Dana screamed-a helpless siren that was heard by no one. Staggering to keep her balance, seeing tiny pinpoints of light.
Don’t faint, she pleaded with herself. Don’t faint!
Breathing hard and deeply, eyes intently focused on the corpse lying at her feet. Her fingers were still gripped around a trigger.
A simple death wasn’t enough for the years of abuse he had inflicted on her.
Aiming the barrel toward the crumpled body.
Pressing the trigger harder and harder.
Take that, you slimy bastard!
Take that, and that, and that!
But the gun refused to spit fire.
Jammed!
But how could that…
Then her brain spun into overdrive as her eyes noticed the reason why.
The safety catch was still on.
The gun hadn’t jammed.
The gun never went off!
Then how did she… how could…
Eyes drifting upward from the body to the erect figure in front of her.
Julian!
A smoking gun at his side. An evil smirk on his face.
In the still midnight mist, his soft-spoken words screamed derision inside her head.
“Just can’t survive without me, can you, Dana?”
He started walking toward her.
“Gun can’t help you if you don’t have the guts to use it. And you don’t have the guts, do you?”
His mocking smile widening as he came closer.
“Lucky for you, I was around. Otherwise, you’d have been turned into hamburger by Mr. Shit over there.”
Julian kicked the body, moved another step closer to her.
“Speak, my love,” he crooned. “A simple thank-you would be sufficient.”
Tears pouring from her eyes, streaming down her face, Dana whispered out a sob-choked thank-you.
Julian’s expression softened, but his smug smile remained.
“I’ll always be around for you, Dana,” he whispered. “Always. Because I love you. I can’t escape you, Dana. And you can’t escape me, either.”
She nodded.
Julian fell to his knees. “It’s never too late, my beautiful lover. Come back to me. Come back to where you belong.”
He stood, then raised his arms, ready to accept her embrace.
She raised her arms.
Unlocking the safety, she pumped six rounds of fiery lead into his body.
He died with the smirk still on his face.
At the eulogy, Dana spoke of his extraordinary valor. How he had saved her from a sick and deranged man with evil on his mind. Through molten gunshots and powder-choked air, in a moment’s flash of unthinking selflessness, he had risked his life to save hers. Managing to squeeze off enough rounds to end her attacker’s life before succumbing to his own mortal wounds. And because of his superhuman act, her life was spared while his own life had ended. His years… cut short… in his prime… just because of one man’s treacherous deeds.
The funeral was crowded. His mother cried bitterly. His sisters wept and wept. It seemed that all the neighbors had come out to pay their last respects. Everyone attending the ceremony knew his history. Yet they were all more than a little puzzled by Dana’s flowery words, her effusive commendations and praises.
And so it came to pass that Eugene Hart, a twenty-two-year-old felon with a long and notorious history of brutal violence and rape, was put to rest with a hero’s burial.
M ummy And Jack
with Jesse Kellerman
“Mummy and Jack”-an acid fable centered on a peculiar mother and son-is the product of my first collaboration with my son, Jesse. A novelist as well as a playwright, Jesse has infused the story with his own unique brand of dark humor, a trait shared by his father and mother. This just goes to show that a twisted mind can be a genetic endowment.
When I was small, mummy would say, if ye’re a good boy, then I will tell ye a bedtime story. But now she cannot because she is too sick. The time has come now that I must take care of her and not the other way around. I must do things for Mummy. I must get Mummy her medicine and buy her spirits. I must bring Mummy her supper every night. Yet she is not yet so sick and old that she cannot tell me what to do. She has her opinions.
Lately, this has become more of a problem because I want (and she wants me to also, I think) to court a lass or two, and I must bring the lass home to have a proper introduction. Sometimes Mummy makes this very difficult. Her opinions. They are very strong opinions. I am, however, a proper-raised gentleman, and I have been educated in the way that makes me respect Mummy even if her opinions are extremely particular and particularly strong. I always do my best to make her happy.
Sometimes I do wish for a bedtime story, though.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to go out for a stroll at night. I groomed my mustache. Mummy likes my mustache, and she tells me that I look very right and handsome. I like it when I please her. I straightened my freshly starched waistcoat, then I took my cane, my cloak, and some other things. I did not think it was late in the evening, but Mummy heard me opening the door.
Jack! she called to me.
Yes, Mummy? I said like a good boy says.
Jack, where are y’goin’?
I am goin’ for a walk, I said.
It’s too late in the night, Jack, she said.
It’s not so late, Mummy. I thought of mebbe gettin’ a bit of air…
Don’t go, Jack! she said. She was almost screaming at me from the other room, and her voice was like a very sharp knife. Don’t leave me here, Jackie!
Her voice made me hurt quite bad. I thought that maybe she was going to die if I left her alone. All of a sudden I got frightened. So I went to her room to make sure that she was well. When I peeked my head through the door, I could see that she was surrounded by a big pile of pillows (pillows I bought with money that I had earned for her) looking like a fat white man hugging her tight. She was sitting up in bed and maybe even crying a little. It hurts me when she cries with her voice so little and full of pain. Especially because she looks so weak, with her thin bones and white hair.
Please don’t go, Jack! she begged.
I will come back soon, Mummy, I said. I am goin’ to bring some spirits. I’ll bring y’ back a pint. (I knew that Mummy likes an occasional pint and she would be happy if I offered to bring her one.)
Oh, would ye, Jack? That would be so nice… so nice.
I will come back soon and bring ye a pint, Mummy, I promised.
Oh, but not a pint. Bring us some red wine, Jack, she said. Port, if you will, Jackie. That makes me bones very warm.
Right, then, Mummy, I answered. Some old red port.
Thankee, Jackie, said she, gratefully.
I left the house and walked around for a bit. After some time, I was very far from where we lived. I was not certain where I was, although I thought I might be in Whitechapel. I wanted to hear my mummy’s voice telling me a bedtime story, and feel her giving me wet kisses on my forehead. There was a big clock striking the late hour, and I thought that I would get Mummy her wine and maybe a pint for myself. (Because it was a very soggy night and I wanted to warm my bones.) Afterward, I would go home and go to bed.
Instead, I came upon a lass out walking. She was very short and stout, and she had an ugly smile, but she looked like she wanted to be my friend. I thought that because she walked up to me and said, Allo, sir, how are ye?