Page 151 of Savior
As I approach the house, I notice the wilting flowers drooping from their hanging pots on the front porch. Dying from neglect. The lady of the house hasn’t been home to water them… Forced into an absence she didn’t ask for. Clearly, he can’t be bothered to care. Not about her flowers. Not about her attempt to make this house a home, for him. Not about her feelings or her safety…
I grab the hose rolled up on the side of the porch, cranking on the spicket. Twisting the nozzle to a gentle spray, I water her flowers, waiting for him to hear me. He doesn’t. Once the plants are soaked, I place the hose down on the welcome mat, spraying against his front door, and ring the bell twice. Grabbing the railing, I jump off the porch and drop down beside the spicket, where I wait for him in the darkness.
“What the fuck?” he shouts, cursing as he stumbles outside to wrestle with the hose. I hear the front door slam, his wet socks slogging through the puddles on his porch, the sound of the dragging hose, and the squeak of the nozzle cutting off the spray. “Punk ass kids!” he shouts. “I’ll crack your little skulls, you ever pull a prank like this again!”
I push down the urge to shove that hose down his throat and turn it on full blast.
He’s so pissed off, he doesn’t even notice me standing in the shadows against his house. He bends to angrily twist the spicket off, tossing the hose down beside it.
When he straightens, I step behind him. My fist twists in his hair as I yank his head back and bring my knife to his throat.
Before he can utter a word, I warn him, “One sound, and it’ll be the last you ever make.”
Fortunately for him, I don’t count the audible sound of his hard swallow. He nervously bends his elbows to raise his hands where I can see them.
“Now, walk.”
Once we’re inside, I close and lock the front door behind me, and shove him hard into the main foyer. He slips and falls, landing sprawled out on the hardwood in a puddle at the foot of the main staircase.
I tuck my knife away, swapping it out with my brass knuckles over my gloves, as he flops over onto his back. His shocked expression is a mixture of fear and anger.
A moaning sound and a familiar song drifting from the next room draws my attention. Leaning back, I take a quick peek. He’s got a porno playing on the big screen, two chicks going at it to Juice Newton’s Angel Of The Morning.
After tonight, he’s going to hate this song as much as I’ve come to hate Jessie’s Girl.
“I got money upstairs… in the bedroom… I’ll get it.” He tries.
I’ve said this countless times before… “I’m not here to rob you, asshole. I’m here to deliver a message.”
Confusion furrows his brow. “What?”
“You put your woman in the hospital.”
He glances around, as if he’s looking for something to grab for a weapon. There’s a letter opener on the foyer table, next to a fancy clock in the shape of a glass swan.
“You can try.” I shrug with indifference. “Go for it. Nothing changes.”
He makes a failed lunge for the table, slipping in his wet socks and landing on his hands and knees. Before he can try again, I slam my boot into his rib cage, feeling at least one crack against the steel toe. He shrieks in pain, clutching his side. I stand over him and slug him hard in the mouth, busting his lip on impact. Blood splatter mixes with the hose water puddled on the floor.
“Try again.” I taunt him.
He leans back against the foyer table, closing his eyes as he brings a shaking hand to his bloody mouth, his other hand still clutching his ribs.
“Try again, asshole.”
His shoulders jerk as he begins to fucking cry.
“You’re a real tough guy.” I sigh. “Beg me for it… Let’s hear it. Beg me to stop. Fucking beg me the way she begged you!”
He cries harder, his body trembling. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if he can wish me away.
But I’m not going away. I have work to do. A mission to complete. A miserable purpose to fulfill.
And so, I break his hands, and think of my father.
I break his face, and imagine it’s Legion’s.
I beat him within an inch of his pathetic life, and pray for my mother’s forgiveness.
