The Scars of Qulin Moore

Chapter 18

The brown liquor burned as it slid down cauterizing the insecurity, letting the damaged soul spring free from the prison of inhibition. Always a good burn, slow, satisfying and effective. No longer obstructed by conscience, Cordell wiped his lips clear of spittle, taking another swig glaring at the Christmas card—Adrienne smiling, and his son clasped between her thieving arms. They looked happy—how dare they feel happiness without him. His only son, hypnotized by his mother. He studied the address. Derryton, New Hampshire of all places. A good place to hide. He would've never guessed.

He took another long swig.

Thought she could hide in some hick town. He found her. He took pleasure in this achievement, which mixed well with the rising anger like a cocktail. Who needed money or luxuries to feel worthwhile when rage was plenty to sustain ones drive. He was invincible. The alcohol empowering and when united with rage, imbued him with a self-ordained authority to do as he pleased. Nag. Nag, Nag. Don't let women tear you down, son.

He tipped the whiskey bottle skyward, his cracked fingers slithering tighter around the bottle neck. The last bit fell from the bottle into the pit of his jowls, powerful, satisfying. He turned off the engine and stepped out his truck. Cool evening breeze pressed against him, gathering the acrid fragrance of whiskey and sending it over the horizon. He looked around the quite little side road. A thicket of trees ran along the road extending west some untold miles beyond where any curious eyes would care to navigate. This was good. This would be the spot to wait. 93 North continued its endless buzzing as traffic sped by. Confronting Louise violated the restraining order she had against him. The cops would be seeking some explanation however something else riled his attention more. Back at the gas station the clerk had given him a strange, suspicious look as if she recognized him. At first, he thought it was just some off-putting expression for his extravagant liquor purchase. However, the radio next to her had inauspiciously announced police were looking for a truck that fit the description of Cordell's red pickup conveniently within her line of sight. She looked like a smart girl, she'd make the connection. He quickly paid, proceeded cautiously to the northbound freeway. This was nothing but a slight hiccup. He'd have to stay one step ahead.

Cordell spat on the grass, and wiped his face with the sleeve of his leather coat. He held the bottle up, the fading sunlight flickering through the bottle in a crooked orange beam and gave it one last yearning look. He pictured Adrienne's weeping face trapped inside, pitifully begging for forgiveness before hurling it into the trees, savoring the sound of shattering glass that followed. He knelt by the rear tire, pulled out the 6-inch switchblade from his pocket and jabbed the shiny blade into the rubber. The air rushed out. The truck slumped perfectly to one side. He slipped the blade back into his coat and turned towards the street, sticking his thumb up. Yes, he muttered, this quiet little road will do just fine. Some sucker, unable to resist declaring their compassion, would help a stranded stranger. Keep a friendly smile on, and a fool will fall in line. A few minutes passed with no cars coming to his aid. A tiny grasshopper leapt in front of his boot. He studied it, bothered by the insect's carefree nature, its sense of glaring happiness, unaware of the end it had brought on itself, as if actions had no cost. Today, it would learn. He raised his foot and squashed it just as the first pair of headlights approached. The hatchback signaled with a blinker then pulled over stopping behind Cordell's pickup.The driver dutifully turned on the hazard blinkers.

Too easy, Cordell thought, grinning quickly. He unraveled a piece of gum and stuck it into his mouth to offset the grin, and mask the booze, chewing rabidly as the adrenaline coursed through him.

An old man exited the hatchback. "Hey, see you've got yourself a flat." His soft wrinkled cheeks lifted into a confident smile. "People always getting flats on this here road. Driver's on the highway tossing bottles out as they pass."

Cordell chewed harder—too easy—and waved, moving towards the old man.

"Yeah I think it was glass that got me," Cordell said, feigning frustration, "I don't have a jack to get my spare attached." He reached in his pocket, sliding his hand around the knife handle.

"Well, don't you worry one hair," the old man replied, "you're in luck. There's nothing I can't fix. I got one in my car. As long as you got that spare, we'll have you back on the road in no time flat. No pun intended. The name is Samuel Kettering, but you can call me Sam." He extended his hand to Cordell.

"Pleasure to meet you, Sam," Cordell replied, shaking his hand. "Name's Jim."

"Jim, now that's a name," Sam said, lumbering over towards the rear of his hatchback. "My first born son is a Jim. Ha!"

Cordell moved towards the old man, chewing harder, faster, preparing the blade.

"You know I wasn't gonna come down this way, but I was trying to get home fast," Sam continued, hunched over in the trunk shuffling through its contents. "But my ol' lady is making some of her famous beef stew and I thought, hell, I'd take a shortcut on account of my taste buds are dying to get some of the stew. But, guess I'll be a tad late. She won't mind though. Ah, here it is."

Sam turned with the tire jack.

Cordell plunged the knife into the old man's abdomen. The old man let out a groan, dropping the jack, his once vibrant smile twisted into a limp quivering droop, his eyes wide. Cordell plunged the blade three more times into the old man's chest till the groaning stopped. Out of breath, Cordell staggered and lowered the old man's heavy body. It was odd how the old man had felt so light when thrusting the blade into his chest yet once his life force slipped away how heavy he became. Cordell quickly scanned his surroundings, satisfied no one had seen. He wiped the blood from blade on Sam's jeans then tucked it into his own jacket. He t dragged the body to the incline at the edge of the road, pushed the old man down, grinning as the bloodied lump disappeared into the shadowy blanket below. Cars passed by on the highway, little multicolored blurs unaware of his deed. He thought about how good it felt, how easy it was; he soon got to fantasizing plunging the knife into Adrienne's chest. The anticipation, the forthcoming thrill caused his hands to tremble like a little kid. He got into his pickup and drove it down the same incline, carefully weaving his way through tree trunks that seemed to scatter perfectly leaving him just enough space to navigate deep into the woods till he was confident that the truck was hidden. The license plates popped off easily. And with the knife he scratched out the VIN number ending the ceremony by covering the truck with branches and leaves. He stood proud of his work, examining his clothing pleased not a drop of blood could be found. He walked back up to the hatchback, opened the door and tossed in the license plates, and got himself acquainted with his new ride adjusting the seats and the mirrors. With a clear conscience, it was off to New Hampshire.