by Steve Frech
The Reverend’s analogy hits me like a ton of bricks. My eyes fall to the back of the pew in front of me. I squirm in my seat. I’m thinking about my costume for tonight. For weeks, it’s been sitting in a closet. The words tumble through my mind. It brings destruction to itself and all those around it. It is in his nature.
“Moving on,” the Reverend says.
I’m barely listening.
The distance to the front of the chapel has suddenly expanded into miles.
“Frankenstein,” Reverend Williams says. “This one is different because we’re not going to talk about the monster. We’re going to talk about his creator, Doctor Victor Frankenstein.”
It brings destruction to itself and all those around it.
I can’t get those words out of my head.
“Now, I mentioned Dr Frankenstein’s monster before, but I want to focus on Dr Frankenstein, himself. Dr Frankenstein created his monster by giving it life, and we know that there is only one being who bestows life, and that is the Lord. So, who can tell me what sin Dr Frankenstein personifies?”
“Pride?”
“Yes! Pride. Well done, Mr Hampton.”
It brings destruction to itself, and all those around it.
“Mary Shelley’s original title for Frankenstein was Modern Prometheus and Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to humans. Dr Frankenstein is pride, and if he had been real, God wouldn’t have sent a lightning bolt to reanimate that dead body. God would have said—”
—We need to talk.
I leaned back in the chair on the back porch of my apartment, read the text message again, and shook my head. I hadn’t seen Laura since our argument on the quad, and that was over a month ago. Since then, I hadn’t tried to talk to her, either. I had way too much on my mind, and just assumed our relationship was over.
I was trying to figure out how exactly I was going to get out of the whole business with Reggie. He had agreed to my conditions and I stuck to fraternity house pickups and other public places where I could be relatively sure that no one would pull a gun on me, but I was done with the whole thing. I still owed a lot on my debt, but I didn’t care. Maybe after it was over, I would try to salvage the relationship with Laura, if we even had one. I assumed that she wanted to talk about it. I wasn’t going to answer it. I couldn’t answer it, that night. I was waiting on another message.
I got up and went back inside. As I was reaching to lock the back door, another message came through, this time on my “business phone”.
552 FYXPIV V 3 4B
This was the message I was waiting for.
I had gotten word to Reggie that I wanted to talk, and he had just given me the time and meeting place. I had decided that this was going to be the night I told Reggie I was out.
I went to the kitchen and got out a scratch pad from the junk drawer. I wrote the original message, and then scribbled underneath.
It was a simple shift code. When I first started working for Reggie, he had no problem texting me the addresses of places he wanted me to go, or the names of people he wanted me to do business with. I told him it might be wise to try hiding that information just a teeny bit, in case the cops ever wanted to match us to people and places. Reggie thought I was being overly cautious, but I told him that there was no such thing as overly cautious when it came to stuff like this. He laughed and finally agreed.
Shift codes are easy. You take each letter or number and shift it a certain number of places to decode it. The key is to make it a different number of places for each message. For instance, in the text I had just received, the last number was the “key”. The 4B meant I needed to move each character back four places. The 5s became 1s. The 2 was an 8, because you included 0 as a digit. F became B, Y became U, and so on. I decoded the message on the scratch pad. It read “118 Butler R.” I had the address—118 Butler Road. The 3 became a 9, which meant nine o’clock. Our meeting was set. I checked the directions online. It was a bit of a drive, and I would need to leave in the next ten minutes if I wanted to make it. My regular phone rang. It was Laura. I silenced it, set the phone on the kitchen table, and went about my preparations to leave.
Since the whole affair at Lyndon, I had started taking way more precautions in case the cops ever came to question me and I had to try to prove I was home, instead of somewhere I shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t foolproof, but it would provide enough doubt to whomever was asking. The first thing I did was leave my personal phone at my apartment. I had heard that the police could use cell phone towers to track the location of your phone by finding out which towers had been used to relay messages to your phone. Next, I turned on my television and cable box. I clicked through the pay-per-view options, and found a movie that had just been released that I had already seen. I selected the ‘rent’ option, and a window popped up on the screen. “Would you like to start this movie now?” I hit ‘yes’, and the opening credits began to play. I went to the fridge, took out six bottles from a twelve pack I hadn’t touched for just such an occasion, popped the tops, and poured them down the sink. All of this may sound like overkill, but as I explained to Reggie, there’s no such thing as overkill when you’re covering your ass.
I did a last look, headed out to the car, and drove off into the night.
I cranked up the stereo to heighten my adrenaline and resolve. “This is it,” I kept repeating in an attempt to psych myself up. I didn’t know what Reggie would say. What could he say? I just kept repeating “this is it” over and over.
I was feeling good until I noticed that I was closing in on the address, but I was still in the middle of the woods. I flicked on my high beams, which only revealed more trees and empty road. I worried that I had passed my destination in the dark, but I finally spotted a light up ahead, through the trees. I turned off the road and into a gravel parking lot. The light was a single lamp centered in the parking lot of a massive, rusted warehouse. The walls were littered with graffiti. There wasn’t a single window intact that I could see, but I could only see the bottom floor. The rest of the building reached up into the darkened sky. On the right side of the building was a large set of bay doors that had been wrenched open a couple of feet.
I got out and scanned the parking lot. Reggie’s Challenger was parked by the side of the building, nearly hidden in the shadows. There were three other lampposts around the parking lot, but the bulbs of two had been busted out, and the light on the third had been ripped off. It stood there like a decapitated body.
I walked over to Reggie’s car, hoping he would be waiting there, and I wouldn’t have to go inside, but it was empty. I made my way over to the bay doors, the gravel crunching under my feet, and stood at the opening.
“Reggie?” I called out.
My voice echoed from inside, but there was no response.
I cautiously stepped through the opening. In a moment of absurdity, I worried about the tetanus I might get if I scratched myself on the door. Once inside, I stopped to allow my eyes to adjust. The light from the parking lot filtered through the opening, and the broken windows overhead.
After a few seconds, the warehouse came into focus.
In front of me was a vast, open space, with piles of rotting wood pallets stacked up to eye level, littering the floor. There was other debris about the floor—newspapers, discarded food containers, garbage, and a few shopping carts—I had no idea how they came to be there. To the left was a darkened hallway. There was also half of a stairway leading to an office that overlooked the entire floor. The top half of the stairs had collapsed and twisted into a replica of a broken spine.
I took a few more steps inside. “Reggie?”
My echo ricocheted around the warehouse, but there was still no answer.
My blood ran cold. I had built up my own resolve so much that I had been blind to the danger I had so casually just walked into. I pivoted to leave, my heels grinding into the grit on the floor.
A silhouette was standing in the opening of the bay d
oors, blocking my exit.
“’Sup, Jake?”
“Goddammit, Reggie!” I gasped, pulling in gulps of air. “What the hell are you trying to do, give me a heart attack? Why didn’t you answer when I was calling for you?”
He ignored the question, and glanced over his shoulder towards the opening.
“I wish you would have parked your car next to mine,” he said in that lazy drawl that carried so much menace.
“You want me to move my car? I can move my car.”
“Nah. This won’t take long.” His hand emerged from his coat pocket. The faint light glinted off the barrel of the massive gun in his hand as he pointed it at me. He flicked the barrel towards the darkened hallway. “Start walking.”
“Reggie, what th—?”
“Walk.”
“Listen, Reggie, I don’t—”
He extended the gun in my direction. “Last time … walk.”
I put my hands up. “Okay. Okay.”
I started walking towards the hallway.
“You don’t gotta hold your hands up. I know you don’t carry, but right about now, don’t you wish you did?” He chuckled.
I stayed quiet.
As we navigated through the warehouse to the hallway, my mind raced. I could try to run, but where? Also, I had my back to him. I couldn’t tell when would be the best chance to make a break for it. I was so mentally paralyzed that I continued walking into the hall. My eyes had already grown accustomed to the low light, and I could see that there were three offices on each side. All of them were missing doors.
“To your right,” Reggie said as we approached the second door.
I turned, and entered.
It was a medium-sized office with a handful of decrepit desks. In one corner was a scattering of syringes and a spent condom.
“Stop,” he said, once I had reached the center of the room.
I obliged.
“Turn around, slowly.”
I did.
His figure filled the doorway. The gun was still trained on me.
“Have a seat,” he said, nodding to a decimated office chair.
“I’d rather stand.”
“I’m not asking you.”
“Look at that thing. It’s not going to hold me.”
Even in the darkness, I could see the anger flash in his eyes. He advanced closer.
“Sit the fuck down.”
“If you’re going to shoot me, what the fuck do you care?” I snapped.
It was a calculated risk. I had regained some of my wits, and survival mode was kicking in. If he was going to shoot me, he would have done it already. That meant that he wanted something from me, which meant I still had time. If I was going to try anything, I had to stay on my feet.
Reggie extended the gun towards my face. The end of the barrel was so close, I couldn’t focus on it. I thought about making a grab for it, but Reggie was tense. One move from me, all he had to do was flex his finger, and it would be over.
We had a brief standoff, and the anger in his eyes waned.
“Yeah, whatever. You’re right. Stand if you want.”
“Thanks.”
We both took a breath.
He grinned, and relaxed the gun back to his side, but kept it pointed at me.
“You hear about Lyndon?” he asked.
“Yeah. I saw it on the news.”
“That shit went sideways, man. When we left, I thought we had them all wiped out.”
“You did. The news said that everyone was dead.”
He shook his head. “Nah, man. Turns out one was still breathing. Cops got him. He died later at the hospital. It was your boy, Mattie.”
Right away, I knew what he was thinking, but I had to keep him talking.
“So, what? He’s dead. Problem solved.”
“Ain’t that simple, man. See, it went sideways because they were ready for us. Like someone told them we was coming. And now, I’m worried that before he died, your boy might have talked. He could tell the cops about you, and that could lead to me. You see my problem here?”
“Reggie, he didn’t know shit and now, he’s dead. He was probably in a coma when the cops found him. He couldn’t say a thing.”
“Maybe. Maybe … but put yourself in my position. I can’t really afford to take that chance, can I? I mean, you said it—no such thing as being too careful when you’re covering your ass.”
“What? You’re going to kill me, just to be sure? You’re only going to make it worse for yourself. Someone will come along and find my body out here, and that will definitely lead the cops back to you.”
“No one’s gonna find you. I’ve been stashing out here for years. No one knows about this place until I tell them to meet me here. And they never leave.”
‘Stashing’ was slang for the hiding of dead bodies. I was screwed and knew it, but he still needed something from me, and I was holding out for any chance to act.
“So, why haven’t you killed me?” I asked.
“I need to know—did you tell anyone about what happened in Lyndon? Tell me the truth, and I’ll make this painless. If I think you’re lying …” He shrugged.
“Of course, I did,” I said, seizing on the opportunity to buy more time.
He cocked his head, and steadied the gun.
“You don’t think I covered my own ass? I’ve got it all ready to go,” I said. “I set it up the day after I found out about Lyndon. I have a contact, and if I don’t check in every forty-eight hours, they go to the police. And guess what? Tomorrow morning is forty-eight hours.”
He stared at me with his mouth open. I caught a glimpse of the gold tooth in his upper incisor. For a second, I thought I had him. Then, he laughed.
“Nah, man. Nah. You smart, but you ain’t that smart.” He shook his head in admiration. “You seriously just come up with that shit on the spot?”
I tried to exude confidence, like I was daring him to call my bluff, but I couldn’t hold it. I was terrified and he could sense it.
“I’m impressed,” he said, but then extended the gun, aiming it right at my face, and cocked the hammer, “but too bad.”
“Jacob?” a woman’s voice called out from somewhere back in the warehouse.
Reggie blinked, and instinctively glanced back towards the door.
Now.
I was just as confused as Reggie, but for the past few minutes, I had been a coiled spring, waiting to burst.
In a flash of movement, I wound up, and threw my whole body into a punch that was leveled at Reggie’s jaw. My fist slammed into the side of his chin. I could feel a bone in my hand give way.
The force of the impact caused Reggie to spin and stagger sideways. My follow-through momentum carried me towards the door. I briefly tangled with Reggie’s legs, and tumbled into the hallway. I scrambled to my feet as the gun roared behind me. The drywall next to my head chipped in a small burst of dust as the bullet buried itself in the wall. I found my footing and broke left, back towards the warehouse.
“Get back here, muthafucker!” Reggie screamed.
I reached the end of the hall just as Reggie emerged from the office. I was about to go right, towards the bay doors, when Reggie fired. The bullet tore into the stack of pallets in my path. I changed direction and went to the left as Reggie’s boots began to thunder down the hall towards me.
I wove through the stacks of pallets, trying to circle back towards the bay doors, while using the stacks for cover.
I could hear Reggie giving chase.
I turned a corner, and was about to make a mad dash for the doors when I froze.
Laura.
She was there, staring at me with a breathless expression of shock and surprise.
There was a sound behind me.
I turned.
Reggie emerged from behind the stack of pallets I had just rounded. He raised the gun.
I began to dive to my left, in between a stack of pallets and a rusty garbage drum.
The
gun kicked in Reggie’s hand. The muzzle flash illuminated his livid face. The sound ripped through the warehouse.
There was an incredible pain in my side, just above my hip. I slammed into the concrete floor, and rolled onto my back. I bumped into the debris that was sitting next to the garbage drum. Some pieces of brittle wood, short metal pipes, and rotting garbage fell around my head. My hands instantly flew to the pain in my side. I looked down and could see trickles of blood running through my fingers. I was so stunned, I didn’t make a sound.
The echo of the gunshot faded into silence.
Then, there was a soft choking sound.
“What the fuck?” Reggie whispered. I couldn’t see him because I was wedged between the pallets and the garbage can.
I could hear the shuffling of Reggie’s feet. A moment later, he slowly walked past the opening, seemingly forgetting about me.
The soft choking sounds continued.
I looked around and saw a short section of pipe lying on the ground next to my head. As quietly as I could, I pulled my hand away from my hip, and gripped the end of one of the pipes. I bit my lip to keep from crying out.
“… shit …” Reggie whispered.
I heard him turn, and there was the sound of his approaching boots. I put my head back down, and held my breath.
I kept my eyes open a fraction of an inch, and watched as Reggie returned to the opening. He looked down at me, and stepped closer. The gun was still in his hand. He crouched, and reached with his other hand to explore my wound.
I opened my eyes.
The top of his head offered a perfect target.
With everything I had, I lifted the short pipe from the ground and swung.
It connected with Reggie’s skull with a sickening, hollow crack. Reggie never made a sound. He was dead before his body collapsed on top of me. I pushed him off, and grabbed the gun from his hand. I wasn’t going to take any chances.
I sat up, groaning at the sharp ache in my side. I lifted my shirt. There was a clean entrance and exit wound, just barely inside my hip, above my pelvis. Any further out, it would have simply torn away the flesh. Any further in, and I would have been in a lot of trouble. I was bleeding, but I was okay. That’s when the realization finally hit me.
