Marked for Vengeance (20 page)

“What a bitch,” he
slurred and dug through his pockets for his keys. “Damn!” He punched the wall
and headed toward the elevator to fetch his keys that remained in the ignition.

Creeeak…

His door slowly swung
open. He stared at it in puzzlement and shrugged his shoulders. He pushed his
way through and stopped before he made it to the living room, looking around in
horror. Someone had been in his condo.

His belongings were
strewn about. Every drawer had been emptied and its contents thrown on the
floor, every couch cushion overturned, picture off the wall, and potted plant
out of its planter. He stumbled sideways as he turned to look into the kitchen.
The cabinet doors had all been opened, and the dishes lay in white, broken
shards, scattered over the counters and floor.  His jaw hung open. “H-holy
shit,” he stammered. “Roberta? You here?”

A rustling diverted his
attention to the bedroom. “Roberta!” he yelled as he placed the bottle of
whiskey on the kitchen counter. “Is that you?”

As he awaited an answer,
he stood still with his hands clinched into fists, but only more rustling
responded. His eyes widened with realization. “I’m not alone,” he said in a
hushed voice.

He frantically surveyed
the room for something to use as a weapon and a silver candle holder on the
floor caught his eye. He bent forward to pick it up, tilting from the whiskey’s
murky embrace, and his hand flew to the floor to catch his fall. After righting
himself, he held the candle holder in front of his chest and inched toward the
bedroom door jam.

He paused before going
through and pulled his cell phone from his pocket, holding it away from him and
blinking as the numbers blurred together. His thumb slowly dialed 9-1- and
before he could press the last number, it flew from his hand and into a high
arc across the room as though someone had plucked it from his grip.

With the candle holder
held above his head, ready to make a lethal blow, his eyes darted around his
empty home. He walked backward in retreat, toward the front door when the
holder launched from his hand, crashing into the drywall.

Benjamin held his hands
up between him and whatever else was there, and turned to make a run for it.
The door slammed shut as he reached for the knob, and his shirt was pulled from
his back, dragging him into the living room as he released a guttural scream.

To silence his cry,
something slashed at his throat, and a warm streak of red sprayed across his
white sofa.

*
* *

 Noon slowly
approached, and Micah’s condition gradually worsened. Periodic trips to the
bathroom to throw up in the toilet filled his morning. Isaac feared his son’s
ailment was beyond the help of anything over the counter and resolved to call
the doctor later that afternoon. It was nearly impossible to get anyone on the
phone around lunch time.

“You want anythin’?” he
asked, his heart breaking as he watched Micah hold onto his stomach as though
it would fall apart. 

Micah shook his head.

“I’m callin’ the doctor
after lunch, ok? Sit tight. I’ll be downstairs cleanin’ if you need me.” Isaac
hoped that immersing himself in chores would prevent his mind from racing all
day, and bring with it the normalcy he wanted his son to perceive.

After gathering some
stray snack wrappers from around his son’s room, Isaac went downstairs to toss
them into the trash. He opened the cabinet door under the sink and grunted when
he saw the frame he had taken apart of his Dark Angel sitting beside the can.
Even though he had destroyed it, he wanted it out of the house and thrown into
the dumpster.

He tossed the wrappers
inside the can and slid the bag out, pulling the drawstrings taut. He flung it
over his shoulder and snatched the broken painting.

On his way to the door,
he noticed the film of grey dust covering the wooden furniture in the living
room. It had been at least three weeks since everything had a fresh dusting. He
dumped the bag and the remnants of the painting onto the floor beside the
couch. The dust had convinced him to do his heavy cleaning before going to the
dumpster.

While by the door, he
checked the deadbolts one more time. Their house today would be a fortress,
secured and locked tight. He remembered when he came back from the laundry room
yesterday, how careless he had been to leave without locking the door. If he
had known then what he knew now, he wouldn’t have allowed such reckless
oversights.

He cared less about the
material possessions in their home. The only two things he wanted to preserve were
Micah’s life and his own. His fears as he searched his apartment yesterday
afternoon were an accumulation from years’ worth of worries of what would
happen to Micah if anything were to happen to him, and what would happen to
him
if anything happened to Micah. He was a precious part of his life, an extension
of more than just a mere element of the DNA that he contributed. Micah carried
within him a part of Isaac’s soul and constantly reminded him how a part of
Rachel lived inside of him, as well. He flawlessly embodied her mannerisms and
wit, and Isaac still saw her sometimes in his eyes as he smiled, how the green
in them sparkled as hers would do. His whole reason to exist, to stay alive,
was packaged together in this one, small person – a colorful mosaic of his past
and present.

He went back to the
kitchen, slid open the knife drawer, and pulled out a broad butcher knife from
inside to leave on the counter. Despite the fact that they lived in the city,
it had never occurred to him to buy a gun or anything else of the sort. But if
they made it through the day without anymore strange visitors or unusual
occurrences, he would look into buying a firearm first thing in the morning.

*
* *

Alyx raked her fingers
through her newly rolled hair to separate the curls. After showering, she sat
on the couch to get ready as she watched Friends re-runs. The only thing she
lacked was to slip on her shoes, and she would be on her way to approach Cindra
outside of their building. She never grasped how much a friendship was actually
worth until today. Her only haven now existed on her friend’s shoulder. It
wouldn’t make her safe but would heal a few wounds at least.

She turned off the TV
and headed for the front door when the home phone rang. Her path redirected to
the kitchen, and she picked up the phone to see who called.
Benjamin?
Her
large, brown eyes stared at the screen as she contemplated whether or not to
answer. Did he want to yell at her some more? Would he plead for her to
reconsider? She hit the “End” button to mute the ringer and set it back on the
charger. The only person she wanted to speak to was Cindra.

She slipped on her
tennis shoes by the front door, and before she turned the knob to leave she
glanced back at the phone. The red voicemail light blinked on the receiver. Her
hand dropped from the knob, and she went back for the phone.
I guess I
better.

When the message
played, Roberta’s frantic, muffled voice wailed in the background.
Did she
call me on accident?

The reception became
clearer as Roberta put the phone to her ear, speaking in hysterical, broken
English. “Mija, its Benjamin. Dios Mio! Oh my God, something happened to my
Benjamin. Come over…”

Alyx held the phone
from her ear and stared at the ear piece in terror. Had he hurt himself? Been
in a car accident on the way home?
What the hell?

Her shaking fingers
dialed the number, and she held her breath until Roberta answered the phone.

“Alyx!” she cried. “I
walked in the door and found him here, lying in the floor. Blood is everywhere.
Oh my God,
Benjamin!”

Without a second
thought, Alyx flew out the door. “Did you check his pulse Roberta?” she barked
as she hurried down the stairs.

“He’s not alive, Mija.
No pulse.”

The blood drained from
her face, and she gripped the railing as her knees buckled. Her mouth opened to
speak again, but the words lodged inside her breathless throat. “C-” she forced
out. “Call 911, I’m on my way.” She let the phone drop down the stairs so she
could hoist herself back up with the railing. Her legs still quaked with each
stair step, but she successfully made it down to the bottom thanks to the extra
support.

On the way to his condo,
she barely saw the road through the film of tears. If Benjamin was dead, she
didn’t know how she would live with herself. Images raced through her mind of
him doing the unthinkable to himself, her wounding words that morning cutting
him so deep he had no choice but to end his own life. His last thoughts would
have been how she had broken his heart. She hadn’t felt more selfish and awful
in all her lifetimes.

The car skidded to a
stop in front of his complex. Not bothering to throw change in the meter, she
flung the door open and headed for the entrance. To her surprise, no ambulances
or any other rescue vehicles with flashing lights were parked along the curb. Hopefully
Roberta had called them, and they were on their way.
 

She raced through the
lobby, up the elevator, and to his door that hung open. When she stepped
through, her feet stopped inside the foyer. A light tingle returned to her
scar. She could tell by its weakening fizzle that it was the aftershock of what
had already been there, the remnants of its presence.

She covered her mouth
and walked forward, afraid at what she might see. Her entire body now tingled
from the adrenaline. Roberta’s quiet sobs bounced down the walls of the hallway,
and Alyx’s eyes drew to Benjamin’s outstretched hand that lay on the floor from
behind the living room wall. “R-” she attempted to say from behind her hand,
but her the words jammed again. She cleared her throat, and Roberta recognized
the sound.

“Oh, Mija!” Roberta
cried and ran to her from around the corner, burying her wet face into Alyx’s arm.
“He’s gone.” The blood that drenched Roberta’s clothes from where she had
undoubtedly been holding Benjamin seeped through Alyx’s sweater like a thirsty
sponge, turning her stomach. Her knees trembled again with a vengeance, and if
Roberta hadn’t been holding her, they would have given in again.

Alyx’s eyes focused on
his hand and were unable to produce anymore tears from the shock. As the faint
screams of the approaching sirens penetrated the building walls, she knew that
if she wanted to see him one last time, this was her chance. When they arrived,
she would be lucky to get so much as an inch from him.

She patted Roberta’s
arm. “I need to see him,” she whispered grimly, still staring at his lifeless
hand.

“No, Mija, don’t see
him like that,” she pled.

“Roberta,” she asserted.
“I need you to move so I can see him now.”

“No, Alyx. Please don’t!”

She pried free and
continued forward as Roberta tugged on her hand, begging her not to go. When
she arrived at the corner, she turned to stone and her legs finally gave in,
landing with a smack on the hard wood floors. She fought to keep her eyes open
as they insisted on rolling back into the sockets, the gruesome visual pummeling
her psyche.

Benjamin’s arms lay
above his head, spattered with blood from the large gashes all over his body. A
pained expression distorted his once handsome face that now drowned in a pool
of red. She fell onto her heels, and her eyes scanned over the furniture that had
also been soaked in a grisly bloodbath. Whoever had done this also ripped apart
his entire apartment, destroying absolutely everything he owned.

The pattering of
multiple footsteps approached from behind, and a pair of hands slipped under
her armpits, saving her from gravity that sucked her to the floor. Her last
visual before her eyes closed for good was a group of men who rushed by in slow
motion as they surrounded Benjamin’s body like a swarm of bees.

*
* *

Isaac munched on a
peanut butter and honey sandwich during his break from cleaning the flat. The
only thing left to do was clean the bathroom. He saved that chore for last
because it was indisputably the worst room of the house.

“You alright?” Isaac
called.

“For the hundredth
time… yes, dad,” Micah groaned from the loft.

Isaac grinned.
He
has his grandaddy’s stubbornness, that one.
“Sue me for carin’ then.”

He set the sandwich on
the table to get a cola from the fridge when Micah hurried down the stairs with
a green face.
Alright, my butt!

He followed him to the
bathroom and rubbed his back as he dry heaved. Yellow stomach bile splashed
into the water. Isaac snatched a rag from inside the cabinet to wet it and lay
it over Micah’s neck, remembering when Rachel would do that for him and that it
somehow seemed to help.

Micah stood from the
toilet and made his way toward his room. “Take this with you,” Isaac said, wringing
the rag in his hands. “It always helped me.”

When Micah passed by,
he took it from his father and draped it across his neck as he hobbled to the
metal staircase.

Isaac trailed behind
him and made a mental note to call the doctor after he cleaned the bathroom.