Ability

by Shawn Raiford

CHAPTER TWELVE

  Brett couldn't wait

  BRETT DRIED HIMSELF off and put on a pair of boxers. Soreness still radiated in his knees, he needed to lose weight. He grabbed some ibuprofen from a drawer in the bathroom. Poured four of them in his hand; he swallowed them down with water from the faucet.

  Grabbing the TV remote, he got under the covers. About to turn the TV on, Brett heard something. Sounded like glass breaking. Oh, someone wants to break into my house? He went his nightstand again, and pulled open the drawer. He placed his hand on the finger-print reader so the gun-safe would read his fingerprints. The gun safe opened and he pulled out a 9mm handgun. “It’s time to rock and roll!” he said, heading down the hallway, handgun aimed directly in front of him like Detective Bosch.

  Arriving at the kitchen, Brett turned on the light and saw a man, with his back to him, sitting at his kitchen table. Aiming the handgun at the man, he moved around to the side, to get a look at the man’s face. “Who are you and why are you in my kitchen?”

  Then he saw the man’s profile and saw it was Wesley Cole. Over the last few days, he’d several pictures of Wesley. He had visited Beatrice Gloystein a lot.

  “So you told Neil to kill Beatrice?” he asked.

  "What?" Brett said.

  “It’s alright Brett, Neil told me everything. Beatrice had discovered your crime. So she had to die,” Wesley said.

  Brett swallowed.

  Wesley finished off the jar of peanut butter. “Damn, I needed that.”

  “You ate the entire jar? That’s like four or five thousand calories!” Brett said.

  Wesley was quiet for a few seconds. Then he spoke. “You knowI had a double-meat cheeseburger from Whataburger on the way over here, plus a milkshake and fries. I guess I was still hungry.” Wesley belched. “Oh, man I just love peanut butter.”

  “You break into my house and eat my food! I should just kick your ass! You are an intruder you know,” he said. "I'm within my rights to shoot you!” There was no way Brett was going to prison. He couldn’t survive. Brett had no other choice here.

  “Okay. You’re the one with the pistol. Do something,” Wesley said.

  Without waiting for an answer, Brett squeezed the trigger. Then the lights flashed on. When his vision adjusted, Brett saw the bullet suspended in mid air. Between him and Wesley, just sitting or hovering in the air. "What the hell?"

  "You had my cousin killed. Murdered. You have to pay."

  Brett just stood there. Curious to how the bullet was suspended in mid air. It was like the bullet was stuck inside Jello, but without the Jello. “What fu—”

  "They told me everything," Wesley said, standing up slowly.

  At that moment, Brett realized he could not move or speak. He grunted, it was all he could do. The pistol was wrenched from his grip by an invisible hand. It floated over to the dinning table, and stopped moving.

  "Yes, I am preventing you from doing anything. Well, I am allowing you to breathe. I want to show you something." He pulled out his phone and swiped it a few times with a finger.

  Wesley played two videos of Neil and Shannon, confessing to killing Beatrice. They even implicated Brett. Then he held it up so Brett could see. He saw pictures of meat.

  “I had a chat with your buddies, Neil and Shannon. That’s inside Neil’s garage.”

  A few pictures into the queue of pictures, when he saw their severed heads, he recognized them. The meat; it was Neil and Shannon. It made him want to throw up.

  "What do you think of my work?” Wesley said.

  He felt the restriction that prevented him from speaking, dissolve. "What the hell is that? Is that who I think it is?" he asked.

  "If you think it's your buddies who killed my cousin, Beatrice, Neil Connors and Shannon Monroe, then yes, you are correct," Wesley said. "Needless to say, your buddies felt a little pain before they died."

  "Why did you do that?"

  "Simple, they killed my cousin. You had them do it, now you pay with your life. But first, I need you to do something for me," Wesley said.

  “What?”

  "Brett, you are about to make a video. An admission to murder."

  Brett would've done anything he wanted. Anything to stop this maniac who did that to Neil and Shannon. "No problem."

  Wesley held out his phone and let it go. It hovered. Midair. By itself. Brett knew this was amazing, but the terror inside would not let him think about it.

  "I want you to apologize first to Beatrice's dad, Mr. Gloystein."

  Brett talked for ten minutes at least. He would've talked ten hours more but Wesley stoped him. "Okay, now apologize to Beatrice's mother, Mrs. Gloystein. And you better make it good, or you will really feel some pain."

  Scared shitless, Brett couldn't imagine more pain. "Yes, of course, Wesley."

  After he finished the second video, Wesley made Brett hurt himself. First, Bret ripped off his ears, using a pair of pliers then he pulled out his own fingernails. All the time, Wesley was recording Brett’s self mutilation. Lastly, Brett grabbed a knife from the kitchen and cut off his dick. He tried, but could not stop himself from putting the severed penis into his own mouth. Chewed and chewed, he swallowed his last meal.

  Somehow, Wesley prevented Brett from passing out. The level of pain was unbearable. His body fell to the floor; Wesley let go of him, because it needed to look real. Blood oozed from his crotch. Brett could feel his life slipping away like a faint dream.

  Wesley stopped recording. "Good. You did good, you piece of shit. I think the cops will buy that you killed Neil and Shannon, then yourself out of shear guilt of killing Beatrice for discovering your embezzlement scheme,” Wesley said. “Death won't be long."

  Brett couldn't wait.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Wesley is happy

  BEFORE LEAVING BRETT’S house, Wesley sent the admission videos to Uncle Greg. He and Aunt Stacey needed to know that Beatrice didn’t kill herself.

  He didn’t know what they would do with the videos, but he thought it would help them somehow. Maybe they could sue Brett’s, Neil’s, and Shannon’s estates for wrongful death. Wesley was no lawyer, he did not know.

  It was a few days after he killed them, and Wesley was not in good shape. His mental capacity had diminished severely. The information he gathered while he was see-touching the multidimensional realm, had seriously bogged his mental processes down. Or using the ability had damaged him in some way.

  He’d Ubered over to his uncle and aunt’s house. He needed their help; he could barely take care of himself today. And it was only getting worse. They would help him.

  Wesley had no idea what was happening to him, but there was nothing he could do. Just wait and see. If he died, he could die happy, knowing he found Beatrice’s killers. And he helped to give his uncle and aunt some answers. He sat on Beatrice’s old bed, staring at the multidimensional hole that woke him. The creatures had returned, and he was so happy.

  FIN

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