Twisted Endings 2: 5 Acts of Vengeance Read online

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” Marcus took a step back and put his hands up.

  She moved slowly at first, then raced all the way to the front door and out of it.

  Then Marcus saw it. The door across the complex hall closed. His door. His apartment. Someone had just gone inside. “Sasha.”

  Marcus bent down and picked the bat back up. He studied it. It didn’t have any dents or dings. But it did have blood on it. Maybe it would wash out. He took a deep breath and marched into the hallway to check on pretty boy. The way Juan twitched, he might be dead.

  Pretty boy started to stir. He cried and moaned like a little bitch. His left cheekbone was smashed in and his nose was gnarled. He’d have to have a new nickname.

  Marcus kept marching straight to his apartment.

  “Marcus,” Sasha said when he stepped back inside, “where have you been?”

  “You don’t get to ask questions,” he said. “Where have YOU been?”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “I went for a walk.” Her eyes shifted from side to side.

  Marcus took a step toward her. “Stop lying to me!”

  “You’re scaring me,” she said. “Why are you walking around with a bat in your hand?”

  “Stop!” Marcus yelled. “No more questions. Be honest for once in your life!”

  “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Say it. What did you do?”

  “Things have just been so hard. You’re working so many hours. I never see you anymore. We’re about to lose the apartment and the car. I had to do it.”

  “What?!”

  She lowered her head. “I got a job at a diner a few weeks ago. It’s just five or six hours overnight. It’s only four blocks from here, so I don’t need a car. I just wanted to help. Please forgive me.”

  Marcus couldn’t move. His entire body was numb. “Why are you home?”

  “The most amazing thing happened tonight,” Sasha said. “A regular came into the diner and left this…” She reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. It was a check. “We’ll get to keep the apartment and your car.”

  “The bedbugs,” Marcus said.

  “What?”

  “You’re still lying about something. The bedbugs would bite you. You have to sleep sometime.” He stared at her. “You don’t have any bites.”

  “I can’t sleep in the bed without you. You’re my heart and soul. It may sound stupid, but I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

  Marcus bent down and sat on the floor.

  “Marcus, is that… Is that blood on the bat?” Sasha put a hand over her mouth. “What have you done?”

  He glanced at the prized bat. It was worthless now. “I messed up, Sasha. I was wrong.” What had he done? Maybe a pretty face wasn’t so bad after all. He looked up at her and nodded slowly. “You were right all along. We should get some counseling.”

  Mama’s Cherry Pie

  MY NAME is Bessie Mae Peterson, and I love my Mama and Papa. They’re the finest folks on this side of the Mississippi. If anyone says differently, I reckon I’ll have to kick their ass.

  Mama’s sweet as cherry pie. Not the kind you get from the grocery store. She’s the kind you make from scratch with Morello cherries, so you can peel ‘em, slice ‘em and pit ‘em. That way you know the cherry juice is gonna drip from your fingers like warm maple syrup. Papa’s an honest man who will do anything for you. But if you cross him, he’ll beat your ass until it’s red as hellfire. Yes sir, they’re the best parents in the world.

  It’s a shame I have to kill them tonight.

  Now it’s about time to get out of this pickup truck. It’s cherry red, just like Mama’s pie. Papa got this for my sweet 16 a few months ago.

  Deep breath. Slow, even pace to the front door. Here we go.

  “Bessie Mae,” Papa says, meeting me on the front porch, “what are you doing here?” He’s handsome in his overalls.

  I love him, but I hate that he’s not happy to see me. It doesn’t matter. I can’t tell him why I’m here. So I say to him the same thing I always do when he needs to mind his own business. “I’m having my period, Papa.”

  He puts his hands up, and steps aside to let me in. He says, “Bessie Mae, did you bring the money?”

  “Papa, you know today’s only Tuesday. I get paid on Friday.”

  “That’s true, little darling,” he says, “but you’re already a month behind. I know you love that truck. I don’t want to take it away from you.”

  He won’t take it away. He’s always said I won’t catch him dead in anything red. I decide to play his little game.

  “Don’t take my truck away, Papa. It’s all I have left.”

  He puts a hand on his forehead and sighs. “This isn’t easy for any of us. You don’t have to pay us. You know what you have to do.”

  I know exactly what he WANTS me to do. But that’s not gonna happen.

  “Is Mama home?” I ask him.

  “She’s in the kitchen, Bessie Mae. You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

  I turn away from him and march to the kitchen. Maybe Mama will be happy to see me. Of course she will! I’m her little girl. There she is, slicing cherries with her Nakiri knife, just like I knew she would be. Mama always makes cherry pies on Tuesday nights.

  She stops and stares at me. “Bessie Mae,” she says, “you’re not supposed to be here.” Now she turns and looks at Papa. “Jonathan, why did you let her in?”

  Papa shrugs. He looks confused. “It’s been a few months,” he says. “Maybe we should all sit down and talk about this.”

  Mama is slicing the cherries harder now. That knife looks just like the ones they use in the Japanese steakhouse commercials on TV. I still remember the day she got it at the flea market for two dollars. Mama was so proud of herself. She uses that knife for everything. She even let Papa use it to butcher a hog once.

  The cherry juice is squirting on her apron now. “There’s nothing to talk about,” Mama says. “Bessie Mae is a whore and she’s going to hell.”

  I hang my head. Mama never used to treat me this way.

  “Jennie, you hush,” Papa says with wide eyes. “We’re all gonna go into the living room and figure this out. Okay?”

  I look up at Mama. She won’t look back at me, like I’m invisible. She’s staring at Papa and shaking her head.

  “Please, Mama,” I say.

  “Damn it,” she says, and tosses her knife into the cereal bowl full of cherries. She grabs the bowl and marches right past me.

  “This is nice, isn’t it?” Papa says when we’re all in the living room. He and Mama are on the couch by the window. He tries to put an arm around her, but she brushes it away. I’m sitting here in the loveseat across from them. The leather purse Mama got me the same day she got her prized knife is by my feet.

  Now nobody is talking. Papa is looking at me and smiling. Mama is staring into space. I can’t help but look at the man nailed to the wall above them. It’s a large figurine of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

  “I love you, Mama and Papa,” I say to them.

  “We love you, too, little darling,” Papa says. He nudges Mama. “We just need to figure this out. Have you talked to Pastor Mike?”

  “Yes sir, I talked to him.”

  “What did he say?” Mama asks, leaning forward.

  “He said I was confused."

  “Okay then, we're getting somewhere," Papa says. He nods at Mama. "What else?"

  "I told him to go to hell."

  Papa puts a hand on his forehead again and sighs.

  Mama stares at me. Her teeth are clenched. “Are you still sleeping with that slut?”

  “Jennie!” Papa yells. “We don’t talk like that. Now you hush and let me do the talking.” His face is red.

  She puts the bowl in her lap and crosses her arms.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this,” I say. “Mama, the way you love Papa, i
s the way I love Missy. She makes me happy.”

  Missy’s taught me a lot of new things. She even taught me how to shoot the 9mm Beretta Nano in my purse.

  Mama’s scratching her head. “What did we do that screwed you up like this?”

  “I’ve always been this way. I was just too scared to tell you.”

  “That’s not true,” Papa broke in. “You were always a good girl. A God-fearing girl. Then that heathen Missy came along and corrupted you.” He sat forward. “We can still fix this, little darling. You just need to repent and come back to God.”

  “There’s nothing to fix, Papa. I never stopped believing in God.”

  Mama is huffing. “The Bible says you’re gonna burn in hell with all the other heathens.”

  “The Bible also says ‘let he who has not sinned cast the first stone’. Do you wanna stone me, Mama?”

  I look at Papa. “Has Mama ever told you about Mr. Jackson?”

  Mama’s head jerks toward me.

  “You remember when Mama used to take me to the park every Saturday? She would meet Mr. Jackson there and disappear with him for at least an hour.”

  Papa’s face is turning a ghostly white. He turns to Mama. “Jeff? You and Jeff?”

  “Don’t listen to her, Jonathan,” Mama says. She’s grabbing his left hand. “That was a long time ago. It meant nothing.”

  “We went to that park for five years,” I say.

  “Shut up, you little heathen,” Mama says.

  Papa stands up. I’ve never seen his face so red. “Jeff is my best friend,” he says to Mama. “All these years! How could you do this to me?!”

  Mama’s shaking. I don’t think Papa’s ever yelled at her.

  “You’re a real piece of shit,” I say to Mama.

  She’s silent again.

  Papa is looking back and forth at the two of us. His chest is heaving up and down. I know his heart is broken. He seems torn.

  “And Papa,” I say, “I’m sorry that you’re hurt. I love you to death. But I’m supposed to be your little darling.” I stare at him. “Why can’t you accept me the way I am?”

  Papa’s mouth is open. I see tears in his eyes. He looks at Mama and nods. I know he has already forgiven her. Their eyes are communicating in a way I’ve never understood.

  I can’t do this anymore. I have to stop lying to myself. They’ll always accept each other no matter what but they’ll never accept me. They don’t love me. They hate me. It has to end here. Now.

  I reach into my purse for the Beretta.

  “Bessie Mae,” Mama says, “thank you. You’ve opened our eyes.”

  I leave the 9mm in the purse, and lean back in the chair. “What?”

  “We were wrong,” Papa says. He’s motioning for me to come over.

  Mama stands next to him. Her eyes are full of tears. “I’m sorry,” she says. “We should have done this, months ago.” She stretches her arms toward me. “Come here, baby.”

  Is this really happening? Have Mama and Papa finally accepted my choices? Maybe they just needed me to stand up to them. I knew they would always love me. They really are the best parents in the world.

  I’m standing in Mama’s arms. Her embrace is warm. Her tears are falling on my shoulders. “I love you, Mama.”

  Papa is smiling again. I let go of Mama and reach for him. I love his hugs. His hold is strong.

  Too strong.

  “Hold her still, Jonathan,” I hear Mama say.

  “Papa, you’re hurting me.”

  I see a reflection of light in the corner of my eye. I know what it is.

  The Nakiri knife.

  I feel Mama snatch my right arm and pull it away from Papa. “We were wrong,” Papa says again. “We can’t change you. Only God can.”

  “We should have done this, months ago,” Mama says again.

  I see the blade raised in the air.

  I feel it hack against my arm.

  I scream in pain.

  Mama hacks again. And again.

  “Help me, Papa!”

  “Shhhh,” he says. “Everything’s gonna be okay, little darling.”

  I feel weak and dizzy. My arm doesn’t hurt anymore.

  Papa releases his hold on me, and I slump to the floor.

  The room is growing dark, but I see Mama and Papa standing over me.

  Mama’s apron is covered in cherry juice and blood.

  “It’s your turn,” Mama says. She hands Papa the knife.

  He leans down and strokes my hair. “We failed you as parents, little darling. Now God will take care of you.”

  Panhandled

  JOE TENSED when he spotted the scrawny black man. The man was in his early forties. His hair jutted in every direction. His torn, faded tee-shirt hung from his body like a limp curtain.

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said?” asked Tom, next to him in the passenger seat.

  Joe shook his head and nodded toward the panhandler walking between the rows of cars, heading straight for them. The man was only one car away now.

  “Give me a dollar,” Tom said.

  “No way. I give you a dollar, you’ll give it to the bum.”

  “Nah, it’s just I owe your wife for last night.”

  Joe snorted and rolled his eyes. His wife hated his best friend. But they had grown up together and even spent two years fighting in Iraq side by side. He fished a Washington out of his pocket and handed it over. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

  “You know I’m just playing, right? Your wife is worth a lot more than that. I mean, wow! She’s smoking hot!” He whistled.

  “Yeah, yeah. Give me my dollar back. Ass.”

  “No can do, man.” Tom's eyes were focused on the car in front of them.

  The scrawny black man was only steps away now. His eyes were wide, pleading. He held a large box top in front of him with the words ‘Homeless Veteran’ scrawled onto it in black marker.

  “Joe…” Tom had a serious tone in his voice now. “He needs our help.”

  “You can’t possibly believe that! The money you give these people goes to drugs and alcohol. He’s probably not even a veteran!”

  There was a tap on the passenger window.

  Tom rolled the window down, and shoved the dollar out the window.

  “God bless you,” the bum said.

  Tom turned to the man by the window. “I hope it helps.”

  The man nodded and walked to the next car in line.

  Tom rolled the window back up. “It’s just a dollar, man. I’ll get it back to you.”

  Joe couldn’t respond. The dollar didn’t matter anymore. What he had just witnessed was unbelievable. He knew who the black man was.

  The light turned green, and the cars started moving forward.

  “Tom, you have to listen to me.”

  “If this is about you being prejudiced, then we have a problem,” Tom said with a smirk. “You need to accept all of God’s children.”

  Joe knew Tom was trying to be funny. “I know who that man is. I’ve seen him before.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah…” Joe didn’t know if Tom would believe what he was about to say. “I saw him at your hotel last night. He was in the lobby, checking into a room with a hooker. And he was wearing a suit!”

  “What are you talking about? I’m only off the base for a few weeks, and I can barely afford that hotel myself! You saw what he was wearing.”

  “But, Tom…”

  “Let it go, man. Stop by an ATM if you have to. I didn’t realize you were so stingy with a dollar. Geez!” Tom punched the glove compartment. The door popped open and spat a wad of papers at him.

  Joe shook his head. “I’ll put that on your tab.”

  “Shut up and drive.”

  Joe knew Tom would never believe him unless he saw it with his own eyes. He zipped his lips and drove straight to his favorite bar.

  “WHAT CAN I get you?!” the bartender shouted over the loud rock music. The bass from Volb
eat’s “A Warrior’s Call” rattled the glasses on the counter.

  “Line me up with some Jager-Bombs!” Tom shouted. He motioned for the bartender to lean in close. “My lady friend here,” he said, pointing at Joe, “will have some water. She’s in her second trimester.” He leaned over and patted Joe on the stomach.

  Joe shook his head at the bartender. At least the old Tom was back. “Give me the Four Horsemen!” He knew that would shut Tom up. The Four Horsemen at this bar was a mixture of Jagermeister, Jose Cuervo, Jim Beam, and Jack Daniels.

  Tom laughed and slapped him on the back. “That’s how we do it!”

  Joe snatched the shot glass full of the Four Horsemen when the bartender set it on the counter. He winked at Tom, threw his head back, and swallowed the poison in one swift move.

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Tom rotated his neck from side to side and reached for the first Jager-Bomb in front of him. He threw it back, shivered, slammed the glass back down, beat a fist on the counter, and shouted, “Yeah!” He snatched the next Jager-Bomb and completed the same sequence.

  Joe’s throat was on fire. He knew he couldn’t take another shot.

  Tom punched him in the arm, and shouted, “Another! Another!”

  The bartender set out another shot of the Four Horsemen.

  Joe grabbed it, thought about setting it back down, then shrugged and threw it back. His entire body was on fire now.

  “Sure beats being in the desert! Can’t get any sand in your crotch here!”

  “Thank God.” Joe put an arm around his friend. “I’d go back with you if I could. Stupid back injury. Look, I know you’re only here for a few weeks. With all the renovations they’re doing at the hotel, it’s got to be hell.”

  “You mean the constant barrage of hammers, drills, and saws? Nah.” Tom made a sweeping motion with his right hand. “You could kill a man and no one would see or hear a thing. Makes me feel right at home. And, hey, it’s half price.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I talked to Myra about it, and we agreed you should stay with us until you head back.”

  “Ha! Myra hates me!”

  “Don’t kid yourself. I hate you, too.”

  Tom laughed and ordered another drink. “You son of a…”

  “But seriously, think about it.” Joe took a long look at his friend and chose his next words carefully. He knew Tom wouldn’t want to talk about it, but this might be the only chance. Getting Tom loosened up was the whole reason he brought him here. “Remember Mahmoudiyah?”