by Mark Tullius
table. There was an antique candleholder next to a TV remote. Walt’s recog glasses registered them as a remote control and a weapon. Vince said, “What’s on your mind?”
“You know why I’m here.”
“No. But judging by the way you’re all uptight, I’m guessing someone’s pissed about me not showing up today. Either that or you want to admit to your affair with my wife.”
Laura, now standing in the hallway, let out a laugh, but Walt didn’t react. Vince looked like he was about to reach for the candlestick. Walt leveled the .45 with Vince’s face. “Don’t even think about it.”
Vince put up his hands. “Whoa, what are you doing?”
“You’re a goddamn traitor.”
“A traitor? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Humphrey’s office. I saw the footage. You blew it up. There were people in there, kids.”
“Man, you’ve lost your mind. You’re going to call me a traitor? In my house?” Vince headed for the hallway before the recog glasses could get a read on his vitals. Vince was walking toward the duffle bag.
Walt took aim at the back of his head. “Don’t make me do this. Don’t take another step.”
Vince stopped. Walt told him to back up, to stand next to Laura.
Laura said, “This isn’t funny, Walt.”
Walt waved her over with the pistol, kept his eyes on Vince. “Did you have this planned from the start? Did you use me to get inside the agency?”
Vince shook his head. “You know I’m not a traitor. You know this.”
“Then what’s in the bag?”
“I have a disc, okay? I read something I shouldn’t have, found out some things I couldn’t believe. Just let me show you.”
“Do not move.”
“I opened an in-house message. You can see it for yourself.”
“I don’t need to see anything. You’ll show it to them at the center.”
“You’re going to take me to the Retraining Center, huh? You know exactly what they do in there. Come on, man, this is me. I saved your life. I looked after your boys when you couldn’t even get out of bed after Carrie died.”
“Vince, I have to bring both of you in. I don’t have a choice.”
“Because it’s an order? Do you know who you’re even following? They’re killing people, Walt. For their money. They’re executing wealthy citizens and seizing their assets.”
Walt had heard the rumors. He just never thought it possible. The recog glasses said Vince was telling the truth. Still, Vince had training to survive interrogation and had to be lying. Walt ripped off the glasses.
“They’re setting me up, Walt. They are. Because I know too much.”
“Not another word. I’m not your judge. Now put out your hands.” Walt reached for his handcuffs.
“Come on, what about Loralei? Don’t do this.”
“The Director said he’d take care of her.”
Laura screamed, “No! You can’t do this. This is insane!”
He didn’t respond. “Walt, please,” Laura said. “Just look at me.”
Walt glanced at Laura. “What?”
“He’s not lying. I’ve seen the files. There are plans. It’s social engineering.”
Vince said, “Just let me show you.”
Vince started toward the bag. Walt’s finger tensed around the trigger. Laura lunged and grabbed Walt’s arm, the gun swiveling. Laura tried to rip it away. A shot fired. Laura’s eyes widened. She stumbled back against the wall, slowly slid to the floor, a trail of blood streaking down the yellow paint.
Walt looked down at his gun, his finger still over the trigger. It was if his hand belonged to someone else.
Vince fell onto his wife, her eyes staring straight through Walt.
The sound of brakes squeaking. A school bus pulled to the curb. Their kids would be coming out any second.
“Jesus,” Vince said.
“I’m sorry.”
Vince looked out at the bus. The door starting to open. “You have to kill me,” Vince said.
“What?”
“You can’t bring me in. They’ll torture Loralei to get what they want. And all I have is the disc. You have to kill me now.”
“No.”
Vince got to his feet, yanked Walt’s arm up, put the gun to his own chest. “Do it!”
The door to the school bus opened. Kids filed out.
“You have to protect her. You know what they’ll do if I’m alive.”
Walt did. They’d both be dead within the week.
“Please.”
Walt swallowed, squeezed off a round into Vince’s heart, watched him collapse onto his wife.
The screen door slammed shut as Walt walked into the yard. He cut off Loralei and Todd before they could see inside. “Come on, we have to go.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I’m a father and a husband, a brother and a son. I’m an Ivy League grad who worked in a warehouse, an MMA fighter with too many defeats. I’m the bouncer and bodyguard, the drunk guy in the fight. The jailer and the jailed, the guilty and innocent.
I’m a writer shaped by influences, too many to count. I grew up on King and Koontz while force-fed the Bible. I narrate Dr. Seuss and Disney nearly every night. Like you, I've seen things I wished I hadn’t, heard some truths I won’t forget.
Writing is my heavy bag, the sparring partner that doesn’t punch back. It’s where I shed my armor and cast off the blindfold, take a look at myself and the world around me. The writing takes me wherever it wants. Dark alley or dinner table, classroom or morgue. I go along for the ride and try to capture the moment, show life like it is.
COMING SOON
Woman with a Gun
A serialized graphic novel about a woman on the run, crossing the country to save her daughter from her psychopathic husband. The series is set to begin March 2014.
Unlocking the Cage
My nonfiction project scheduled for release in 2014. As a former fighter, I could never answer why I stepped in the cage. Through an extensive survey and interviews of hundreds of MMA fighters from across North America, I hope to answer who fighters are and what they have in common.
MMA Anthology
An anthology of short stories written by a selection of fighters I interviewed for Unlocking the Cage. I was inspired by the stories I heard and wanted to bring them to a larger audience, give you a peek into their lives.
OUT NOW
Brightside
Across the nation, telepaths are rounded up and sent to the beautiful mountain town of Brightside. They're told it's just like everywhere else, probably even nicer. As long as they follow the rules and don't ever think about leaving. Joe Nolan is one of the accused, a man who spent his life hearing things people left unsaid. And now he's paying for it on his hundredth day in Brightside, fighting to keep hold of his secret in a town where no thought is safe. You can download here.
25 Perfect Days
A totalitarian state doesn’t just happen overnight. It’s a slow, dangerous slide. 25 Perfect Days chronicles the path into a hellish future of food shortages, contaminated water, sweeping incarceration, an ultra-radical religion, and the extreme measures taken to reduce the population. Through these twenty-five interlinked stories, each written from a different character’s point of view, 25 Perfect Days captures the sacrifice, courage, and love needed to survive and eventually overcome this dystopian nightmare.
Try Not to Die: At Grandma’s House
It’s Grandma’s House – quiet, cozy, nestled on a little mountain in West Virginia. What could possibly go wrong? A lot, actually.
So watch your back. Choose wisely. One misstep will get you and your little sister killed.
To survive, you’ll battle creatures, beasts, and even your grandparents as you unravel the mystery of your older brother’s death in this interactive, graphic novel.
Repackaged Presents
Five short horror stories you should read with the lights on. Come join a soldi
er on the run in the jungle. A co-ed's late night at the computer lab. A doctor's visit to the insane asylum. A man's quest for the perfect photo. A family's unique Christmas ritual. You can download free here.
Every Precious Second
A free short story about an old man who tries to slow down time for his dying wife. You can download here.
Five Minutes Alone
August 19, 2036
How much damage could Michael really do in five minutes? It’s not like he was launching a nuclear attack or sitting behind the wheel of a semi, plowing into pedestrians. He just had to stand in a room. An 8x10 concrete cell. It’d be over in a blink. Conference calls at his office allotted more time for being on hold. There was nothing to worry about. If this meant closure, it was worth every second. That’s all Sarah wanted, after all, for the twins, for the family. They needed to move on.
Sarah’s voice came barreling up the stairs saying breakfast was ready. Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that, couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t awakened to her staring at the wall, lying there until the day was nearly done.
Michael threw off the covers. He smelled bacon and coffee. Bypassing his work suits, Michael slipped on a pair of jeans and a Polo and headed downstairs.
Sarah was behind the stove in an apron, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The way Michael remembered her. Looking like a mom.
“It smells great,” he said.
Sarah scooped sizzling strips onto a plate, blotted them with a paper towel to soak up the grease. “You talked to your boss, right?” Sarah set the plate onto the kitchen table.
“Yeah.”
“I just really don’t want anyone calling today.”
Michael took his seat and poured a
