CHAPTER FOURTEEN #4
An hour passes, and then the door swings open. It’s my grandpa. He paces over to me and places a hand on my shoulder. “He’s home, son,” he says. The words leave his lips with a sigh of relief.
“He’s home?” I ask and my voice breaks. “My brother’s home?”
Is this real? Am I dissociating again?
“Dima,” Grandpa says, his hands now resting on my shoulders.
I say nothing and he pulls me into a hug. I squeeze him tightly and Natalia joins us.
“He’s home,” I say to my girl.
She gives me a soft smile.
“Is he at the farm?” I ask my grandpa.
Volk interrupts. “You have his body now let us go. My son is bleeding out. He’s your brother too, Dmitry.”
“I already told you, I have one brother you motherfucker,” I reply then turn back to my grandpa. “Is he at the farm?”
“He’s outside, in the truck. We’ll clean up here and take him home,” my grandpa replies. He takes hold of Natalia’s hand. “You might want to wait in the other room while we finish things here.”
“I want to be here, for both of you.” She squeezes his hand.
The two of them continue their conversation but all I can do is watch and admire her.
Pistol in hand. Her long locks cascading and bouncing with every step, black boots laced up to her knees.
Black leather gloves, none of the hippie fingerless shit she wore before.
She’s changed. She’s no longer a meek little thing.
She was always a goddess but now she’s a goddess who’ll burn these assholes to ashes before she ever lets them hurt her again.
There’s no such thing as saving souls when they already belong to the devil.
My glorious girl will live free with no regrets as long as she’s by my side.
I stare at her, obsessed, psychotic, and I vow never to let her down again, to never let her go.
Never to leave, and never to love with limits, because our love is limitless, in the light and in the shadows.
Look at you, my girl. You’re not scared. You’ve embraced my psycho, and in doing so, you’ve embraced your own darkness, you’re not just along for the ride, you’re all in. It’s a beautiful thing. No matter what fucked up shit you do, you’ll always be my sweet Little Sparrow.
I snap back to the present and watch in awe as Natalia paces away from my grandpa and stands in front of Nikolai and lines up the barrel of her pistol with his already bloody chest. My grandpa soon stands by her side.
Volk wrestles against his restraints, and Nikolai spits on the ground.
“You’ll always be a worthless whore.” Nikolai still relentless in his disrespect of women even in his most vulnerable moment on earth.
“You can tell the devil a whore sent you to Hell.” She spits back at him and pulls the trigger. The bullet smashes into his chest.
Not satisfied, Natalia fires two more shots. One through his skull, the other straight through his face, obliterating any chance of identification.
I stand amazed at my girl. My grandpa gives her a firm nod of approval and smiles proudly at his soon to be granddaughter-in-law, because I will marry this woman.
“Nikolai. My son. Nikolai. My boy!” Volk shouts.
He knows it’s too late for Nikolai, and I’m certain he already knew this was the only possible outcome. You don’t walk into a den of lions and expect to leave unwounded, let alone alive.
“You killed my son!” He shouts again.
I pace over to Volk and grip hold of his jaw.
“Beautiful, wasn’t it?” I twist his face hard; he tries to resist but I force him to look at the bloody corpse in front of him.
I take two steps backward then run my fingers through the blood pouring from Nikolai’s body and draw lines of blood down each side of Volk’s face.
Placing two fingers across his lips I rub the remaining blood across them like lipstick.
“The taste of death has never been more exquisite. If this was a restaurant, I’d leave a five-star review. Wouldn’t you agree, Volk?” I ask and my lips curl into a smile, my eyes grow wide with excitement, and I flash my pearly whites.
He doesn’t answer.
“I asked you a question, oh father, dearest. That’s what you are right?
That’s what you want me to call you, isn’t it?
Father, father, fucking father, rapist piece of fucking shit.
I’m your only living son, or maybe you have more, more fucking casualties of your evil deeds.
But guess what motherfucker? I’m not a casualty.
I’m a fucking lion. That man right there, he’s my grandpa and you fucked up, Volk, more like a fucking sheep in wolf’s clothing.
Because men like you, that’s all you are.
Fucking sheep. Not an original fucking thought of your own.
Volk, Volk, Volk, fucking suka more like!
” I laugh, unhinged, psychotic, uncontrollably.
I can’t help myself but taunt the man who hurt my mother.
He sits trembling like the coward he is.
He knows today is the day, or rather, tonight is the night.
The moon glows outside, it’ll be the last moon he ever sees.
No more sunrises, no more sunsets, no more freedom, no more .
.. life. Just pitch black and nothingness, or at least that’s what he can hope for.
But after my stint in the crazy chapel I do wonder if he’ll end up in eternal hellfire, experiencing the pain he inflicted over and over and fucking over again.
He deserves no less, but I can’t be certain, so I’ll punish him one last time while he’s still breathing.
“Nikolai didn’t deserve to die. He loved you.” He spouts more bullshit to Natalia and spits on the floor.
Is he trying to push my buttons? Does he want to unleash my psycho? Is he deliberately playing a game of who is the closest embodiment of Satan in the room? Because he’s about to fucking find out.
“Shut your fucking mouth. He got away with an easy death.” I slap his face causing his head to jolt backward.
“Go and wait outside sweet girl.” My grandpa takes the pistol from Natalia’s hands and guides her to the door.
“Dima,” she says looking back at me. Her face is steely—she’s determined not to break.
“I can stay. This is justice.” Her voice shakes a little and I know taking Nikolai’s life for what must feel like a second time may end up being too much for her, and witnessing Volk’s demise may tip her over the edge.
Especially when I know this is going to be a Ropes worthy death.
“You don’t need to be strong anymore Little Sparrow. This one is for me and my grandpa. I won’t be long. You’re safe. I promise. They’re friends; they’re The Ropes.” I walk to her and kiss her gently on the lips. “Will you still love me in the afterlife?” I ask.
“Always, Dima,” she replies without hesitation.
“I’ll love you in this life, the next, the one after that and however many reincarnations it takes until we meet again in the afterlife.
That’s my plan, always has been, always will be.
We’ll live a long life together, until we’re in our nineties, but you my girl, you’ll live beyond that.
” I smile. “And these guys, the Ropes, they’ve made it more possible than ever before.
” I kiss her cheek, smile and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“The Man. It was your grandpa and The Ropes,” she says, her body softens, and I know my girl is feeling overwhelmed right now.
“Yes, it was. You’re safe now, my queen, and once we’ve cleaned up here, we can go home. We’ll start over. Make a new life together. Where no one knows who we are. Just you and me, Little Sparrow. If that’s what you want?” I ask and her lips tease a smile.
“I want your grandpa to come with us. He’s my family now too, Dima.” She trembles and holds my bloody hands against her face.
I stare into her soft deep eyes. “Of course, my grandpa loves you too, Sparrow. You’ll be safe with Artem. I’m not going anywhere. You have my word and my heart. Smile, baby.” I lift her hands and kiss each of them before placing my lips against hers.
My grandpa wraps his knuckles against the door and Artem opens it.
“Take care of her, we’re almost done here,” my grandpa says and hands Artem a silver ring.
“What’s this?” Artem asks him as he inspects the silver ring with a black onyx stone inside.
“I’ll explain later, but right now we need to clean.” My grandpa smiles and closes the door behind Natalia as she follows Artem to a safe room.
We both turn to face Volk, pistols in hand.
“We won’t be needing these,” grandpa says and pulls open a drawer and throws his pistol inside. “Dima.” He opens his hand gesturing for me to give him my pistol. I do as he asks.
He shuts the drawer and pulls out a sharp, smooth, steel blade with a curved black bog oak handle. It’s identical to the one he gave me as a boy all those summers ago, so I could help him process meat on the farm. The nostalgia hits hard and for a moment I’m twelve-years-old again.
“Dima, slice across the midsection. See how the guts spill easily this way,” my grandpa says as he demonstrates how to prepare a pig properly.
I copy his actions and use my blade to split open another pig with precision and it’s easier than I thought it’d be.
“It worked Grandpa!” My body floods with adrenaline. A rush of dopamine soon follows. It hits hard, and the high is like nothing I’ve ever felt.
“Good job, my boy. You have a talent for this,” he says and his pale blue eyes sparkle with pride.
“You really think so grandpa?” I ask excitedly.
“Absolutely. You’re my blood. It’s in your roots, Dima. You’re my little lion.” He smiles and continues to show me how to prepare the meat.
It makes me forget about the abuse from The Man, the beatings from mother, the drunken tirades from father, and in this moment the only two people in the whole world are grandpa and me.
But as I slice into the meat, I want it to be The Man.
I want it to be mother. I want it to be father.
And instead of slicing I start to stab into the flesh.