Authors: Phoenix Williams
At night, he often
cried to himself as he tried to remember the taste of fresh fruit, or
the sensation of being hugged. No one in his life knew how he
struggled and because of that he felt abandoned. He would remember
his teachers' praise in high school, and how much faith they had in
his talents. They said he would make a great actor, and at one point
he attempted it, joining his school's drama club.
Now look at
me,
he thought. His heart wrenched at the sound of his own lamenting.
What would they say now?
He reckoned they wouldn't even
recognize him. If they ever saw him laying drunk in the gutter some
day, they would look right past him and beam about whatever new pupil
inspired them. Forgotten. Alone in a sea of people like a piece of
debris among the stars. Floating and wishing for any alternative. His
only solace came in sweet dreams at night. His only blessing.
Almost every job
turned him down. His failure to stay enrolled in school and obtain a
degree was a mistake he cursed each morning that he woke up nauseous
from hunger. He needed either experience or a certification, neither
of which he had. He worked for only a few months as a grocer, but
when the management neglected his paycheck, he quit in a rage.
Another mistake he regretted.
If only I had just smiled and took
it,
he wallowed.
Then I would be happy.
It was only by the
grace of some unseen luck that Andy finally got a job as a bouncer at
a local bar. It was a pisshole, but the owner was nice and
sympathetic. She was an alcoholic with easy access, and though she
struggled with her own finances, she gave what she could. Many times
she invited Andy over for a homecooked meal. Every bite would be like
an orgasm. Even though he suspected she only did this because she was
interested in him, he was grateful.
Still, he
struggled. Even with his paycheck, he couldn't afford the apartment.
He was going to be homeless again, and in the winter, he would likely
die. Something needed to change.
Max made his way
through the prison by guard escort to his cell, as he had been
promised. Though he suffered through the night, every ailment that
plagued his body showed no symptoms in the morning.
Less than a week
later, a letter came in from his cousin. It was short and formal but
it explained that his cousin had pulled some strings for him so that
his friend, a senator, could write him a pardon letter. It was late
coming, his cousin apologized for, but he explained that his friend
was a busy man and this was a remarkable favor he was doing for them.
He would be coming to pick Max up the following week, once the pardon
was processed.
The pardon
processed that week and Max was a free man. He left the prison in the
same burgundy suit and cowboy boots that he was in during his arrest.
A funny looking
short man with curly hair like Gene Wilder approached Andy at the bar
doors.
“You don’t
look like a bouncer,” the man told Andy.
Andy peered down at
the man. There was a look on his face as if he smelled something
foul. Perhaps it was the vomit in the corner that he was
procrastinating cleaning. Maybe it was the life he had that made him
scowl. He chose to ignore the funny man and resume his hawk-like
watch of the dance floor.
A wad of money
appeared in the funny man's hand. He looked up at Andy with a stern
face, twinkle in his eye nonetheless. “Care to make
twenty-five-thousand dollars?” he asked.
Max and his cousin
drove to the apartment they were to share in the city. It looked much
different than Max remembered seeing it, as if his cousin now had a
woman living in the house. Maybe his styles just changed. He was
grateful, though. His cousin gave him a spacious room in the house,
where he stood listlessly.
“I know it's
been a while,” his cousin started. “I know it's hard, but
we have to start somewhere.”
“No,”
Max said, trying to put his cousin's mind at ease. “It's great.
I owe you everything.”
There was a pause.
“There was a
note waiting for you when we arrived. It said to have you meet
someone at the pond as soon as you got here. Looks like a woman's
handwriting,” his cousin smiled at him. Happiness was on his
face as he watched Max realize what that meant. He knew where to go.
“Thanks,”
Max replied, dismissing his duty of unpacking for a later time.
“Thank you so much.”
Max jogged through
the streets. Nothing could fill his heart more than his desire to be
back in Justine's arms. She had waited for him. She was the reason he
was able to continue. The reason he still dreamed of freedom every
night of agony within that prison. He let his feet lead him like
hounds, sure of where they were going. He didn't even need to think
about where he was walking. It was in his soul. He walked to his
favorite little park in the city, a place he and Justine had made
their own. It wasn't far from his cousin's home, devoid of all other
people.
The pond that this
park was home to was an old friend of his. Many of the first confused
nights within the city were spent here, wondering if he could be
great even though his parents didn't think he could. He would come
here and stare at the still waters. It was a meditation for him, the
only way he could ever pacify his internal battles and silence the
shouting thoughts. Put his heart to ease.
Here, the blade
that the whole world was scarred by balanced perfectly. It could not
harm here.
Max slipped out of
his cowboy boots and felt the sensation of lush summer grass under
his feet as he walked to the edge of the water. He looked around in
the dark, watching for Justine's appearance. He dipped a toe into the
water. He smiled to himself as the feeling of the cool waters
reminded him of peace. It flashed back all the horrible memories he
had locked inside of himself, kissed him on the head, and reminded
him that all things were small in comparison to this feeling. A free
man. At last.
A shot rang out
through the night and Max fell forward into the pond. The bullet had
tunneled clean through his chest, draining his matter into the warm
waters.
Still,
his
last thought echoed in his head,
I am at peace.
One shot was all it
took for Andy Winter to become a killer. It dropped the man he was
hired to kill like a bird from a nest. With his task complete, he
felt no need to stick around. He fled the scene fast, disappearing
into the night.
Andy discovered the
name of his target the next morning on the local news channel. “Local
Maxwell Shepard was shot and killed late last night during what
witnesses say was a mugging-gone-wrong.” Andy clicked the
television set off in horror, bringing his hand up to his mouth. He
trembled as he absorbed the news. He broke down and cried, his body
heaving violently. There was no word that Max was found at the park
and no evidence existed that Andy was involved. But he knew. He knew
what he had done.
He had killed Max.
He had killed his best friend.
-Chapter Twelve-
Verdict
The past decade
played in Andy's head like a montage. When he first learned of Max's
death and his role in it, he had sunk into catastrophic depression.
Every day following the news felt surreal and scripted, as though the
hallucinations of a degenerating mind. He didn't leave his bed for
anything but food and bathroom breaks, but even then he ate so
little. Guilt tore down his appetite and made every bite taste like
ashes.
My best friend is dead,
he reminded himself in the
mornings.
He's dead and I killed him.
He couldn't believe
it was true. The concept blurred in his head and he felt dumb and
confused if he thought about it for too long. After months of
lamenting, the fact became unlearned for him. It always lingered in
the back of his skull, of course, but soon the bills were due again
and the memory of Max had been trained out of him. He was ready for
another job.
Andy almost refused
to call his shady employers back when they first contacted him after
Max's death. He thought on it for over a week. He meditated on the
moral implications. But something about him had changed. As if a
spring in his machine of reason had broken and would no longer hold
tension. He knew what his job was, but his logic stopped there. He
never asked why, never wanted to know anything more than he needed.
If he thought too much about it, he figured, he could never live with
himself. And that's all he could do now. A prisoner of his own.
Killing overseas
felt like playing a part in an act. He wasn't Andy Winter anymore but
this heartless, calculating murderer. Unflinching in the face of
violence. Uncaring. But was this a mask anymore or was it now his
true face?
What have I
become?
Andy asked himself.
He snapped out of
it just a few seconds after going into it in the first place. Tears
flooded his eyes as all he wished was to join Max. Maybe, in some
vague life-after-death, he could beg Max for forgiveness. And at that
moment, all he would have wanted Max to do was spit on him. To
confirm his deep brooding suspicion that he was, indeed, evil.
“I am an evil
man,” Andy said aloud, through gritted teeth. He needed to say
it. He needed to tell the truth. If ever there lived evil in every
person's heart, Andy truly felt as though he were Lucifer. Tainted
beyond his own understanding. A depressive curse.
Anger coursed
through his body. It ebbed in his veins and it burned through his
mind. He wanted something to strike out at. He wanted to be anyone
else sitting beside himself, just so he could give himself the
beating of a lifetime. Something no mortal body heals from.
He could never heal
from Max's death. He could never forgive himself.
Then he saw it. The
brown dingy Subaru he had neglected to sabotage. Haley Flynn was
passing in the opposite lane.
He could do it. He
knew it. Only his desire to be with Max could lead his hand now. The
tears were blinding. He shut his eyes tight.
He pulled hard on
the wheel. He felt every fraction of a second go by, ticking like a
countdown timer until the shrieking was deafening. Metal scraped on
metal, screaming their protest out into the atmosphere as Andy
lurched in all sorts of different directions, ribs snapping under the
seat belt. His breathing ceased, grasped by his lungs as if they
whispered to the air, “Shh! Don't leave me.” He felt
himself be lifted up and then slammed back into his seat.
The universe seemed
to explode at that moment. If he had the breath or time to, he would
have hummed to himself as he felt the collision take its full course.
Everything around him was breaking. Mirrors, windows, doors. All of
them failed to stand strong at the impact with Haley's car.
Everything was falling apart, being torn asunder and returning to
something much more fundamental. Much simpler. That was Andy's
desire. To uncomplicate himself.
All the noises
stopped. No more screeching, no more squealing, no more shattering,
and no more screaming. Just silence as the cars became still.
He had done it. He
was finally dead. He had killed Haley Flynn like he had been paid to
and ended his torment in one swift motion.
But no, something
was wrong.
He could see! He
looked down at his bloodied hands and saw them still clutched on to
the steering wheel. He saw the cracked windshield, the shattered
passenger window. He saw the brown Subaru. And from it stepped Haley,
shaken but unscathed.
“What the –
” she started, but distracted herself from the swear by staring
at the damage to her brother's car. “Holy shit,” she
murmured. She turned back toward the sick looking woman in the car.
She seemed dazed, but she was fine as well. She managed to look
around, but when she did, she spotted the offending driver crawling
from his wreckage. “Andy?”
Andy sprang into
action, leaping away from his car and up onto the street. Haley
watched him with wide, staring eyes as he balanced himself and
started rummaging through Steven's totaled car. He pulled out the
notebook with all of Steven's notes in it and turned to the woman. At
that moment, he noticed the bald woman who was climbing out of
Haley's passenger seat. Andy shoved the notebook into Haley's hands
as she looked him over in confusion, then he started limping away.
“Deliver your
evidence,” Andy instructed back over his shoulder.
“Andy!”
she called after him, perplexed. “What is this?”
“It's
everything we learned about you,” Andy yelled in response.
“Evidence. Decree hired me to kill you. This is proof. Deliver
it.”