He remembered standing over her and watching as steam curled from the crimson stained snow. How motionless and perfect she was in death…. Her blue eyes had stared up at a sky that matched their color exactly, unblinking and free from all the worries and pain and heartaches that accompanied breathing. Almost as if she were watching her soul float into the sky like a balloon that had slipped from her grasp.
His father had whooped and cackled, had scooped the frail boy into his arms, and kissed him on the forehead so wetly that it later formed a thin layer of ice. But, at that precise moment, Matt knew what it meant to bask in the approval he had so desperately chased after all his life. With his father’s arm draped over his shoulder and a dead woman at his feet, it almost seemed as if the kidnapped hooker’s soul had been consumed by his own as thoroughly as scavengers would later devour the carcass. He felt stronger and more in control than he ever had. No more was he a confused and frightened child bobbing on the waves of doubt and uncertainty; no longer would he look at other people and struggle to figure out what made them so much better than him, what magic piece they possessed in jigsaw puzzle of existence that he lacked. For he then knew the truth: all of those people with their upturned noses and downcast eyes… they were nothing more than cattle awaiting slaughter. Nothing more than sustenance for a predator that loomed over them from the next link in the foodchain. And each and every one of them was his for the taking.
With his mind firmly back in the present, Matt glanced over his shoulder to see is he could spot the plodding Neanderthal through the thick cover of trees. His gaze was met with nothing more than a pair of birds hopping from branch to branch and his own footsteps trailing back into the depths of the forest. Frowning, he scratched his chin for a moment as he thought.
Maybe this oaf was smarter than Matt had given him credit for. As he’d thought about his father, he’d purposefully slowed his pace to the point that ice could have almost melted more quickly. Driven on by anger and adrenaline, the overweight beast should have at least been close enough by now to be glimpsed as a silhouette moving through the bushes and trunks . But there was nothing.
Had his pursuer changed tactics then? Perhaps instead of blindly following wherever the tracks led him, he was circling around and planning to cut Matt off at some point further into the woods. He hadn’t seemed too much brighter than the skinny one, but there was the chance that he was operating off pure instinct now and allowing his actions to be controlled by a much more primal portion of the brain.
It would be better to be safe than sorry, as Mona always said; he’d adapt his own tactics, as well. Change his initial plan into something that would work no matter what situation presented itself. On the off chance that fat behemoth was more cagey than at first he’d seemed, Matt would have to improvise, adapt, and overcome….
That thought brought a smile to his face as he removed the object that was slung over his shoulder and scouted his surroundings with eyes that noted every detail with microscopic clarity. He could feel the excitement tingle his arms and legs, could smell every scent on the crisp air as clearly as if he’d been born a wolf, and hear the slightest rustle in the snow. He was the primary predator in these woods and everything else simply existed to serve his needs.
From somewhere close by, an unseen deer crashed through the undergrowth as if it had suddenly sensed danger on this otherwise peaceful, winter morning. As if it somehow knew that blood would soon darken the forest floor and evil would roll across the landscape like a roiling fog.
“Let’s do this, Fat Man…. It’s time to play.”
Earl couldn’t help it. He’d had to stop and catch his breath for a moment, to give his lungs time to gulp down the cold air and refuel his body. If he hadn’t have been up all damn night running errands for Mama, then it may have been different; but, as it was, his back pressed against the rough bark of a tree while he leaned forward. With his hands resting on slightly bent knees, he tried to listen past the sound of his own gasps for the tell-tale sounds that would gave away his prey’s location. But with his throat rattling with every gulp of air and his heart beating so hard that it almost sounded like the thumping of a low-flying helicopter, he was lucky that he could even hear his own thoughts.
“Son of a bitch… shit….”
The frigid bite of the air had spread into the metal of the gun and it now felt as if he carried a block of ice solidly in his hand. From his back pocket, the fingers from a pair of green work gloves waved at his ass and he was tempted to slip them on, even if it were only for a little bit. The numbing cold made his knuckles and joints feel as stiff and unresponsive as an engine that had been running without oil. Even just five minutes would be enough to chase away the needles of pain that nicked his exposed flesh.
“Gotta be ready.” He reminded himself. “Gotta be prepared.”
It was, after all, hard enough for him to force his rounded index finger through the trigger guard as it was. He had just enough room to feel the frosty curve of metal against the crook of that finger. Just enough space that he would be able to squeeze off a shot at a moment’s notice. With the thick, cotton gloves on, he’d be lucky to get even his fingernail into position: it would be like trying to shove a pig into a bucket.
Besides, what was a little discomfort compared to what those bastards must have put Mama through? If he couldn’t even put up with some discomfort in order to have his revenge, then he was never really deserving of her love to begin with and no better than that good for nothing brother of his.
“Don’t know for certain that she’s dead.” Part of his mind insisted. “What did ya really see? Nothin’ more than a pair of glasses and a bit of blood. Blood coulda been from that blond bitch. And the glasses coulda broke when they fell off.”
Earl would have liked to believe this quiet voice in the back of his mind. He would have loved to think that Mama was back at the house, hiding somewhere while she listened for the familiar sound of her sons’ footsteps. Perhaps under the sink like a frightened little mouse. Or wedged into the closet-sized space behind the false paneling where they stashed the jewelry, clothing, and other personal effects of those who were unfortunate enough to be brought into their home. There were a thousand places in the farmhouse that a nimble old woman could lay low.
But, deep down inside, Earl knew this wasn’t the case. It was a certainty that felt like a hollow pit somewhere between his gut and chest and he wondered, for a moment, if this was how a mother felt after carrying a child in her womb for the better part of a year. To have this life suddenly gone after being accustomed to its weight for so long. This pit that was now as empty as a shallow grave waiting to be filled.
Earl’s eye stung and he tried to tell himself that it was only because they were dry and tired. Real men didn’t cry. Real men pushed it all back inside and fed off its bitter aftertaste like a baby bird being force fed worms and insects. It made them stronger, made them able to get up and do what needed to be done. Crying was for sissy boys like Daryl; tears were why that little pansy was cut up and whimpering in the dark while Earl was rewarded with Mama’s special treats. As long as he remained a man, Earl was able to enjoy the pleasures that accompanied it: the soft squish of a boob squeezed in his hand; the musty scent of a woman’s most secret place… and Mama’s voice, whispering in his ear that it was okay, that this was what men did to women, that it was natural that it felt good.
Earl’s head snapped up as if it were spring-loaded. In the distance, he could just make out something slipping through the maze of trees. Partially obscured by darkness, it was nothing more than a moving shadow. But it was large. And there was only one thing it could be.