Chris walked into his house and was immediately greeted rather enthusiastically by the pungent smell of wet, dead dog. He wrinkled his nose. Oh God, when did that happen? He walked into the kitchen and saw his golden retriever, Copper, lying on the floor in a puddle of his own excrement. Damn, Copper, I know you can open the dog food bag by yourself, why didn’t you? Holding his sleeve over his nose, he opened the closet and discovered that every last scrap of food had been eaten, as well as a portion of the wall.
Ok, how long was I away? When I left, the dog food bag was full and Copper was alive. He ran out of the kitchen and into his backyard to escape the smell, which seemed to be attached to his clothes. Outside, he was struck with a thought. What day is it, anyway? He took out his cell phone. It was dead. Figures. He went back inside his house, and checked the clock. It was frozen at 2:00. Ok, that could have happened while I wasn’t here. It doesn’t mean anything. He checked the microwave clock; it was off. Hmm, that’s odd. Wait, let me check something. He flicked the light switch on and off. Nothing happened. Crap, the electricity company shut off the damn power. Well then, I’ll just ask someone.
Chris left the house and stopped a boy that was biking down the street. “Hey, what day is it?”
The boy looked at Chris and without stopping, cried over his shoulder, “Monday, the 30th of May.”
As the kid sped away, going down the hill, Chris would never know that if he had asked the kid one more question, he could have saved the boy from the untimely fate that awaited him. If he had, the boy would have stopped and Chris would have learned that the kid’s name was James Alexander, that he was ten years old, that his father abused both him and his mother daily, that his mother beat him to let off her anger at the father, that he was running away now to his aunt in California after stealing every single piece of cash that he could find in the house while both his mother and father lay at home drunk from a night at two different bars. Chris would have invited him home, and they would talk about themselves as Chris called the power company to get his power back on and soon enough, James would be playing video games while Chris phoned DYFS to get James’ parents tried and sent to jail. James would have grown to love Chris, as Chris would have to James and soon Chris would adopt James, becoming a father. This selfless act of kindness would get India to reconcile herself with him, and in exactly fourteen months, Chris and India would get married in a lavish ceremony in the Bahamas, with James serving as ring bearer and after a splendid honeymoon, Chris, India and James would settle down to become a real family. But Chris knew none of this, and as he turned and staggered back to his house, he didn’t see that James sped into the road without looking for cars. He never saw the eighteen-wheeler that bore down on the young boy, the look of terror on the driver’s face as he struggled in vain to bring his rig to a halt, not wanting to hit the kid that just sped in front of him on a bike. He didn’t see the quizzical look on James’ face as he half turned his head, sensing something to his right. He didn’t know about the rainfall of cash that slowly floated down while the driver and some passerby surrounded the dead child, giving the whole scene a slightly comical air. He was not at the funeral for the young boy, where his mother and father were seized by the authorities and arrested for neglect. He couldn’t know that they were eventually jailed for child abuse and neglect. Chris was oblivious to this, as he lurched inside his house, shocked by the knowledge that he had just missed a whole month of his life.
How did this happen? he wondered. How could this happen? Where was I? What did I do for this month? He somehow stumbled into a chair and rested his head in his hands. Oh my God. Things like this never happen in real life. It’s only in movies and TV and books. I have to call India, or Ian.
He stood, slightly steadier, but still off balance and made his way to a payphone. He dug in his pocket for some change –Thank God I still have some money – and with shaking fingers dialed Ian’s cell phone.
He waited for an eternity, until Ian picked up his phone. He heard laughter in the background and Ian’s curious voice saying, “Hello?”
He sighed in relief. “Ian, thank God.”
“Chris? Is that you? Oh my God! We thought you were dead! Where have you been?”
“I was about to ask you the same question.”
“Oh my God, Chris – Chris, you have to come over! India’s been worried sick!”
“Ok, I’ll get over as soon as possible. You still live at the same place?”
“No, we moved. Where are you?”
“I’m at my house.”
“Ok, I’m at 2600 Osmont Boulevard.”
“I don’t have a car and that’s kind of far to walk.”
“Ok, I’ll pick you up. I’ll be there in about fifteen, twenty minutes. God, Chris, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again.”
“I think I do. See you soon.”
“Ok, bye.”
There was a click on the other side of the line and Chris hung up. He sat on his porch bench and tried to remember the last month, but the last thing he could recall was driving down a lonely highway with no particular destination in mind. His thoughts were still a confused jumble, his mind full of senseless noise. Suddenly the noise ceased and he saw the men in his mind, as he had all morning. He was looking – No, not that!
Chris cut off that memory and leaned back in his chair. I’m not reliving that night. I did what I had to do and if I get sucked into that quagmire, I might not come out again. It’s best to avoid it completely.
He leaned back. So, what shall I do until Ian arrives? I wonder if my book still upstairs where I left it?
He entered the house, found his book, The Ethical Assassin and began to read.
______________________
India paced in Ian’s kitchen. Ian had left five minutes ago, telling her that Chris was back. She didn’t know had she felt about that.
Yes, she had been extremely worried about the fact that Chris had been missing, but that was more because she didn’t want him to tell anyone about the bodies. She knew that he wouldn’t tell anyone on his own, but he might have been kidnapped and tortured until he told his kidnappers the location of the bodies. She still didn’t know what those thugs were doing in her house that night or why they were there. They could have been sent by the mob for all she knew. And with Chris being the only person who knew the exact location of the bodies, his disappearance had greatly worried her.
Chris walked into the kitchen, followed by an excited Ian. He looked around and saw her. He was wearing the same clothes as the last time she saw him. It could just be a coincidence. He had no new scars or other lacerations that were immediately visible. Those mafia goons could know methods of torture that don’t leave marks. She ran her eyes up and down his body. He looked exactly like he had when she saw him last. Huh. Maybe the Mafia didn’t get him and I’m just being paranoid. She sighed, inhaled, and nearly retched.
“What the hell!”
Chris and Ian laughed and Chris walked up to her and embraced her. She smiled up at him and
tried not to show her displeasure at the awful, disgusting dead dog smell that clung to his clothes.
“I wondered how long it would take you to notice,” Chris whispered into her ear, holding her closely.
She looked into his light brown eyes that were flecked with gold and black, those eyes she had always admired.
“So, what’s up?” They parted and she eyed him again.
“Not much. I moved.”
He blinked.
“But the real question is,” she continued, noting the blink, “is where have you been?”
“Oh, here and there,” he answered evasively, looking into her eyes and trying to convey to her the message that he knew she had been worried and he had even less of an idea where he had been than she did. He saw the light of comprehension in her eyes and knew she understood.
“Where is ‘here and there?’” she asked, wondering why Chris was blinking so rapidly and moving his eyes in such odd patterns. Then she understood. I was right! It is the Mafia! They did something to his eyes and he’s trying to tell me without alarming Ian! We should get him to a hospital!
As if at a signal, they both turned and looked at Ian, who was staring out the window, trying very hard to appear as if he wasn’t interested in their conversation, but failing miserably. For one thing, he was practically standing between the two of them. He noticed the lull in the discussion almost immediately, but to keep up his pretense waited several long, silent, awkward minutes until he finally turned and noticed he was the subject of their attention.
“Oh, am I in the way?” he asked innocently. “I’m sorry; I’ll leave you two alone. I’m sure you have some catching up to do, so, I’ll see you later.” He left the room, cursing at his obvious eavesdropping.
They waited a few more painful seconds until it was clear that Ian was truly gone until they resumed the conversation. This time there was no talking around the issues.
“So, where were you?” India asked bluntly.
“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” Chris replied, the hint of a grin on his face.
“With your sense of direction, I might,” India retorted. “But seriously, where were you? You were gone for a whole month. No warning, no ‘Oh, by the way, I’m going to Bangladesh to visit my sister.’ No, you just vanished.”
“Well, why should I tell you? We’re exes. You broke up with me. There’s no reason I should tell you.”
India turned from him and checked to see if Ian was really gone. “Well,” she said, finally convinced that their mutual friend had left, “there’s the little matter of three dead bodies in my basement!”
Chris laughed. “Oh my God, when you say it like that, it sounds like a bad horror movie plot. But what about the bodies? They’re dead; they can’t hurt you anymore.” A shadow crossed his face as he spoke and he was glad she couldn’t see him.
She turned to face him and he quickly composed his features. “Well, those three might not be able to, but maybe they have some friends who might. Chris, please, be serious for the first time in your life! There are dead people in my basement! I was out of my mind with worry that you had been kidnapped by the mob and you were being tortured!” She checked the window again. “And here you are, acting like it’s all a big joke!”
He grabbed her shoulder. “Look, I understand how serious it is, but you know me.” She shook him off and walked away from him. He followed her. “You used to complain how I never take anything seriously, and this is no different. I haven’t changed. I’m still the same person!”
She turned and faced him. “Chris, this isn’t a game! I know you’re the same person, and I’m glad of that, but you need to grow up! There are some people out there who might want to fucking kill us!”
“Why are you so worried?” he shouted at her, veins popping out on his neck. “Nothing has happened in a month, or you would have mentioned it! If it takes the mob or the Mafia, or the gangs, or whoever the hell you think is after us this goddamned long to get us, then they probably don’t deserve the reputation that they’ve been given!”
“Well, actually,” said a familiar voice from the doorway, “the only reason that it’s taken this long is because you two haven’t been in the same place since the night of the murder.” India and Chris turned to the voice.
“But, since I have you now,” Robb said, a gun at Ian’s head, “I think that we rather deserve this reputation. So, it would be best if you just came quietly. Unless, of course, you’d like your friend’s brains splattered all over the floor, in front of his wife and children.” Robb moved over to a closet and kicked it open. Inside, Robb’s wife, Miranda, and his two daughters were lying on the floor, tied and gagged with duct tape and rope. The girls’ eyes were watering as they saw their father on his knees with a stranger holding a gun to his head. They had seen enough movies to know what would happen if he pulled the trigger.
India and Chris both froze. Neither of them knew how to react. Chris stared at the gun, the cold, black harbinger of death that Robb was holding. It was the same type of pistol that he had used that night. Abruptly, the memories came charging back, threatening to overwhelm him, to take him back to the most horrible night of his life. He held his ground, gritting his teeth as he tried to fight the psychological onslaught.
India recovered first. “So, Robb,” she said, sauntering over to her erstwhile friend, “who were those goons working for?”
“Stop right there,” he said, moving as if to aim the pistol at her. Then he paused and reconsidered. “Listen to me,” he said in a voice that demanded obedience. “I have three friends outside who have a little device. It’s called a remote control. This house is wired with enough dynamite to destroy an entire apartment building, so I don’t think a house in the suburbs will withstand the blast. If any of you make a move to attack me, they see it and they press the button. So keep your distance, unless you have a suicide wish.”
India froze for a minute, and then spoke again. “How do we know you’re just not bluffing?” she asked, slowly strolling nearer.
Robb pointed the gun at India's foot and pulled the trigger.
India’s foot exploded in a shower of blood.
She screamed and fell over onto the floor, right in front of an oblivious Chris, who had fallen to the floor and was kneeling there, moaning, apparently unaware that he was covered in blood and India had just been shot.
Robb eyed them both for a minute. He seemed to be wrestling with a problem. Then, he unexpectedly shot Ian and walked over to India. As Ian’s dead body fell to the now blood-stained linoleum and Ian’s bound family silently screamed in the closet, unable to make the sounds that would express their grief, Robb crouched so that he was right next to her and only she could hear his words. “Ok, so I was bluffing. But does it really matter? I have a gun, bitch."
He pulled away for a moment to look around the room. Ian's family glared at him, the daughters conveying an immense hatred through the veil of tears that covered their eyes. Chris was moaning on the ground, seemingly wrapped in his own personal hell. Robb kneeled back down and spoke to India again. "It would be so easy to take you right now,” he muttered, his lips right next her ear. “I’ve had a crush on you since the tenth grade. Did Chris ever tell you that? Of course he didn’t, he was too busy FUCKING you! You and all of those over goddamned fucking asshole cheerleader whores!”
He bent closer to her and his mustache brushed her ear. “But you know what? I don’t care. I have you now. You’re in my power and I can do anything I want to you.” He unzipped his pants. “So, let’s start with basic sex, and then we can move on to cock sucking. Bitch.”
He had just taken his penis out when Chris sprang up and punched him in the testicles. Robb’s face turned red, then green, and his mouth opened in a soundless cry of pain. Chris hit him again, and again, then began to pummel him in the testicles, aiming for the same spot, time after time, until those precious, sensitive spheres were nothing more than mush.
Robb looked up, just barely maintaining consciousness. He tried to say something, his mouth moving soundlessly as he tried to fight past the wave of unconsciousness that was quickly and obviously overwhelming him, as evidenced by the contortions of immense pain that covered his face and wracked his entire body, until he passed out.
Chris glared at the semi-comatose body of his once-best friend. He gave Robb’s genitals another kick, out of spite. “Asshole. You don’t mess with my friends, no matter who you are.”
He stood up, as if he was in pain, and turned to India. She was lying on the ground still, her foot bleeding copiously. He unsteadily walked towards her, then ran to the phone and called the police and an ambulance. He sat down in a chair, wearied at his exertions and his emotions.
A thud caught his attention and looked to the closet. Inside were Ian’s wife and daughters. “Oh, shit! I almost forgot about you guys!” he cried, astonished at his mistake. He ran to the kitchen drawers and began to rummage for scissors. There were none to be had in the first drawer he searched, so he moved on.
Several drawers later, he had still not found scissors. He opened the cabinets. “Hold on, I’ll get you out of there,” he shouted, and a sarcastic thump sounded from the closet.
Sirens neared the house as he was freeing Miranda from the bindings. Both uniformed police officers and plainclothes cops burst into the house, with shouts of “You’re under arrest!” and “You have the right to remain silent!” They gathered around the fallen Robb, who was quickly handcuffed and loaded into the back of a patrol car. Paramedics entered the house soon after the officers’ dramatic entry and began attending to all members of the household. They flocked around India and after a few tense moments of confused squawking, determined that she had lost a great deal of blood and gently placed her upon a gurney and flew off to a hospital.
Chris, Miranda and the girls were taken to a different hospital where they were examined, declared to have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, provided with some pills to take and discharged.
Ahhh, the reassuring efficiency of uniformed public employees. Does it get any better? Chris thought, as he wandered through a park near his house. It was a few hours after Ian had been killed and Chris had beaten Robb senseless. The doctors had told him that he could visit India tomorrow, so here he was, wiling away the hours by walking in the park.
Well, I’m sure she’ll be fine, he thought, as he walked home. He took off his shirt and pants and collapsed into bed.
. The thing looked sh*tty as hell. And I bet it cost eighteen f*cking million dollars). They say they're unbiased and all that crap, but they're just burning money.
