To Rule The Darkness

*Author's Note: This was my attempt; I would love any feedback.*

Epilogue

I received the call early morning, a cold, unrelenting morning. I hurried to the train and my shop as soon as I could.

Around the shop, there was no evidence of the brutality the shop had faced. The proud brick building defied the sky as it stood erect. The shop's threshold wasn't significant, but it felt like it took forever for me to cross as I looked at the damage. The bell was not working when I entered the shop. The hairs on my neck raised; I looked around to ensure no one was there; some part of me was reminded to do that. The front windows were smashed, which sent shards of glass across the concrete floor. The fractual of glass on the floor mixed with the water flowing out of the broken sink in the back. There were many pools of water and water rushing out the front door. The electric system was flayed, and the lights flickered on and off. The barber chairs were flipped over, and one of the four was missing. The mirrors were removed from the walls and thrown across the room. I surveyed the damage and picked my way to the back carefully. The shop was near the train station, connecting the rich and poor sides of town. My clients were from both sides of the tracks. I could only wonder what made someone want to attack my shop; we were stationed close to one of the police stations, which was risky.

I made it to the backroom; the water cooler near that door was left alone. The office room was just as trashed as the front room and flooded. My sneakers were soaked through. I pulled my jacket closer to my body as I rushed to my grandfather's desk. I sat down and looked at the desk, in disarray; like someone was looking for something. I looked in the drawer and saw that what I was looking for wasn't there. I laid my arms on the desk and wept into them. Only then did I hear a voice tell me not to turn around; they had a gun. I froze; so much for trusting my instincts.

**

Days earlier, I was in the shop. It was an abnormally warm day for November in the city. The chairs are stationed in a row methodically, and I have a customer in one of the chairs. The windows allow natural light into the shop, and I have a couple of lamps around to give me better visuals for my clients. People ran across the streets through the window, removing layers to experience the reprieve. The sun-baked cinnamon bricks of the buildings stood out against the sky's blue, still lumbering as if in service to the sun.

My buddy Blaine is sitting in another chair, reading a book. Just a boy from the side of the city that didn't see the bright side of the moon as often as others. He still biked to his community college classes and to work. He lived with his parents and helped take care of the house. He was a good kid with a good head on his shoulders, and hopefully, that head was good enough to get him out of there. My customer, Teri, was sitting dutifully in his suit, covered with the gown, while I shaved the sides of his head. The only sounds were the radio in the background and my razor taking the edge off his hair.

"What are you reading today?" Teri asked Blaine incredulously. Blaine barely looked up and answered.

"The Gift of Fear by Gavin De Becker," he stated quickly, not taking his eyes off the page, devouring the material as fast as he could.

Teri snorted, "You are reading about fear? I'll tell you about fear. You may learn a little from a book but learn more by practicing common sense. Imagine you are ready to walk into your house, and the door is already open. You know something is wrong, and the hairs on your neck are standing up. You slowly open the door and walk in. As you walk in, the door slams behind you, and someone speaks, telling you a gun is pointed at you and you must give them all your money, or they shoot. What do you do?"

Blaine contemplated this question, marking his page in his book and setting it down. He stood up while answering, "I think I would try and take the gun," Blaine said as he started to pace the floor in his well-worn sneakers. He turned quickly and said, "Maybe they are bluffing about the gun, so I would try and take them down. You know I have been working out more; I think I could take a man in a fight." He pumped his arms to solidify his argument.

Teri looked at him seriously, "That's if your first response is to fight and if you remember to fight. Have you ever disarmed a person who was behind you? You might work out, but you can't out brute pure skill. And is that the odds you want to play, that they are bluffing?"

Blaine stopped pacing, his face contorted, "No, I suppose not, but I imagine I could do it when the adrenaline hits—one hell of a drug, that adrenaline. I will figure it out when my survival part wants to live, I'm sure. I mean, that's what the book says to do, trust your instincts."

As this conversation continued, my grandfather emerged from the back room to listen to them talking. He stood in the doorway, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He took up the doorframe with his body, his natural brown skin popping against the green shirt I had bought him earlier that year. A proud man, born in another country and raised in this city, his parents moved here from Brazil many years ago. He tended to listen more than talk, being he preferred to avoid reminding clients he had an accent and thus was different.

Teri responded in kind to the last statement, "Sure, but what if they have a gun and see you move and bang, you've been shot. A gun is faster than you. I've read your book, trust your instincts is good advice if you know how to listen." Teri looked at Blaine through the mirror with his eyebrow raised.

Blaine took a moment to reconsider, "I would rather fight than not. I'm not trying to see myself go down 'Law Abiding Citizen' style".

"Great movie; Jeremy Renner was fabulous in that movie," said Clive, the man walking in as this conversation continued, the bell ringing to let us know. A strappy man in his 60s, he was a concert pianist who loved to wear bow ties. His body was unburdened by gravity in a way that showed in his walk; proud and arrogant, he commanded attention.

"That movie isn't with Jeremy Renner; it's with Tom Hardy." My grandfather finally entered the conversation, accent uninhibited.

"Grandpa, no, it's Jeremy Renner. You know, the same guy from The Town, and I think he's Hawkeye, right?" I said.

Teri replied, "Now that is a good movie, The Town. Those Marvel movies don't do it for me anymore, and I can't stand all that CGI and computer crap.. and some of those villains are just lackluster. They don't make them like Xanatos or Jason Wynn anymore."

Clive agreed, "Good Will Hunting, now that is a movie. Those boys knew what they were doing. As for Xanatos, that man did have vision. Jason Wynn was a little too dark for my tastes. That Macfarland guy certainly had horror down to a science." He sat in one of the free chairs across from the mirrors, his appointment was next, and he had arrived more than ten minutes ahead of schedule—a man of punctuality and good manners.

Blaine had quietly retired to the chair to read his book, almost as if he knew bringing a movie into the conversation would get him out of the argument. Grandpa responded again, "Isn't Good Will Hunting with that Tom Cruise guy?" Grandpa walked over to the other chair and motioned to Clive to sit in the chair.

Teri and Clive laughed as I corrected the confused old mad, "No, it was Matt Damon." Grandpa shook his head and put a gown around Clive's shoulders before he sat down. Grandpa was the one who taught me how to cut hair when I was in high school; he was the real reason many clients came to our shop, but I was finding my way and learning more every day. As the laughter died down, the radio played.

"Today's news at Four. This is Chad Kroger on 101.5 FM, bringing your local news your way. We just received word that Small Business owners are experiencing bankruptcy more than in previous years. Many say this is due to online sales spiking, consumers looking to save by using big brand names, and many choosing free shipping over shipping fees. Customers want things done quicker and cheaper as time goes on. Inflation is at an all-time..."

Blaine walked over to the radio and turned it down, the news still being reported but drowned out, still reading his book as he walked. Teri looked at me in the mirror and asked, "Do you ever worry you'll get run out by those new fancy fast haircut places popping up? When I drove over here just down the street, I saw a pretty new and modern-looking one."

I was dusting the hair from his collar and looked at him thoughtfully, "No, I'm not worried. My family has been here for generations; we own this building. I have the actual title from way back when; we were very fortunate; As long as you are growing hair, I should always be in business. We also tend to have clients that are more like family, and family is everything." As I said this, I made eye contact with my Grandpa, who gave me an imperceptible nod.

Teri laughed at this and inspected his hair in the mirror. He ran his hand over the sides of his hair, ensuring the length was what he wanted. He handed me the small mirror back, "Mike, you did it again. You sure know your way with a razor." He smiled and looked back at himself in the big mirror. I laughed and unbuttoned his gown. I always forgot that Teri was a man of money when he came here. His suit was tailored to his exact fit, with a bold blue silk tie and matching pocket square. His wingtip shoes, I knew on excellent authority, were worth $3k, and those were not his only pair. He never let on, and he never tried to rub anything in anyone's face. He existed and let others live with him.

He straightened himself up and handed me two one-hundred-dollar bills. I started to shake my head when he grabbed my hand with both of his and looked me in the eyes, "This place will continue as long as I have hair." I smiled and accepted the cash. Teri started to walk out the door when Blaine looked up, "Teri, my dude, what would you do if the gun is pointed at your head? You never told us."

Teri stopped and turned to us momentarily, "Well, I know how to disarm a man with a gun, and I always have one on me. So I would take him out, John Wick style."

Blaine laughed, "No, really? Like on you right now?" Blaine looked at Teri's slim figure, trying to imagine where he would keep a gun.

Teri shook his head, "No man, no. The door is open; I'm not going in there. My body is telling me not to, and I will listen. I know how to listen to my instincts. I have seen enough in one lifetime to know when I'm walking into a trap." Teri walked out the door, the bell ringing on his way out.