Kevin

Violent and interesting--major profanity edited just in case...



The Main Street view stretched out across from the apartment 32-D window of New York City. Jackson Brown sat on the edge of his beige sofa with his eyes shut tightly. Rough day, he thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. His suit was wrinkled and smelled of coffee. It was another sign that made him reminisce such a pathetic day. He had just returned from work at the southern state taxing firm. He had such a bad headache he couldn’t recollect today’s events. Had he been drinking? Nothing seemed to go right anymore…
Brown was about to roll off the couch in exhaustion when the phone rang.
“Son of a--” He cut himself off and deliberately rolled off the couch. He hit the floor with a loud whump and reached up to the nightstand for the phone. He felt around the stand, and by now it was the third ring. When he finally found the phone he yanked it up to his ear.
“Talk to me.” He said rudely.
“Is this Mr. Jackson Brown?” A shrill yet electronically disguised voice replied eagerly.
“…Maybe.” Brown replied slowly. The person on the other line sounded very eerie.
“Would you like to take a stab at my name?” The man had turned off the electronic voice disguise once Jackson was confirmed to be the one on the other line.
“Not really—listen; I really don’t have the time for this.”
“Time for what?” The quick and almost obsessive voice responded.
“Your antics,”
“Well don’t you worry, because I have all the time in the world.”
The phone cut off and Brown heard a loud crash in the kitchen. He slowly picked the phone up and jumped to his feet. Must be the neighbors banging on the walls, he thought. Another crash soon followed and this time he became alarmed. Brown hung up the phone and inched toward the kitchen. The air had the stench of sitting urine.
His heart racing, Brown reached the stool by the countertop. What was around the corner was too overwhelming to think about. He heard another loud crash and jumped to the sound as his adrenaline surged. He moved faster and turned the corner. His eyes opened wide with fear.
Nothing… he thought with an abrasive sigh…nothing but a rolling pot on the floor and the stench of urine coming from an abyss of darkness through a doorway. The two way door in front of him was swinging ajar. His head hurt and all he wanted to do was rest…but he couldn’t--especially not with the stench of piss and odd noises echoing through the apartment…
The distance between him and the door stretched out in front of him. It led to the bathroom; what was behind it—if anything--was the key. But he couldn’t do anything in his state and condition. Not without a weapon, timing and a hint of luck.
Brown stepped back from the door and reached for his only steak knife. He had used it the night before at dinner without any intention of this predicament…Suddenly, another crash echoed past the door and rattled his mind. This time it sounded like something large and made of glass. He saw footsteps under the doorway and heard a muffled cackle as he moved forward. Arms quivering, he brought the knife in front of him, blade up.
Before he knew it, he had his hand on the door and was pushing it forward rapidly. Before he fully opened the door, however, Brown was pushed back by the door in the opposite direction.
The force was incredible. The door exploded into splinters when it hit the cabinet off its hinges. He screamed in agony realizing it had snapped his wrist. He kept falling in what seemed like an eternity. Seconds turned to minutes; hours; months; years. Brown came back to reality when he hit the ground. He screeched like a banshee the second the knife pierced his precious skin. Deeper it went until it hit solid bone.
An enormous man towered over him with a pugnacious grin. His appearance was horrifying. His face, especially around the eyes, was a bubbly wasteland of scars. His head was shaved and his jaw large. His bulging neck was a perfect match to his masculine chest and bulging biceps. His arms were covered in blood and he smelled of urine. His black shirt was stained with a faint and dry red, as well as his jeans. His face twitched on an interval of seconds, which scared Brown the most. He did not recognize the psychopath.
“Jackie,” the man said in a toneless voice and a toothy grin. “We meet again.”
“S-…so I see…” He played along.
Out of nowhere, the grin on the stranger’s face disappeared and he kicked Brown with his boot to the shin. He roared in agony and clutched his leg.
“You stupid f***. You don’t remember me!” Brown backed up in a crabwalk as the figure towered even more so over him.
“I do! I do I swe—” he coughed and wheezed violently. “I swear!”
“Do you really?” The stranger was pondering what he wanted to do next.
“Yes!” Brown crawled back to the window and tried to get himself up off the floor. He slumped back over and began coughing a mix of saliva and blood.
“Good. Get up.” Brown struggled in an attempt to meet the demand and crawled to the couch for support while wincing at the smell. He still couldn’t do it and fell to his knees while spraying more blood. He still hadn’t yet taken the knife out of his arm.
“I said get the f*** up!” The man stomped toward him and grabbed him by the collar. He yanked Brown up to his feet and hurled him over the sofa. He landed on the nightstand in a loud crash and broke just about everything on and in it.
Brown lay there, on the floor, in incredible pain. His blood dripped and soaked through his clothing and his mouth and nose spewing it. The knife lay inches from his head. It didn’t matter though, because the pool of blood swirling and swishing around in his bleeding mouth was more distracting. He suspected he had chipped a few teeth, too. His lips creased open in a desperate attempt to speak, but the only thing he had control over was his eyes. Pain wasn’t his only paralysis…there was a sudden silence. His eyes shifted around the room. It was empty.
Poor Jackson Brown lay there, waiting for his fate; waiting for his misery to be put to an end by that brute. If anything, he wanted to die painlessly. Unfortunately, he heard nothing. The man had left, maybe even left him to die.
Suddenly, Brown realized now was his chance to survive. Every ounce of strength and adrenaline was needed to pull off this one. He put hit palms flat on the floor and pushed as hard as he could. Hope shined in his eyes once he realized he could reach the phone. His bloody hands hugged it as he punched the numbers. Just three, Jack, three measly numbers and then you’re allowed to pass out cold. Thoughts and more hope raced through his mind as each key was punched. Nine…One…One…
Too weary to even lay back, Brown sat in the same position, waiting to hear a ring. All he heard was a click—then a dial tone. Then it hit him…the fear was back again.
As soon as realization hit him, Brown felt a sharp explosion on his spine and lurched forward in pain. He heard shards of an object fall behind him, and something soak and drip down his stained shirt. He assumed it was blood as he lay back moaning. He saw the stranger coming toward him as he inspected what was under him. Some glass and some blood, what else is new, he thought. He looked a bit closer and realized the blood wasn’t thick at all. It was mixed with something—some kind of alcohol…but what—
Then it hit him much harder. A bottle of beer had shattered on his back! He tried to think of the past day and how alcohol might have made him forget. Still weary, he looked at the man and tried to picture him as someone he knew.
“Having fun?” The brute grinned. He picked Jackson up by the ankle and dragged him to God knows where. Yet Brown was still thinking, picturing. Oh my God, he realized. It was that big clumsy goof at work everyone made fun of! What was his name though…Mike, Murray…his name was Murphy! Murphy something…Brown didn’t recall any last name. He looked up at Murphy. He was so big; how could he have not noticed! It was Murphy without his glasses, hair and beard! But why was this man trying to slowly torture him to death?
“Murphy!” he coughed. The second that word came from his mouth he felt his ankle drop to the ground. Murphy had stopped and was turning around slowly. A big, toothy and evil smile produced upon his face. He then immediately frowned.
“Finally, you poor bastard. I thought you were going to die of blood loss before you remembered my name.”
“Murphy…I’m sorry for what me and the guys did. We always made—” Brown coughed and then continued, “made fun of you because we had nothing better to do. We needed to feel better about ourselves.”
“Shut the f*** up, Jacko. That’s not an issue at this point.”
Brown frowned, “Then what the hell did I do to you?” Without saying a word, Murphy unzipped his pants and pulled out his package. He began urinating all over Jackson. Jackson Brown recoiled in disgust and kept thinking. His mind was being refreshed. Then, for the millionth time, it hit him again.
He remembered being drunk and having some fun with his co-workers. He also remembered them crowded around in a circle, all touching something he couldn’t see. Then they moved to the side so Brown could see the target of amusement. It was Murphy! The brute was whimpering like a child and whining for them to stop playing games. He remembered the poor man saying “None of us have time for this!” to which received “Don’t worry Murph, we have all the time in the world.” He kept thinking…then what did he do?
Murphy had just finished urinating on him. That was it! He was so damned drunk he took a leak all over the big man! What had come over him?
“I’m sorry, Murphy! I truly am! I was very drunk!”
Murphy frowned, “My reasons for this will be forever hidden, Jackie. So do me a favor and make it easy for yourself.” With that, Brown shut his eyes tightly, waiting for the end.
His killer was almost ready to leave, but he had forgotten something behind the counter. Poor Brown still had his eyes shut, still waiting for the end. After a minute, he wondered what was going on. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the dark silhouette of his killer. All he could see was the man’s eyes and pristine white grin.
And at that instant, the brute quickly brought the axe down toward Brown’s screaming face and fled the scene forever, without a trace of evidence.