by Brandon Enns
The man raised his hands up in the air as if to gesture that he meant no harm. Derek was still skeptical of the stranger that had wandered into his farmyard that late at night. He turned the music off.
The man spoke. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
"Shit, man. Let me catch my breath." Derek hoped he was
able to get rid of him before his date showed up.
The relationship was almost brand new. He loved the way she looked at him nervously when they were in close on the couch. There was a nervous sexual energy between them, and he could hardly wait to seal the deal.
"I sincerely apologize," the goateed man said.
Sincerely. Who talks like that? "No problem. What brings you out here?"
"Just passing through. I need a boost. Battery died."
"Yeah, yeah I can do that."
He fetched his booster cables from the truck and followed the man outside of his shop. "All right, you in walking distance?"
"Yeah, two minutes, just out on the road here."
The man waited for Derek to take the lead, which he didn't want to do but did anyway. He had a strange feeling. Derek's mind raced as he played out several dangerous scenarios in his head, all of which ended with him winning the fight between the two. They had had trouble in the past with young kids, drinking and looking for things to steal. Some of their country neighbors had been hit only a week earlier.
Derek was confident in his fighting abilities. If he could take down the Stanley brothers in a fight, he could handle this one. "You look familiar."
"I get that a lot, actually."
I bet you do. "So what brings you down this road?"
"Oh, just visiting some family."
"Nearby?"
"Yeah, I think it's ten miles south, six east. Been a while."
What's going on?
"Oh, what's your relation to the Browns?" Derek asked.
"Cousins."
Derek wanted to stop dead in his tracks, but he kept moving forward, an awful feeling brewing.
There were no Browns. This man is lying.
Maybe it was the way in which he spoke, or perhaps it was the lies, but it no longer felt like a robbery. Derek picked up his pace with a few quick strides so that he could turn to face him with some separation. When Derek turned to confront, it was too late. A baseball bat swung at him, connecting with his shoulder.
Eli hovered over Derek Reider.
He cocked the bat back one more time to finish him, but Derek moved and the bat cracked into the icy ground splitting it in half, close to the base. Eli was left with the shorter splintered half. It was now a level playing field between the two.
Derek charged at him, tackling Eli to the hard ground. Eli absorbed two well-placed punches in the face. His head was ringing. He hadn't been struck like that since prison. This Derek Reider should have been no match for him, but he was feisty and strong.
Eli rolled him over, gaining control. He grabbed the sharp broken bat and tried to stab Derek in the stomach but was blocked by his hands. Derek held tightly, trying desperately to keep the sharp maple from stabbing into his midsection. Eli continued to apply the pressure as the sharpest point finally penetrated. Derek grimaced and with one twisting motion, he rolled Eli's hands to the right, removing the bat from his
hands.
Impressive. Very impressive.
Derek booted Eli off of him and tried to get to his feet but was unsuccessful as he remained in a hunched-over position. "Shit," Derek cursed at his injury, cringing from the pain.
You've hurt him badly. Eli shivered and giggled quietly.
While Derek was still trying to gather himself into a fighting stance, Eli kicked him in the ribs, sending him back down to the ground. He spat up blood into the fluffy white snow, and Eli's first thought was how beautiful it was.
As he approached with the broken bat in hand, he heard the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway. Derek staggered toward the end of the shed, attempting to expose himself out in the open for help. Eli took three hard strides and tackled him into the side of the shop, landing on his back. He punched him in the midsection twice while mounting him, but he turned and pulled Eli in for a headbutt. Eli's ears rung from the dense crack of his skull, his brain pulsing. Blood funneled down into the back of his throat, and he smiled. The farm kid had more grit than any prison inmate.
Derek shouted, "What do you want?!"
"This has to happen."
"What has to happen? Who are you?"
Before Eli was able to answer, the slam of the girl's truck door sounded, and Derek turned, clearly debating whether he should call out or not.
"I won't kill her. I'd rather not, actually. Well, I would enjoy it, but I won't."
"Don't you fucking touch her."
"As I said. Just don't call her over here please."
"Just get the hell off my farm. I don't know you, I'll never see you again. Cops won't we bothered with this anyway."
Eli was disappointed. "I thought you were better than to plead. I don't like negotiations."
"Fuck you. I'm not pleading for nothing."
"Toeing the line between pride and life, I see."
Derek spat blood at Eli's feet, leaving another marking in the bright snow. It was a work of art with its obscurity.
"Leave. Now."
"I wish you didn't have to take it so personally. Don't think of it as the work of my hands."
"You're insane."
"No. I'm the only one thinking clearly in this world."
Derek glanced toward the shop. It was so obvious. "You have a shotgun in there I'm assuming," said Eli.
Derek popped up, but Eli was all over him, smothering him to the ground again. Derek tried to yell for help, but Eli quickly covered his mouth. Derek bit him hard, forcing Eli to switch methods as he began choking him in a headlock. Eli reached for the fragmented baseball bat that he had dropped as Derek squirmed. He snatched the bat and jabbed it through the center of Derek's back. Eli held the bat firmly inside until swiftly adjusting it to the side, squishing and tearing.
Derek groaned and twitched. Eli kept his hand over his mouth and soon felt warm blood as Derek made gurgled choking sounds. Thankfully, it was drawn out.
After a minute of spasms and gagging, Derek faded over to death's side, and Eli let him drop to the ground, falling on top of him in the process. Still looking up toward the house, watching the girlfriend let herself in cautiously, Eli shuddered
and exhaled.
You fought well.
Eli flipped the body over and admired the pool of blood forming in the snow. The shade was darker than he had hoped.
He was exhausted. Pulling his prized win to his Buick LeSabre took great endurance. Eli was already gassed from the fight. His arms burned and so did his legs. Finally, he arrived at the trunk of his car and popped it open, the inside carpet lined with a large plastic bag. He heaved the body in and tucked the plastic around him neatly, wrapping him like a Christmas present. He stopped for one moment. "I can't wait to get you home," he murmured to himself.
Driving down the highway, smoking a cigarette, and listening to Patsy Cline's “Walkin’ After Midnight,” Eli was one step closer. He didn't wish it to come too soon. He enjoyed the journey.
I must savor every moment.
***
Hoisting up Derek's bloodied body was no easy task. He was a burly farm boy. Very dense. Eli was covered in blood. Of course, he would clean himself thoroughly before entering the upper level of his home. He laughed at the idea of drinking his tea on his leather couch by the fireplace, covered in Derek Reider's blood. What a sight that would be.
He entered the elevator in the back and hit the B2 button. The first of his continued routine made him aware of the nostalgia that he would later feel, making this very moment nostalgic in itself. He rushed the body to the oven in the back as his legs and shoulders ached fiercely. He placed him on the steel table near the oven and started the fire insid
e.
Eli put in his headphones and started another Patsy track. He swayed around to the beat with his eyes closed.
When the track ended, he opened up the oven door and warmed his hands on the piping hot fire. He closed the door and turned his attention back to the body, grabbing hold of an electric razor. The sound of the hair being buzzed off was soothing. He wished he had someone there with him to shave the back of his neck. The metallic buzz along his skin was a wonderful tingling feeling, always better coming from someone else's hand than his own. He missed getting his hair cut for that reason. Perhaps he would grow his hair out and go to a hairdresser.
What a wonderful day.
6
Jennifer probably shouldn't have been driving. Those three pints were consumed in under an hour. She had been alone with nobody to talk to, hence the fast pace of drinking. She was careful though, ten and two, smack dab on the speed limit. She was halfway to her apartment in Stonebridge. A nice new building, the market flooded with condos and apartments making rent reasonable.
As she drove with buzzed care, her mind was on a one-way track. Baker.
She was sixteen years old when Tanner Pearson was murdered. The news flooded throughout Canada, the national tension leaking into her childhood home. Her father, one of seven Deputy Commissioners in the country, was wrapped up, to some degree, in the Pearson case leading up to trial. She just didn't know how heavily he was involved with the process. During that time there were two other high profile cases, one in Quebec, one in Ontario, both taking up considerable time from what she remembered. Just
before those big cases, her mother had fallen ill with terminal cancer. So, with time working against them, her dad was rarely home, going about his work, spending little time with her and her mother.
Jennifer recalled two things in particular. The look of her mother's ghostly white skin and loving eyes as Jennifer tried to convince her that the two of them should take a trip somewhere. Anywhere. New memories to create before she
was gone. Her mom would smile and caress Jennifer's face, staring into her eyes, proud. She would say through a weakened voice, "I've got everything I need right here." The heartfelt comment was sometimes shattered with, "I can't leave your father." That was a tough pill to swallow. She had wanted to scream. HE'S NEVER HOME! HAVE YOU SEEN HIS FACE? HE'S DOESN'T EVEN CARE! HE DOESN'T FEEL GUILTY!
He doesn't deserve us, Mom.
But she always saw right through Jennifer's unsettled mind. "Your father loves his country. I can't even begin to explain the way he is, dear. Just know that he does care." In the early stages of her cancer, that statement would have developed into a drawn out and hurtful fight, but later, Jennifer would just leave it be. She would lean in and kiss her mom on the cheek. "I know."
She didn't know.
Jennifer wondered if Brian had dealt directly with her father. During her stint in Saskatoon, Brian hadn't mentioned him, and she was far from eager to bring up daddy dearest.
Brian must not have been too happy with Baker's departure from prison because he had gotten it wrong. No cop ever wanted to be showed up like that, especially under a national spotlight.
He was edgy when she brought it up, and she needed to know more, the intrigue was just too high and her life too stale.
She arrived at home sweet home, entered her building, and walked down the brightly lit hallway. Jennifer fumbled with her keys at her apartment door before sliding it in. When the lock didn't click as the key turned, annoyance formed, then
splintered into guilt. Her girlfriend Jacey had let herself in and was planning on staying over for the night.
It was no secret that Jacey was wanting more of a commitment. Giving her a key was supposed to fix that. She didn't anticipate her actually using the key. And now, at the end of a long day of tedious paperwork, she just wanted to put her feet up and drink three more beers in the bath. No words, no fake smile.
She exhaled her negativity and entered through her door to find Jacey on the couch with a reserved smile. She looked weary of Jennifer's moodiness.
Jacey was curled up on the far end of the couch with a glass of wine in her hand. She occupied little space. Cute and sexy wrapped up in one.
Jacey's smile faded, staring down at her glass of wine.
Jennifer started. "Hey."
Jacey glanced at the bottle of wine on the coffee table. "It's already cracked. I need your help."
"I didn't know you were coming over."
Jennifer placed her blazer on the edge of the couch and stepped into the kitchen to get a beer.
"Is that okay?" Jacey asked with only a hint of offense.
Jennifer walked back into the living room. "Yeah, of course. I just won't be up much longer, that's all."
"Long day?"
"You could say that."
"Brian?"
"Brian."
"Come sit with me."
Jennifer flopped down beside her. "Turn around," said Jacey.
Jennifer rotated on the edge of the couch, and Jacey gave her a shoulder rub. Her small hands were strong, smoothing out painful knots, alleviating some pressure that had concentrated in the middle of her forehead. Jennifer was always susceptible to headaches.
"I'm sorry I invited myself over. I shouldn't have done that."
"No Jace, it's okay. I just..." As Jennifer searched for an excuse, Jacey wrapped her arms around her neck and hugged tightly.
"It's okay, really." She continued to rub Jennifer's shoulders softly, and goosebumps set in everywhere. Jacey kissed the side of her face and neck slowly. Jennifer's nipples hardened, feeling Jacey's breath against her neck.
"You smell like booze."
"Yeah." Jennifer had mixed in a whiskey with her pints.
"You get hit on again?"
Jennifer slapped her hand playfully. She did though. She often got hit on, especially when she was in her boring formal blazer and dress pants. It was odd. The conversations never lasted long, as she would inform them that she had a boyfriend. The thought of a penis...scary stuff.
"Not this time, Jace."
"Yeah right...I left supper for you in the fridge."
Not wanting her tingling sensation to fall to casual small talk, Jennifer turned and kissed Jacey. The kiss was a long one. Jacey pulled back for a moment. "What's wrong with me? The whiskey turns me on every time."
They kissed again, Jacey's lips tasting of cherry balm. Jennifer bit down softly. Jacey hummed quietly and Jennifer picked her up off the couch, with her legs wrapped around
her waist, and carried Jacey off to the bedroom.
***
They lay naked in bed. Jennifer felt the need to be alone. To sleep alone.
Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. She answered with a whisper, trying not to wake Jacey. "Hello? Okay, I'm on my way." A murder. Not on the west side. Out of town.
Jacey stirred but remained asleep. Jennifer sneaked out of bed and snatched her clothes off the floor.
***
Eli drove down a dirt road leaving his beautiful house behind in the rearview mirror. Up ahead, the road was blocked due to construction. It was split open wide because they were installing new culverts. He turned right and traveled a short distance before getting to the highway leading to Saskatoon.
There was no Patsy Cline on today. She was saved for special occasions. Eli enjoyed his silence, being left to analyze just about anything he wanted. But his mind traveled to his next killing. He didn't like using the word killing though. Stabilizing was more fitting.
This is too soon. Far too soon.
His plan was to space them out, but it felt like a pin had busted loose, and he was now a hungry animal, free to roam. Like a pestered lion that finally woke up to kill in bunches, ripping everything to fucking shreds; he could feel it, burrowed in his mind. He tried to think about politics, religion, behavioral sciences, ANYTHING, but it was impossible to stay focused for longer than thirty seconds. His default setting was blood.
; He passed an RCMP SUV, watching it drive on by in his
mirror.
Eli navigated into the north end of the city, entering an industrial area. He pulled into a parking lot of Walowski's Welding, his place of work. He had his own key to get in and was hoping that he would have privacy, it being a Saturday. Thankfully, it was just him. He put on his overalls and got to work on next week’s projects. Hopefully working would take his mind off of the thudding baseball bat against bone.
Just as he had started to weld, he heard someone enter the building and could feel them approach from behind. Dennis Walowski, his boss, was a behemoth of a man, probably weighing in at about three hundred and fifty and sporting a thick beard. He was intimidating in stature, but he treated his employees rather generously, especially Eli.
Eli lifted his welding mask to greet Dennis.
"What the hell you doing here, kid?"
"I'm completing the work on George's trailer."
"Shop is closed today, bud."
"Yes, but I know we are full next week. I'd prefer to get this out of the way so you don't have to turn away any billables."
"Do I pay you enough?" he asked with a smile.
"My wage is above the other shops. Ten percent, in fact." Based on Dennis's fading smirk, Eli realized he was being too literal.
"I suppose wage isn't a huge concern for you."
"No. I suppose it really isn't for either of us," Eli replied.
Dennis bent over and grunted while picking up an old grease rag. "Yes, well. Without work, I'd go insane. So here I am."
