She grabs the kid and rushes inside. He smiles at me and whatever he does next, it knocks me out cold. I wake up tied to a chair for the second time in a twenty four hours. I look across this room. It looks like a basement. He’s standing in the corner smiling at me. He’s wearing sweatpants and a tank top. I never noticed how built this guy was. He looks like a cop.
“How did you find me?”
I stare at him.
“You can talk. This isn’t like last time. You can say whatever you want. Just don’t make noise. My wife and son are upstairs. Now tell me: How did you find me?”
I stare at him.
“Okay. Now this happens.”
He launches what looks like a 10lb. weight at me like a professional discus thrower. It hits me square in the gut. I cant even double over since I am strapped at the chest. My body is screaming in pain. I am not. I’m done screaming and running.
“Tough guy, huh? I bet you want to know why I would did the things I’ve done to you. You have some questions? Want to make some sense of everything, right?”
I stare at him.
“Fine.”
He tosses another weight at me. This one hits me in the knee cap. My knee wants to kick. Its cant. This guy knows what he’s doing.
“You work in an office. A desk job. They say its high stress. Lots of injuries at an office job. Carpal tunnel. Sore backs. Did you know that most workman’s compensation claims are filed by office employees? Bullshit. You want to know high stress? Waking up and kissing your wife in the morning knowing that there’s a very good chance that you’ll never see them again. High stress is going to your sons little league game knowing that there are possibly three sex offenders sitting in the stands, maybe right next to you, lusting after your kid. Stress is watching your partner get his face shot off right in front of you. High stress is…”
“Seeing some psychopath have your fiancé, best friend, and little brothers killed. High stress is snapping and killing a man in a rest room. High stress is having a head tossed at you. That is high stress. What you have is a job and concerns. Instead of taking it out on strangers maybe you should see a good therapist.” I’m tired of this asshole. “Either kill me or don’t. I’m not a shoulder for you to cry on. ‘Whah! My partner got shot! Whah!’ You're a fucking cop. Deal with it. You think you’re the first person on Earth to lose someone you cared about? Upstairs your wife could be planning to fuck your new partner. Your son could be touching himself thinking about a cute boy in his classroom. Life’s rough. Deal with it like a man or cry about it like a little bitch. Just stop crying to me.”
“Are you done?”
I am.
“Good.”
He picks up a large weight and walks over to me. He lifts it high above his head and drops it in my lap. I hear my thigh bones crack. I still don’t scream.
“I didn’t want to torture you. I just wanted to wake you up. Seems I put you into some kind of social coma instead. You’re a lost cause. And after all the time I spent on you.” He bends down and is less than two inches from my face. He takes my chin and lifts my head.
“Have you ever looked into a man’s eyes as he died? I have. Plenty of times. Its not like spiritualists say. I didn’t see anything special. Maybe I will this time. You are special. You are…”
I snap forward and bite his lower lip. He screams and tries to pull away but I wont let go. He tries to punch me but cant get a clean shot. I bite down until I feel my teeth touch. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back while pulling himself away. He is free but he leaves something behind.
“Shun ovuh bitch…”
I spit his lower lip on the floor.
I smile.
He grabs a dirty towel and presses it to his mouth. Blood is gushing out. He walks over to a work bench and wipes it clear with one hand. He looks at me and smiles as best he cant with one lip.
“Goosh fwon…”
(good one)
I smile again.
“I sqwas frowin’ cue ‘et chu whiv fut fnow chu char gead.”
(I was going to let you live but now you are dead)
“Fwi hant bweleev chu kit ey fwuckin’ wif aff.”
(I cant believe you bit my fucking lip off)
“I would love to see you explain that to your little wife upstairs. And your son. Family photo day is going to be very interesting this year. Oh, what’s wrong, cop? Have I upset you? Are you mad now? Are you gonna kill me? You’ve already killed me, asshole. Hurry up and get it over with.”
He spit’s a wad of blood on the floor and closes his eyes.
“Daddy?”
His son is standing somewhere behind me.
“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks.
“Cheah.”
(yeah)
“I’m gonna get mommy” his kid says and begins to head upstairs.
“Gno!”
(no!)
I feel my legs burning. My legs are damaged but not broken. You always hear stories about people getting superhuman strength in times of crisis. This was one of those times. I tore my hand free and snatched backward. I grab his son by the neck and pull him in front of me. The guy rushes forward so I squeeze his son’s neck making him squeal. The guy stops.
“Its time for a new game. You get to choose. Get your wife down here” I tell him.
He starts to slowly walk towards the stairs.
“No” I say. “Shout for her.”
He hesitates.
“Shout for her!!!”
He tries to bite his lip in anger but forgets its not there.
“Hunknee! Hunknee kit gown ‘ere!”
(honey! honey get down here!)
A minute or so later she arrives and screams.
“Make her shut up” I tell him.
He raises his hand at her and slowly brings it down. She shuts up.
“Its your turn” I tell him. “The kid or your wife.”
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“I didn’t give her permission to speak” I say and squeeze his son’s neck harder. He screams.
“Stop!” she shouts and runs towards me. The guy grabs her as she struggles against his grip.
“Pick” I say.
He looks at her.
“Honey…?” she says.
“He just picked you to die over your son” I tell her.
I release the son for a moment and quickly wrap my arm around his neck and tighten it as hard and as fast as I can. His body goes limp as he tries to claw my eyes. One last tug and I hear a pop. The wife collapses to the ground screaming.
“Chew argh kead.”
(you are dead)
“I died hours ago” I tell him. “How did that feel? Watching your son die in front of your eyes? Did it feel anything like when you killed Joyce, Tony, Gerry, and Jonathon?”
“What is he talking about?” his wife asks.
“Oh, you didn’t know that your husband was a psycho?” I ask her.
She looks at him and shakes her head while backing away from him until she’s near a bench. He reaches towards her and she pulls away.
I smile.
“Ey kan eggsplain evvwethin’…”
(I can explain everything)
“How?” she asks.
“Yeah, how?” I ask.
He reaches behind his back and pulls out a gun. He fires one shout into his wife’s head. She goes limp, a wide eyed stare on her face.
“Fank chew.”
(thank you)
He fires one shot into his mouth.
He falls to the ground, his body twitching. He coughs up blood for a few moments before finally laying still.
Now what?
A burned house full of bodies. A murdered man in a restroom. A could have been sister-in-law beheaded. A basement with three more bodies, one of them being a cop. Who can I call for help?
With my free hand I once again get loose. I walk upstairs and check out this house. My God. This guy was a hero. There are medals, certificates, and statues all over the living room. Of all the guys to snap, why him? It couldn’t have been the death of his partner or any of that other shit he was babbling about. I hear a dish drop and turn around. An elderly man is standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He tries to shuffle away but cant. I rush to him and place my hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t kill me…” he says. I can barely hear him.
“I’m not a killer” I say feeling like a total asshole. I am a killer.
“I’m sorry” he says.
“Don’t be” I tell him. “Look at me. I’m sure I look nuts.”
“No” he says. “I’m sorry about what my son did to you.”
I freeze.
“I know that he has a way with people. Pushes all the wrong buttons. But it has made him into a very influential man in the city. One of the best policemen on the force. Now, I don’t know what he did to you. Whether it was a speeding ticket or he got you put away for a while, but I apologize for him. Now, I don’t have much money but I’ll give you what I have…”
He walks over to an old coffee tin. He turns suddenly and fires a shot at me, missing me by less than an inch. He tries to fire again.
The gun jams.
I tackle him hard against the counter.
I feel his ribs shatter.
He crumples to the floor moaning weakly.
“Son of a bitch…” he says.
He coughs blood on the floor.
“What the fuck is your problem?!” I shout at him. “Why did you try to kill me?!”
I kick him in the ribs.
I stomp his head.
I hear sirens.
I run to the backdoor and spot a few cops crouching low.
I rush to the front and there are squad cars all over the lawn.
They say there are two responses any living creature has.
Fight.
Flight.
A realize I have a third one.
Kill.
I rush back to the basement and grab the gun from the cops’ dead hands. He has to have more. I run upstairs and in his closet I find three more. I stuff them in my waste band.
A door explodes.
“Oh, dear, Jesus!!!” someone shouts.
“Get a medic!!!”
They’ve found them.
I cant run downstairs.
I am on the second floor. Even if I make it safely outside I will be shot on sight. I grab one of the other guns and take a deep breath. If I am going down I am taking someone with me.
They say that insanity is the behavior whereby a person flouts societal norms and may become a danger to themselves and others.
I am a danger to myself.
I am a danger to others.
I am insane.
You win, cop.
You’ve pushed me over the edge and there’s no one around to take my hand and pull me up.
“Where the fuck is that medic?!”
I here footsteps coming up the stairs.
I hide on the side of the bed. A moment later the door is kicked in.
I jump up and just start shooting anything that moves. I hit one in the throat, another in the chest, and a third in the face.
I dive through the window hoping that I land on bushes or at the very least another person. I land in the driveway flat on my back. The guns fly from my hands. The wind is knocked out of me.
They don’t shoot me.
They turn me over and remove the other guns.
They hit me a few times.
Someone breaks my ankle.
They jerk me to my feet, handcuff me, and launch me into the back of a car.
Why don’t they shoot me? I need to die. I want to die. I cant go to jail. I cant tell this story in court. No one will understand. No one gets this. Unless you have been pushed too far you’ll never understand the story of a man who has.
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