by Steven Pajak
Brian started to move again when I tapped his shoulder with my left hand. Walking backward, SKS pointed at the street and shoulder sliding softly against the structure, I made my way toward the rear of the home. The one story ranch-style home backed up to a large pond flanked with tall witch grass and cattails that bent slightly against the cold breeze. The water looked like a pool of shadows. I don’t know why, but I suddenly wondered if those creatures could survive in the water. I started to imagine one of them lying in the pond, just below the surface, watching us as we stealthily moved across the wet grass.
Brian halted his movement, pulling me from my dangerous daydream. I took to a knee and looked around. A medium sized wood deck spread out behind the home. I stood as Brian signaled and we crossed the creaking planks to the patio doors. Long vertical blinds blocked our view of the interior. At the patio door, Brian leaned his M4 against the wall and removed his gloves. Stuffing them into his right jacket pocket, he reached into an interior pocket and pulled out a small black zippered case. Gingerly, he removed two of the thin metal tools. He knelt beside the door and using the tools, went to work.
His nose was red from the cold but he was completely oblivious of the November air. I could tell from each exhale of vapor that his breathing was steady. Brian was calm. Working quickly but quietly, he picked the flimsy lock of the patio door. Within seconds he finished his task. As I watched, he returned his tools to the zippered case, which disappeared into his pocket. He tugged his gloves back on and took up his carbine. Brian turned toward me and I gave him a thumb up to let him know we were still unnoticed. Nodding his head, he put his right hand on the handle and slid the patio door open with a harsh hush.
Fortunately for us, Comedian did not block the base of the patio doors with a bit of pipe or wedge, and within seconds we entered his home like thieves in the night. The living room or family room—I couldn’t tell which—spread out before us in a rather spacious open floor plan. The back of a dark leather sofa greeted us as we entered, just a few feet in front of the patio door. A large flat screen TV stared back at us with its blank face. Our footsteps betrayed us briefly as the rubber soles of our boots squeaked against the wood floors. We both paused and crouched instinctively. Brian looked at me with wide eyes and then faced the direction of the hallway we’d been heading toward, expecting Comedian to emerge in his pajamas, wondering about the strange sounds.
A few moments of intense silence passed as we waited to be discovered. Setting my SKS against the sofa, I began to untie my boots. Without hesitation, Brian followed suit. In seconds we stood in our stocking feet and grabbed up our weapons. With my left hand I indicated our path to the right and together we moved further into the home.
We crossed through the open living room, passed the galley kitchen, and continued through the combination dining room to the short corridor to our right. There were three doors along this twelve foot hall. We stopped at the first on the right; it opened into a full bathroom. Brian closed the door softly and moved to the next door on the right. It stood open halfway and nothing but darkness greeted us through the void. Using the barrel of his carbine, Brian nudged it open and took a step inside. He used the flashlight mounted to his gun and thumbed a quick flare of light into the room. The bedroom was empty.
Leaving the door open behind, we moved on, stopping behind the closed door on our left. Brian stood to the left of the frame and I moved to the right. We pressed our backs to the wall and gave ourselves a moment to get our breathing under control. Brian gripped the doorknob with his left hand and his eyes locked on mine. We stood that way, eyes locked, for a long moment.
Although this was his mission, I knew that he was awaiting my approval. We both knew that what we were about to do would not only impact us, but also the entire community. We were just seconds away from crossing a line over which we could not step back once our action was complete.
With fear gnawing at my belly, I nodded my head.
After the slightest pause, Brian turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. Stepping into the room, we slowly traversed the cold floor toward the bed, our stockinged feet just whispers against the teak wood. Beneath a single sheet, Comedian lay on his back. His dirty stubble played tricks on my eyes, deforming his lower jaw in the dark room, giving him a haunted scarecrow look. For a moment, I thought he was one of those things…that he had turned. A slight movement of shadows from outside the window changed his face and it was just Comedian again.
Brian and I watched him sleep for a moment. The man’s lips trembled as he exhaled. I could smell the liquor on his breath. His eyelids twitched a moment, as did his right cheek, an involuntary movement in sleep. He had gone to bed in his clothes, not even removing his boots before sagging into his bed. His body odor was pungent, like the smell of bad garlic.
Brian was watching me, perhaps for signs that I had changed my mind. His questioning eyes bore into me. Again, I simply nodded my consent. After holding me with his eyes a few seconds longer, Brian finally reached out with his gloved hand and held Comedian’s nose closed for a few seconds, cutting off the man’s breathing. Comedian’s eyes sprung wide open in shocked surprise. He tried to sit up in bed, sputtering and fighting for air, but Brian stunned him with a quick jab to his mouth, knocking him back down into the mattress.
This time I flicked on my flashlight, hooding it with my left hand to diffuse some of the crisp white light. I could not suppress my smile. Comedian’s eyes were as wide as he could manage to open them in his drunken state. His face contorted with terror giving him an almost comic countenance when he recognized who was in the room with him. A thin line of blood spread across his front teeth and down the side of his lip. His tousled hair poked out in every direction.
“Hello, douchebag,” Brian smirked.
“God, please,” Comedian said.
His voice was not slurred as I’d expected. Perhaps the shock and terror that slammed adrenaline into his blood stream had sobered him. He tried clumsily to sit up again, to get into a more prepared position, but Brian shoved him back down roughly.
“God can’t save you from me,” Brian said.
“It was a mistake,” Comedian said. “I didn’t mean to kill that guy. You have to believe me.”
“That ‘guy’ had a name. Charlie.” Brian said. “And begging won’t help. But keep going if you want. I might enjoy this more if you cry like a little girl.”
Realizing that his pleas would not work with my brother, he turned his wide eyes toward me, the perceived reasonable one. His perceptions were off-base.
“Please don’t let him kill me. Please,” Comedian begged.
Comedian’s voice rose in pitch and his eyes grew glassy until tears formed. He sat up, this time with no resistance from Brian. He got on to one knee beside the bed. The top three buttons of his shirt had broken loose, perhaps when Brian shoved him down. In the shadows of the room his face again took on the look of one of the changed.
“Please, you have to forgive me. I didn’t mean to shoot him!”
“You can ask Charlie to forgive you,” I said coldly. “But I don’t think you’ll see him where you’re going, you son-of-a-bitch.”
I stood there a moment longer and watched as tears rolled down Comedian’s bristled cheeks. A thick phlegm-like sound escaped his throat and horrible sobs wracked his body. His chest heaved and shuddered and thick mucus oozed down from his nose. Finally, his thin body slid to the floor, curled like a fetus, trembling like a shivering dog. Before my conscience got the better of me, I simply turned, and with a quick nod to my brother I left the room.
In the hall now, I closed the bedroom door softly behind me until I heard the audible click of the bolt latching securely. With my back against the wall to the left of the door frame, I slid to the cold wood floor. My SKS rested on my knees and moved up and down slightly because my knees trembled. From behind the thin wood door I heard Comedian’s first muffled screams. I had no idea what Brian did in there and I didn’
t want to know. But the muffled screams lasted for more than thirty minutes.
To be continued in:
MAD SWINE:
DEAD WINTER
Coming Soon…
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Steven Pajak was born in Chicago and raised in the city’s Near Northwest Community. He also lived in Wartrace, Tennessee and Dallas, Texas before moving back to Illinois where he now resides in a Chicagoland suburb.
Visit Steven’s official website at www.stevenpajak.com.
For information about the Mad Swine series visit the official Facebook page at www.facebook.com/MadSwine.
