by Tiana Laveen
“Oh my God, you’re crazy! You’re fuckin’ crazy! I’m calling the police.”
“And tell ’em what, Sarah?” He plucked his shovel from the saturated ground as a light drizzle began and started to dig, dig, and dig once again while he cradled the phone in the crook of his neck. “That a money hungry, bitter, unemployed drunk who just lost custody of her daughter due to neglect gave confidential information to my enemies and their frontrunner came onto my land without permission, armed and dangerous, and then disappeared into thin air? No bodies, no evidence, no witnesses. Your word is as good as a water balloon shootin’ out of a canyon. Now, you got what you wanted, okay? Don’t be angry because the outcome didn’t suit you.” He paused, placed the shovel back down, and took a deep breath. “You failed.”
“I’m calling—”
“Who? are you goin’ to call now, darlin’? Ghostbusters?” He laughed a mirthless laugh. “They can come get these spirits of these bastards… But yeah, you could send more brothers, and then they’ll be dead, too. You fucked with a king-sized motherfucker and lost. Accept it! If you call the police, you’ll just make a bunch of trouble for yourself. Now, I suggest you let this whole little thing go, so that no one else gets hurt. Our daughter will be living here soon, and in your own fucked up way, I know you think you love her. So, I recommend you let her live in peace…with stability for a change.”
“You just shot and killed your brothers and you want to talk to me about stability?!”
“No, YOU just shot and killed your brothers. They came to a party they weren’t invited to, so I sent them on their way with parting gifts. Now, just in case you get some liquid courage, even after all that has happened, let me explain to you just how motivated I am. You know that I love my kid; you always accused me of loving Laura, but never really loving you. Well, I got another one comin’…”
He could hear the woman’s breathing accelerate.
“Things have gotten even more serious. The game changer is that she’s carryin’ my son now and you know firsthand how protective I am over my children, Sarah. I’m a damn good father, and you know it. I’m not fuckin’ around with you, you hear me?! You better know and understand that shit! I taught you good, but you learned that the hard way.”
“She’s…”
“Yeah, she’s pregnant, Sarah. She’s goin’ to have my baby. That baby is innocent and didn’t deserve to be dragged in your shit. You sent men shootin’ around my goddamn house while my ol’ lady is in there pregnant! Bullets were flyin’ too close for comfort around my unborn child! You can hate me, you can hate her, but that baby didn’t deserve this!”
The Grateful Dead hummed ‘Touch of Grey’ as emotions roiled inside him.
“What you’d think was goin’ on over here, huh? That we just slept next to each other, on our backs, stiff as boards, and holdin’ hands? No ma’am! I make love to that woman every chance I get… and you know I make sure I get a lot of chances…I’m certain you remember how I was…” He plunged his fist into the air as if fucking for dear life, getting a kick out of it all.
Though he couldn’t see her, he was certain that revelation of a woman bearing his child made Sarah even angrier than the dead men, their bloodied and bruised bodies still warm in the near distance.
“You tried to take her away from me, ruin everything… You sent guys here to kill us all because I got Laura and your money train is over. Our Laura is goin’ to have a little brother soon so you better be on your best fuckin’ behavior from this day forward because if you pull anything like this again,” he said, pointing at nothing in particular, “or even if I hear a rumor of you kickin’ up dust, some things are goin’ to happen, Sarah… some real fucked up, ugly, evil things. And yeah, I’m threatenin’ you, bitch.”
At that, he disconnected the call and slid the phone back in his pocket. On a sigh, he picked up his shovel again and continued to dig to the tune of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s ‘Free Bird’. A nice breeze blew to help cool him down a bit. He smiled as the music played.
Hey Mama… Patti, I miss ’nd love you! This was your song, wasn’t it?! You’d play this day ’nd night! You were a rock ’n roll DJ. Helped me appreciate the classics.
He tossed more dirt to the side as the fresh scent of death perfumed the stagnant, muggy air around him. As he peered around, he could almost hear the hogs on their way for their breakfast…
The Appalachian Mountains were particularly beautiful at sunrise; he’d be home just in time to see it.
You always told me that a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and I’m doin’ it. Some would say I’m evil, the Devil himself. I’ve been called better, I’ve been called worse, but I know you’d say I’m just perfect the way I am. Thank you for teaching me how to go from being a boy to being a man. Thank you for being my true mother. Motherhood is a beautiful thing. Isn’t it, Mama? Somethin’ to be cherished and protected… Yeah, I’m your son, and I know I’ve made you proud…
THE MAN KNELT low, dipped his thick fingers in the fragrant, bubbly water, then looked up at her, sporting the most peaceful, serene smile that one could imagine. Aaron ran a slow hand over his thighs, wiping away the moisture from his palm over his jeans.
“The water is perfect.” He then rose to his feet, took her hand, and helped her in the garden bathtub. “Watch your step, baby…”
He placed one hand at the base of her abdomen and the other at her lower back as she gripped the edges of the tub and lowered down into the warm liquid.
Alina Baraz & Galimatias’ ‘Can I’ played softly, adding to the ambiance of pink candles that flickered about the bathroom. The water sloshed back and forth as Mia got comfortable, still trying to calm her rattled nerves from the recent violent events. She’d seen nothing, but she’d heard it all…
For half the morning, she was placed in isolation. She’d been carried like a precious jewel down into their basement while her husband cleaned, ran the vacuum, bleached, painted, and moved about in a frenzy from the sound of things above her head. He’d initially removed her from the bedroom closet, blindfolded her, carried in his arms down to the cellar, removed the scarf, then handed her a cup of tea and a television remote. Soon, the house smelled of assorted cleaning agents, and she soon discovered the dining room rug had been removed and replaced with something elegant and lush. Every hour he’d go down to check on her, bring her food, and reassure her that everything would be okay. He was so calm, so fine with it all, and in that, she did find a sense of peace. She’d entered into another world, one where men behaved as beasts, but Aaron stood by his word. He finally brought her back upstairs and told her he wanted to give her a little unwind. So, he ran a bath and poured her a glass of non-alcoholic wine…
As she sat in the tub, she stared into his eyes, feeling a sense of urgency. She grabbed his arm.
“Aaron…what…did you do?”
“Baby,” he said seriously, “when the Devil comes knockin’ to reclaim a lost soul, he doesn’t come to go back home empty-handed. I had to take care of business.” He leisurely handed her a loofah.
“Those men were National Socialists, weren’t they?” She ran a slightly shaky hand up her arm and observed the white suds sluggishly flowing down her flesh.
“Yes.” He gingerly reached behind her, pulled her hair up and tied it in a ponytail. “They were on our private property. I had the right to shoot them. And before you ask – no, the police would have been the last resort. I can’t have the police involved in this, baby. Look at my record.
“There are people that want me in prison for the rest of my natural born life. This would ensure it! No one is goin’ to take my word for it, I have a history.” He crossed his arms and leaned over the side of the tub, staring into her eyes. “And I need my daughter, Mia, and she needs me, too. Laura can’t live with her mother; nothing and nobody is gonna mess up me gettin’ custody of my child and this situation would have fucked everything up if the law got wind of it. My number one priority is protecting
you, my daughter, and my unborn child. I told you I got this. My word is bond, and my bond is my word of honor…”
Chapter Eighteen
…Two weeks later
THE ‘SOUL INSCRIPTIONS’ business hours sign rocked back and forth as the door slowly closed behind him. Aaron pressed a palm to his nostrils, blocking for a second the overly sweet scent of patchouli and jasmine incense. Van Halen’s ‘Jamie’s Crying’ played on, making him feel as if he were in the back of Patti’s truck, jammed between a few cartons of cigarettes she was illegally selling out of her home and a bunch of stolen jugs of whiskey she planned to sell to the local bars.
Aaron tossed his black leather jacket over his shoulder and ran his hand over his freshly buzzed head. He didn’t miss the stares as he slowly stomped through, his thick chain rattling on his jeans’ back pockets. He’d worn a white tank top, slightly torn jeans, and his damn pride. His tattoos all up and down his arms were showcased. What point was there in trying to hide them now?
He hoped he and those images would soon be parting ways. He smirked as people moved about, some like they were going to piss themselves. Suddenly a tall, thin man with a large, black, sloppy bun atop his head and a pencil shoved through it like some bone approached him and extended his hand. They shook hands, and then the man brought him close and gave him a fast hug, shocking the hell out of him.
“What’s up, man. I take it you’re Aaron?” he joked, knowing full well who he was.
Aaron smiled as he looked around the place and then back at him. “Yeah…I’m Aaron Pike.”
“Come on back to my private room, okay? You’re attracting some attention you don’t need.” Julian Savant winked and grabbed a large black and amethyst velvet bag of what Aaron assumed were supplies.
Aaron trailed behind him. The man unlocked a door and led him inside, closing and locking the thing back behind them. “Have a seat.”
Van Halen kept crooning…
Aaron sat down upon a black leather stool and rubbed the clamminess on his palms off on his jeans. He took a look at the artwork, expansive mirrors, and a few bottles of what looked like herbs of some sort.
He’s a fuckin’ hippie; a talented hippie, but a crunchy granola eater all the same…
He chuckled to himself.
“So, I spoke to Milan. She and Mia are out shopping still. That means we’ll never see them again.” Julian burst out laughing and shook his head. “She was so happy to see your wife again as I’m sure you saw. It’s been a long time. They’re good friends. I’ve heard about Mia every day since the moment they got back in touch.”
Aaron nodded and leaned back a bit, itching for a cigarette – but he heeded the, ‘No Smoking’ sign on the door.
“You alright, man?” Julian asked, his pierced brow raised as he moved about the room, preparing his works along the tray like some skilled surgeon. Fleetwood Mac now blasted ‘The Chain’ in his ears.
“Yeah… just eager to do something about this shit, man.” He sighed. “A little distracted I guess. I’m grateful to be here, glad that you decided to at least take a look.”
“Of course, man. I live for things like this. I cleared the entire weekend for you… knew you had quite a few that needed to be addressed.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure if anything can be done at all, actually.”
Julian nodded. “Well, let’s see. I’ve only seen a handful of tattoos that I could do absolutely nothing with, in regards to a cover up. Take your shirt off. Anything on your legs?” He turned away, gathering more materials.
“Yeah, my right calf, the side of my foot. My neck…” He pointed to the swastikas by his damn jugular. “They’re the ones I worry about most.”
“What’s that zipper tattoo on you mean to you? What does it represent?” Julian asked as he ran water in a small pitcher.
“It means I’m a creation of Frankenstein, an abomination. Not human, piecemealed together, pretending to have a conscience. It means that I don’t feel anything… ’cause I don’t. And when you look inside me, unzip me, you never know what you’re going to find…”
They looked at one another for a spell before Julian turned away once again.
“I want to keep that one; it reminds me of where I came from. I never want to forget.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear that. It looks good actually, and the spiritual implications of that are wise. Whoever made that did a respectable job.”
Aaron nodded in agreement.
“Alright, you already sent me photos of your body art, and I’ve got some ideas based on our conversations on the phone.” He walked up to him and looked him over, placing a latex-gloved hand against his skin, examining each and every piece of work on his body. “Damn.” Julian grimaced as he got up close and personal, his dark brows bunched. “Some of these are layered over and over… like the artist was doing touch ups every damn few months. This is crazy. Look, the ink is so damn dark that I’m goin’ to have to get pretty creative… I can’t just blend and shade some of these out; I’ll have to use the lines as part of the pivotal parts of the design. No problem, though. I’ll figure it out. Now.” He stood back erect and looked down at him. “When we spoke on the phone, you said that you’re into your heritage, which I understand to be English, right?”
“Yeah, I traced my family tree some years ago. My biological mother and father are both descendants of the Kingdom of Essex.”
“I see you know your history… makes sense considering your background.”
“Yes, I had a DNA test done, too. There’s a little Welsh in my bloodline, obviously from the U.K., too, and a touch of Russian, but it’s mostly English.”
“Okay, got it. I know your interests also revolve around your beautiful wife and your daughter.” Aaron nodded in agreement. “You love your job…run your own business, like me.” He grinned.
“Yup. I take a lot of pride in my family and my work.”
“I’m sure you do. And you’ve got a baby on the way… Congrats, man.” They slapped hands, real easy like.
“Thank you. I’m looking forward to him being born.” He couldn’t hide his smile. Every time he thought about his son growing inside of Mia, he couldn’t contain his exuberance.
“Okay.” Julian stated on a heavy sigh. “You have several swastikas, the huge Nazi war eagle, the SS bolts, Hitler’s portrait, the SS death head, the sun cross, the iron cross, and the Valknot which will be the most difficult to cover due to all of the red around it and intricate details.”
“How’d you know what they all are, I mean the exact name? You don’t seem to be the type that would know this sort of a thing?” Aaron smirked as he stood and slid his pants down so the man could see his legs, too.
“Man, I live in Georgia!” They both burst out laughing. “No, seriously, I’ve seen some here and there. I study and read a lot, too, Aaron. Learning is a hobby of mine.”
We’ve got something in common…
“Knowing about things is important, even about dogmata we may not agree with.”
“I totally agree with you there. I’m the exact same way.”
“You by far have the most professional ones I’ve ever seen though.” The man cocked his head to the side and nodded, as if mulling over his statement. “I can tell that someone took pleasure in their work when they did them for you. All of your tattoos are well drawn, and for the most part, accurate in dimension and detail. I’m used to seeing the racially motivated prison tattoos…or the ones that keep tally of the, well, let’s call them the dearly departed… like those swords on your abdomen…”
Aaron slowly looked down at the nine small swords…
…Add five more…
“I take it you want those covered up as well?” Julian asked as he tore a couple of paper towels off a larger roll, appearing not at all uneasy with what was transpiring.
“Yeah…”
They both paused to study each another.
“Look, I’m not going to ask you the details, try to
get you to incriminate yourself. We both know what they are,” Julian said. “I accept that you’ve made amends for the situation, I don’t know your complete story but unfortunately, with extremists such as yourself, this is common. Very few things surprise me anymore, Aaron. We all have our prices to pay…”
Aaron traced the blades of the swords…
“Hold up.” Julian briefly closed his eyes and waved his arm around like some referee. “In some strange way, you kinda still want them, don’t you?” Julian sat down in a seat and rolled over to him. Leaning forward, he rested his hands under his chin, similarly to the way Dr. Owens would.
Aaron just kept on staring back at him, then cracked his knuckles and turned away.
“It’s okay, man. What we talk about stays right between these four walls.” A few moments of silence passed.
“Yeah, I kind of still want them.”
Julian slowly nodded. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Can we have a discussion? I’m talking real talk. Man to man.”
“Maybe. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, you already know my background. I explained it to you over the phone. I’ve been doin’ what I do for a long ass time, Aaron. I meet all sorts of people. I can read people. Not read minds or anything like that, but I’m in tune with human pain…and you, my friend, are a pain junkie.”
“What do you mean by pain junkie?”
“You enjoy violence of an extreme nature. Death to you is like life for others. You find peace in it, passion. Your wires are crossed. That makes you dangerous because you’re also intelligent.”
