Grit
12-14-2012, 07:10 PM
Leaning against the convenience store’s window, sweat soaked in jeans and a tank-tee, Niel fumbled in his pocket for a lighter. A falsetto wheeze escaped his lips when he felt its smooth plastic between his fingers.
The hand-rolled cigarette lolling between his lips was ignited with a flick of his thumb and Niel inhaled deeply. Attempting to push his hair out of his eyes, he found it was too sticky from the wet heat and abandoned the motion. He instead sat on his backpack, an uncomfortable chair filled with pointy metal and awkward mass.
It was almost three A.M. Niel put away his pocketwatch and stood up, tossing the lit cigarette into a garbage can.
A clanging chime announced that a customer had arrived, and the clerk looked up from the Men’s Health magazine he was reading momentarily. Then he went back to “Seven ab exercises for Greek Gods.” Niel stood in the corner by the A.T.M. and pulled out his watch again.
Two-fifty-nine A.M. The seconds ticked by as Niel stared transfixed at the time. Shrugging out of his backpack, Niel allowed it to fall on the ground with a loud, heavy clink. The clerk looked up at the sound, before returning to the article. “-exercises will make a Hercules out of you.”
Three A.M.
A three and two zeros, winking at Niel in all their glory. With a sweep of his arm, Niel unzipped his backpack, and pulled a submachine gun from within.
Spinning, Niel squeezed the trigger, and bullets peppered the store. Donuts were torn to shreds, dough and sugar dusting the air, chip bags exploded, saturating the shelves with salty artificially flavoured starch. Lead flies swatted the glass container beside the clerk, and the unsuspecting man yelled out, shards scratching his skin. Hands covering his face, he backed away, ears tearing at the cacophony of gunpowder.
Niel re-adjusted and squeezed the trigger again, sending a barrage of fatalities over the desk. The clerk was stung countless times, until he collapsed into the shelves of rolling papers, eyes wide in shock.
Dropping the gun into his backpack, Niel quickly zipped and exited the store. The cops would be here soon.
When the police arrived, they were shocked to see the store was quiet. Someone had called in numerous gunshots, the tip had said “sounded like thunder”. Cautiously, the officers exited their cars and walked towards the store, guns held ready. It was seemingly empty, but messy as hell, there was food and plastic wrappers everywhere.
Stepping through mutilated food products, Officer Brady wondered where the clerk was. They found his shredded body slumped in a lake of blood behind the counter.
Officer Brady pulled out his radio and called it in, while his partner checked the till.
“Money’s here.” Sam said, watching his older partner for a reaction. Brady took a deep breath and walked over to the till to double check. The till was still full of money, no doubt.
The other two officers arrived at the door and held it open, asking what had happened. Southsaw was a relatively small town, gunshots were a rarity. Officer Brady opened his mouth when he saw Niel walking towards the store from the parking lot, an elongated shape resting on his shoulder.
Snapping an RPG into place, Niel aimed the rocket launcher at the store, eyes wild. He fired and the heavy explosive roared through the air, shattering the glass and detonating somewhere between the penny candy and the ice cream bars. The officers were consumed by the explosion and then tossed aside like leaves by a particularly strong gust.
The windows of the store exploded outwards as the unassuming store was transformed into a fire storm.
Pain was Brady’s entire universe as he writhed on the ground, surreal flames snaking from his neck, peeking from his peripherals like his nose. Mercifully, Niel ended his life with a gunshot to the forehead. Soon, all four officers were dead. Niel picked up the launcher, tossed it in the passenger seat of one of the squad cars, and slammed the door.
He tore out of the parking lot, and sped down the street towards the interstate.
***
Doing the speed limit, Niel checked his watch again. It was three-fifty A.M. and Southsaw was behind him. Still, there was time for one more.
Three-fifty-six A.M.
The interstate was desolate, and Niel found himself wishing for tail lights. Eyes squinting at the blinding glare of another car, Niel took in an expensive SUV, his teeth shining in the fluorescent rays. He almost considered not going for it, he only had four minutes but the thrill of the chase was too much.
Slamming on the gas, the squad car ripped towards the vehicle from behind, both in the right lane. Merging lanes at eighty mp/h while rooting through his back pack, Niel almost collided into the concrete divider, but corrected himself before it was too late.
Submachine gun in hand, Niel aimed it at the driver. Tugging the window-down button, the unsuspecting driver was oblivious to the imminent danger. Shot clear, Niel pulled the trigger, and the driver of the other car was struck through the head with a flurry.
The squealing of tires announced the car’s confusion and unmanned, it plummeted off the road and into the grass, where it headed promptly towards a ditch.
Tossing his gun aside, Niel closed the window and focused on the road.
***
After ditching the car and wiping it clear of prints, Niel was sitting at the cheap faux-wood desk in his motel room. He had used a fake name, and would only be staying for a few hours. Just to get a bit of sleep before he put more distance between himself and last night.
A crumpled piece of paper was smoothed out on the desk, and Niel was carefully adding lines to the already full page. When he added the sixth line, he sat back and admired the page. The first side was almost full. Four lines and a strike through, represented five. Niel counted quickly through and ended up at just under three hundred.
In the beginning, he had started doing it for fun. It had been the ultimate rush, the principal power of the human condition. Every moment had been pregnant, and fully enjoyed. He had realized those with the execution and skill of a manic obsessive. Seconds savoured like the infinite moments before orgasm.
Niel fell asleep with his treasured paper clutched in his hand, head hanging back over the chair.
***
Over the next two months, the police searched frantically for the cross-state killer, considered to be the most prolific serial murderer since Jack the Ripper. News stations were having a field day with the case, most especially with the fact that the police couldn’t seem to catch the guy.
The exact body count was hard to narrow down, because there were so many killings, and not many were executed in the same way. Butcherings, arson, shootings and stranglings. Many dead, and no one yet held responsible.
**
Walking up the sidewalk towards the front door, Niel took in the well-groomed grass of the yawn and the smell of fresh-baked bread.
Knocking at the door, Niel smiled, feeling the paper in his pocket with his other hand. Six-hundred and sixty-six lines drawn onto it with various pens and pencils. The door swung open and a beautiful young woman stood in the doorway.
She had a great body, and an angelic face framed with dark black hair. A leather collar adorned her neck, loosely hanging around that pale soft skin. Wordless, she walked away from the door, and Niel stepped inside.
A beautiful french-inspired Louisiana home, there were expensive knick knacks everywhere. A Chinese monk statue stared at Niel with marble eyes, a dragon curled around his cloaked shoulders.
Niel ascended the winding staircase, polished wood railing smooth beneath his hand, the dark-red colour scheme of the carpets and walls warmed by a crystal chandelier.
At the top of the stairs, double doors were thrown open, revealing an equally well furnished room. Sitting behind a massive desk was Louis, resting his elbows on the table as a rat lay between his arched fingers.
“Ah, Niel, welcome. Take a seat.” Louis flashed a smile, his thin trimmed eyebrows raising as Niel walked through the threshold into the room. A fire blazed with intensity in the right wall, hearth snapping as wood turned to ash.
Niel sat in a large armchair in front of the desk, and Louis turned his focus on the rat again. He lifted it with his hands, holding it close to his face, whispering incoherently. Then he placed it down on the ground, and the rat scurried out of the room.
“You are so very close, I understand.”
Niel pulled the yellow paper from his pocket and flattened it on the desk. Then he pushed it towards the thin man across the table. “I’m done, I got six hund-“
“The last two were not valid, I’m afraid.” Louis tilted his head and smiled.
“What?” Niel’s mind ran wild, had someone survived? No, the knife severed the artery.
“You see sweetheart, the last two must be more - shall we say - taxing.”
“You said that-“
“Yes I did. Now I’m saying that you need two others.”
Niel felt himself fill with anger, mostly at himself. Why had he thought that he could take what Louis said at face value?
“What do you need?”
Louis laughed and leaned back in his chair, resting one foot on his other knee. “It’s not what I need, it’s what you need. Putrify your body and soul, that’s the charge. You remember the process, or are you even dimmer than you look?”
“I have done that.” Niel grated, exasperated. “I did them. All between three and four. I did what you as-“
“You’re getting caught up in accounting, Niel. It’s the process that you want completed, and all I am doing is telling you how.”
“But you told me the process and no-“
“You were a killer before this began. It’s that simple. Killing for you is not a chore, it’s not a test, or a corruption of your character. You simply had too much fun.”
“What do I need to do?”
Louis reached into the folds of his burgundy house robe, and tossed a picture at Niel. Picking it up, Niel felt his heart plummet.
Family portrait, two-thousand and ten. Niel stood in the middle between his wife Linda and his son Chester. Smiles decorated every face, genuine glee and good will. It had been taken just after they moved into the new house.
Niel dropped the picture on the wood and ran a hand through his hair.
“This isn’t a math problem, son. You must be afflicted with decrepitude of the spirit. ”
“You lied to me.” Niel said, although there was no passion in it.
“Did you expect honesty, lamb?” Louis laughed. “Are you that naive?”
“I’m not going to do this.” Standing, Niel felt again angry. If Louis was anyone else, he would’ve went for the kill. That was useless though. Niel didn’t believe in doing the useless.
“Very well. You will see yourself out. My hospitality, of course, is at an end. Good luck Saint Niel.”
Louis sneered, his teeth far too numerous in his jaw.
Niel turned and walked out, feeling the weight of hundreds on his shoulders. Time lurking behind him, breathing on his nape. The police would find him now. If he knew anything about Louis, it would be quick.
Only enough time to say goodbye, in all likelihood.
***
Niel sat at the dinner table with Linda as they waited for Chester. The boy made a running entrance and plopped himself beside his dad at the table.
A feast of roast turkey, potatoes, and steamed vegetables lay before them filling the room with the tantalizing scent of rosemary. A carafe of ice wine coated in frost rested beside Linda’s arm. Chester reached out for the spoon stuck into the bowl of potatoes when his father caught his arm.
“I’d like to say grace.” Niel said quietly. Chester looked at his mom who was surprised as he was. Chester’s arm dropped by his side and he began fidgeting nervously.
“Thank you Lord, for the gifts you’ve given me throughout my life.” Niel gazed out the window at the warm pink glow of early night. “Thank you for always being forgiving,” Niel continued in a whisper. “and I hope you will continue your mercy.” Then Niel bowed his head.
“Amen.” Whispered Linda and Chester in unison. Chester reached out for potatoes, and served himself a generous spoonful.
The second spoonful was too full, and several potatoes fell off, knocking the carafe of wine over. The ruby red liquid splashed over the table, and painted Linda’s chest.
Niel’s breath caught in his chest. He was so close. “Sorry mom.” Chester said as he stood up to get a towel. Linda shushed him down and went to the sink, where she began wetting and washing the wine.
“It won’t come out.”
Sirens began wailing outside, and chills began to cover Niel’s body.
“I need to talk to both of you.” Niel stood up. Linda went very quiet, towel held to her chest. Chester froze, spoonful of potatoes held in mid-air.
The sirens got louder. “I’ve done bad things.” Niel said quietly, shaking his head. “They’re coming to arrest me. I just ne-“
“What?” Linda said, eyes flashing dangerously. “What did you do?”
“I’ve killed people.”
Linda’s face paled as the blood ran from it. “This isn’t funny Niel.”
“I know.”
Linda walked swiftly towards Niel and punched him in the nose. Then she strode over to Chester, picked him up and headed for the door.
This wasn’t how he had imagined it. Linda was a judgemental old hag and Chester was her boy. He had done the right thing, he had expected something in return. Perhaps love and some form of salvation.
Walking out of the kitchen, Niel ran upstairs. If she couldn’t accept him, then she was useless.
As he pulled open a drawer with a crack, Niel pulled a six-shot revolver from within and ran back down the stairs. The sirens were screaming bloody murder, getting louder and louder.
Linda was pulling Chester towards the sidewalk, the boy’s tearstained face turned to see his father approaching. Screaming silently, Chester ran behind his mom, who turned to see Niel raise the gun. Linda opened her mouth, raised her arms to protect her son, and then was shot through the head.
Her corpse slumped backwards, threatening to crush Chester with the weight, when the boy pushed her aside and she fell in the grass.
“Dad?” Chester’s eyes were wet and his lip was trembling.
Another squeeze of the trigger, and Chester’s body was knocked backwards to it’s final resting place.
The sirens roared, reaching a crescendo, and one, three, four squad cars skidded into the driveway.
Officers jumped from their cars, posting up by their open doors, guns trained on the cross-state killer.
“Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air.” An amplified voice commanded.
Niel began turning towards them. Every time his feet touched the grass, the blades withered and became brown. Smoke snaked into the air from the scorched earth beneath his feet.
An officer panicked and fired his standard issue pistol. The bullet hit Niel in the eye, causing him to scream, and he bent over holding his face. Dark blood, black as night water, poured from the mess.
Roaring, Niel reared his head back and slammed a foot against the ground. The ground rippled like a carpet being shaken out. The ripple hit a squad car hiding two officers, sending them flying into the air. Terrified gunfire rang out as Niel walked towards the officers.
As he approached the closest officer, Niel raised his hand. The man’s eyes became spotted with red and then completely saturated with blood. His eyes exploded and blood raced towards Niel in a torrent, flushing into his empty socket.
When the officer fell dead, he was dry. Niel’s eye had returned and he laughed hysterically as bullets whistled by his head.
Niel flexed his new found muscles and focused on death. A sharp gust whipped up around Niel with a large surface area. When the wind hit the officers they died with a breath, bodies hitting the concrete easily.
As each officer fell, the wind changed and became green. Trees caught in the area also withered and died, their greenery and leaves shrivelling into paper.
There was no more life, everything was dead from the plants to the critters.
Niel inhaled. His lungs filled with the green wind, and he swallowed. Now there was silence, and Niel walked towards a squad car, it’s flashing lights the only remainder of the frantic fight for life only moments before.
Niel swung himself through the open door and into the driver’s seat. Without the keys, the car roared to life, and Niel cranked it into drive then slammed on the gas.
Dark clouds formed above as the car pushed it’s limits of speed, and when the thunder broke it was nice.
Blood rained down upon Niel’s car, and he was calm.
He was death.
The hand-rolled cigarette lolling between his lips was ignited with a flick of his thumb and Niel inhaled deeply. Attempting to push his hair out of his eyes, he found it was too sticky from the wet heat and abandoned the motion. He instead sat on his backpack, an uncomfortable chair filled with pointy metal and awkward mass.
It was almost three A.M. Niel put away his pocketwatch and stood up, tossing the lit cigarette into a garbage can.
A clanging chime announced that a customer had arrived, and the clerk looked up from the Men’s Health magazine he was reading momentarily. Then he went back to “Seven ab exercises for Greek Gods.” Niel stood in the corner by the A.T.M. and pulled out his watch again.
Two-fifty-nine A.M. The seconds ticked by as Niel stared transfixed at the time. Shrugging out of his backpack, Niel allowed it to fall on the ground with a loud, heavy clink. The clerk looked up at the sound, before returning to the article. “-exercises will make a Hercules out of you.”
Three A.M.
A three and two zeros, winking at Niel in all their glory. With a sweep of his arm, Niel unzipped his backpack, and pulled a submachine gun from within.
Spinning, Niel squeezed the trigger, and bullets peppered the store. Donuts were torn to shreds, dough and sugar dusting the air, chip bags exploded, saturating the shelves with salty artificially flavoured starch. Lead flies swatted the glass container beside the clerk, and the unsuspecting man yelled out, shards scratching his skin. Hands covering his face, he backed away, ears tearing at the cacophony of gunpowder.
Niel re-adjusted and squeezed the trigger again, sending a barrage of fatalities over the desk. The clerk was stung countless times, until he collapsed into the shelves of rolling papers, eyes wide in shock.
Dropping the gun into his backpack, Niel quickly zipped and exited the store. The cops would be here soon.
When the police arrived, they were shocked to see the store was quiet. Someone had called in numerous gunshots, the tip had said “sounded like thunder”. Cautiously, the officers exited their cars and walked towards the store, guns held ready. It was seemingly empty, but messy as hell, there was food and plastic wrappers everywhere.
Stepping through mutilated food products, Officer Brady wondered where the clerk was. They found his shredded body slumped in a lake of blood behind the counter.
Officer Brady pulled out his radio and called it in, while his partner checked the till.
“Money’s here.” Sam said, watching his older partner for a reaction. Brady took a deep breath and walked over to the till to double check. The till was still full of money, no doubt.
The other two officers arrived at the door and held it open, asking what had happened. Southsaw was a relatively small town, gunshots were a rarity. Officer Brady opened his mouth when he saw Niel walking towards the store from the parking lot, an elongated shape resting on his shoulder.
Snapping an RPG into place, Niel aimed the rocket launcher at the store, eyes wild. He fired and the heavy explosive roared through the air, shattering the glass and detonating somewhere between the penny candy and the ice cream bars. The officers were consumed by the explosion and then tossed aside like leaves by a particularly strong gust.
The windows of the store exploded outwards as the unassuming store was transformed into a fire storm.
Pain was Brady’s entire universe as he writhed on the ground, surreal flames snaking from his neck, peeking from his peripherals like his nose. Mercifully, Niel ended his life with a gunshot to the forehead. Soon, all four officers were dead. Niel picked up the launcher, tossed it in the passenger seat of one of the squad cars, and slammed the door.
He tore out of the parking lot, and sped down the street towards the interstate.
***
Doing the speed limit, Niel checked his watch again. It was three-fifty A.M. and Southsaw was behind him. Still, there was time for one more.
Three-fifty-six A.M.
The interstate was desolate, and Niel found himself wishing for tail lights. Eyes squinting at the blinding glare of another car, Niel took in an expensive SUV, his teeth shining in the fluorescent rays. He almost considered not going for it, he only had four minutes but the thrill of the chase was too much.
Slamming on the gas, the squad car ripped towards the vehicle from behind, both in the right lane. Merging lanes at eighty mp/h while rooting through his back pack, Niel almost collided into the concrete divider, but corrected himself before it was too late.
Submachine gun in hand, Niel aimed it at the driver. Tugging the window-down button, the unsuspecting driver was oblivious to the imminent danger. Shot clear, Niel pulled the trigger, and the driver of the other car was struck through the head with a flurry.
The squealing of tires announced the car’s confusion and unmanned, it plummeted off the road and into the grass, where it headed promptly towards a ditch.
Tossing his gun aside, Niel closed the window and focused on the road.
***
After ditching the car and wiping it clear of prints, Niel was sitting at the cheap faux-wood desk in his motel room. He had used a fake name, and would only be staying for a few hours. Just to get a bit of sleep before he put more distance between himself and last night.
A crumpled piece of paper was smoothed out on the desk, and Niel was carefully adding lines to the already full page. When he added the sixth line, he sat back and admired the page. The first side was almost full. Four lines and a strike through, represented five. Niel counted quickly through and ended up at just under three hundred.
In the beginning, he had started doing it for fun. It had been the ultimate rush, the principal power of the human condition. Every moment had been pregnant, and fully enjoyed. He had realized those with the execution and skill of a manic obsessive. Seconds savoured like the infinite moments before orgasm.
Niel fell asleep with his treasured paper clutched in his hand, head hanging back over the chair.
***
Over the next two months, the police searched frantically for the cross-state killer, considered to be the most prolific serial murderer since Jack the Ripper. News stations were having a field day with the case, most especially with the fact that the police couldn’t seem to catch the guy.
The exact body count was hard to narrow down, because there were so many killings, and not many were executed in the same way. Butcherings, arson, shootings and stranglings. Many dead, and no one yet held responsible.
**
Walking up the sidewalk towards the front door, Niel took in the well-groomed grass of the yawn and the smell of fresh-baked bread.
Knocking at the door, Niel smiled, feeling the paper in his pocket with his other hand. Six-hundred and sixty-six lines drawn onto it with various pens and pencils. The door swung open and a beautiful young woman stood in the doorway.
She had a great body, and an angelic face framed with dark black hair. A leather collar adorned her neck, loosely hanging around that pale soft skin. Wordless, she walked away from the door, and Niel stepped inside.
A beautiful french-inspired Louisiana home, there were expensive knick knacks everywhere. A Chinese monk statue stared at Niel with marble eyes, a dragon curled around his cloaked shoulders.
Niel ascended the winding staircase, polished wood railing smooth beneath his hand, the dark-red colour scheme of the carpets and walls warmed by a crystal chandelier.
At the top of the stairs, double doors were thrown open, revealing an equally well furnished room. Sitting behind a massive desk was Louis, resting his elbows on the table as a rat lay between his arched fingers.
“Ah, Niel, welcome. Take a seat.” Louis flashed a smile, his thin trimmed eyebrows raising as Niel walked through the threshold into the room. A fire blazed with intensity in the right wall, hearth snapping as wood turned to ash.
Niel sat in a large armchair in front of the desk, and Louis turned his focus on the rat again. He lifted it with his hands, holding it close to his face, whispering incoherently. Then he placed it down on the ground, and the rat scurried out of the room.
“You are so very close, I understand.”
Niel pulled the yellow paper from his pocket and flattened it on the desk. Then he pushed it towards the thin man across the table. “I’m done, I got six hund-“
“The last two were not valid, I’m afraid.” Louis tilted his head and smiled.
“What?” Niel’s mind ran wild, had someone survived? No, the knife severed the artery.
“You see sweetheart, the last two must be more - shall we say - taxing.”
“You said that-“
“Yes I did. Now I’m saying that you need two others.”
Niel felt himself fill with anger, mostly at himself. Why had he thought that he could take what Louis said at face value?
“What do you need?”
Louis laughed and leaned back in his chair, resting one foot on his other knee. “It’s not what I need, it’s what you need. Putrify your body and soul, that’s the charge. You remember the process, or are you even dimmer than you look?”
“I have done that.” Niel grated, exasperated. “I did them. All between three and four. I did what you as-“
“You’re getting caught up in accounting, Niel. It’s the process that you want completed, and all I am doing is telling you how.”
“But you told me the process and no-“
“You were a killer before this began. It’s that simple. Killing for you is not a chore, it’s not a test, or a corruption of your character. You simply had too much fun.”
“What do I need to do?”
Louis reached into the folds of his burgundy house robe, and tossed a picture at Niel. Picking it up, Niel felt his heart plummet.
Family portrait, two-thousand and ten. Niel stood in the middle between his wife Linda and his son Chester. Smiles decorated every face, genuine glee and good will. It had been taken just after they moved into the new house.
Niel dropped the picture on the wood and ran a hand through his hair.
“This isn’t a math problem, son. You must be afflicted with decrepitude of the spirit. ”
“You lied to me.” Niel said, although there was no passion in it.
“Did you expect honesty, lamb?” Louis laughed. “Are you that naive?”
“I’m not going to do this.” Standing, Niel felt again angry. If Louis was anyone else, he would’ve went for the kill. That was useless though. Niel didn’t believe in doing the useless.
“Very well. You will see yourself out. My hospitality, of course, is at an end. Good luck Saint Niel.”
Louis sneered, his teeth far too numerous in his jaw.
Niel turned and walked out, feeling the weight of hundreds on his shoulders. Time lurking behind him, breathing on his nape. The police would find him now. If he knew anything about Louis, it would be quick.
Only enough time to say goodbye, in all likelihood.
***
Niel sat at the dinner table with Linda as they waited for Chester. The boy made a running entrance and plopped himself beside his dad at the table.
A feast of roast turkey, potatoes, and steamed vegetables lay before them filling the room with the tantalizing scent of rosemary. A carafe of ice wine coated in frost rested beside Linda’s arm. Chester reached out for the spoon stuck into the bowl of potatoes when his father caught his arm.
“I’d like to say grace.” Niel said quietly. Chester looked at his mom who was surprised as he was. Chester’s arm dropped by his side and he began fidgeting nervously.
“Thank you Lord, for the gifts you’ve given me throughout my life.” Niel gazed out the window at the warm pink glow of early night. “Thank you for always being forgiving,” Niel continued in a whisper. “and I hope you will continue your mercy.” Then Niel bowed his head.
“Amen.” Whispered Linda and Chester in unison. Chester reached out for potatoes, and served himself a generous spoonful.
The second spoonful was too full, and several potatoes fell off, knocking the carafe of wine over. The ruby red liquid splashed over the table, and painted Linda’s chest.
Niel’s breath caught in his chest. He was so close. “Sorry mom.” Chester said as he stood up to get a towel. Linda shushed him down and went to the sink, where she began wetting and washing the wine.
“It won’t come out.”
Sirens began wailing outside, and chills began to cover Niel’s body.
“I need to talk to both of you.” Niel stood up. Linda went very quiet, towel held to her chest. Chester froze, spoonful of potatoes held in mid-air.
The sirens got louder. “I’ve done bad things.” Niel said quietly, shaking his head. “They’re coming to arrest me. I just ne-“
“What?” Linda said, eyes flashing dangerously. “What did you do?”
“I’ve killed people.”
Linda’s face paled as the blood ran from it. “This isn’t funny Niel.”
“I know.”
Linda walked swiftly towards Niel and punched him in the nose. Then she strode over to Chester, picked him up and headed for the door.
This wasn’t how he had imagined it. Linda was a judgemental old hag and Chester was her boy. He had done the right thing, he had expected something in return. Perhaps love and some form of salvation.
Walking out of the kitchen, Niel ran upstairs. If she couldn’t accept him, then she was useless.
As he pulled open a drawer with a crack, Niel pulled a six-shot revolver from within and ran back down the stairs. The sirens were screaming bloody murder, getting louder and louder.
Linda was pulling Chester towards the sidewalk, the boy’s tearstained face turned to see his father approaching. Screaming silently, Chester ran behind his mom, who turned to see Niel raise the gun. Linda opened her mouth, raised her arms to protect her son, and then was shot through the head.
Her corpse slumped backwards, threatening to crush Chester with the weight, when the boy pushed her aside and she fell in the grass.
“Dad?” Chester’s eyes were wet and his lip was trembling.
Another squeeze of the trigger, and Chester’s body was knocked backwards to it’s final resting place.
The sirens roared, reaching a crescendo, and one, three, four squad cars skidded into the driveway.
Officers jumped from their cars, posting up by their open doors, guns trained on the cross-state killer.
“Drop the weapon and put your hands in the air.” An amplified voice commanded.
Niel began turning towards them. Every time his feet touched the grass, the blades withered and became brown. Smoke snaked into the air from the scorched earth beneath his feet.
An officer panicked and fired his standard issue pistol. The bullet hit Niel in the eye, causing him to scream, and he bent over holding his face. Dark blood, black as night water, poured from the mess.
Roaring, Niel reared his head back and slammed a foot against the ground. The ground rippled like a carpet being shaken out. The ripple hit a squad car hiding two officers, sending them flying into the air. Terrified gunfire rang out as Niel walked towards the officers.
As he approached the closest officer, Niel raised his hand. The man’s eyes became spotted with red and then completely saturated with blood. His eyes exploded and blood raced towards Niel in a torrent, flushing into his empty socket.
When the officer fell dead, he was dry. Niel’s eye had returned and he laughed hysterically as bullets whistled by his head.
Niel flexed his new found muscles and focused on death. A sharp gust whipped up around Niel with a large surface area. When the wind hit the officers they died with a breath, bodies hitting the concrete easily.
As each officer fell, the wind changed and became green. Trees caught in the area also withered and died, their greenery and leaves shrivelling into paper.
There was no more life, everything was dead from the plants to the critters.
Niel inhaled. His lungs filled with the green wind, and he swallowed. Now there was silence, and Niel walked towards a squad car, it’s flashing lights the only remainder of the frantic fight for life only moments before.
Niel swung himself through the open door and into the driver’s seat. Without the keys, the car roared to life, and Niel cranked it into drive then slammed on the gas.
Dark clouds formed above as the car pushed it’s limits of speed, and when the thunder broke it was nice.
Blood rained down upon Niel’s car, and he was calm.
He was death.