Chris drove down India's street, listening to Nas' The Cross. He had just left his house after going home to change his clothes. I am not going to apologize to someone with ice cream on my shirt, he vowed. As he neared her house, he slowed. I wonder if she's home now? He pulled into the driveway and turned off the car.
He got out and walked up to the door, but suddenly had a feeling. He walked to his car and pulled out the gun he kept underneath the seat. He put it in his waistband and approached the door again. He peeked in the mail slot to see if anyone in the hallway, though he doubted it. What he saw shocked him.
India was on the floor, naked and bleeding from her butt and vagina, with two men having sex with her. The larger of them had a towel and he was beating her with it. The other one was laughing and as he watched, India screamed, a hoarse cry that he had never heard a human utter before. He closed the mail slot and sat down in horror, horror that soon turned to rage. How could anyone be so cruel to anyone! How can you treat your fellow human beings like that! He stood, furious and out for blood.
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India thought she heard something, over the shouts and jeers of Leo and Donny, and she looked towards the front door again. The mail slot was open and two eyes were peering through. She blinked rapidly, wanting to make sure the eyes could see that she needed help, if they required further evidence, but the slot had already closed. She kept looking at the door, partly because the men were holding her so she couldn't look anywhere else, and partly because she hoped that the eyes would look in again and their owner would help her.
Then Leo lost his balance and fell onto the ground, dragging her down with him. He began to straddle her, forcing her gaze up the stairs, as the other one, Donny, fell over in exhaustion and lay on the floor, his penis still wedged into her ass.
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He peered in the mail slot again and looked at the men. They were large and on the bigger man, he could just see a gun. These guys knew what they were doing. He closed the flap and took out his gun, aiming it at the sky, just to make sure that he was used to the weight. He opened the slot once more and checked the position of the men. Chris knew he wouldn't have many chances and he didn't want to hurt India.
As he looked in through the opening, he caught India's eyes. He closed the slot before she could give away the fact that someone was there. He opened it again, just the slightest bit, to see if India was still looking in his direction. She wasn't. He opened it all the way, and tried to see if he could fit the gun through the opening. He couldn't, and the window in the door was obscured by one of the large, ornamental wreathes that India put up. Dammit, India! I'm trying to save your life here!
He edged to the front of the house, and looked in the dining room window. He could still see the men, but it would be a tricky shot and he wasn't sure he could pull it off without alerting them. Fuck, how the hell am I going to pull this off? He circled to the back of the house and nearly fell to the ground; the living room window was open and he had a perfect view of the men and India. He could also see another man, a pale, skinny man that was looking outside as if he'd rather be somewhere else. There was a collection of furniture in the backyard and Chris crawled towards it, thankful for his dark skin and dark shirt and pants, which helped conceal him in the night.
He hid behind the furniture and stole another look into the house. The skinny man was still there, with his thousand-yard stare and as Chris sized him up, didn't look like the kind of person that could be trusted with a gun. But then, I don't either, Chris thought, as he ducked back behind the chairs, tables and other furnishings, and I'm a damn good shot. He dismissed the man as a threat and turned his attention back to the two men that were busy with India. He hated to let them have their way with her, when every single fiber of his being called out for him to rush in there and just shoot the place up and kill the motherfucking bastards, like something out of a Wakefern movie, but he had to wait. He had to approach it calmly and get them while they were least expecting it. He had to think about it like chess, or war, or some perverse game of tag.
Wait, why don't I call the police? They can handle this much better than I can, and I don't want to get into any kind of legal trouble because of my murder, or manslaughter, or whatever. But as soon as the idea came into his head, he dismissed it. It was a hostage situation and the police were notoriously ineffective in that predicament. They had to worry about getting all parties out in as good condition as possible, so that the wrongdoers could be tried by a jury of their peers. No, in order for India to be saved, he had to go in there. But he had to do it logically. This was no place for a hot head. So he leaned against the pile and waited, trying to ignore the screaming and wicked laughter that came from the house behind him.
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India wondered if the eyes had come back, or if their owner had left. She had seen them what seemed like an eternity ago, but still, no police or avenger had descended upon the house to smite her attackers. She wished Bruce would come, or anybody. Even Chris would be welcomed if he would rescue her from these animals who were abusing her body like it was their personal plaything.
She could tell from the pressure in her ass that Donny had resumed consciousness and was rhythmically thrusting again. God, she wished fervently, please smite these bastards from the face of the Earth, and send them to the deepest, darkest ring of hell! Please torture and torment them for eternity!
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The laughing lowered in volume, until two loud and content sighs could be heard from the house. Chris leapt to his feet, and pulled out his gun. Now is the time! He turned off the safety, cocked the gun, made sure it was loaded and glanced over the pile into the house. None of the people inside had moved. Perfect. He hopped over the pile and surprised the skinny man by kicking him in the groin as he flew through the window, causing him to fall to the ground in pain. He landed and heard a crunch. Chris looked down and saw that his foot had crushed the man's kneecap. That guy wasn't going anywhere soon. He kicked him in the groin again for good measure, then shot the big man right through the neck, killing him instantly. The third man had started at the sound of gunfire and was struggling to extricate himself from India's butt when Chris' final shot hit him right above his Roman nose. Chris dropped the gun. They were dead. He had just killed two men.
He walked over to India numbly and pulled the two corpses away from her, then he fell to the ground and began to cry as the full implications of what he had done hit him. He tried to hide his tears, but they were just coming out in waves, a waterfall of grief and guilt caused by the two murders. He tried to rationalize it, he told himself that they were raping India, that he had to stop it, that he'd feel even worse if he didn't stop it, but it was no use. The tears kept coming and the grief and the guilt threatened to overwhelm him. Through the tears he could barely see India picking up the gun and moving over to the skinny man. He turned, unwilling to watch, but he was a second too slow in covering his ears.
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India picked up the gun and casually strolled over to Mikey, who lay on the ground, his hands between his legs, groaning. "Hello, Mikey," she said. "This is for invading my home." She kicked his hands and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. "This is for ogling." She kicked him in his jaw and heard a sharp crack. She smiled. "And this," she said, slowly lifting the gun, "is for not stopping those two maggots as they raped me." Mikey's eyes opened wide and he tried to open his mouth to utter some sort of protest, but his jaw refused to cooperate and he abandoned the effort and began to try and crawl away. She watched his futile efforts and when she deemed that he had gone far enough, she pulled the trigger.
Mikey's head exploded, showering little bits of brain all over her very nice ecru colored walls, one more grudge to hold against these thugs. She kicked his dead body and went back to Chris. He had stopped crying and was now staring blankly into space, his mouth slightly agape. She went upstairs to put on a robe and when she came back down, he had not moved at all. She gently tapped him on the shoulder.
"Chris," she said softly. She received no response and repeated herself slightly louder. "Chris, we have to do something about these bodies." He stirred and stood up, as if under the weight of some unimaginable burden.
"Just throw them in the backyard," he said, his voice an emotionless monotone. "I'll deal with it tomorrow, as well as the furniture."
"We can't do that; the animals will get to them."
"Then just toss them in the basement," he said and began to lift Leo. He dragged the big man's corpse over to the stairs, where the body received a well-earned kick to the groin that toppled him over and he fell into the basement. The other two received the same treatment and soon, Chris and India were standing at the top of the stairs, looking at the pile of bodies.
"How are you getting home," she began to ask, and then she looked at Chris. He was in no shape to drive and anyone who saw him walking down the street would know that he had done something violent, for blood was splattered all over his shirt, face and pants. She swallowed her unasked question and instead said, "I only have the one bed and the couch is outside. Do you want to sleep on the floor, or-"
"The bed's fine, thanks," he replied, cutting her off and she grinned at the trace of the old Chris, always ready to crack a bad joke.
"I still haven't forgiven you. I mean, I am grateful, but what you said was unbelievably offensive and I may never forgive you."
"Ok. I understand," he said, in that same monotone that was quickly growing irritating. "I'll get ready for bed. Do you still have my stuff?"
"Yes," she replied, slightly glad that her procrastination in getting rid of his things had paid off.
"Ok. Good night," and then he was off, going to her room to undress for bed. She stood there a moment, in the bloodstained carnage of her hallway and smiled. It was nice to have Chris back. She tried not to admit it, even to herself, but she had missed him. Now he was back and had saved her life in the bargain. What's a better entrance than that?
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