Friday, May 4, 2018

Coming Home

Pulling down the driveway after an all-nighter at work. Looking forward to some good, dead-to-the-world sleep.

The garage door is open.


I don’t think I left it open. The wife wouldn’t have. She’s always thinking about safety. Thinking too much about safety. Silly.

Park the car and open the kitchen door. Hear fast feet.

Look up as a strange man runs around the corner toward the front door. Move mode. Tackle him.

A gun slides across the threshold and stops at the door.

He had a gun. Why didn’t he use it? Must have panicked when he heard me come in.

His mistake. The gun’s mine now.

Wait. Where’s Denise?

“Denise?... Denise!”

No answer. The guy’s struggling under me. Smack him in the face with the gun.

Crane my neck to look around the corner while he fights me. Stay on him. Keep him down.

Blood down the hallway. Blood with hair buried in it. Deni’s hair.

Smack him again, lean forward to see better.

Too much blood. She’s dead.

Did he rape her?

No, her clothes are still on. Just killed her.

He killed her.

Smack him again. Again. Again. Drive the gun into his face. His blood-dirtied face.

Calm down. Take a breath. Pull it together.

Look at him.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kill someone. You just gave me my chance. No, shut up. “ Smack him again. Twice. “I’m going to give you ten seconds to pray. I believe in God. I don’t want you to go to Hell for screwing up your life. Some of it’s your fault, but not all of it, probably. Maybe something happened to you growing up, messed you up, damaged you. I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter if you die. You’re nothing. A junkie. A criminal. You’re not contributing to society in any way. No one will miss you. Not even your family. In fact, I’ll be doing your family a favor. They won’t have to put up with you anymore. Your victims won’t have to worry about you hassling them. Your drug dealer will lose your business, but I don’t care about him. He’ll find others to sell to anyway.

“So I’m going to give you ten seconds. Ask God to forgive you. Tell Him you thank Him for sending Jesus to die for you and take the punishment for your sins.”

He’s blubbering. Begging. I hear the word “God” a couple of times, but I don’t think he’s praying.

Should I let him live? Call the cops and have mercy?

Down the hall. D didn’t deserve this. Was probably scared out of her mind.

No, I told him I was going to do it, so I have to do it. Want to be a man of my word.

It’s done. Now, what? Call the cops. Wipe off the gun. I came home, saw D dead, him dead. Must have killed her and then regretted it. Suicide. He committed suicide after he killed her.

That’s false testimony, isn’t it? “Thou shalt not bear false testimony.”

Oh, well. What does He expect of me? I didn’t put myself in this screwed up world.