by IR Watteau
Daniel Winslow sat in his pickup truck with the lights off and the engine running. His gaze was fixed on the house to his right. A single window cast a soft yellow glow into the night. The light was Daniel's only confirmation of life inside the house. With a pistol in his lap, he tensely clutched the weapon while staring hard at the small house at the end of the road. From time to time, he would direct his attention away from the dwelling to check his periphery. It was 2 o’clock in the morning, though. No one was going to bother him.
Daniel had been here multiple times before. With each trip, his confidence grew. During the visits, the pattern was always the same: the little window attached to the rickety house at the end of the road remained alight until about 3AM—at which point it went dark. Daniel had no intention of waiting that long tonight. Moving his free hand to the door handle beside him, he pulled it open and stepped outside. The crisp autumn air greeted him with a gentle breeze.
Daniel’s intentions were clear: he was going to kill a man tonight. He had planned for this event for several weeks now. His goal, of course, was to get away with murder, but if he was caught it was just as well, for everything he ever wanted in life was now gone. His life had crashed like a faulty hardrive; and despite his best efforts he could not reboot himself. It all started three weeks ago when his wife and children were slain by a drunk driver... a drunk driver named Hector Rodriguez... who just so happened to live in a small rickety house… at the end of a road.
Daniel hesitantly placed one foot in front of the other. After a pause, he stepped toward the dwelling. The look on his face hardened while his grip on the pistol tightened. The weapon had been augmented to reduce its noise output. Turns out, if you cut off the bottom of a 2 liter bottle and tape the other end to the barrel of a gun it will act as a rudimentary silencer. Daniel had tested the modification in the woods near his home. It seemed to do the trick.
Advancing to the front porch, Daniel squeezed the duct tape that joined the 2 liter and the pistol together. The fit was good. Knowing this reassured him. Once on the porch, he paused to collect himself. Under the awning was a small light bulb—the newer kind that was filled with enough mercury to require a HAZMAT cleanup crew to dispose of it. Daniel’s gaze shifted to the glowing orb. Reaching up with a gloved hand, he untwisted the bulb ever so gently until the light went out. His hand then moved to the front door where his fingers hesitated in the air. They shook ever so slightly from the adrenaline that now poured into his bloodstream. Daniel took a slow, measured breath in order to collect himself before he knocked soundly three times upon the entrance.
Something inside the house moved. Then, for several seconds, there was silence. But the sound of footsteps eventually came creeping toward the doorway.
“Who is it?” an unsure masculine voice called from behind the door.
Daniel had prepared for this.
“It’s me, Hector. Open up," he said impatiently.
Sure enough, the front door opened and there stood Hector staring wide-eyed at the dark form in front of him. Daniel moved passed Hector. He entered the kitchen. The floor was dirty and unclean. Dishes lay stacked in the sink. The ceiling was stained a dark brown from years of cigarette smoke.
“Who are you?” Hector called from the door.
Daniel motioned for Hector to come closer while his other hand held the handgun just out of sight behind his body and trench coat.
“I work for the lawyer representing your case. I’m a private investigator. I have a few questions for you, but they must be asked in private. Are we alone right now?”
Unsurely, and with noticeable hesitation, Hector closed the front door.
“Si… we’re alone,” he said while stepping into the kitchen.
Daniel took a moment to look Hector’s body over. He was a round man in his late 30’s. He was unshaven and unkempt. This observation only served to solidify Daniel’s resolve. To think a swine like Hector had brought an end to the lives of three perfectly capable, beautiful, and productive human beings was beyond his comprehension.
“Good,” Daniel sighed. “Then let’s talk about that family you killed several weeks ago. You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”
Hector’s body sank a little into itself. He nodded his head slowly in acknowledgement.
“I don’t remember much about that night,” he answered.
“I see,” said Daniel. “That’s not surprising. What is surprising is the fact you made it out without a single scratch. While their van burned you took a seat on the side of the road. Drunks always seem to make it out alive, don’t they? So ironic! I hear it’s because the body doesn’t tense up during a wreck while in a drunken state. You just bounce around like a happy baby boy.”
Hector wrinkled his brow confusedly at Daniel.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
By now, Daniel could smell the alcohol coming off of Hector. It forced a dissatisfied sigh to escape his lips. Putting this man down tonight was going to be like putting a rabid animal out of its misery. Somehow, Hector had gone bad. Now, it was up to Daniel to do the right thing. He had to snuff this man out of existence before he harmed another human being.
“Do you have any remorse for that crime you committed?” Daniel asked, his words laced with malevolence.
At this, Hector flushed with anger.
“What are you talking about, man? Who are you! What are you doing here!”
“Do you even know their names!” Daniel shouted over Hector.
“Get the hell out of my house!” Hector roared, his finger thrusting toward the door.
Daniel raised the pistol level to Hector’s head. Hector’s eyes’ widened. A flash of light and a loud bang ripped through the air. Hector’s right eye disappeared into a fine pink mist.
“Michael!” Daniel shouted as Hector fell backwards against the wall.
Daniel kept the weapon pointing straight ahead. He fired again. The side of Hector’s neck unleashed a spray of blood across the smoke-stained kitchen wall.
“Victoria!”
He fired again. The bullet tore into Hector’s chest. Blood oozed forth and drained downwards toward the floor.
“My wife: Rachelle!”
Daniel fired one last time. It landed near the previous bullet hole.
Hector’s body slid down the wall to a sitting position on the floor. A moan ushered forth from his lips, followed by a gurgle. Within seconds, his entire front side was covered by a streak of cascading blood. The blood pooled around Hector’s hands and legs. When it finally started to coagulate, it no longer oozed forward across the floor. Instead, it halted and darkened into a deeper shade of red.
Daniel stared blankly at the body before him. Something inside him died as he watched Hector expire. Like the Huntsman from Snow White whose heart had been ripped free from his chest, Daniel felt unnaturally numb. The lack of feeling spurred Daniel forward into the living room. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go there, but when he stepped into the room his lifeless eyes spotted something of interest: hanging from the rafter in the ceiling was a noose. A lone wooden chair rested underneath the rope.
Daniel tilted his head to the side. His gaze then swept around the room. Resting on a coffee table surrounded by beer bottles and tequila was a letter. Daniel leaned down and retrieved the piece of paper.
“Dear, Anybody,” Daniel read, “my name is Hector Rodriguez. Three weeks ago I killed a family. I didn’t mean to, but I was drunk. I have been drowning in alcohol for years. I am worthless. I am nothing. I am a no-body. I sat there on the side of the road watching the van burn. I did nothing. Now, no matter how much I drink I cannot get that image out of my mind. I cannot believe I caused such a horrible thing to happen. I deserve to die. I hope my death will bring new life to the man whose family I took. Forgive me.”
Daniel scowled. He shook his head dismissively at the letter.
“No Hector,” he muttered to himself, “it won’t.”
Daniel dropped the letter and grabbed one of the tequila bottles. He took a long hard swig before stepping onto the wooden chair. He tossed his handgun onto the coffee table. Several bottles spilled onto the floor as the heavy weapon crashed down into their midst. Daniel ignored the commotion as he reached up and slipped the noose around his neck.
Without thinking, he tightened the rope and tilted the chair from side to side until it toppled over. He fell a foot or so. The noose instantly tightened like a python around his neck. He hung freely in the air staring straight ahead with a look of bitterness blazing from his eyes; blazing like the crumpled van that had carried his family; burning like their bodies into the seats that carried them away to heaven.
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