The Broken Past

I couldn’t leave the house without what was in the safe. “Fuck. Shit. Fuck.” In times of desperation and uncertainty, all I can utter are curses. I slipped in the woman’s blood and steadied myself on the banister of the stairs. I don’t know why people like wood flooring, I’ve always been a rug man. What happens when the winter comes and the floor is cold as ice? Then again, these people seemed to be rich enough to properly heat their house to avoid such annoyances. No worries, they didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

I took a left at the end of the hallway and went to the husband’s office. There was a painting that was hanging behind the man’s chair. If the fucking safe is behind that painting I’m going to flip out. The work of art that hid the safe was incredibly detailed, showing the countrysides of beautiful hills as well as the bustling activity of a small town. I didn’t know if it was Impressionistic or Post-Impressionistic or whatever, but I did study it for a few seconds before I tore it off the wall. For those few seconds, I forgot I just killed a man and his wife.

Though that was never the intention. I never wanted to kill anybody. These things just happen. It’s the way the game is played and I didn’t make the rules.

The picture was heavy as shit and took all of my wavering strength to take it off the wall. Once it was unhinged I dropped it to the floor carelessly. Sure enough, there was a fucking safe behind it. Anyone who is that cliche deserves to fucking die. I dug into my pocket, going around my pack of cigarettes and lighter, to find a little piece of paper with three numbers on it. I turned the dial ever so gently and pulled the lever. It unlatched and the door swung open. “Haha! Fuck yes!” I curse in times of joy as well.

I unload the cash that was hiding in the safe and run out the front door. I got a glimpse of the wife’s wide open dead eyes as I left through the front door. They reminded me of a woman I once knew, but I couldn’t remember her name. A slight pang of guilt and shame invaded my being, but that would soon be gone.

As I ran down the front lawn of the house I could hear sirens coming down the street. This was no surprise, as gunshots and screams of terror usually stir up the interests of the police. I got in the front seat and zoomed off, turning down side streets I remembered from my childhood. I got onto the interstate and sped to the city. I started to sweat and itch as I got closer and closer. Fuck meeting Dave first, I need a fucking fix.

I turned off two exits before I was supposed to and made my way to North 6th street. I texted Sebastian with one eye on the road to tell him I would be there in a few minutes. I got the two lettered approval in response. I parked right in front of this particular crack house, and checked three times to make sure the doors were locked. I walked up to the stoop and there was a large man sitting there waiting to let people in. I showed him the text message Sebastian sent me that approved my arrival, which was always a random set of two letters that the man in the stoop knew as an approval. A secret code between doorman and bossman. I heard one time a fiend showed the doorman the wrong set of letters (I think the fucking idiot used ‘OK’ for fucks sake) and the fiend was punished with a gunshot to the head. The body lay in the street till two in the afternoon the next day, and the police ignored the house next to the body. This fucking city is fucked, that’s for sure.

I go up the stairs, ignoring the fiends hunched over a candle in the living room, and make my way to Sebastian’s ‘office’. I opened the door and there he was, a hispanic with nicely tailored facial hair and clean clothes on. “Scott, how are you doing? You look like shit, yes?” he said in a calm not-giving-a-fuck tone.

“Yeah bro, can I get a hundred spot? Also a fifty of H for later so I can fucking sleep.” I fidgeted in my usual I’m-about-to-get-high fashion.

Sebastian changed his posture, leaning back in his chair and looking directly in my eyes. “You’re telling me you got 150 for dope?” He half smiled. “You know I don’t do no loan shit, right?”

I had no choice but to smile and take out the cash I rolled up for the purchase. “I don’t do no loan shit either.”

Sebastian smiled as it landed in his lap. “Where the fuck did you get this kind of bread? No offense, but you’re just a lowlife on the cusp of becoming a full-blown fiend. Who’d you roll over for this? Some rich guy on the train?” Nobody who would be holding even a small amount like 150 would be riding the train, which are dubbed ‘Death Rides’ in this city which seems to be standing in for the lowest rung of hell.

“I did some work.” I wiped my nose for no reason, truly fiending for that high. “C’mon man, give me some shit so I can get on with my night.”

Sebastian got up from his chair and walked towards me. This is something he has never done before, so I inched back as he got closer. He stared at me with his sober eyes, sizing me up from top to bottom. He stopped scanning when he got to the cuff of my jacket. “What the fuck is that?” he inquired coldly with his finger pointing. I looked down and there was blood on my jacket. “Who the fuck did you kill? And I hope to Christ you got more than 150 you fucking piece of shit.”

I was scared and almost sober, not a good combination. “Yo, can you just…get me what I asked for? I got the money right here, just take it and I’ll leave.”

Sebastian quickly pulled a handgun from behind his back. “Go get me the rest of my money.”

Fuck.

I put up my hands, dropping the cash I brought in. “C’mon man, ain’t no need for that. Put that shit away.”

Sebastian picked up his cell and called a number. “Hey, J.R., roll that motherfuckers car and find the loot he’s stashin in there.” I imagined that loaf of a doorman knocking out the window of my shitty car, the only possession I really had left.

“C’mon man, I ain’t got nothin like you got. Please, let me go.”

“I’m gonna let your sorry ass go, just as soon as I get what’s mine.”

The doorman came up with my paper bag filled with money. I was told there was going to be five grand in that safe, but I didn’t bother counting it and I definitely dropped some as I was fleeing. Sebastian opened the bag up, smiled, and sat back down.

“Sir, can you please get our guest a hundred of our finest rock and fifty of our finest H.” The doorman walked over to the drawer and threw two bags at me. “There you go you fucking scumbag, now get the fuck out of here.”

I ran down the stairs and bolted through the door. Luckily, no window was smashed in my car and the only thing missing was the bag of money. I start the engine and start rolling, heading to the local WalMart parking lot to smoke some rock. Crying. Laughter. Ecstasy. After I’m real fucking buzzed, I then start to drive towards the meeting spot with David but remembered I lost the money. Fuck. I turn around and head back to the parking lot. I think I could sleep now. I prepare the heroin and inject it into my right arm, finding the perfect whole to let this magic juice flow into. Images of mutilation and screams of horror flash before my eyes. I feel faint emotions of rage and violence. Disturbed, I turn on the radio and start to zone out.

“Hello Scott. I am outside the house of where a gruesome murder unfolded just hours ago. A husband and wife, identified as thirty-two year olds Justin and Sarah Gunther, were brutally disfigured with a knife and then shot in the throats. A safe in the house was robbed, and there was over one thousand dollars found on the front lawn of the house.”

Gunther…

“Authorities have told us that they have plenty of evidence to find out who did this and an arrest should be made soon.”

Justin and Sarah Gunther…

“Back to you Scott.”

I knew those people. Justin Gunther stole my wife Sarah away from me. Me and Sarah had a child five years ago. A boy. He died…I forget how.

No worries, it was all behind me. I started to doze off, letting my head fall as my consciousness fell into sleep. I saw blue and red colors bounce off the clouds as I closed my eyes. How pretty.

 

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “The Broken Past

Leave a Thought

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s