Comin' Home to You

by Dustin Mcwilliams

  “What? You don’t?”

  “Scar might want to. Clint probably does too. But me, I don’t really care.”

  “Alright, let me ask you another question. Did you shoot up my house last night?”

  “Nope. Didn’t know anything like that happened.”

  “You’re lying. You should know. See Austin’s arm? He got grazed. Scar already knows.”

  “I haven’t talked to Scar since yesterday morning. We’re not conjoined at the hip. And if you think Scar would send me to do something that could injure Austin, then you don’t know him at all.”

  Owen got to thinking. If Nicky really didn’t know about the events of last night, would he know anything at all about yesterday? “So Scar hasn’t talked to you about anything?”

  “Nope. Is there something else I should know?”

  Owen quickly shook his head. “Nah, not really. I just thought you might have an idea who the culprits were, but if you weren’t around, I guess I’m not going to know who did it.”

  “Sorry I can’t help you. But I’m sure if Scar knows that Austin got shot, I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t already know who did it and dealt with them. You don’t fuck with that boy of his.”

  Suddenly, Owen felt inferior to Scar. Nicky was right. Scar would burn fields and would leave a trail of corpses to find whoever harmed his nephew. All Owen did was call Scar to complain. But going after small fry and putting his life in danger could have permanently prevented him from his true objective. Thinking about it, he actually created a possibility for Scar to put himself in danger by going after the shooters, but he doubted that would be the case, since he was the untouchable king around here.

  Nicky looked to the boys, who were now both up on their feet. Owen found it odd for him to just stare at them the way he was, but it was obvious something was on his mind. However, he didn’t want to ask. It was doubtful Nicky would dare open up to him anyway.

  “Well, I best be moving on.”

  Owen stuck his pinky finger into his ear and turned his eyes to Austin. “Yeah, us too.”

  “Alright. Man, I get what you are saying. I love my kids too. I’d kill someone if they fucked with them.” Nicky stopped to take a strong breath. “So, man, you gotta do what you gotta do in this world to protect them.”

  Not expecting motivational validation from Nicky, Owen could only nod in agreement.

  Nicky beckoned his son that it was time to go. Caleb said bye to Austin as the father and son walked down the hill and to the creek from whence they came. When it came to strange encounters, Owen chalked that one pretty high on the list. He was sure Scar’s right hand guy would jump on the chance to attack one of his biggest enemies. But he didn’t, nor did he seem to have any intention of doing such a thing. It seemed to be a viable fact that Nicky really didn’t know anything about the events of yesterday or last night. His reason for being there today was to take a morning walk with his son. It was as simple as that. Nicky was always a little different. He was a powerful force as Scar’s right hand man, but he seemed to be a little more humbled and logical, and it appeared that he had great love for his family. That was something Owen could respect.

  A rumbling of thunder in the near distance halted any further analysis of this incident. “Crap, it’s about to storm. We better hurry, Austin!”

  “What? Scared of getting wet, Grandpa?”

  If there was one trait he was pretty sure Austin received from the Grayson line, it was brash confidence. Coming from him, however, just made Owen love his grandson more. “Nah, I just wanted to beat you!”

  Austin grinned widely. He hadn’t had a lot of time to remember being shot just hours ago, as most of his day had been filled with smiles. “Bring it on!”

  The last thing Owen needed to do was run and throw up his breakfast. With his condition, he might vomit at any given second. But he didn’t want to disappoint Austin. Besides, the challenge had been made, and he wanted to win. “Alright. On your mark, get set, GO!”

  Off the two went, both running at a speed just below a full-fledged sprint. They were neck and neck for most of the way, but Austin’s superior conditioning allowed him to take the lead. Panting heavily, Owen didn’t want to give up. He could see his back fence nearing with every stride. It was a mere 100 yards away, but despite his brain urging him to keep pushing himself, his body absolutely refused to. He slowed down to a stop and put his hands on his knees. Up ahead, Austin touched the fence, jumping up and down in victory. Owen’s lips spread into a smile as he gasped for breath.

  Breathing in as much oxygen as he could, Owen finally stood up straight. He wanted to follow Austin in the house, but there was something holding him back. There was one more place he wanted to visit before he went inside. This was his destination all along, but he didn’t to give Ali any chances to yell at him if Austin were to get sick from being out in the rain. He yelled for Austin to go in the house without him, ensuring him that he would be back in a bit.

  Despite his feet aching and his body clearly out of shape, Owen jogged toward his location deep in Old Day’s land. The clouds had completely covered the sun, but the humidity remained the same. A sudden gust of wind helped cool his perspiring body, but it also spelled the beginning of rain. From the looks of the clouds, he expected a pretty heavy downpour. But he had to get to his destination. Rain wasn’t about to stop him.

  Cutting across a field and away from the tractor and truck trails that had been the path for those enjoying walks, Owen plowed through a heavy thicket, enduring small cuts from thorn bushes. But the way definitely shaved some time, as he finally arrived at a curving stream located in the middle of a forested area. It was the same stream that Nicky and his son had crossed, but this was downstream, over a mile away. The overall depth of the creek was shallower than he remembered, but the surroundings looked quite similar as it did almost 30 years ago. He grinned as he rubbed his fingers over the tree in which he and Patricia carved stick figure likenesses of themselves, with their stick arms together, as if holding hands. It was crudely done, but they were kids, and all they had to carve with was a dull pocket knife he swiped from his father’s dresser. He was glad Father Time and Mother Nature had been kind not to weather this tree. They were happier times. He hoped to show Ali this spot eventually. She would get a kick out of seeing things from her mother’s past.

  After he was done admiring their art, he took a seat on some loose dirt next to the creek’s edge. The pre-teen couple would spend time throwing sticks in the small stream, then chasing the stick as it flowed down the current. They were most excited after a strong rain, when the creek flowed the strongest, and turtles and frogs would emerge. On those days, they would take plastic bottles and place them in the rushing water, like a makeshift sailboat. It was a simple thing to do, but it brought large amounts of enjoyment out of the two to watch the water take it to the end of the current.

  Hopping across the thinnest part of the creek in the area, he took a few steps to a clearing that used to have beautiful white flowers blooming. Unfortunately, now it was just grass, dirt, and a dried pile of cow shit. It might have bugged Owen more if he couldn't visualize what it looked like before, but this memory was as vivid as the day his Ali was born.

  That day, when they were both 14, he led Patricia to the exact spot he was currently standing. Owen remembered kneeling down and picking a white daisy from the grass, then handing it to her.

  A sudden urge to recite the words he said to her back then came to him. “Patricia LeAnn McAdams, you are the best girl in the entire world. Will you be my girlfriend?”

  It wasn't very poetic, but the simple words made Patricia's mouth open in happiness. Her braces slightly reflected the sun as she gazed at the flower. Feeling a sense of pride and strength, Owen leaned in and kissed her for the first time. She wasn't prepared for it, but neither was he. They kissed with their eyes open, and his front lip received a slight cut from her braces. They both laughed like the children they were.
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  Fatigue and sad thoughts brought Owen to his knees. This was the first time he had been back to this spot since Patricia died. He had done his absolute best to forget her and the mental pain that came with it, and the only way to do that was to drink himself stupid and hop from woman to woman. Forgiving himself for the woman she became was an impossibility. He knew that was why she haunted him every night. In a way, he couldn't wait for the day that he wouldn't see her walking corpse in his dreams, but only forgiving himself or death could cure that ill. That day was soon approaching, and it was truly scaring him. His life with his family had been the best it had ever been. He wanted that to last forever, but he had a death sentence. The Graysons wanted him dead, and his own body wanted to shut down. What awaited him in the great beyond, he couldn't say. Yet, he was truly worried that wherever the afterlife takes him, it wouldn’t take him to his beloved. It brought despair upon him to think of such a depressing fate, but he would rather stare at his fiancé’s unrelenting gaze every night than never see her at all.

  Taking a seat on the grass, he guzzled what was left of his water. Feeling nostalgic, he threw the empty bottle into the creek, hoping to see it float away. Yet, the bottle floated nowhere. The creek was as still as his breath. He stared at the bottle for minutes, until boredom set in. Instead of getting up, he laid down on his back. While trees surrounded the area, there was a large enough opening to where the heavens above could be seen. Raising his head again to glance at the plastic bottle. Sudden drops from the sky making ripples into the still creek caused the bottle to tatter back and forth. His life was the same, never moving in one solid direction. When he was with Patricia as a child, that bottle was always flowing forward. Granted, it rained more back then and the creek was wider and flowed stronger, but that spoke to him too. The creek was drying him, just how he was frail, selfish, and slowly withering away as life was passing him by. But the world would continue, as it always had, and those still living will move on. Existentialism wasn't new to Owen, for he had many nights alone with alcohol where he would contemplate his existence. But now, here he was, truly facing his impending death, and comparing his own life to a plastic bottle floating in a brown creek.

  Just seconds after placing the back of his head against the soft sod, a raindrop planted firmly upon the center of his forehead. It was right on cue. It didn't hurt by any means, but it was forceful enough to have meaning. It was as if the droplet kick started his brain. Oddly enough, he wanted to believe that it was a tear from Patricia in the heavens. At the moment, he had no clue what it meant metaphorically. But it did give him motivation to get off of his ass and do something. Existentialism be damned. He knew what he had to do. As if the gods were listening, thunder boomed loudly in the sky. A heavy downpour followed. Standing up, he raised his face upward, outstretched his arms, and let the torrent seemingly baptize him. It was cold, refreshing, and breathtaking. It washed the salty sweat across his face, stinging his eyes in the process. He didn’t even mind it. Each drop that splattered on his face was a wake-up call. He knew of no other option than to heed what the rain meant to him.

  For now, he was alive. Alive enough to do what mattered for his grandson and daughter. There would be other times to reminisce. For now, action is what mattered, and perhaps this inspiration could be the trigger to slowly forgive, understand, and reaffirm to himself what was needed.

  He may die, but he must create a world that his loved ones can live in without fear of violent retribution. Somehow, someway, he had to make this happen.

  Chapter 11

  One more day. That was all the time left to complete his job.

  In an abandoned metal barn outside his home, Nicky punched his makeshift punching bag dangling from a chain that was being supported from a wooden rafter. Shirtless and sweating profusely from the exercise and the heat and humidity that was amplified after a morning rain. This was normally a form of healing his anxious feelings. But he couldn’t shake his thoughts from his head. It was wrecking him so badly that it felt like his skin was crawling and his insides were caving in. He had one day left to end Scar’s life, and no real plan to accomplish it.

  Nor did he really want to.

  For what it was worth, he did have Clint’s support. He received a call from him around 3 in the morning. All he said was I’m in. When they met at the bar, Clint was still hesitant after Nicky pitched the idea to him. He threatened to gut Nicky in a rather descriptive fashion at first for suggesting such a thing, but from all the information he was given, Clint settled down and heard him out. He also took advantage of it, drinking eight beers that were all on Nicky’s tab. Something must changed his mind last night. Scar had to have said or did something to him. Clint was a chaotic individual, but he would have needed a damn good reason to accept such a proposal. Maybe Scar would know something about it. Nicky would have to ask.

  With every left jab and right hook pounding into the stuffed bag, he was wearing down, both physically and mentally. Even now, he still dithered on if he actually wanted to kill his best friend, directly or indirectly. There were urges to just admit to Scar what was offered to him by Passerini. But by confessing that knowledge, Scar was unlikely to trust his words. Nicky could count on one hand the amount of people Scar has trusted over these years. He was one of them, but by divulging a plot to kill him, Scar might grow paranoid and even do away with his best friend just for his own safety. Scar was that cautious.

  When he thought about how poorly Scar had paid him over the years, however, it invigorated him with anger. His punches picked up with intensity. How could his best friend screw him over like that? Nicky should have been paid way more than he was now, according to Passerini. Scar even knew his struggle. He had been to this house on numerous occasions for a beer or cards, so he understood Nicky’s living conditions. Yet, he never said anything. Scar had made providing for his wife and children tough. Nicky felt like he deserved a nicer house so that his family wouldn’t be cramped in a shoddy manufactured home. Sure, he got by, but he could be getting by a lot easier. Plus, he wasn’t some normal average Joe. His income was made through illegal means. His criminal past prevented him from obtaining a loan for a new home. Everything he did would have to be bought at full price and up front. Scar knew this damn well, but didn’t contribute to alleviate Nicky’s difficulties. Was his best friend really that vindictive and selfish?

  Nicky reared back, grinded his teeth, and threw a right haymaker that smashed powerfully into the bag. He stepped out of the way as the force of the blow caused the bag to swing back toward him. That punch was meant for Scar. Maybe he needed a beating to have him wake up. He could take him in a fight…maybe. At the very least, he was confident he could hold his own. But just fighting wasn’t going to solve his problems. He needed to speak with Scar. There was no need to hold back anything verbally. He had to ask the tough questions, especially about the money. Because when it came down to it, Scar was affecting his livelihood. Nicky believed that to be unacceptable, especially from a man he considered his brother.

  Sweaty from the morning walk and punching regimen, Nicky took a quick shower. Clothed in a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and cargo shorts, he took a moment to give each of his children and his wife a hug and a kiss before leaving. Rachel wanted him to stay and insinuated going to the bedroom for a little while, but the only thing on his mind was business. Not that he didn’t want to, but he needed to get his ducks in a row. Once in his vehicle, an older SUV with crusted dirt on the off-road tires, he took a look at his phone. He had missed a call from Clint just a few minutes ago, probably while he was in the shower. He quickly returned the call.

  Clint answered after the first ring. “Yeah?”

  “What did you want?”

  “What do I want? Man, tell me what the motherfuckin’ plan is, motherfucker.”

  “I’m still thinking about that.”

  “Why don’t I just go over to his house and put a fuckin’ bullet up in his head? Or you could qui
t being such a candy ass bitch and do it yourself.”

  “You know that we can’t do that. We have to make it seem like he disappeared and never came back. That’s what the big bosses want.”

  “Like Roy?”

  “Yeah, like Roy.”

  “Shit, did I tell you that faggot Owen finally admitted to killing Roy?”

  This was breaking news to him. “No way.”

  “Yeah. He came over crying and talking shit, and we got in a fight. Fuck, you should take a punch from him, Nick. Just do it. Fuckin’ provoke him and make him punch you. It’s like a fuckin’ fly landing on your face. I bet your sons could hit harder. Man, what a fuckin’ faggot ass bitch.”

  It took a moment for Clint to stop laughing before his story commenced. “He thought he had the upper hand on me, and he had a knife in his hand and he said that he was gonna kill me like he killed Roy. Fuckin’ can’t believe he admitted that shit.”

  “So why is he alive right now?”

  “That pig Ben rode in and saved the day before me and Scar could haul him off and fuck him up. He was threatening to shoot me. But he didn’t. He ain’t got the fuckin’ guts or balls to do it.”

  Nicky chuckled at how wrong Clint was. If Ben could legally do it, Clint would be a dead man a million times over. “So what did you do after that?”

  The inhaling sounds of a pipe being lit up could be heard, followed by a cough. “Man, so I got some of the boys. BJ, Bird Dog, and Bubba, and we go out and start blasting at his house from out in the woods. Shooting out windows and shit. We were hoping we might get lucky and kill him then. Turns out my bitch Ali and Austin were in there. So I guess Owen called Scar and told him that Austin got hurt for whatever fuckin’ reason. So Scar comes and finds me out in the trailer in the woods, right?”

  “That special trailer you used to jack off in when you were a kid?”