Vengeance (2 page)

“You guys having an early evening snack?” I asked.

Scott looked at me. “We’ve finished it, otherwise I would have offered you some.”

His manner seemed forced, somehow acting over-nice.
What the hell was that all about?

I stepped up to him and grabbed his can of Pepsi. “The least you could do is give me a swig of your drink.”

I only had the can on my lips long enough for one full swallow. Then Scott reached out and pushed me hard. I lost my balance, fell to the pine-needle littered dirt, and dropped the Pepsi can.

“Don’t swallow, spit it out!” Scott shouted at me.

I leaned on my elbow and made to stand. “What’s going on?”

“Allison doesn’t know how severe your peanut allergy is. She had packed lunches for the road. Two peanut butter sandwiches. That’s what you saw us eating as you walked up a moment ago. I didn’t tell you because you didn’t have to worry since they were gone now and we were leaving anyway.”

The symptoms for me can come on as quick as the speed of sound.

“I had just taken a drink from that Pepsi,” Scott continued to explain. “When you grabbed it, I forgot, and I, oh man, this is not good.”

I wiped the sides of my mouth and came away with a tiny brown smudge. I brought it up to my nose and smelt the distinct aroma of peanut butter. When I tried to stand, my legs went out from under me.

“Get me to Tabitha. She knows how to use the Epi-Pen. I need a shot of epinephrine.”

Scott leaned down and supported me until I got to my feet. With an arm wrapped around his shoulder, the two of us headed for the cabin. Halfway there, I could hear rustling in the bushes.
Oh, great, a bear is coming and we’re all going to die
, I thought.

Real fear enveloped me. That was the first symptom of my anaphylactic reaction; fear, along with abdominal pain. But now it was mixed with what I just saw watching us from the bushes. Goatee’s eyes. He was smiling.

My face felt flushed, my lips itchy. I could hear Scott shouting Tabitha’s name. My mouth grew tight. I couldn’t warn anyone. Liquid began dripping from the corner of my lips. When I tried to speak, my voice sounded different. I suddenly felt tired, even though my heart was racing. The setting sun was on my back, but I had chills. My nose fought the air that struggled to enter it.

I was dying, and my friends would too if I couldn’t warn them.

When I opened my eyes again I was on the cabin floor, looking at the wood that formed the ceiling. Tabitha ran by me, shouting something about the medicine bag and that it was still in my Buick. The last thing I remember was Scott shouting into his cell phone for an ambulance.

Then a spurt of red shot out of his chest like a small fountain. Then another. I heard a cannon roar somewhere in the distance. I heard screaming. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I shut them as Scott fell beside me.

#

I stood up and walked to the front door. When I looked back I saw myself on the floor. Scott lay beside me.

All three men from the liquor store were standing over the two bodies. Tear Drop leaned down, a large white bandage on his cheek. He put his gun in my face, and checked for a pulse. He looked up at Goatee and shook his head. Then he checked Scott’s pulse, and shook his head again. I was dead, and so was my friend. I felt weightless, emotionless. It was an empty feeling, but at the same time I felt like I had more life in me than at any other time.

All three men moved away from the bodies and disappeared into separate rooms of the cabin.

Tabitha ran back in, flipped the cap off the Epi-Pen, and prepared to inject me with it, but stopped and stared at Scott. She screamed and jumped back, her head spinning around to see if anyone else was in the room.

I saw all three Vago’s MC members step out of their respective rooms. They all held guns, and wide smiles.

Then Tabitha did the smartest thing she could think of at the time. She dropped to her knees and rammed the Epi-Pen into my thigh. She needed me and knew that sometimes it could work fast.

I blinked and the cabin disappeared. Tabitha and the bikers were gone.

I could feel pain in numerous places as I struggled to breathe, and I felt a gentle shaking. At first I thought my headache had rhythm, but then I identified the drilling sound in my ears as a siren, and the shaking as the movement of a vehicle. I was in an ambulance.

I fought the weight of my lids and struggled to open them. The paramedic told me that everything would be fine and that we would be at the hospital soon.

By the time I got to North Bay’s hospital, I had enough strength back to ask what happened. The paramedic said an officer would be by later.

As promised, one of the same cops who’d taken our statement about the bikers came to my hospital room.

I felt in a daze. I was reeling from what had happened. I hadn’t talked to Tabby yet either. I needed to know if she was okay.

I asked myself: was it real, or did I dream it all? Each time I asked myself that, I realized that it wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been.

What happened to everyone else then? What room were they in? Had Scott really died?

The cop took off his hat and looked down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get there sooner.” He lifted his head back up and stepped closer to the bed. “They had police scanners. They heard the call to come out to your cabin to take your statement, and they followed us. That’s how they knew where you were.”

I motioned for him to continue. “Where. Are. My. Friends?”

“I’m sorry. Scott was shot.”

“Tabitha?”

“She was found by the water.”

I frowned, saying as best as I could with my face,
what does that mean?

“They had done things to her that I can’t talk about. She’s dead. I’m sorry.”

My eyes watered. Why did I deserve to live? How could I move on? I couldn’t protect her when she needed me the most. I wasn’t there for her. This all started because I was a hothead at the liquor store.

“The other girl is being hailed a hero,” the cop continued. “She got behind the wheel of the Jeep and instead of leaving, she turned the vehicle toward the water and drove over all three men. They were crushed and drowned under the Jeep’s wheels. Problem was, she had rolled up the windows and locked the doors to stay protected. As the Jeep sank, she couldn’t get out. I’m sorry.” He paused and put his hat on again. “Maybe tomorrow, when you’re feeling better, you can tell me your side of the story. Like, why did they leave you alive? I’ll come by later.”

He stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. I was alone, truly alone. I’d died earlier that day, and wanted nothing more than to die again. It was all my fault.

Since that day, I’ve quit school. I left my job and now I travel state to state, hunting Vago’s bikers. Their club’s numbers are getting smaller, one by one. I’ve killed eighteen so far. Each one, I slice their throat. Each one, I violate in some inhumane way as they did to Tabitha. And to each one I whisper
“for Tabitha”
in their ears as they struggle for their last breath.

Until I die, which I could care less about, I will continue to hunt bikers down. If I’m ever caught and go to jail, I’ll kill them in prison. My hands are weapons now. Nothing has stopped me yet. I’ve been stabbed, shot and beaten to within an inch of my life, but you know what stops them from killing me? Fear, which is something I don’t have anymore. That’s their weakness.

I had no idea that dying would save my life but kill me in the process.

The Numbers Game

An excerpt from The Numbers Game.

I never thought I’d be up on first degree murder charges. The proof is in the numbers. I know this. But they don’t.

I’m a vacuum cleaner salesman. I used to sell shoes, but now I sell Kirby’s. I run door to door and try to sell my G8 Kirby upright vacuums. The killing has nothing to do with me, but one of the people I had just done a presentation for was murdered minutes after I left their house. I’m innocent.

This is my story. Call it a diary. I won’t lock it. Besides, I don’t have a lock or anything metal in my prison cell. They don’t allow those things. So I will write my tale and let everyone know what I do and how I do it so they can see that I’m not a murderer. I can’t afford a lawyer from the money I make selling vacuums, but I’ve got legal aid, although that’s worth nothing. Maybe the Judge will read this.

It’s lights out so I’ll write in the dim glow I get from across the corridor. It’s a short story so I’ll be brief but there’s two things you need to know up front.

I only got caught because I had Mrs. Gavin’s shoes in my apartment, and someone saw my car in front of her home and wrote down my license plate number. That makes sense as I was there doing a demonstration.

I’m innocent. Remember that.

It’s important.

#

Tuesday morning. The sun is shining high already and there’s a slight breeze. I’m off to a great start today. I’ve hit twenty-two houses. Ten doors weren’t answered, and twelve were rejections. The rule is, for every one hundred doors, you get into two. That means by the time I hit fifty, I should get in one door. Once I get in and show them how good the Kirby is, they’ll want one for themselves. Although that’s not always true, because for every four demonstrations, I only sell one. To break it down, I need to hit two hundred doors to sell one vacuum on average.

See what I mean about the proof being in the numbers? I live by that. It allows me to finance myself properly, as selling vacuum cleaners is one hundred percent commission. If I want a raise, all I have to do is hit another fifty houses per day for a week and I’ll, on average, probably sell an extra vacuum per week. At four hundred dollars a hit in commission, selling three to five per week, I’d say I’m doing all right. I’m not rich, but these are just the numbers. I know the proof’s there and that’s how I get by, but in the end, they’re just numbers.

I’m on Maple Street. It’s still before lunch. Let’s see how many rejections I can get. You see, that’s the fun part. The more rejections I receive only means I’m closer to an open door. An open door is a potential sale. And, any open door is a chance for me to add a nice pair of shoes to my collection.

What people don’t know is that I collect shoes. Mostly ladies shoes. I don’t wear them. I’m not creepy. I just collect them. I have over two hundred pairs now from different cities in the States. Today I’m itching to add to that.

It’s like a calling. I
need
them. I
have
to have them.

The next house coming up is a Victorian. Very nice white trimming and a manicured lawn. I’m sure the owners could use a new Kirby and I could use a new pair of shoes as I mentioned a moment ago.

I ran up the walkway and rang their bell.

No answer.

I rang it again.

I heard footsteps approaching slowly. The door opened.

“Hello?” A woman in her fifties stood in the doorway (It can be said, this is Mrs. Gavin).

“Hi! My name is Trevor Ashton and we’re in the area today offering free carpet shampoos to you and your neighbors.” I thrust out a bottle of Carpet Fresh and held it high in my hand. This always made me feel like those girls on The Price Is Right waving their hands in front of the items people were to bid on. “There’s no obligation and for letting us clean your carpet you get a free bottle of Carpet Fresh. Doesn’t that sound great?”

The woman seemed stunned. She looked at me a moment longer, evaluating my smile and then shook her head. She started to close the door.

“Excuse me ma’am,” I said, reaching out and touching the door before it closed. “Is there a reason you wouldn’t like a free carpet shampoo? There’s nothing to buy and there’s no obligation. It’s completely free.” I said this last part with a
I’m so excited I just can’t hide it
flourish.

She looked at me and attempted a half smile. “I’m not feeling well. I’ve had hip surgery recently and I’m not up to company. But thank you anyway.”

She started to shut the door again.

“But ma’am, you’re the perfect candidate. Don’t you see?”

The door almost closed. It stopped at the frame. I waited. It opened again, almost defiantly.

“I already get my carpets cleaned by a company that does a great job. I pay them often to come and do it. They were here about two weeks ago so the carpets are fine. Thank you.”

“That’s perfect. I love a challenge. Do you realize how much they miss? The Kirby, in under five minutes, would show you how bad they’re doing.”

She looked me up and down, her face showing her displeasure at my intrusion. In the end, I told myself, if I lost her I’d run to the next house and try again. Eventually I’d get in somewhere. That’s a fact. It’s in the numbers.

“The carpet cleaners that do my home are very good, and they’re so cheap that I barely pay them a tip, and you want to know why?” She paused here like the drama queen I could tell she was. “Because my son owns the company.”