into the cabbie’s thigh. He fell backwards onto the cab and held his hand over the wound. “That’s for taking the pistol,” I said to him while I was bleeding out on the ground. “Now you better scram before things get ugly.”

Without saying a word, the cabbie stumbled back into the driver’s seat and sped off and then Old Jim attempted to help me to my feet. “It’s fine,” I told him. But it wasn’t fine. The exit wound went through my kidney and blood was soaking up my shirt.

With his arm around me, we stumbled up into the hills before finding a secluded rock overlooking the Los Angeles skyline. I fell to my feet with my back to the rock to rest. I figured I wouldn’t be getting up. “Suppose we need to get you to the hospital,” offered Old Jim.

“Nah,” I said. “I’m ready to meet my prince.”

Jim gloomfully nodded. He planted his back against the rock and we admired the sight before us. I figured I’d have more to say in a moment like this but I didn’t. I didn’t know what time it was but it felt like the sun was racing towards the horizon.

“What do you reckon you’ll do now?” I asked Jim.

“I dunno,” he said.

“I think I have the keys to my apartment somewhere on me,” I said. But I was too weak to reach for them.

“It’s okay,” said Jim. “I never had a home anyway.”

“I guess I owe you an apology too.”

“Forget it,” he said. “I ain’t long for this world no how.”

Those were the last words we said.

It was just before sunup when I woke up alone still rested by the rock. My keys and the Ruger were gone and Jim was nowhere to be found. It felt like the blood was completely drained from my body. I looked around to see the boomer with the Mitsubishi from months earlier leaned up against his car on the side of the road and smoking a cigarette. When he was done with the smoke, he flicked it to the ground and stamped it out.

“What time is it?” I asked him.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Come on son. We’ve been up in the hills long enough.”

THE END

Anaideia 53

It was just before sunup when a trucker in a Peterbilt pulled off and rolled down the window. He was shirtless and a Buc-ee’s hat was resting on his head. “You boys need a ride?” he shouted past the loud ass diesel engine.

“Are you headed to Los Angeles?” I asked him.

“I’m going as far as Santa Clarita,” he said.

Shit, I thought. Close enough. So Jim and I climbed into the cab and I closed the door then the 18-wheeler rolled back onto the interstate. We were maybe an hour out of Santa Clarita and I was deadass tired. I didn’t have much to say but the trucker belched and farted and rolled down the window to hock a loogie. “You boys from Los Angeles?” he asked us.

“Yup,” I said.

“Ya know, I used to have a Mexican wife in Los Angeles,” he told us. “And let me tell ya, she sucked a mean weiner too boys. Let me tell ya.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t understand why they’re deporting them folks. If they should deport anyone, it should be them goddamn Koreans I tell ya….”

While he went on his diatribe, I fell asleep and 45 minutes later we were in Santa Clarita. Before splitting off towards Palmdale, the trucker pulled off the interstate to let us out. “If you boys ever want to hang out, you can reach me at my Kiwifarms account at…,” the trucker began to say but I immediately close the door behind me.

Jim and I walked for a few miles more before I threw out my thumb again. Minutes later a wino mom crashed her Buick into a guardrail and rolled down her window. “You boys need a ride?” she asked.

I nodded and climbed into the front seat. She weaved in and out of traffic and narrowly missed other motorists down the 405 before arriving at Sherman Oaks. I thanked her for the ride before she barreled off back into traffic and I reached for my wallet.

“We only got $7 bucks left,” I told Old Jim. “We’ll see how far a cab will get us.”

Once again I throw out my thumb. A cabbie stopped. He rolled down the window and glanced at us with his aviators on and I didn’t recognize him. “Can you get us to LA?” I ask him.

The cabbie said nothing for a few moments before lowering his shades. “Where do I recognize you from?” he asked me.

That’s when I knew I made a critical mistake. “I’ve never seen you before in my life,” I told him.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “You’re the son of a bitch who stiffed me in Norco.”

“No sir. Wasn’t me.”

“Bullshit. You owe me $498 bucks.”

“Look, I’ll just hail another cab sir. Have a nice day.”

I kept walking down the road dragging Jim behind me and hoped that the cabbie would move along. But he persisted by getting out of the cab. The fella was big. He stopped in front of us and put his hand to my chest. “Give me my goddamn money,” he demanded.

“Look! I don’t know you!” I pleaded.

The cabbie reached for his ankle holster and pulled out a small caliber .40 then held it to my abdomen. “Now!” he said.

I raised my hands in the air and searched for the right words. “All I have is $7,” I said.

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

I lowered my right hand and pulled out the wallet. With my hands shaking, I handed him the seven bucks. He took the money and stuffed it into his jean pocket. “$491 bucks left,” he said. “A couple of vagrants walking the streets of Sherman Oaks. I don’t think folks around here would object to me blowing a hole in your belly.”

I swallowed hard. “Please don’t,” I said.

But he cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 51

Welcome to Utah the sign read. I knew exactly where we were headed; it was to the charred remains of the Candyland Brothel where so many of Randy’s victims met their end. It was at the thick of day when the Cadillac and limousine pulled off into an undisclosed dirt road and down through the mountain pass where we braved the threat of Penelope with the late Vic Weathers weeks earlier. It felt like ages ago. Finally we entered the dry lake basin and there in the center was the remains of Randy’s empire in the desert. With his pistol ready, the driver ordered us to exit the limo.

Randy climbed out of the driver’s seat of the Cadillac while gnawing on a Slim Jim. The Madam got out on the passenger’s side and Old Jim from the backseat. Randy offered Dale and me some of his processed jerky.

“Shove it up your ass,” I retorted to his offer. But Dale accepted.

Randy took a deep breath and looked around him. “Such a beautiful country,” he said.

“It’s dead,” I replied. “Just like I will be. And with any luck you will be too.”

He spat and shook his head. “Okay then,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I have something I want to say,” Dale interjected. “Before I die, I’d like to say I feel blessed to have had the time of my life. I never thought that…” But before he could finish, the driver lifted his Ruger to the back of his head and pulled the trigger. The bullet exited his forehead and his body fell limply to the ground.

I turned my eyes.

And when the shock of his death wore off, Randy signaled to the driver to shoot me next. “Just a moment,” Old Jim interrupted. “I’ll handle this.”

“Dad,” Randy pleaded, “just let him do it.”

“No no, it’s fine.”

Jim checked his six shooter and walked over to me. “Sorry James,” he informed me.

“I don’t take it personally,” I said.

Jim relieved the driver and I looked to the shadows on the ground to see his pistol aimed at my head. Then I looked Randy dead in the eye and the seconds felt like eternity.

There was a gun shot. I again looked at the shadows and watched the driver fall to the ground. When I turned around, he had a hole blasted through his temple.

“Dad! What are you doing?” Randy shouted.

“Well I figured I couldn’t shoot my own grandson,” Jim reasoned.

Randy and the Madam were stunned silent. I nodded a thanks to Jim and picked up the Ruger from the driver’s lifeless body. “Well Randy, it looks like you’ll be dead sooner than I expected,” I said.

“James, don’t be stupid,” he pleaded.

I looked at Dale’s corpse. “Don’t feel too bad for him,” I said to Randy. “He knew what was coming. What’s about to happen has nothing to do with that.”

“What’s about to happen?”

I looked to the mountain pass and then up at the lingering sun. “You claim this as your empire,” I said, “but you have a challenger. I suspect that the sun will set behind those mountains in about four hours. It’s possible to reach the pass before then. I would know.”

Then I shot him in the kneecap.

While he pathetically screamed in agony, I came closer. “Unfortunately I think you can still make it to the pass before Penelope can get to you,” I said, “so I’m gonna need an additional handicap.”

So I shot him in the other kneecap.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 50

As dawn came and I glanced out the window past the rocky alpine to the great blue Lake Tahoe beyond, I chagrined at my misfortune of not being shot and having my body dumped in that watery grave where so many unnamed met their fate. In that moment that was my biggest regret. Instead the fate that awaited Dale and me was a shallow and sandy one in the desert.

I always hated the desert.

But the limousine followed Randy’s Cadillac down the winding roads until intersecting with civilization in Reno. We pressed forward still, eastward into the Nevadan abyss and our destination unknown. The curvy roads gave way to the straight and predictable and the evergreen Sierras transitioned to the golden dead of high desert. Dale and I didn’t talk. As I recalled the last months, I realized my decisions led to not only my demise but his as well. I owed it to him to say something. The right thing.

So I apologized.

“What for?” he asked me. “If it weren’t for you, I would have blown my brains out in West Covina months ago.”

“Because of the toilet factory?” I inquired.

Dale gazed out the window in a rare moment of self reflection. He stroked his chin as if finding the clarity that so eluded him. “Damn the toilet factory,” he said. “That ain’t got nothing to do with the price of tea in China.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” I said.

“Well,” he said as he straightened himself out, “I suppose I shouldn’t be telling you this. But we’re about to die so it makes little sense to keep this bottled up. But anyways, my bitch of a wife, she’s been dead for years.”

“Huh?” I asked, slightly flabbergasted. “But why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than dying.”

“How so?”

“I killed her.”

I didn’t know what to say. To tell the truth I wasn’t all that surprised. Maybe I’ve always known; Dale struck me as a guy that would kill his wife. But it made little difference now. I let him spill the beans; that was all that was left to do.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You know, I’m not sure,” he explained. “I knew that she was fuckin around on me. But I didn’t want to say anything to her. I didn’t want her leaving me, ya know? Who would want to be with a sad sack of shit like me? But I guess something finally gave and I got drunk and took my shotgun out. The next morning I found her brains splattered all over the trailer. Of course I don’t remember killing her. But I panicked and took her body and cut her up into dozens of pieces and scattered her all across Southern California. What’s a feller to do, ya know? I figured I’d go to the grave with that knowledge. Now I guess we both will.”

With Dale’s conscience cleared, there was nothing left to say. The wheels kept rolling down I-80 further into the abyss.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 49

Randy finished his glass of scotch and paced around the basement. At that moment there was nothing I wanted more than to be done with this charade so I looked at Dale who was unbothered by this tension. “Well Randy,” I declared, “I don’t forgive you. So let’s stop pussyfooting around and get this over with.”

Randy stopped pacing and looked at the Madam and her eyes drifted to the floor. Then he sighed and poured another glass. “You know what this means don’t you?” he asked me.

“It means in a matter of minutes we’ll dead and buried,” I said plainly.

He swallowed the scotch whole. “But what about your friend there?” he asked, referring to Dale.

“Oh, me?” said Dale. “Yeah I’ve know that this was coming for a long time.”

I could’ve been wrong but I thought I saw a small tear streaking down Randy’s cheek. Whatever emotions he might’ve been feeling, he concealed them well with his following statements. “Okay then,” he said, “but I won’t do it here. This is my home. I wish that I could have given you a better ending but I must have you two escorted to the desert and shot. I’m very sorry.”

“Shove your apologies,” I said.

Randy signaled to the driver and the driver briefly left the room. A moment later, Old Jim stepped out from behind the door with his six shooter ready. “Jim!” I gasped.

“How’s your aim dad?” Randy asked him.

“I may be old, but I can still shoot the pecker off a…”

“Alright alright,” Randy interrupted him. “Take these men out to the desert and have them killed.”

“Dad?!” I shouted.

“Yeah, Old Jim is my dad. Which makes him your grandpa I suppose. I thought it was obvious. You’re both named James. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road…”

Christ, I thought. It was obvious. But it didn’t matter anymore. Old Jim and the driver approached us and took us by the arm. “Hello James,” Jim said to me.

“Jim! Papaw!”

“Papaw,” said Jim. “I remember my papaw. Legend has it that his dick was two feet long and he strangled Wild Bill Hickok with…”

“Dad!” Randy interrupted. “Enough with the stories! We have a job to do!”

“And where are you going?” I asked Randy as he was picking up several Manila envelopes.

“I have a meeting with the Vietnamese in an hour. Sorry that I can’t make it.”

“So a meeting with the Vietnamese is more important than the death of your own son?”

Randy stood motionless at my challenge. “But this is a very important meeting,” he said.

I shook my head. “How typical of Randy,” I said rhetorically. “He can’t even look his own son in the eye.”

He slammed the glass onto the tiled floor and it shattered into a thousand pieces. The Madam was startled by the sudden burst. “Alright! Goddamn you!” he shouted. “If this is what you want then I will grant you your last request! I will, by god, journey with you to the desert where you will meet your demise!”

“Thanks Randy,” I said. “That’s very sweet of you.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 48

Randy didn’t know what to make of Susan. He sipped the scotch mere feet from her face with her eyes bowed to the floor. I turned my head to see a tear stream down her face. Though this was the moment she had been waiting for, nothing had prepared her for it. “I don’t think I know you,” Randy said.

Susan palmed her eyes and lifted her head to face him. When I looked at Randy, I could tell he was genuinely perplexed. “Where is my mother?” Susan managed to squeak out.

Randy squinted his eyes and took another sip. He lowered the glass and placed it in his left hand. “Darling,” he said, putting his right hand to her cheek, “I’m sorry but I don’t understand your question.”

“Where is MY mother,” she repeated.

“If you could tell me who you are, perhaps I could help,” he said, taken back by her sudden forcefulness.

“Susan.”

“Susan who?”

“Susan Brucetti.”

He took his hand off her face and had another sip. “Brucetti?” he asked and swallowed hard. “I believe a Lyonette Brucetti was under my employment many years ago. Is that your mother?”

Susan nodded and lowered her head again. Randy’s face began to blush and he nervously scratched his head. “I’m afraid that I haven’t seen Lyonette in some time,” he explained. “Last I heard, she was living in Chico with her husband. I apologize, but I haven’t been keeping close tabs on her.”

“You’re a liar,” Susan said.

“Pardon?”

“You’re a liar. You sold her into sex slavery.”

“W-why would I do that?”

“Because that’s the kind of man you are!”

“Susan, sweetheart, I think you have the wrong idea. You see, Lyonette and I were lovers for a very long time. I loved her. Why would I sell someone I love into slavery?”

“Then why would she abandon me?!”

Randy turned around and refused to face us. He sat his glass of scotch down and rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry Susan,” he said, “had I of known, I would have done something.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had a child together. A girl.”

Susan looked at me with wide eyes. No words came. In real time I could see her heart sink to her feet and Dale shook his head. “Told you it was a mistake,” he uttered under his breath.

“Goddamnit Dale,” I said.

“What was a mistake?” asked Randy, still not facing us.

“Forget it,” I said.

“I’m gonna be sick,” said Susan.

Randy picked up the glass again and ignored the comment entirely. He turned around and leaned against the table. “Susan, my dear, I think you should leave,” he said. “I don’t want you to be a part of what’s about to happen.”

Susan quietly nodded and the driver took her by the arm and escorted her upstairs. She never looked back at me. She was defeated.

When she was gone and the shock wore off, I looked at Randy. “Two damaged children,” I said. “That’s your real legacy.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 47

It was a shame that we arrived in Tahoe after nightfall. The mountain vistas and alpine would have been a glorious sight to see before death. But the limousine descended into obscure wavy backroads before arriving at Randy’s rocky sprawl and the driver exited the vehicle with a Ruger ready. “Welcome to the Furie estate,” he said after opening the backseat door. “Please step out of the vehicle or be shot.”

We complied with his demand and stood in a row in the late night mountain air and the driver waved us in through the immaculate entrance. Inside the mansion, the walls were adorned with bear skins and moose heads with a few human skulls for added effect. But before I could take it all in we were pushed through the house and down the stairs into a padded and soundproofed basement where on the other end Randy was yelling racial slurs through a microphone while playing Baldur’s Gate. We stood on one end of the basement while the driver shuffled to the other end to inform Mr. Furie.

“Your guests sir,” the driver said.

Randy swiveled around in his chair and when he laid eyes upon us he smiled. “Welcome! Welcome!” he greeted.

“Randy, if this is supposed to scare me then you’re doing a shitty job,” I said.

“Scare you? Why would I try to scare you?” he asked.

He stood up and flattened out his maroon smoking jacket and the Madam stepped through a hidden door disguised as a book case and handed him a glass of scotch. He took the glass then sniffed and swirled it. “The real reason I asked you here is to beg for your forgiveness,” he informed us.

“Why should I forgive you?” I said.

Randy squinted to bear through what seemed to be his internal torment. “Oh why can’t you see the burden placed upon my shoulders?” he posed. “The whole world pleads for forbidden contraband and services and those screams fall into my ears like cries in the night.”

“I can’t imagine the pain you must be in,” I said sarcastically.

“No man can imagine it,” he said, not picking up on my sarcasm. “I come from a long line of service providers; an ancient lineage we are.”

“No doubt,” I said. “But what does that have to do with me?”

“I’ve always desired you to be a part of this proud tradition,” he said with a tinge of mournfulness. “There’s no greater honor than a son following his father’s footsteps.”

“I’m sorry I disappointed you,” I replied.

Randy stepped a little closer with scotch in hand to look us up and down. He could tell something was amiss. “Where’s the fellow among you who destroyed my desert fortress?” he asked.

“He died in the wilderness weeks after,” I told him.

“A tragedy for you no doubt. But a fitting end for a warrior.”

“He got what was coming to him.”

“A fate that we all must face.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 33

The eyes of the man, our captor, widened in awe at the horrifying and unbridled majesty of Penelope. He was slow to raise arms, not that it would have mattered, and his comrades scrambled to figure a plan of attack. The captor on the right opened fire but the speed of a bullet was no match for Penelope’s supernatural and inhuman powers. She lashed out at her attacker, reaching for his ankles and smashed his body into a bloodied mess on the cavern wall. The captor on the left panicked and attempted to flee but was met with claws burrowing into his belly and bits of stomach and intestines spewed out.

The man was speechless and three of us in the cage were powerless with him. He was alone and Penelope towered over him then hissed and the man fell to his knees to beg forgiveness from a seeming beast that knew no mercy. “Penelope,” he pleaded with tears streaming down his face, “you’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever witnessed! I never meant you no harm! Please! Can you find the humanity within yourself to let me go?! Your blood is my blood! You can have all this land! It’s been in my family for generations! It’s all yours! All I’ve ever wanted was a continuation of your kind!”

I looked deep into her glowing yellow eyes and for my sake and the sake of Dale and Old Jim, I prayed that there was a shred of humanity buried deep within her. But if there was, she wasn’t prepared to share it with the man on his knees. She raised her giant right hand and swatted it at the man’s head, knocking it clean off and it rolled towards the cage. When it stopped, it revealed to us that the last sensation that man ever knew was abject terror.

I looked at the head and then at Penelope. She approached the cage and glared at us intensely and it was the first time I had ever gotten a clean look at her face. She didn’t hiss or growl. She looked at me not with malice but with curiosity and while her alien features were apparent, I also saw the human. Though behind a cage and of no threat, I raised my hands in the air. “Penelope, I don’t know if you can understand me,” I said, “but I want to thank you for freeing us. I have a greater understanding of you now. I beg of you to let us be. We will not pursue you or harm you in any way.”

She studied us for what felt like eternity and then she placed her face close to the cage and I lower my hand. She sniffed at it for a bit before blinking then standing straight up and once again revealing her majesty. She blinked once more indicating her farewell then rushed out of the cavern like a fading dream.

I exhaled a sigh of relief and immediately crawled out from the bottom of the cage towards Vic. He was barely alive. His intestines were splayed out on the ground while his legs laid several feet away. I knelt down by his side to give him a sense of comfort before he died.

“Thank you for rescuing me,” I said as I laid my hand on his chest.

But in his dying daze he looked at me and with his last bit of strength, he reached up and grabbed me by my throat and blood spewed from his mouth he uttered his dying words. “I’m dead because of you!” he gurgled.

I struggled to pry his fingers from my neck and Dale rushed to my side to wrestle away his arm. But his strength slowly gave way and his eyes rolled back in his head and his hand fell flatly to the ground. And when he released me, I fell backwards and coughed uncontrollably to regain my breath.

“Christ!” I spat out.

Dale did a Hail Mary to mourn the passing of Vic then laid his hands on his eyes to close them. “Do we bury him?” he asked.

I look around to the cavern to the other bodies splayed about then I stand up to look at the carcass of the dead Scotsman once more. “Leave him,” I said. “This was what he wanted.”

I unlatched the cage to free Jim and the three of us traversed the narrow chambers of the cave and up to the opening where evening greeted us. On the outside we felt like three fallen angels that had escaped our hellish torment. Then each of us mounted one of the three horses deserted by our captors and proceeded down the trail.

We said nothing to each other.

As night fell and the moon hovered gloriously above the mountain tops, I saw Penelope silhouetted against the sky like a lone specter haunting the valley. She watched us trot away and then she disappeared into the darkness.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Anaideia 31

The torches lit the tavern a burning red; this was literal hell. We were ordered to our feet and then rounded into the bamboo cage with the other prisoner. The captor locked the latch tight behind us and cackled. Then the leader placed his hands on the cage to give us one final warning. “Penelope’s got her belly full, so she’s fat and happy,” he said. “But in a few hours she’ll be up and at it again. So say your prayers and bid each other farewell. Cuz you ain’t got long.”

Penelope was balled up and sound asleep and the captors exited the cavern. Dale nudged the barely cognizant prisoner still shaken by his comrades death. “Hey buddy, are you hangin in there?” he asked.

The prisoner licked his lips and attempted to form words. “Water,” was all he said.

“Nah buddy. We ain’t got none of that.”

Vic was standing at the edge of the cage and looking at Penelope while out of earshot from the others. It wasn’t a mystery as to what he was thinking. “What’s the plan?” I ask.

“In my boot,” he said. “In my boot, I still have the knife. They didn’t think to check there.”

“So we cut ourselves free and then what?”

“All we have is the knife. They got the guns. We’re gonna need an extra set of hands. Specifically Penelope’s.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“We’re gonna have to cut her free.”

“By pulling those spikes out of the ground?”

“You got it.”

I nodded. That seemed like the only sensible option. “How long do you reckon it’ll take to cut through the bamboo?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t take long.”

“It looks like it’ll take some doin to get those spikes loose. What if she wakes up before then?”

“She’ll need a distraction.”

“Like what?”

Vic rubbed his chin. He looked at the diminished prisoner and I knew right then I wouldn’t like what he had to say. “You’re gonna have to give her something else to eat,” he said.

“Vic, for Christ sake that man has gone through enough.”

He lowered his voice. “Look at the man! He ain’t gonna make it anyway.”

“So what do you expect me to do? Toss him at Penelope?!”

“Not if we put him out of his misery first.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Look! We don’t have much time and there’s too many unpredictable variables. We can sacrifice him now so there’s no pushback when the time comes. The timing of this has to be perfect. There is no margin of error.”

“No. Absolutely not. I’m drawing the line here.”

Vic grabbed the back of my head and pulled me closer. “Listen mate,” he menacingly whispered, “I’m gonna do it if you like it or not. You can try to stop me but I’ll only end up using your body instead of his. So what’s it gonna be?”

Vic released me and I stepped back. “You’re a goddamn madman, you know that?” I say.

“Aye.”

Vic reached into his boot to pull out the knife. He sat calmly next to the battered prisoner and wrapped his arm around him. “You know, they used to tell us a story in the highlands when I was a boy. It’s about an old man visited by death. Do you know it?” he ask.

The prisoner did not.

“One day an old man overburdened by a bundle of wood on his back let the sticks fall to the ground. He cursed and called out to death to take him right then and there. To his astonishment, the prince of death appeared and asked the old man why he had called. Through fear and trembling, the old man asked the prince to load the sticks onto his back. But nay mate, it was too late. You see, the old man had unwittingly called for his final hour. So how will you respond when your time comes? By calm resolve or through fear and trembling?”

The prisoner shook his head in confusion.

“Aye mate,” Vic continued, “your prince has come.”

Vic plunged the dagger into the prisoner’s side and the prisoner gasped then fell to the ground. There were no cries; no final grasps for the last straws of life. He bled out and withered away.

The others were silent.

“Goddamn you Vic,” I said. “Goddamn you to hell.”

TO BE CONTINUED…