Collateral Damage

C H A P T E R 3

C H A P T E R 3

PLEAD YOUR SINS

Puppeteer

Play - ‘Destiny - NF’

I t looks like he has so much to say but I’ve sucked the life from him and it’s fucking beautiful. Fear is its own font of beauty that I have fallen in love with. I slide the flick knife from my front pocket.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. I will do anything you want; I regret what I did every day, she-” he has the audacity to try and victimise himself still when he’s staring death in the face? This man’s more delusional than I thought. And they called me crazy? I cut him off before he can utter another pointless word.

“DONT!... utter her fucking name. I don’t want your fucking pity. I don’t want to hear your apology. I don’t give a flying fuck how you feel. I want your confession!...” Poking the sharp point underneath his chin, digging into his Adam's apple as I direct his focus to lock eyes with mine, I tilt my head in doll-like fashion waiting for his expression to paint a picture of confusion.

“My confession?” Yes, you sick fuck .

“I want you to tell me that you had no intention of ever loving her. That you believed my fathers twisted lies whilst he sat back and watched you tear a family apart. And that you purposely pulled that trigger.” Here comes the water works. I can see him conjuring up a sob story to keep him clean, but I know the facts. I was there that night. I saw everything. I saw the way he looked at her and the evidence in his hand from previously searching our home without a warrant. Being in bed with her did not equate to warranting her property. I wish I caught him snooping but I will give him credit. His A+ level acting had me and my mother both fooled. Maybe that is why I can't let this go. He wasn't a Father by blood, but he gave me a safe sense of security whilst sabotaging our lives behind closed doors. I am the lesser evil amongst men like him who walk this earth.

“Hayl- Hayden… Your father loved you and your mother. I couldn’t understand why you would take his life.” Hearing that sentence almost causes tunnel vision as a surge of untameable rage pumps through my veins, sparking my incessant urge to push his eyes into his skull until they pop under my thumbs and bleed him dry.

“Do you know what he used to do to her behind closed doors?! Huh?! To both of us?! No, you didn’t, because you were too tied up in his manipulative little bubble to see the bigger picture! She trusted you. She put her trust in you, even when she had none left to cling to and you shot her in the fucking chest for something I did!” I have him by the scruff of his shirt, my switchblade now surely doing some damage at such close proximity as I shake him around like a rag doll.

“She never told me Hayden. She hid the truth! What else was I meant to do!” I toss him back into the sofa, aiming my barrel square centre to his head watching my sight tremor with pure anger as I rest my finger on the trigger, the corners of my eyes fuzzy with heaving adrenaline. There is just something about someone staring death in the face that makes my eyes fight to not roll into the back of my skull. It’s exhilarating. Knowing their life is in the palm of your hands and they either breathe oxygen or choke on their own innards by your choice and your choice alone. It’s power. Power that I crave, power that I drown in. Power that I was deprived of for so long while underneath the very people who claim they do good in the world and keep women and children safe. Where were they when I needed them to help? They threw me behind bars and exiled me for trying to do exactly what they proclaimed. Where were they when my mother needed help? They turned a blind eye because they are all sexist pigs. It’s amazing what you can get away with in the face of the law and political structure. This man walked free with not so much as a slap on the wrist and the fucker wasn’t even remotely in danger. Yet I suffered and endured the worst kind of treatment all because I wasn't wearing a damn badge?

“You were meant to leave us the fuck alone. But you just couldn’t do it, could you? You just couldn’t leave it the fuck alone.” All of this could have been avoided if he had just listened. Read between the lines, the dumb fuck.

“She wouldn’t want this for you.” I clench my jaw so tightly I'm pretty sure I just chipped a tooth, grinding them to ease the dire need to make him choke on his words and vomit them back up, make him gag on my barrel and fire into his sorry excuse of an existence. This vindictive prick is playing the therapist on death's door trying to make me feel something like there is some redemption left inside me. It’s amusing. Really. He has no idea of the monster he’s awoken, the animal he’s caged, starved and poked. I want blood and I'm going to get it, but it’s fun to watch him think he’s getting through to me. It will make it so much more enjoyable for me when he realises the length I will go to just to prove him wrong and watch him suffer.

“Shut your fucking mouth, you aint got a damn clue what she would want. YOU put me behind bars. Remember?” He raises his hands, shielding himself from my aggression

“Let's just talk, ok. You can tell me everything, I will listen and understand.” Listen? Listen ?! He wants to listen now? He's eleven years too fucking late!

“You’re kidding right? The damage is DONE. You got what you wanted. You got your freedom, your perfect little life. Nothing you say to me will make me believe you feel remorse. You lied to save your own ass.”

“I did what I felt was necessary. I was blind.” He can believe in his own lies as much as he wants. Cover it up and pretend he's a saint. But we both know he had a choice.

“No. You were just taking on the role you always have been deep down. A Murderer . Admit it. Admit you fired that gun on purpose.” He stutters, muttering another lie.

“I told you, the same as I told them, it was self-defence.” If I hear those words one more time, I WILL burn this house down with him still breathing.

“Bull shit! You knew damn well she was not going to hurt you! She was just protecting me!” On what planet would someone like my mother ever lay a hand on him. There was never a bad bone in her body.

“If you kill me now, you are no better than me Hayden. No better than him. ” The difference is, I own what I am and I wear it with pride. I don't hide from it. I don’t run away and start a new life built on lies.

“I don’t plan on being better . So it makes no odds to me.” If I planned on being better, I wouldn't have spent the last four years tracking him down? Does he really think that thought hasn't crossed my mind?

“Just listen to yourself. You are turning into the man you feared most.” My eye twitches, finding everything within me not to pull the trigger into the back of his throat.

“He was no man. He was the Devil . And I pray that when I leave this god forsaken piece of shit we call earth, that he is in hell, waiting for me so I can kill him again.” He is the entire reason we are both in this mess. He killed an innocent woman to protect a man who couldn't of given two fucks about it. It’s laughable really. How fucking dumb can you be?

“Please. Don’t do this.” I glance to his right, into the eyes of his wife who looks as frightened and as confused as I was that night.

“Those were her words before you pulled that trigger. They meant nothing to you. And they mean nothing to me.” As I finish my sentence, she tries to make a run for it, tripping back down onto the sofa as my palm grips her loose hair, yanking her back down with harsh force.

“Sit. The fuck. Down.” My teeth grind, throwing her back into the seat. Did she really fucking think that was going to work? Now I take no responsibility for my actions.

“Did you. Or did you not. Pull that trigger knowing full well what you were doing?” The barrel of my gun rests between his eyes.

“I told you!... It was self-defence!” I refrain from pulling the trigger, having too much fun watching him tremor.

“I’m giving you five seconds to answer correctly or I'm firing your lie through her skull,” she sobs, glaring at him in desperation and it's a beautiful sight. So fucking ironic.

“Did you. Or did you NOT. Voluntarily fire that gun, John .” He stays mute, leaning back in the chair trying to escape the metal.

“ Five .”

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you! I didn’t fire on purpose!” Even with her life on the line he still lies through his teeth. He really is a good for nothing son of a bitch.

“ Four .”

“You’re fucking crazy!” He takes her hand, squeezing it tightly and this act of ‘ love’ makes my skin crawl.

“Are you really going to fight this when her life is at stake? Three .” He finally realises I'm not joking, lifting his hands to surrender as those words I've been waiting for finally choke out of his mouth.

“Ok! I fired with intention! I killed her! I was angry and confused! I’m sorry!” Relief eases off my shoulders, rolling it out as I lick my lips with anticipation.

“Good boy…” I grip the back of his neck with callousness, swinging him to face the fear in her eyes.

A bullet finds its home in her skull as I pull the trigger.

“NO-”

…

“It doesn’t matter how much you plead your sins to save someone else. They end up taking the bullet meant for you anyway, isn’t that right? Detective .” I hold him there, fighting his reluctance to watch his beloved bleed out all over the couch but he needs to fucking watch, I want him to watch the life drain from her pretty little eyes. My grip tightens as his loose tears turn into heavy flows of guilt, cradling her head in his hands, mumbling sweet little nothings under his breath.

“I just wanted to hear you beg like I did before you killed my mother. Before I do what I should have done that night.” He's angry. Good. Everything he's feeling, everything he wants to say is sitting at the tip of his tongue but he's still holding himself back.

“Here's how this is going to go… I'm going to talk. And you're going to listen,” the knife dances between my leather tendrils.

“Let me show you, just what kind of ‘friend’ you were dealing with,” I slip a lighter from my back pocket. Placing it beside me on the coffee table as I take a seat, almost breaking it with my weight, pulling a cigarette from the box.

“What kind of man you called a friend, shall I?” He doesn't look at all pleased, peering at his deceased wife, leaking from the temple of her forehead, staining his white polo shirt.

“That won't be necessary!” Necessary? This is a necessity.

“What's the matter? You scared? You know what wasn't necessary? My Mother's fucking DEATH .” My fist cracks against his cheek bone, forcing him to glare at her and take it in once more.

“What can I do. Please. Tell me! Anything!”

…

“You can Feel .” I draw a flame, burning the tip of my cigarette and sucking in a long puff before pulling it away from my lips, analysing it between my fingers.

…

“Did you know, that a cigarette burns to 752?F?” Tears pile up until they break down his face, trying to make sense of my words as I hover it in front of him.

“He wouldn't-” he worked with criminals and he sounds surprised?

“No? Wouldn't he?” I blow a gale of smoke causing him to choke on it as my hand lowers, closing the gap between my cigarette and the back of his hand.

“Please, I have a-” before he has a chance to speak, I shove a rag down his throat, watching him squirm like salt on a worm.

“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full.” My knife slices between his veins, pinning his hand to the arm of the sofa, pushing a hole into his flesh, burning a bullet wound into the hand that wielded his gun.

“The truth hurts. Doesn't it?…” He's being so fucking loud it's just escalating my rage. He had no place to cry like a bitch. The back of my hand finds his cheek as I stand to my feet, towering over him.

“That burning sensation. Imagine that. Over. And over. And over. Again…” I rip my leather glove off, revealing my battered hand from within, primarily smothered in ink to cover my wounds but remnants of craters in my flesh still remain.

“For your sake. I'll make this quick. Believe it or not, I'm not as sadistic as my Father. And I'm sick of fucking looking at you. This is over .” I shove the barrel of my gun inside his mouth, pushing the fabric to the back of his throat further, choking him until he leans back into the sofa, my boot finding his torso to keep him pinned beneath me before pulling the trigger, effectively using it as an added silencer.

It's finally over.