It was still dark and cold out when I walked out of the field and stood next to the drainage culvert to stare at my house. The tarp wasn't flapping any more, which meant my neighbor had tacked it down or someone had figured they had loosened it when they climbed inside my house.
It didn't matter. If they were in my house, I would kill them.
The ice was thick as I crossed the ditch, my boots crunching the frozen cattails and other reeds as I crossed the culvert and then climbed up next to the road. A semi went by, logs on it, heading for the mill when I'd worked. That massive oak tree in my back yard was decorated by ice and snow, looking like a post card or painting.
The snow was over ankle deep as I walked across the street in the cold dark night.
I could handle the cold. The darkness held nothing I might fear. The lightning in the clouds and the thunder making the snowflakes dance was nothing for me to worry about. The snow was just snow.
though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I shall fear no evil, for I am the baddest motherfucker in the valley
The snow crunched under my boots as I walked across my front lawn, pulling my keys out of my pocket. I glanced into the car, checking to see if anyone was inside it, then kept walking up to my door. It opened easily and closed silently behind me, the lock clicking in the silence.
The switch clicked on the lamp and the dim yellow light tried to beat back the darkness, largely failing, but giving me enough light to see by.
I moved over to the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, looking down.
Aine's blood had stained the bear fur and the carpet both.
I knelt down and touched it with two fingertip, feeling the light crush of dried blood, that unique half tacky half crunchy feel only dried blood gets. I don't know what I expected. Maybe a spark of something, maybe, I don't know, just a faint impression of her.
Instead the emptiness deepened.
I got up, walking down the dark hall to the bathroom. It still smelled of apples from Aine's bath, a lingering scent of her on the towels.
A rock.
A goddamn rock.
I'd seen her bayoneted through the gut, seen her shot, she survived when Atlas had exploded.
And some junkie threw a rock and bashed in her skull.
The emptiness sang, like I had flicked a fingertip against pure Bavarian crystal.
I turned on the light above the mirror, staring at myself.
My hair was wet, plastered down, wet black that seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it. I kept it short, a half inch, in regulation. My eyes were shadowed, the blue dark, with dark circles under my eyes. I'd shaved in the morning and now along my jaw was dark. I ran my hand over my skin and heard the bristles snarl.
I turned away, walking back into the bedroom and looking around. Aine's gingham dress and the sash were folded neatly on the dresser, her hair clip with jeweled butterflies on it on top of them. Her little makeup box of tin decorated with brass, was next to her jewelry box, a hand carved cherry wood that Stillwater had made her in Junior High.
This was her room more than mine without her. It was our room when she was here, but now, there was nothing here that I was looking for.
Whatever that was.
When I walked back down the hallway I could smell them. Cheap aftershave and shaving cream, cigarettes, cheap beer, whiskey, and body odor.
"You sure he's here?" A voice said. Unfamiliar.
I'm here
"Where else is he going to hide? Isn't like he got any friends?" Second person. Male. Still unidentified.
"If he went to the hospital, Johnny and Al should be able to handle it," A third person said.
That one I recognized.
Nathan Keagan. One of Dave's older brothers.
Things were falling into place.
The evidence was all in front of me. Not something I'd want to take to JAG, but enough for me. I got it, got all of it now.
Nathan Keagan had worked at the mill, like I had, in shipping and receiving. Four years older than Dave, two years younger than his brother. He'd usually had a match stick or a toothpick in his mouth at all times, and when he was home he tormented me every time I was there at the same time.
But that was then.
Now it was dark and cold, even in my little house.
this isn't Tia-kwon-do or even karate or akido despite the fact I'm teaching all you much of the same moves. this is eskrima, modified by the mantra of 'keep what works discard the rest' and all that matters is putting down your opponent and putting them down hard.
even then, where all other martial arts tell you to only use the minimum required force, eskrima focuses on disabling or even killing strikes, with weapons or without
we're soldiers. we kill.
Stokes's words the first few months of her hand to hand training.
we're soldiers. we kill
we kill
I moved down the hallway, breathing slowly, getting ready. Each breath seemed to pull more emptiness into my body, hollowing me out even further instead of filling me with anything. They were in the front room, I could see them even in the darkness. The light of the moon through the clouds was streaming through the sliding glass door enough to light up the room to my eyes.
"We'll search the place. Don't fuck it up, the house is more important than that little runt," Nate told his two minions.
As I passed through the kitchen and into the dining room slash front room, separated only by the line between carpet and linoleum, my hand reached out and wrapped around the butcher knife in the knife block.
right hand Daga left hand live hand
The one stepping into the kitchen, passing by the counter that separated it from the dining room, had no clue I was there in the darkness. He was only a shadow, but that didn't matter.
the enemy doesn't attack you in the gym or on a training ground. smoke fire dust rain snow darkness all of is part of the battlefield and we train to kill that other poor bastard on the battlefield in order to win the objectives
we own the night...
I waited till he moved past me, groping on one wall for the light switch, before I moved.
The knife crunched as it drove through muscle and tendon, deep into his lower right side, sliding in as it sliced through intestines, at least nicked his appendix, and at least an inch slid out the front of his stomach. I felt the serrated edge grind on his pelvic bone before I let the knife go.
He screamed, loudly, and fell forward, onto his hands and knees. Lightning flashed, lighting up inside the house and letting me see clearly.
"Oh,God," he cried out right before I stomped on the small of his back, driving him face first into the linoleum.
The lightning went out.
Another blade slid out of the block and into my left hand as I moved through the gap and into the dining room, moving in on another shadow.
the thing to remember when you are outnumbered, is while your all by yourself, you aren't alone you do not have to worry about hurting an ally any strike that hits home hits the enemy
Stokes's voice
the enemy only exists to be destroyed
Stillwater's voice
"What's going..." the other said. Not Nate.
No matter. I was moving in on him in the dark.
The blade went in deep, just above his belly button, the blade slicing effortlessly through the abdominal wall, deep into his intestines, all the way to the hilt. I could feel that the blade had penetrated all the way through. Lightning flashed and I knew he could see my face as I stared up at him. His eyes were wide, mouth opening, stinking breath washing over my face.
I let go of the blade as he fell back, screaming, his hands reflexively finding the hilt.
He screamed louder as his hands grabbed it, louder still when he hit the wall, the point of the blade sliding back into his body. His legs had locked, holding him up against the wall that I knew he was bleeding all over.
Thunder rocked the house as I turned in place.
Nate turned on the light, turning to look at me.
Blood was dripping from my hands onto the linoleum as Nate stared at me.
Heavyset, a bit of a gut, brown hair, a close kempt beard, button up shirt, jeans, light windbreaker he'd opened to give him access to the pistol that was still in his belt. His brown eyes wide as he stared at me.
"Paul?" He asked. He was so shocked to see me standing there, blood dripping from my hands, as his two friends screamed.
I reached behind me, wrapping my hand around the hilt of the carving knife. The guy had his hands pressed against his gut, screaming. I stared at him, my head tilted down slightly to let my brow shade my eyes so the light wouldn't blind me. Still staring at him I moved slowly, pulling the blade out of his friend with a liquid sound.
His friend shrieked, then sobbed as he slid down the wall. The lights, which had been flickering all night with the storm, took that time to go out.
The other one was laying on the floor, writhing, trying to get the knife out of his back.
I took a step forward as lightning flashed behind me.
Nate was still staring as I took a step forward.
Blood ran down the edge of the knife, dripping from the point, onto the linoleum floor Aine and I had scrubbed my hand and then waxed, laughing while we had done so.
Aine giggling as I blew suds I'd taken out of the bucket into her hair
"Paul?" His hand was shaking as he lifted it up. "Stay, stay back, Paul."
I took another step as the thunder rolled across the house, shaking the windows.
there are no dangerous weapons, only dangerous men, and in the hands of a dangerous man anything is a weapon
Stillwater's voice
I took another step and this time the lights flickered as the lightning and snow stressed the power grid.
"I'm warning you, Paul, stay back," Nate's voice was trembling.
I growled, low in my throat, not meaning to, but the emptiness inside of me pushing the animalistic noise from my mouth. I took another step, bringing the range down to less than five paces between us.
Lightning flashed outside. The lights flickered again.
I took three fast cross steps as Nate looked behind him at the lightning flash. When he looked at me I was just standing two steps away, standing just like I had.
Hands down by my side, knees slightly bent, slightly slouched. Making me shorter than my normal five foot eight, making me look harmless and unprepared for anything. It balanced me, kept me rooted, as my body was ready to respond to any angle of attack.
That's what eskrima defense was based on for defense. Angle of attack and angle of deflection. It didn't matter what the weapon was, you either got out of the way or deflected the attack to a safe angle, that's all that mattered. If you had a chance to injure an opponent when deflecting, or disarm them, you took it.
Hard and fast.
Lightning flashed again, and again Nate glanced behind him. When he looked forward his eyes opened wide, his mouth dropped open.
I was less than a step away from him.
My arm came up, without me changing position, as if it wasn't exactly connected to the rest of me. The edge of the blade stopped along the rear angle of his jaw, just under the arc of his jawbone, along the side of neck and under his ear.
"The rock," I grated out.
He had forgotten the pistol in his waist band.
He went stiff with shock, aware of the blade along his neck and the angle of his jaw.
A drop of blood, not his, slid down his neck and into his shirt from the blade.
"W-wh-wha-what?" He stammered.
"The note," I grated out.
"Gail's idea. She said to do it," Nate said. "Oh, God, Paul, don't kill me, please."
"Why?" I knew already, but I wanted to hear it. Lightning flashed.
"She wants the house," he babbled. "Says it's hers, says she earned it having to be married to you. Having to put up with you."
"Why?" The thunder almost drowned out my words.
"I don't know. Swear to God, Paul, I don't know," he was begging now. Each movement of his jaw sliced the first couple layers of skin against the blade.
The blood trickling down his neck was now his own, mixed with his friend's.
"Please don't kill me," He whimpered. I could smell hot urine and knew he'd just wet his pants.
"Tell her," I growled. Lightning flashed.
"W-wh-what?" He said.
"Tell her: I'm coming," I said, thunder rumbled and I sliced open his face. Under his earlobe to the corner of this mouth, the razor sharp carving knife laying open his skin. The pain, the shock, made it so he didn't notice I'd plucked the gun from his waistband.
Dropping the knife on the floor I turned away from him, walking toward the sliding glass door. I heard Nate's knees thump against the carpet as went down on his knees. The guy against the wall was sobbing, his hands pressed against his gut, sitting in a pool of his own blood.
The sliding glass door whispered as it opened, snow blowing around me.
I stepped out into the dark and cold, shutting the door behind me.
The Sheriff said Gail and Dave weren't home.
But it would be rude if I didn't stop by our old home.