Date: Fri, 10 Jul 2009 11:06:46 -0700 (PDT)
From: Sticky Fingers <sticky.fingers@ymail.com>
Subject: Obsidian Initiate Chapter 3

      It was a grey day when I awoke the next morning.  The sun was hidden
behind a thick layer of clouds and the clock on my bedside table showed
11:47.  The typical blinding sensation tearing me from my sleep was a
gentler ashen light.  It was what I considered a perfect day.

      In Norfolk, VA, late March can be cold and snow-covered, or the
perfect spring day in the middle sixties.  We were lucky this year and
spring had come early.  Most of the ground had dried and the grass was
already well on its way to needing mowed.  Today promised a high of sixty
one degrees and I was going to hold the weatherman to it.

      Maybe I've always been a little crazy.  I suppose having seen what I
have in my short time in the world will do that to a person.  Aside from a
little murder in the future, I'd grown up a relatively well adjusted guy.
At least that's what my therapist wrote in the final pages of my file.  It
was mine after all, and I felt obligated to have a peek when he stepped out
one afternoon to take an important call.

      The trip home to South Hill would take about three hours if I kept
within the speed limit.  I could take the interstate up to Richmond, but
preferred the more direct path along Route 58.  There were plenty of towns
to stop and get gas, though for the most part the drive would be a boring
one.  There wasn't much between Norfolk and South Hill except tiny minds,
empty fields, pine trees, and the monotony of hills and valleys.  It would
give me time to think, and watching for deer would keep me awake.

      I could smell coffee in the air and it was enough to motivate me to
shower, shave, dress, and finally trudge down the stairs.  The foyer at the
bottom of the stairs led to the common room which was what most would call
the living room.

      Unlike most frats, ours was fairly well kept.  A maid visited Monday
through Friday to help keep things just so.  Ethel would clean the common
room, kitchen, and bathroom.  Our private rooms were our own to maintain,
and were usually left lingering between the stages of typhoon and tsunami.
Ethel also refused to open the refrigerator.  Unintended science
experiments had earned us the privilege of dealing with that chore after
her first day of employment.  She'd been working at the house now for
almost a decade and was constantly reminding us of that fact as she went
through her paces.

      She had become part of the family long ago, though I wondered how
much she suspected when certain members of the fraternity never aged.  What
Ethel may have lacked in a formal education she made up for in common
sense.  The other Elementals had explained it was necessary to change their
appearance every five to seven years to avoid detection, but I had to
wonder how and if they truly managed to slip past Ethel's keen eye.

      I sipped my coffee and was lost in the hypnotic gyration of her ample
behind when she suddenly reared back and slapped Kevin in the back of the
head.

      "I know yer momma didn't bring you up like that!  Get yer feet offa
that table!"

      Kevin was leaning back in his chair balancing on two legs when Ethel
unleashed the attack.  Before I knew what had happened, a loud crash filled
the room, and Kevin's legs were flailing in the air as he lay flat on his
back.  It was a grace that my coffee was luke-warm or it would have burned
like hell as it came out my nose.  Other snickers could be heard around the
room, but were promptly stifled.  It was best not to get her riled up.  As
it was, we'd hear her mumble for the next hour as she finished up the last
of her work.

      It's the little joys which make my day.  Lately, there seemed to be
fewer and fewer and I couldn't help but wonder about my future as I stared
at the angry pink scars on my left arm.  The wound was healed, but a
constant ache within the bone pulled me to a darker place.  Now was as good
a time as any to break the news to Etock and the other frat brothers.

      "I'm going back to my hometown to visit with some friends before
classes begin.  I'll be back tomorrow."  The weight of Etock's stare
pressed against me as I took another sip of coffee.

      "Have you told Devon?  I think he has family out that way and could
keep you company."  It wasn't a question.  As usual Etock made it a
command.

      "I'm going alone.  It's just for a day, and I won't have time to do
much of anything but visit friends and family.  We've already got plans."
His stare seemed to almost smother me as I glared back.

      "I could probably stay an extra day."  Etock's eyes seemed to flicker
in the light, and his expression faded to a stolid emotionless blank.

      Of course I knew I could stay another day, but I'm sure that was the
last thing he wanted.  He was a control freak, and the idea that I would be
out from beneath his strong arm of control for even longer was
unacceptable.

      "When are you leaving?"  A forced smile stretched his lips but there
was suspicion in his voice.

      "As soon as I finish packing a few things.  The drive takes about
three hours so I should probably get going.  I'm expected for supper at
seven."  This time it was a complete lie, and even though Etock probably
knew it, I wasn't giving him the opportunity to fuck it up for me.

      Before my trip home became a debate, I drank the last swallow of my
coffee, sat the mug in the sink, turned, and hurried back to my room.  I
threw my black hoodie, a pair of jeans, and hiking boots in my leather
backpack and was ready to escape when I heard a knock at my door.

      Hefting the backpack over my left shoulder, I opened the door and
stepped into the opening to keep Etock from coming into my room.  I knew it
was him, it was ALWAYS him.

      "It's not safe for you to go alone."  Etock whispered the words as
though it were a secret between lovers.

      "I just need to get away from all of ... this.  Just give me one day,
okay?"  Finally I could look at him and believe what I was saying.

      "I don't like it."  Etock took a step back and made room for me to
leave.

      'SUCKS TO BE YOU!'  I thought as I stepped past him.

      "I'll see y'all tomorrow!"  I tromped down the steps and out the
front door.

      After stopping at one of the many Wal-Mart's as I made my way out of
the city, I could finally feel the tension leave my chest and start to
build in my shoulders and neck.  I hated to drive, and the idea of what I
was really going to do when I finally got to my father's apartment, plagued
my thoughts.

      La Crosse was my final stop before hitting South Hill.  Before
entering town I pulled off on Virginia Street and stopped along the side of
the road to change clothes.  La Crosse is only about five minutes from
home, and the last thing I wanted was for anyone to recognize or see me.
The sun had set when I pulled into the Exxon station and filled the gas
tank.  When this was done, I didn't want to have to stop until I was back
at the frat house.

      As the last few miles faded into the distance, my chest tightened
with a morbid anticipation.  I didn't recognize anyone at the gas station,
but I began to wonder if my hoodie was enough to hide my face.  What if
someone saw me?  What if he wasn't home?  What the hell would I do with the
body?

      Before I knew it, I was driving down West Main Street.  Lunenburg
Avenue had more cars parked along the side than usual, but I managed to
find a space.  It seemed to make more sense to park there than some out of
the way place where my beat up Citation would be noticed.  Here... it was
just another piece of shit in a parade of rust.

      As I shut off the motor a deafening silence filled the car.  It felt
as though I sat there for hours before I finally decided to get out.  The
door seemed to scream as I pushed it open and stepped into the darkness.
My lungs exhaled poorly lit clouds as I tried to calm myself and shake off
the chill of night.  One of the street lights flickered and hummed
threatening to fail at any moment as my shoes scuffed against the cracked
sidewalk.  I rushed toward my misery as if the cold were chasing me to my
father's apartment.

      As I rounded the corner, darkness enveloped me.

      Ken's store is one of those old two-story red-brick buildings, built
with ceilings too high, and a foundation that promised to last forever.
The crown molding that decorated the front where the face of the building
met the roof was missing in chunks as though something had taken jagged
bites from it during the passage of time.  Age and the weather would take
another bite, and when more molding fell, the list of victims below entered
my mind and almost made me grin.  That would be the end of Ken's Hardware.

      The painted advertisement on the sidewall was too faded to be of any
use, and I had to wonder if there was any reason they hadn't sandblasted it
completely away.  Still I was happy to be hidden from the street lights as
I rushed around the corner to the back of the building and found the door
leading up to my father's apartment.

      A thousand trails of nervous feet seemed to race up my spine as I
turned the door knob and stepped inside the stairwell.  The darkness of the
alleyway was a comfort, but the pitch black felt thick as I crept up the
stairs.  Each step brought wooden moans and creeks that seemed like violent
screams of protest.

      A dingy sliver of light sliced through the dusty air from a crack
beneath the door to the apartment.  My whole body was trembling and my
breath seemed to stutter as I raised my hand to knock.  I rapped on the
door and let out a heavy sigh.

      Muffled sounds of staggered movement and the fumble of a latch
surrounded me and the door opened.  "Goddamned kids!  Who is it?"

      He was old!  The reality of what stood before me and what my mind
remembered from the past wasn't matching up.  It was him though.  Behind
the folds of skin and deep lines was the man that used to be my father.  At
first I couldn't speak and we just stared at each other.

      He started to shut the door but paused.  "Kristoff?  Is that you?"

      As I fiddled with some loose change in my middle hoddie pocket I was
finally able to speak.

      "Yes... it's me."  Some strange slice of my soul leapt at the thought
of finding my father and meeting him again, but I crushed that ignorant joy
as he backed away and allowed me to enter.

      His apartment was poorly lit with only a single lamp and the light
from the television cast a dingy glow on the few surfaces it could reach.
Eric, my father, rushed to close the door behind me and stumbled to the
couch.  The apartment was a shit hole.  Nicotine stained the walls, and the
place reeked of too many cigarettes smoked in a closed space.  The few
pieces of furniture he had were dingy and worn beyond repair.  The paneling
seemed to suck the light out of the room as he hurried to clear off a place
for me to sit on the couch.

      He busied himself and I looked around for anything I might be able to
use to bash in his skull.  He suddenly turned, grabbed my arms, and pulled
me into his chest.  I felt trapped.

      "It's been so long, son."  There was sorrow in his voice as the heavy
tar-like words seemed to cling to the sides of his throat.

      "Yeah."  I could barely speak in his tight embrace, and my hands were
still in my front hoodie pocket.

      "Have a seat!" He turned us in place and almost threw me onto the
couch.

      "Can I get you something to drink?"

      I could smell the bourbon on his breath and wanted to throw up at the
unwelcome sweet stench.  "No thanks.  I could use the bathroom though.  It
was a long drive."

      "The door in the kitchen there."  He turned his head and nodded at
the only other door in the apartment.

      It may have been twice the size of my room back at the frat house,
but it was a meager space for anyone to live in.  The living room and
kitchen were separated by two cabinets and a counter-top filled with dirty
dishes and other debris.  There was no kitchen table, as if there would
have been room for one, and the refrigerator reminded me of something that
probably came from the 1970's.  Every available surface and the trash can
seemed filled to overflowing with beer cans and empty bourbon bottles.  The
only item that seemed of use was an antique metal chair with a wooden base
and torn ugly yellow vinyl where a padded seat once existed.

      I was careful not to trip on anything as I made it to the bathroom
door.  The light was already on, and I regretted it.  Stains from months of
missing the mark seemed to cover and coat the ancient linoleum and toilet.
There was barely enough room to close the door behind me as I wedged myself
into the cramped shitter.  The doorknob had a lock, but after fiddling with
it for a moment I discovered it was only for show.  I wanted more than a
door between us even if my impromptu harbor of solitude was a sewer.

      "So how've you been?"  He shouted the words as my stream of piss
plunged into the dank water below.

      Conversation from the bathroom has never been a high-point with me.
It's a time of concentration and right now I was hoping to find something
deadly.

      "I'm in college in Norfolk." I yelled back as I shook the last drops
away and zipped up.

      "I always knew you'd do well."  His shout lowered to regular volume
as I opened the door and fought to escape the confines.

      As I approached the couch, I finally found my weapon of choice.  A
heavy overflowing marble ashtray as round as a basketball sat on the
end-table beside me.

      I leaned over and picked it up spilling the contents.  "No thanks to
you, asshole."

      Spinning around, I swung with all my strength.  The ashtray was
heavier than I anticipated and slipped out of my gloved hand hitting him
square in the chest.  He grunted from the impact and lurched sideways out
of his dilapidated recliner.  I dove through the cloud of ash and on top of
him.  He was stunned, but I couldn't give him a chance to recover.  He may
have been old, but time in prison seemed to have hardened his muscles
despite the incredible alcoholic punishment he inflicted upon himself.

	He was on his side with one arm trapped beneath him, and the other
beneath me.  As I struggled to get handfuls of his greasy grey hair, he
shifted onto his back and started to pull his arms loose.  With two hands
full of his hair I jerked his head toward me and slammed it into the floor
over and over again.  Time seemed to stop, but the cramping in my arms
finally brought me back to reality.  Labored breath and frantic heartbeats
thundered in my head.  My father lay beneath me unconscious.  There were
smears of blood around his face as though someone stamped them there by
design.  His breath was labored, but returned to normal when I climbed off
him.

	An unconscious or dead body is never as easy to move as people
think.  They don't cooperate.  After dragging my father across the floor
into the kitchen, I tipped the chair down beside him and pulled the duct
tape from my hoodie.  It was awkward, but I managed to get his legs and
body secured to the chair, leaving enough tape for one final strip to go
across his mouth.

	My lungs hurt from so much effort that I felt as though I had run a
marathon.  I had definitely earned a drink and a break.  I nearly had the
chair tipped back on all fours when Etock came through the door and stood
staring at me.

	"You're too late."  My muscles strained as the chair finally tipped
back onto all four legs and I struggled to keep him from rocking over the
opposite direction.  His body settled and his head hung forward.

	I lay back on the floor and caught my breath.  Once I started back
to the frat house these clothes would be history.  At the next possible
opportunity, I was going to stop and change.  Sweat soaked through my shirt
and made each brush of fabric against my skin feel like the surrounding
filth was somehow seeping into my body.

	Moments passed in silence before I sat up.  "What the hell do you
want?"

	Etock's face was a visage of disappointment.  "This isn't the
answer."

	I stood and stared back at him.  "Sure it is.  I'm going to end the
nightmares."

	"At the expense of creating new ones?  Listen to me, Kris, this
will only bring you sorrow.  This isn't balance."  Etock was trying to be
rational, and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew he was right, but I
didn't care.  In fact, it pissed me off all the more.

	"Balance?  What the fuck do you know about balance?  You don't
know..."  Muted cries drew my attention.  Ah... daddy's awake!

	Tears were streaming down his face and snot started to drool onto
the duct tape that covered his mouth.

	"Be careful old man.  I don't want you to suffocate... yet.  If
your nose closes up too soon, I won't have my satisfaction."  Whatever
humanity that was sparked by Etock's words was extinguished as I gazed into
my father's eyes.

	"It's not too late, Kris.  Please think about what you're doing."
The words drifted past me as though they had been spoken to someone else.

	"You're right.  It's time to end this."  I pulled the fillet knife
from the pocket of my hoodie and slashed my father's throat open in a
single fluid motion.

	Between the gas and my stop for supplies at Walmart, I was out
about $32.17, but it was worth every fucking penny.

	I spun around, with knife in hand, and dared him to come closer.
"Let it be, Etock.  This is none of your concern."  I couldn't fight the
urge to keep glancing at my father as his neck gurgled and hissed as he
leisurely suffocated in his own blood.

	The minutes ticked away like days as I waited for him to die.  My
greatest fear was that Etock might intervene, but he never moved.  There
was no way I could have stopped him if he meant to save my father, but I
hoped he wouldn't.  Finally, my father's futile efforts to escape and his
wet desperate breathes ended.  It was done.

	"What do you plan to do with the body?"  Etock's voice was
nonchalant.  It was as if he were asking what my plans were for the
weekend, and I had to fight the urge to laugh.

	"Nothing... Why?  What do you think I should do?"  Not that I
really cared.  I figured someone would find him eventually.

	"Go home.  I'll clean up the mess."  Etock indicated the door with
a nod.

	"If you bring him back, I'll never forgive you."

	"He's beyond that now... you've done the job well.  Go back to the
frat house.  It seems I have failed you yet again."  Etock sighed as tears
slid down his cheeks.

	I didn't answer.  If he wanted to dispose of the body, that was
fine by me.  I wouldn't have pissed on the old son of a bitch if he were on
fire.

	I cried most of the way home.  Tears burned my cheeks and stung my
eyes until I had no more to give.  I would never kill again.

      It was another decision I would come to regret.

***

Many thanks to my wonderful editor, Chris.  Many thanks also to those who
were kind enough to drop me a note and express their interest in the story.
I hope you like where this is going and also hope that future chapters
don't disappoint.  It is the feedback that motivates me and keeps me on
track, so here's hoping you'll all take a moment to write a quick note and
let me know what you think.  Any and all suggestions or criticisms are
always welcome.

Hope to hear from you soon.

sticky.fingers@ymail.com