CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Old Witches
Emboldened by her ever increasing nerves she agreed to meet Zale at a gun shop. He talked about it so nonchalantly yesterday, maybe it isn't a big deal for her to own a weapon. Something deep inside her feels dirty about the concept though. The shop is huge, it pervades nearly 180 degrees of her view. The massive parking lot is so packed she can barely find an open space in the gravel lot. Shockingly Zale pulls up on time, laboring to maneuver his boat of a car in such a crowded lot. He summarily jumps out of his car and jogs to her. He opens her door, she steps out gingerly.
"Hey! You ready to shoot some stuff?" he exclaims, grinning wide. Before she has a chance to respond he turns for the shop.
"Ready as I'll ever be," she retorts, trying to catch up with him as he jots to the door. He pulls open the iron frame and bolts inside, pausing to hold the door open for her. The visions inside the shop assail her so violently she nearly gasps. Seemingly thousands of guns and millions of rounds of ammunition stare back at her. Zale turns impatiently toward her, waving her onward. She steadies herself and focuses.
It feels like hours go by, but before the hand on the clock has moved past half an hour she stands with a myriad of weapons laid out before her.
Zale and the gung-ho salesman get along almost too well. Before she knew what was happening she had more than ten different hand guns chosen for her to shoot, with the two men arguing about what would fit her best.
"Have you ever shot anything before?" Zale asks.
"Not yet," she nervously laughs.
"It's way more fun than you'd think," he says. She stares down the range, the brick walls look beat up from stray gunfire. The range is built into the back of the shop, nothing special, just some office dividers and destroyed targets. Zale walks down the range and sets up some old milk jugs filled with water.
"They're all loaded, just pick up one and fire away," Zale expels almost out of breath after the sprint back from the other end of the range.
"Will it hurt?" she wonders.
"Nah, just make sure to hold your arms tight," he says. Reluctantly she picks up the smallest of the arrayed armaments. She points the gun down range, turns her head, and squeezes the trigger. Deafening sound rings in her ears. When she looks down range water flows from one of the many jugs. She smiles to Zale and he gives her a crushing high-five. The smile seems to have taken up a permanent residence on her face over the rest of the clip. She manages to land at least three more bullets into the targets. A source of self empowerment grows inside her slowly. She kisses Zale among the excitement. How has she gone this long without shooting something?
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The idea of seeing his son again makes his usual pain feel like a massage. Ever since Clint left he hadn't been the same and it's entirely that stupid girl's fault. John has been slowly deteriorating into nothing more than an extension of his recliner. His large frame has turned into a prison which keeps his ever slowing mind stuck to the earth. Ever since his son had left him and his wife died, he's had nothing to live for and no reason to care.
Then, out of the constant static that is his life, Clint's voice rang through and banished the nothingness. A ray of sunlight into the dark eclipse of his life, a chance to see his son finally makes him stand. Maybe after all this evil his life might restore itself to some of its former glory. He graces the outside of his house, finally braving his fears for the first time in years. The wind feels so good on his face as he surveys his now decrepit property, just a few acres of grass scattered with a couple scraggly trees. The small breeze is making the long grass call to him, and he decides to fix the place up so Clint will remember it from the days of his childhood.
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Clint closes the door to his hated apartment, hopefully for the last time. His car is already packed and he only has one thing left to do. He thinks he looks very dashing in his black slacks and gray dress shirt; he even chose to put some gel in his hair. He knows this will make her jealous to lose him forever. He locks the door and leaves the key under the mat, like he had agreed with his landlord, just in case he needs to come back for the night. He has decided two things for certain though: first, if she doesn't break up with Zale he's calling the cops on him no matter what; and second, he is long past ready to never see Azelia again after tonight.
He crosses the busy street to his fully packed car. He could not be more ready to be rid of this place and go back home to his dad. Everything is finally coming together. His life feels back on track for the first time in years.
__________
Every last fiber in her body is telling her she should just stay home and see if Clint would actually go home without ever seeing her, but Azelia knows that's not really an option. She walks ever so slowly from her car, checking her purse more than once on the way and nearly gets run over for her carelessness. The car honking doesn't dissuade her, she smiles, knowing beyond a doubt she's ready for any way this night could go.
The stairs to the pizza shop are littered with bums and people who never seem to have anything to do but loiter. For a moment she wonders if that's what Zale truly is, but she shakes her head at the idea. She brushes by one extremely unsightly bum holding a sign that reads "I bet you a dollar you read this sign." She laughs to herself and, if the circumstances were different, she would have given him a dollar.
She can already see Clint waiting at the large door. Her resolve melts away and she starts to turn, but he spots her. "Azelia!" he yells. "Over here!"
"I'm coming. I'm not deaf by the way," she manages to say. He holds open the door for her, just like nothing's ever changed. She nods as she passes him, he pretends to not hear or see her contempt.
"Just two?" the cute red headed hostess asks. The restaurant is nothing special or noteworthy, just an old beat-up pizza place. The walls are covered in tacky red and white wallpaper and all the booths are a bland dark color but it's nearly full.
"Yep," Clint says. She signals for them to follow her. The restaurant is a good place for this meeting she thinks, a lot of people and no hidden spaces or corners for him to do anything drastic. A calm resolute manner has replaced his normally aggravating demeanor, she can't remember the last time he was this calm. It must be because he thinks he can get her to change her mind about Zale with some pictures he falsified. She is so involved in her own thoughts she runs into a passing waitress.
"Sorry," she blurts out, the waitress didn't have anything in her hands so she just huffs and keeps on walking. The hostess points to a large booth with lighting fit more for a seance than a meal, but maybe the less she can see of Clint the better.
"Thanks," she says as the redheaded hostess lays their menus on the table; they sit across from one another and sink into the soft leather booths like quicksand.
"Nice choice, very classy," she jeers at Clint.
"Can't we have a nice meal like we used to?" he pleads, "I'm leavin' soon anyways," he adds and tries in vain to get into a semi comfortable position.
"I just wanna get this over with," she retorts. They both shut up and bury their heads into the menus as the nosy older couple in the booth next to them starts to pay them a little too much attention. She looks up, not caring what those other people think of her.
"Just tell me why you wanted to meet me so bad?" she asks, it takes all of her will not to yell at him.
"I wanted to clear things up a bit and say goodbye before I went back home," he says with an honest look on his face. She slams the menu down on the table and stands up, but before she can walk away Clint grabs her arm.
"There's one more thing I have to talk to you about," he says, she stares at him. She doesn't think she could hate anyone more than him. Probably, out of fear more than anything, she sits back down slowly.
"What?" she says exasperated. Everyone is staring at them, which is good, he wouldn't hurt her with all these people around, but she's ready one way or the other.
"Did you get the pi
ctures I left for you?"
"What about em?"
"I just want you to know the truth about your new little boyfriend," he says with a smirk.
"Or should I say arsonist and future inmate? I wonder if he's still roaming the streets or if he's caught already?" he gets out just before he cracks up laughing.
"Screw you!" she yells at him. She bolts up this time and starts running so there's no way he can keep her around anymore.
__________
He gets up to run after her, he doesn't want it to end this way, she makes him feel insane. By the time he gets outside she's almost to her car.
"Wait!" he yells after her, "I was only kidding, it can't end like this!" he says while trying to cross the street without getting killed. She is struggling with the keys in her purse, some things never change.
Just as he gets to her, she opens the car's squeaky door; he stops her from pulling it shut by putting his entire body in the way. He sees her grabbing for something inside that giant purse of hers. She's struggling to get a hold on it.
"Why can't you just let me say goodbye?" he says and steps away.
"I know you want more than that. I know you think I ruined your life!" she yells and finally closes the door. She falters in her conviction momentarily and obliges him by not speeding away.
"I really am leaving, I only wanted us to end with a memory that isn't yelling. We have so much history together," he pleads. This time she doesn't wait for him to get out of the way and drives off, nearly knocking him down to the hot pavement.
He was going to let her go with no hard feelings, but now he craves the just redemption he deserves for all the pain she caused him. If only she could be cordial for once.
__________
She should have killed him, a thought that echoes painfully through Azelia's head. All her torment and fear could have ended with a simple pull of the trigger, his worthless life must be extinguished for hers to flourish. She speeds through the lively downtown, every happy bystander wandering the well lit streets force her feelings of pain and regret closer to a violent outbreak. It would have been so simple to end her relentless persecution, the gun lies on the seat next to her, shiny and accessible. She needs to find a new place to lay her head in the morning; he seemed reasonable but there is no telling what a scorned man can do.
She swerves past an old lady trying unconvincingly to cross the street, her wearisome walker squeaks roughly on its worn tennis balls. "Move out of the way you old hag!" Azelia yells at her. Her normal inclination for politeness is gone. If her manager thinks she's coming into work, he clearly has no idea of how the world functions.
The deep breath she takes at the next red light calms her down enough to at least call Zale. She picks up her phone and dials his number. She can't remember ever being so comfortable with someone after knowing them for only a few months. Just the thought of him calms her enough to finally start paying attention to the road, a fact her fellow drivers appreciate.
"Hello," his tired voice pierces the receiver.
"Hey," she responds, her voice is shaky and scared, but her driving has sobered up slightly.
"How'd it go?" he asks, she doesn't respond but lets out a muffled cry. "That bad huh?" he continues.
"Yeah... definitely wasn't good," she answers. A long pause follows, she wishes he would say something, any words of comfort would ease her doubt. For a writer he never seems very good with words, then again, she's never read any of his work so she can't really judge.
"That sucks... If it makes you feel any better I still like you," he chuckles, she can't help but smile.
"Thanks."
"Want to do something?"
"Nah, I just need to get some sleep. You free tomorrow?" she asks. Being so tantalizing close to her campsite and sleep erases all other wants from her mind.
"When am I never free?" he inquires with a laugh, she echoes his sounds.
"I'll call you tomorrow, but not too early, you bum."
"Thanks, talk to you then. You sure you don't need anything tonight?" he asks.
"No, I'm fine," she reassures him and closes her phone. She pulls into her campsite, fatigue pulls at every particle of her being. The adrenaline dump from tonight will ensure a sound sleep, not to mention the shining gun that will whisper sweet nothings of security to her until then.
__________
Jade looks lustfully out of her small apartment window for the thousandth time, she knows Zale's car is there but her excitement emanating from their past escapades keeps her seeking the reassurance of his presence. Knowing she has full control over another has risen her confidence to previously unknown peaks, her enemies have never fallen faster. They have managed to provide each other with a level of comfort that would be impossible for them to achieve alone. She debates whether to go and wake him for tonight's small happy task, but after much consideration she decides the business is a smidgen to personal to involve him. Besides, she doesn't need another person to finish the job. She leaves the window to its lonesome perch and goes back to her leather chair, the only furniture decorating the sparse second bedroom. This night's mission is not strictly against someone of pure evil, just an old hag not worthy of life, her downstairs neighbor.
She pulls back her long hair and revels in the moments about to transpire, it won't take long, but it will be sweet. The thrill of the hunt sends chills from her neck down to her toes, her senses all perk to attention. The plan is simple, all she has to do is pick the lock without being noticed and once inside suffocate the old lady with her own pillow. Old people die regularly enough in their sleep to never raise suspicion. Jade's justified this to herself a million times, despite her supposed, and most likely false, innocence the old lady can't be left alive after slighting Jade so many times. She picks up her knife, just in case, and puts it in her ankle holster. She takes a deep breath and walks speedily to the door.
__________
Zale lies down in the back off his car and studies the ceiling he knows all too well. He imagines the list of people who have endured living in their car for this length of time is extremely short. He's so close to finishing the book, but he hasn't been able to dream since the night with Jade. His money is running drier than a desert stream in August, and that fact forces his mind into the delusional state of dreaming, for the sake of his continued existence on earth. As he lies on his back he feels the needed and slow release of D.M.T alter his brain to his great joy...
The hero tiptoes into to the old man's bedroom on worn smelling socks, he took off his coveted snakeskin boots at the door to maintain all possible silence, but with the way the old bastard is snoring he probably could have ridden a train into his room. This is the man he has been hunting for weeks and weeks, nearly dying more than once on the journey, the mentor of the evil Rouwling boys. The hero creeps towards the man without haste.
The sloth of movements gives his mind time to wonder how he ended up here; killing an old man in his sleep doesn't seem like a just end to it all, but an end to it all is what he craves. After the endless death and blood he's spilled it would only be fitting for his life to fall into obscurity, where he will no longer influence the lives of others. He's had far more than enough of being judge, jury, and executioner. His dirty and worn duster drags along smoothly as he inches closer across the wooden floor to his goal. He reminds himself of the overriding reason this man must be forfeit, he has a price on his head big enough to carry the hero comfortably throughout the rest of his life. It also doesn't hurt that this man has conducted hundreds of killing in his time. Who is the hero kidding? He could have retired long ago, he's had enough money to live comfortably for years now. Something deep inside him lusts for blood. He wishes he was as tired of all the killing as he's been trying to convince himself. Still, with this kill, he could spend the rest of his days drowned in a whiskey bottle on a piece of hefty desert land.
He finally reaches the end of the old man's bed after what seems like an etern
ity of snail's pace movement. Now for the most daunting part of his journey, climbing into bed with the devil incarnate. He knows the easiest way to finish the bastard would be to suffocate him with his own pillow, which is also the cruelest way, so that's the plan. The stench of whiskey pouring from the man's pores is almost paralyzing as he sweats out his demons in the night, so he can truly let them loose during the day.
The closeness of him makes the hero worry, the man's aura feels like Satan's. He knows he must be quick, not to alert the man's guards- how he made it past them in the first place is a mystery in its own right. The pillow looks so inviting to the hero's fists. The force with which he puts it over the ugly man's face awakens him instantly. He fights with his feeble body, but his strength is nothing compared to the hero, he easily holds it over the man's face as the life slowly fades from him. Spittle slips from the hero's lips as he grits his teeth with anger. Slowly but surely the fight from the feeble, ugly, old man starts to relax until nothing is left but the sound of the hero gritting his teeth.
"Serves you right," he says as he drops the pillow and slaps the man on the face, hard, just for good measure. Now he just has to think of a way to prove it was him who did the deed so can collect bounty. He pulls out his knife and leans over the man...
Zale awakes with a start. One thought pervades: what a terrible way to end a book. He will definitely have to change that. He rolls over hoping to go back to sleep and dream something better.
The vibration of his phone breaks him out of his thoughts. He looks at the name on the phone, Azelia again. "Hello?" he says.
"Hey, sorry to call you again," she says.
"It's O.K. what's up?" he asks trying to still rub the sleep from his eyes.
"Would you mind coming over tonight?"
"No, of course not," he responds and tries even harder to wake himself. He takes the phone away from his face to look at the time, not too late, it's only eleven.
"Thanks... I'll see you soon," she says and hangs up quickly.
__________
Bounding over a bump that should be taken at least thirty miles an hour slower hurls Clint's stomach into his throat, but even that only momentarily distracts him. He has one thing and one thing only on his mind, Azelia. His plan might work, it just might. He carries the key to unlock his dreams of redemption in the glove box. He's kept it there as long as he's had this car.
How could she treat him this way after everything he's done for her? He only wanted one last peaceful meeting with her. And like most things she's ruined that as well. A crazed smile graces his lips as he speeds faster. The light from the passing headlights illuminate his face, showing now not only a crazed smile but a tear to go along with it.