Blade Dance

BLADE DANCE

By: Steven Dean

Light glinted off the blade of the axe as it arced through the air. Rodrigo side-stepped it and smiled. The blade cut into a support beam of the half-finished addition to the house and wedged itself firmly.

Rodrigo moved in, knocking over a work table, as the bearded man struggled to free his weapon, his brow beaded with sweat. The bearded man leaned forward and jerked on the handle of the axe. The blade squealed as it came free.

Raising the axe, the man prepared to swing again. Dressed in dark blue coveralls and black work boots, his throat convulsed with rage, as he stood wielding the axe. His fair-skinned face was smudged with dirt and grime.

Rodrigo saw another picture entirely in his mind. To him, it appeared that the bearded man before him wore a dark blue police uniform with shiny black shoes. To him, the bearded man had a brown-skinned complexion and black eyes, not blue.

The axe flew through the air and Rodrigo dodged, quick and agile. He dove in and drove the blade of his hunting knife deep into the man’s chest. His eyes went wide and Rodrigo smiled cruelly.

He shoved against the knife as the bearded man collapsed onto the floor and then ripped it out, tearing flesh. A small geyser of blood shot out and colored the man’s face and chest. His mouth opened, but only a small gasp escaped.

Blood covered the knife that he withdrew and then drove back into the bearded man’s heart.

“Justice is served,” he intoned.

The blade turned within the bearded man’s chest, his back arched and then he was still. Rodrigo pulled the knife out and scraped it slowly across his own tongue, shaving off a few taste buds, mixing his blood with his opponent’s. His eyes held a glint of madness.

He savored the blood as it glided down his throat and closed his eyes. Mind reeling with the taste of victory, he fought the nightmare images that invaded him once again, but lost.

Rodrigo felt the cold steel of the ice-pick as it pushed against his throat, the tip nearly piercing the skin. Lips brushed against his ear.

“You stay still and let me play my game. When I cum, the game’s over and I win,” the Chief’s deep grating voice said.

Rodrigo opened his eyes. He did not want to see the picture those words evoked.

He stared at the dead man instead. This is my game and I make the rules.

Rodrigo stilled himself, sensing only the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. He closed his eyes. For a while everything was black and silent; no sound, no sensation, no sight invaded his world. Eventually, his eyes opened and his senses returned.

Rodrigo continued to sit motionless as he watched the last rays of the sun streak through the sky, painting it in orange-crimson hues and filling him with a deep inner warmth.

As his eyes closed, a cool breeze blew the black curly locks of his hair around his handsome brown skinned face. The wood of the workbench squeaked as he shifted his weight, trying to get more comfortable. Plastic rustled in the breeze.

Something cold touched his hand, sending tingling sensations up his arm and down his spine. Then again and again, a lazy repetition, cold drops of liquid against his skin.

His amber brown eyes opened. A dark scarlet field of starlets covered the hand resting on his left thigh. The blade of a hunting knife protruded from his right hand. Blood dripped slowly off the tip, striking his other hand in a hypnotic rhythm.

The plastic covering the walls of the unfinished addition to the two story white house rustled with the breeze again. Amid the clutter and debris, the eyes of the dead man stared back at him. Eyes that did not look familiar anymore. Rodrigo looked back at the house, confused; it wasn’t tan, it was white.

Shaking off the confusion and ignoring the obvious loss of reality he had suffered, he wiped the blade on the dead man’s coveralls, then slid it into the sheath under his brown leather coat. An oily rag worked to camouflage the blood on his hands and blue jeans, then he zipped up his coat.

Disappointed that the dead body of the bearded man did not belong to the Chief, Rodrigo pulled out an old fashioned straight edge razor from his right inside pocket. He had to taunt the Chief, to make him fear, to make him wonder.

The holes in the bearded man’s chest had stopped gushing blood and Rodrigo, momentarily bored and contemplative, carved a smoother, more aesthetic circle out of each. Then he grabbed the dead man’s left arm and hauled the body over onto its stomach. A small wet plop escaped from its punctured lungs.

Rodrigo used the razor blade to slice the coveralls away. He stared down at the white canvas and tried to see the words hidden beneath the skin. He had to bring the hidden message out for all to see.

He had brought out the words TO PROTECT AND SERVE, HIMSELF on the back of the rookie cop, PURITY LOST IN SIN on the back of the barrel-chested weight-lifter, LIES WITHIN MY SKIN on the back of the man he had followed home from the sports bar, and for the man who loved to drink Jack Daniels he had released the words THE ONLY TIME I FEEL ALIVE.

In slanting stick style he slashed the white canvas with the razor blade. The skin peeled away from it like a flower blossoming, going from white to pink to red to crimson, and releasing the words within: DEATH OF INNOCENCE.

He read the words aloud. They caused a distant wrenching pain inside. A pain that threatened to engulf him. Instead, he laughed. He laughed at the tool box, he laughed at the discarded axe the dead man had wielded, he laughed at the flapping pieces of plastic separating the addition from the house. Then abruptly, he stopped.

The razor blade dropped to the floor with a small clink of metal against concrete and he slowly brought his hands up in front of his face, twisted them back and forth, studied every inch of their surface. Streaks and smears of dried blood and oil, various nicks and scratches, and deeply worn and weathered lines covered them.

Did I really do this? Have I become what I wanted to destroy? They were all victims, my victims. I am death. I am the messenger of sorrow and pain. I am the evil that lies within the heart of man. I am.... I am.... I’m crazy? I’m out of my mind? I… No, no, no, no! I AM... the one… the one that must stop the death, the sin, the lies. I kill only to punish the guilty one. Justice must be done.

He clenched his fists, his fingers sticky with oil and blood. “I am Justice.” He stepped over the dead man, picked up his razor blade, and headed toward the plastic barrier. “The suffering and pain will end.” He left the addition, his hiking boots sinking slightly into the muddy lawn, and headed toward the side of the house. “Punishment will be final.” He strode into the front yard. “I shall be redeemed!”

Someone big and tall bumped into him and Rodrigo fell to his ass, knocked out of his reverie, his thoughts of vengeance.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I was lost in thought,” said a slightly familiar voice.

Rodrigo looked up to see a man with steel blue eyes and blond hair, wearing an army uniform. He knew the face well. He could still picture it as the smiling, laughing face of the boy who had been his best friend since kindergarten.

In Rodrigo’s mind an old memory replayed itself. He felt that distant breeze again. The one that had made the grass tickle his leg as he sat across from his best friend, JD.

“Ha, gotcha!” JD said, as his marble struck Rodrigo’s and knocked it out of the circle they had made in a patch of dirt.

JD picked up the blue and white marble that was his now and dropped it into his marble sack with a broad grin stretching across his face. Rodrigo stared at the blond haired, blue eyed boy across from him, and thought of how different they were from each other. He wondered if JD knew what it was like to be scared. Scared of something that hurt too much to talk about and scared of what would happen if he did.

“Ah, come on. Don’t pout about it,” JD chuckled, as he took the blue and white marble back out to inspect it more closely and maybe to gloat just a bit.

Rodrigo stared at the back of the brown hands that rested on his knees. A little competitive goad had been just about to leave his lips when the back door of the house slammed open.

“Rodrigo! Get in here!”, a dark skinned man with black hair, a beard, and blacker eyes bellowed, standing in the doorway. His 5’8” frame was clad in a dark blue police uniform.

“Go home, JD,” Rodrigo whispered urgently.

“But we're not finished,” JD complained, innocent eyes inquiring as to what was wrong.

“Just go!”

Rodrigo got up and ran back to the house. For a boy of only eight years, Rodrigo felt very old as the large brown hand reached behind his shoulder, guiding him into the house more quickly. He glanced back once more at JD’s worried, puzzled expression and then the door closed.

As Rodrigo came back to himself, recognition began to fill the army man’s face.

“Rod, is that you? I didn’t recognize you for a second.”

“JD, so good to bump into you after so long.”

Rodrigo got to his feet, brushing off the seat of his jeans.

“Well, you’re a mess aren’t you?”, JD said, seeming to look him over. “You still work with Pat at the auto shop in town?”

“Yeah, uh, look, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s been great seeing you again, Mr. G.I., but I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll drop by later and we’ll catch up. Okay?”

Before JD could respond and delay him any longer, he headed off toward his battered old Honda parked across the street. The driver’s side passenger door was dented and the silver paint was flaked and dotted with patches of rust. Since the door handle was missing, Rodrigo had to reach through the always open window and open the door from the inside.

“Well, um, I guess I’ll see you later,” JD said to his back, as Rodrigo pulled open the door.

Rodrigo felt a deep pulsing pain in his heart as he got into his car and started it. Emotions fought one another for control. He missed JD, yet hated what he had become.

Rodrigo pulled away from the curb and gave JD a crisp salute as he stood knocking on the door of the house with the addition, a duffel bag at his feet. Rodrigo’s best friend was one of them now. His best friend wore the uniform, the symbol of the enemy. He couldn’t trust anyone to help him kill the Chief. Rodrigo had to do it alone.

A few minutes later, Rodrigo parked the battered silver Honda in the garage of his recently rented home. He got out and stared across the street at the tan three bedroom home he had grown up in. The blue four door Buick Century wasn’t there. Too early still. He had to be patient. Not long now.

Rodrigo walked across the bare cement floor and pressed the button on the wall. Musty smells of wood, cement, and oil, closed in on him as the garage door slid shut, sealing off the night, but not the darkness.

For a long while he stood still and silent, feeling the darkness encasing him. Something quavered inside him, knowledge he didn’t want and couldn’t handle. He shut his eyes, pushing it away. He couldn’t allow himself to feel doubt, to feel remorse. Nothing could be allowed to stop what had to be done.

Not even the fact that innocents were dead. Not even the fact that he couldn’t trust his senses.

Innocents killed by him. No. No. Not innocents. They must have had evil in their hearts. That’s why they appeared to him as the Chief. It was a message. A message from God to let him know who the evil doers were. So he could be God’s justice, God’s retribution.

The quavering sensation came again. This time Rodrigo managed to push it away, he pushed it all away. All he wanted to do now was sleep.

Rodrigo went through the connecting door into the house. No lights were on in the house. He hadn’t used them once since renting the place, even removing all the bulbs from the garage and the refrigerator. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong. He couldn’t risk discovery.

Now, he guided himself through the dark, half by memory and half by eyes accustomed to darkness. The bedroom door was open. Entering the room, he looked at the mattress laying on the floor. A rumpled comforter was its only covering.

Frozen for a moment, he imagined movement under the sheets, two bodies tangled together. Rodrigo’s heart ached as he watched himself and Marie, his sweet adorable angel, touching and kissing each other. Then, they were gone. No, not yet. He focused.

Rodrigo stared at the two sleeping forms on the mattress; Marie, beautiful and peaceful, himself sleeping fitfully. Having a nightmare, that’s what the other Rodrigo was doing. Then eyes popped open and when they did, he became the other Rodrigo. He was the one scared, a scream caught in his throat, and in need of comforting.

Rodrigo looked over at Marie, her eyes closed and mouth slightly open. The nightmare lingered. Every night the nightmares returned and seemed to grow in intensity. The only thing holding him together was his wife, Marie.

He tried to breath slowly, attempting to calm himself as he stared at her long seductive form stretched out next to him. The curves of her shapely body aroused him. He loved the way her breasts pushed against the thin material of the nightgown. Her lovely luscious lips beckoned him. Her slow steady breathing soothed him. Rodrigo felt transfixed by her smooth light-skinned complexion and the pure beauty of her face. He wanted so much to see those radiant blue-green eyes that were hidden behind her closed eyelids. He needed her, needed her love, needed her to comfort him.

With just a touch of guilt for disturbing her peaceful slumber, he leaned over and kissed her softly. Marie’s eyes cracked open. Rodrigo ran his hands up and down her body, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the heat and curves of her body.

Marie began to kiss him back sleepily, then with more passion as he ripped her nightgown off and pulled her closer to his body. Rodrigo felt her nipples brush against his chest and loved the sensation.

Kisses grew more passionate, he sucked on her lips and then her neck. He slipped her nipple into his mouth and sucked hard, trying to devour her. He felt her passion increasing, building, until she pulled him on top of her.

Then she reached down and grabbed him, guiding him into her. The warmth and heat of her body enveloped him.

Marie was all the comfort he could ever need or want.

The cool sensation of tears gliding down his cheeks brought Rodrigo back to himself. He blinked them away and wiped his face with his dirty shirt. Sadness, despair, threatened to overwhelm him once again. He pushed it back again and gave in to his exhaustion instead. He was bone-weary and his knees were starting to buckle.

Rodrigo looked once more at the mattress that was once part of ‘their’ bed, but was now just an object for him to sleep on, alone. The sheets he had imagined were gone. Now, the mattress lay there, bare except for a rumpled mound of a comforter.

Rodrigo took off his coat and jeans and threw them into the corner. He slid under the comforter, feeling the cool pleasant sensation of the mattress against his skin and was asleep a minute later.

The nightmare came again, despite his physical exhaustion. His mind continued to tumble from image to image, memory to memory, until it settled once again on the one that wouldn’t go away.

The lamp in the corner snapped on. Chief sat there, wearing a dark blue uniform with an oval shield on the left breast.

“You’ve been a bad boy son.” Chief Garcia’s face was impassive as he cleaned his nails with the tip of an ice-pick.

Rodrigo sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes with small hands. The last dregs of sleep left him as the bearded man in the corner came into focus. The boy began to inch away.

“Chief, please... Don't, don’t ,hurt me. Please....” Rodrigo’s voice sounded small and weak to his own ears.

Garcia stood up, pulled down the shade over the window, and moved to the side of the bed. He looked down at Rodrigo, a sadistic smile on his face.

“Don’t call me that. I’m your father.”

Tears flowed down Rodrigo’s cheek as he saw that Garcia was naked below the waist.

“No, please. Please, don’t! You’re my father. You’re not supposed to do this to me!”

Rodrigo pushed into the corner, driving his legs against the crumpled sheets even after he felt the wall at this back, trying to somehow pass through the wall and escape.

“Shut up and take what you deserve, you little punk,” Chief’s grating voice said as he stroked himself, his penis hard and erect.

A dam broke inside of Rodrigo. His tears flowed heavily and his mind screamed inside his head. God, please help me. Don’t let this happen again. Don’t let him hurt me. Please, God, please, don’t let him hurt me. I’ll do anything. Please, just don’t let him hurt me. Don’t let him do that to me. I’ll die. I’ll just die. I can’t take this anymore. Please, God, Please...

His mind continued to race away as Chief grabbed him, turned him over and pushed the ice-pick against his throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

Distantly, Rodrigo felt his underwear pulled down, a coarse rough hand glided over his skin and cupped his groin, squeezing. Then the Chief’s lips brushed against his ear, the foul smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath.

“You stay still and let me play my game....”

“No, please, no!”, Rodrigo screamed as he woke from the nightmare. He looked around at the room, empty except for his clothes piled in the corner. Marie wasn’t there to comfort him. Marie was gone.

“That fucking bastard is going to die,” Rodrigo promised himself, tears streaking down his face again.

He felt himself teetering on the edge of an abyss. Almost impossible to regain control of himself; his mind in chaos, emotions in turmoil. Desperately, he desired to feel Marie’s arms around him, to feel her tender kisses on his cheeks and mouth. His need for her was fierce. Comfort and compassion were lost without her.

Rodrigo’s eyes slid shut and once more the moment his world had begun to crumble played out in his mind. He had awakened to the sound of urgent hurried breathing. Marie lay on the bed, her eyes wide with panic.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” He was instantly alarmed.

“I ...can’t ......breath.” Marie struggled to say between quick ragged breaths.

“Why? What’s wrong, Honey? Are you choking? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Chest … hurts…,” Marie cried out in obvious agony.

Rodrigo threw the covers off of himself and ran to the phone in the living room. The hard wood floors were cold and sent a chill through his bare feet and throughout his naked form. The phone felt like lead in his hand, fingers weighted down, as he dialed 911. A recorded voice came on and went through a menu, asking if this was an emergency.

“No shit, it’s an emergency!”, he yelled at the unsympathetic recording and pressed 1.

Finally, an actual person came on and he hysterically relayed the situation. Rodrigo hung up and ran back to Marie. His heart sank as he saw the blue tinge entering her features.

“Marie! Marie! Talk to me, please. The ambulance is on the way.”

Marie made some half intelligible noise and then her breathing became more ragged.

Rodrigo heard sirens approaching in the distance and scooped Marie up in his arms, his muscles rippling with the effort. He rushed her to the front door and worked it open as the ambulance pulled into the driveway.

Paramedics jumped out and rushed over to him.

“Put her down and give us room to work!”, a sandy haired paramedic ordered.

They hovered over Marie, taking her pulse and giving her oxygen. Some color returned to her face, but not enough. The black hair paramedic, taking her pulse, pulled out a stethoscope and listened to her heart. He looked worried.

Rodrigo stood there feeling helpless and panicked.

“Get her onto the stretcher,” the black haired paramedic said.

Rodrigo read his name, R. Stern, from the tag on his left pocket, as he numbly watched them lift her onto the stretcher they had just brought out. They loaded her into the ambulance and Rodrigo climbed in behind Stern, who stayed with Marie, as the blond paramedic got behind the wheel. The engine and the siren fired up, as Rodrigo closed the doors for Stern, who was busy attending to Marie.

After apparently stabilizing Marie, Stern, handed Rodrigo a blanket he had pulled out of a compartment.

“You might want to cover up before we get to the hospital.” Stern sounded somewhat embarrassed.

Rodrigo looked down at his nude body, feeling disconnected, and took the proffered blanket without comment.

A car driving past on the street outside pulled Rodrigo back to the present. A chill coursed through him and he began to dress distractedly. As he did, his mind began to wander back again, this time to the hospital room about a week after Marie was admitted.

Rodrigo sat in an uncomfortable chair and gripped Marie’s thin delicate hand in both of his, trying to somehow will her to be better. She had her eyes closed and her head tilted away from him. He stared at Marie’s full curving lips. Lips he had kissed so many times. He could see her face bright and full of warmth, smiling and laughing.

“Don’t cry, Hon. I can’t handle it. Not right now, anyway. Please.”

Marie’s voice startled him. Rodrigo tried to focus on her face again, but it was blurry. Slowly, unwillingly, he removed his right hand from the top of hers and wiped at his tears. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

“I’m sorry, Honey. I didn’t realize that I was crying. Or that you were awake.” He rubbed the back of his hand against his right eye once more and returned it to her waiting hand. For a second, he couldn’t look her in the eye, instead staring at their surroundings.

The walls of the room were white as most hospital rooms were. Though they might be some kind of duller off-white. There were a few of the antiseptic, non-emotional paintings on the walls as well.

A park where people rode bikes, children ran and played sports and older people walked their dogs adorned one wall. On the wall to the right, ocean waves slowly lapped at the shore of a white beach with palm trees and no people.

His eyes skirted over the linoleum floor before flying to the painting above Marie’s bed. His eyes locked on it and a deep rooted chill traveled up his spine to the base of his skull.

An artist’s drawing of town hall and the police station next to it. The Roman columns that framed the door to the police station were clean in the drawing. Last time Rodrigo had seen them, they hadn’t looked so spotless. He could still vividly picture the arcing trail of splattered blood dripping down the length of the column on the left. He heard the enraged scream of fear and pain clearly. Saw the stranger that had almost killed the Chief for him. That stranger had almost spared Rodrigo so much pain.

“Rodrigo, did you hear me?” Marie’s voice came soft and somewhat ragged.

“What? ...Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? I should be asking you how you’re doing and not spacing out like some kind of jerk. I’m sorry, Honey. I just… I don’t know. I think I’m tired. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. You’ve only been sitting there nearly 24 hours a day for the past week. I told you to go home and get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I can’t do that, Honey, I can’t leave you alone here. I…”

“I said, I’ll be fine. Now go home. I don’t want you here. I don’t need you here. Go!”, Marie said in a rushed irritated tone.

Rodrigo stared into her eyes, feeling the pain and frustration that Marie must surely be feeling. She was not the type of person to like feeling helpless or dependent on someone else. Lifting his right hand, never taking his gaze from her eyes, he placed it on her cheek, caressing it softly and tenderly.

Marie broke her gaze away from his, as her eyes first watered, and then began to spill tears down her cheeks.

“I’m scared.”

“I know, Honey, but I’m here. And I know how tough and feisty my wife is. If there’s anyone that can beat this. It’s you.”

He tried to keep the tremor out of his voice, but wasn’t really sure if he succeeded. Standing up, he wrapped his wife gently in his arms. Her sobs came softly and quietly. Embracing her carefully, he felt both her strength and frailty. He held her that way for a long time. Wanting her to feel his love. To feel how strong it was. To know that it would never die, even if...

Eventually, she was still. Rodrigo pulled away, kissing her delicately on the forehead. A loud buzzing distracted him. Anger surged inside him at the unwanted interruption of the moment. Then, as he stared at the monitor next to the bed, he realized what it was.

“Marie!” Rodrigo shouted from the depths of his soul. “Marie!”

Rodrigo stared at her still form, sinking to his knees in slow motion, as nurses and doctors rushed into the room. Something fractured inside him, releasing all of his agony and sorrow at once. A wild frenzy of action and shouted orders ensued. In the midst of the chaos, Rodrigo knew Marie was gone and nothing mattered anymore.

A car pulling into the driveway across the street brought Rodrigo all the way back this time. Wiping his tear streaked face, he stood slowly. So many emotions battered him. Unstable emotions; one moment, utter sorrow and despair, the next, pure hatred and uncontrollable rage. They all battled within him, with others randomly joining the fight.

Now, as he looked out the window and saw the Buick across the street, rage began to burn the others away. Soon, so soon, he would get his vengeance. Chief would be drinking Jack Daniels and watching television, while Rodrigo counted the minutes, waiting for Chief to drink himself into a stupor, as he did every night.

When enough time had passed, Rodrigo headed toward the front door. Imagining he could almost hear the Chief snoring, he paused, hand on the cold metal of the doorknob, and smiled.

“Time to play.”

Rodrigo opened the front door and a hard bony fist slammed into his face. He reeled, falling back into the house and hitting his head hard.

A tall form stepped through the doorway and closed it quickly. Rodrigo tried hard to concentrate through the stars in his vision and the pain in his head. A face above him came into focus, as the sound of a gun being cocked reached his ears.

JD looked down at him with hard unfamiliar features.

“I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it. But, you were there. It had to be you?”

Rodrigo couldn’t figure out what JD was talking about or why he had suddenly attacked him. Maybe he was working with the Chief now. JD had been with the military police, Rodrigo remembered. Maybe JD had joined the force now that he was back. Still, it didn’t really make sense did it?

“You, Rod. My best friend. You killed my father! Didn’t you?”, JD asked in a voice strained with grief and disbelief.

Suddenly, Rodrigo understood. The house with the addition came back into his mind. The bearded man that he had thought was the Chief. The features were suddenly familiar. That was JD’s father. That house, had been JD’s. Rodrigo couldn’t understand how he had made such a terrible mistake. Yet, he had killed several men, believing them to be the Chief.

“Answer me you son of bitch!” JD said in a hard whisper and kicked him.

Rodrigo ceased to care why he had done anything and took the opportunity that presented itself. He grabbed the leg that kicked him and rolled into it, hearing JD cry out in surprise and pain.

JD’s gun flew toward Rodrigo’s head and connected with his jaw. Excruciating pain coursed through him, but served only to madden Rodrigo and send him into a rage.

Wrenching the gun from JD’s grasp, he kicked his legs out from under him. When JD hit the floor, Rodrigo struck him on the back of the head with the butt of the gun. JD grunted and was still.

Rodrigo rose to his feet, turning the gun on JD. Pain flared up in Rodrigo’s jaw again and he began to pull the trigger. Something stopped him though. He couldn’t do it. This man, his best friend, had cause to be angry with him. JD had as much right to vengeance as Rodrigo did himself. Besides, a gunshot would probably wake the Chief and warn him of danger.

Rodrigo found some rope and tied JD’s hands and feet. He inspected the knots and frowned. He wasn’t sure they were good enough, but he had never really learned how to tie a good knot. They should last long enough anyway, he thought.

Rodrigo stared at JD’s gun for a moment and for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he left it on the counter. He didn’t intend to use guns anyway. His vengeance would be grand. He had it all planned out. He had even named it. Blade Dance was the name of his vengeance. He would use blades to inflict pain on the Chief. Blades cut and caused horrible pain. They were a much more intimate weapon. You had to be close to use a blade. Close enough to see the pain, to almost feel the pain, you inflicted. The experience would be unforgettable. He would truly be able to savor his vengeance.

Rodrigo ran his hands over his jacket, felt the blades hidden there. He touched his right pocket and felt the straight razor. Its blade would write the final message on the Chief, VENGEANCE IS MINE.

Looking once more at the still form of JD, Rodrigo walked back to the front door. His vengeance was coming. Blades would begin their dance over Chief’s body. He opened the door, closing it behind him and headed across the street quickly.

The dew of the grass made his feet wet and cold. He had forgotten to put his shoes back on. It didn’t matter. He reached the window of his old bedroom and pushed it open carefully, not wanting to make any noise. As he crawled through it, the wood of the sill roughly tugged on his clothes. A large splinter embedded itself in the top of his bare right foot and blood sprouted out. Rodrigo didn’t notice. His focus was total. Only one goal was in his mind. There was room for nothing else.

He crept into the living room. The television was blaring, people shooting and screaming from its speakers. A bottle of Jack Daniels stood on the coffee table next to the drunken Chief.

One thing was different from the Chief’s usual routine. His service revolver was there too.

Expecting trouble were we?

Rodrigo quickly snatched it up and put it in the left inside pocket of his coat. The cold steel of the spike brushed his fingers and he took it out. He had filed the end to a precision point.

The Chief’s head tilted against his huge chest. His beard was black and neatly trimmed. His beer gut stuck out between his white undershirt and his uniform pants. Large calloused hands rested on the arms of the recliner.

No need to waste time. Let’s begin.

Rodrigo lifted the spike over his head, paused for a second, took careful aim, and slammed it down into the Chief’s crotch with all the force of his weight and muscle.

Chief shrieked, eyes flying open, the pain instantly removing the vestiges of alcohol stupor. He lashed out and struck a solid blow to Rodrigo’s midsection. Chief grabbed a handful of Rodrigo’s hair and yanked as he doubled over.

Rodrigo tumbled into the coffee table and to the floor, as the table broke in two.

Chief screamed hysterically as he stared at his crotch. The spike stuck straight up like an odd metallic erection.

Rodrigo got to his feet, rage boiling inside him, and took out his hunting knife. He rushed over to the Chief and pushed the blade against his neck.

“So, how are you tonight, Chief? Feeling well?”

Rodrigo’s laugh was filled with a menacing hatred as he pushed the knife in a little more. Blood flowed over the blade, dulling its’ shine.

“Rod? You! What the fuck,” Chief groaned, his face reddening and beads of sweat erupting from his pores, as he stared down at his crotch again, “My God. Oh my God!”

“I’ve come to play a little game with you,” Rodrigo taunted. “Only this time, we’re using my rules. And I promise you, when we’re done, you’ll never hurt anyone again.”

His amber brown eyes squinted in a glare of pure hatred as the knife traveled down the Chief’s neck to his stomach, chased by running rivulets of crimson blood.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Chief cried out as he reached for the gun that wasn’t there and knocked over the bottle of Jack Daniels. It toppled onto the carpet, brown liquid pulsing out its neck.

Rodrigo was careful to push the knife against the Chief’s skin just enough to cause pain and draw blood. He wanted this to last. Wanted the Chief to feel some small measure of the pain and suffering he had inflicted on him.

The door began to rattle in its hinges. Rodrigo whirled around, distracted.

“Die you little fuck!”, Chief Garcia screamed, swinging the spike he had pulled out of himself. Rodrigo dodged and instead of his chest, it sunk into his left arm.

The pain was horrific. He felt as if his arm contained a burning piece of metal. Rodrigo staggered back, pushing the pain away. He had to feel nothing. He had to disconnect from the pain. He had to become the instrument of vengeance, with no feeling, only purpose.

Chief barreled into him, sending them both into the couch and toppling it onto its back. His weight was oppressive and Rodrigo found it difficult to breath as he swung his arm and drove the blade of the hunting knife into the Chief’s back.

The Chief’s massive hand encircled Rodrigo’s neck and squeezed with amazing force. Snarling, Garcia increased his grip, cutting off Rodrigo’s air supply.

Withdrawing the knife from the Chief’s back, Rodrigo stabbed him repeatedly as everything began to turn black and grow silent. The Chief’s grip finally relented and Rodrigo’s throat burned as oxygen filled his starving lungs.

Pushing the Chief back off of himself, Rodrigo was fascinated by the mouth working to form words that would never come out. He reached into his pocket and took out the razor blade as the door rattled more violently. He ran the blade over the Chief’s face slowly and deliberately. The agony the Chief felt showed in his twitching eyes. Rodrigo slashed the blade over Chief’s face faster and faster. Time running out as more and more violent attempts to smash open the door could be heard.

A large red rose blossomed on the carpet around the Chief’s head and his breathing hitched and then stopped.

Rodrigo stared at the Chief’s lifeless face as JD’s enraged voice filled the night.

“Open the door you bastard!”

The door rattled one more time and then stopped.

Rodrigo rushed out of the living room and hid beside the doorway to the Chief’s room at the end of the hall. His blood boiled in his veins. The core of his being screamed. He’d been cheated. Forced to rush his ultimate victory. Forced to kill the Chief too quickly. Not allowed to savor the Chief’s pain; to revel in it; bathe in it.

An involuntary scream erupted from his lungs, as he pulled the spike out of his arm. He threw it down the hallway and through the picture window, just as several shots rang out, exploding through wood and metal. The door crashed open and Rodrigo slipped back into the Chief’s doorway as he heard footsteps crunching through the living room.

From beyond the doorway, he heard sirens. The police were on their way.

Something thudded to the floor and then there was a metallic click.

Rodrigo pulled the service revolver out. JD wasn’t part of the blade dance. A bullet would do just fine for him.

JD’s footsteps worked their way toward the overturned couch and paused.

“Dear God,” he whispered, revulsion climbing up his chest, as he stared at Chief’s lifeless body.

Somewhere inside Rodrigo a torturous love for JD rose. He wanted his best friend to know the secret he had always kept from him. Rodrigo wanted JD to understand why he had killed his own father.

Oh, God, Marie. What have I done?

The thought startled Rodrigo, it didn’t seem to be his own. He pushed the remorse away and focused again on the anger, the rage. JD had cheated him, JD had robbed him of his perfect vengeance. Rodrigo had not even been able to release the words waiting in the Chief’s skin, VENGEANCE IS MINE.

The rage boiled in his veins again and Rodrigo rushed down the hall and fired at JD, as he heard three successive gunshots.

Rodrigo’s bullet placed a neat little hole in the center of JD’s chest, sending him to the floor. Rodrigo followed as bullets struck him in the chest and stomach. The pain wasn’t what he expected. It was dull and bland. He tried to get to his knees, but slumped against the wall instead, expelling a mixture of blood and air.

The wind howled through the open window and a chill deeper than any he had ever known crept into Rodrigo, filling him. Cords in his neck stood out and seemed to creak in his ears, as Rodrigo turned to look at JD.

“You killed my Dad, Rod. Why the fuck did you kill my Dad? What did he ever do to you?” JD, still in his army uniform, was crumpled against the opposite wall. His right hand clutched his chest, blood flowing between his fingers like a morbid pledge of allegiance. “I can’t believe this is happening,” JD added, mostly to himself.

Rodrigo’s left arm flared with a pain that blended with all the others in his body and his soul.

“I thought he was the Chief. I thought they were all the Chief.”

Rodrigo felt empty, like he had lost something precious. Yet he didn’t know what it was or how to find it.

“I got the Chief this time though. He finally got what he deserved.”

Now, so will I. He chuckled and the salty taste of tears filled his mouth.

JD stared at him for a long moment, his face bearing a mixture of confusion, hatred, and sorrow. The sirens grew louder. The wind howled more fiercely. Slowly JD’s face hardened and he picked up his gun from the carpet.

Rodrigo smiled a thank you and JD pulled the trigger.