Radioman (A 2/19th Spinoff) - Complete

In the Dark & Cold

It had been years since I'd been home, but I still knew where everything was. One advantage of having parents that didn't care is that you could vanish and run all over town and nobody cared. Back when I was a child, I often stayed at Dave's house. Thinking about it, I was willing to put up with his bullying because his parents fed me. His older brothers were just as bad as him, one working at the mill and the other a trucker, but they usually ignored us.

I'd worry about him if he got in my way.

I saw cherries go by on the road and knew that the cops and probably an ambulance was on the way to the honky-tonk to pick up the pieces I'd left behind.

Let them.

I'd visit the hospital later. I'd stop by, see Aine, and decide if I wanted to finish it.

I climbed over the short fence, stopping and staring at the house, my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. Thunder rolled in the distance, lightning still playing in the clouds even though it was snowing. My hand hurt where the tooth had broken off and lodged between my knuckles, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.

I stepped up onto the back patio, the frozen slush crunching under my foot. The back porch light was off, but the light from the nearly full moon, even through the clouds, was enough to see clearly by.

I rapped on the glass, nice and loud. Three spaced knocks.

A dog barked, not to far away. Thunder rolled as the snow picked up, swirling around me.

I knocked again. Once, twice, three times.

I heard the lock click and pulled my other hand from the pocket of my jacket. The curtain moved, but whoever it was, they were lit up by the kitchen lights, making the glass door reflective. I knew it didn't show much but a dark figure.

It was a man, about six two, but thin, like something had eroded most of him away. Sunken, sallow cheeks, dark glittering eyes, bad acne, and yellowish complexion.

He yanked open the glass door, opening his mouth to say something.

"You Jack?" I asked.

He blinked. "Who's ask..." he started to asked. The stench of whiskey rolled over me.

Good enough for me.

He squawked when I short punched him in the throat, grabbed him by the shirt when his hands when to his throat, and yanked him outside with me. He went by me, tripping on the edge of the sliding glass door and landing on his hands and knees in the slush.

I closed the door before turning around.

Jack was still on his hands and knees when I stepped forward and drove the toe of my combat boot squarely into his crotch, following through like I was going for a field goal. He went face first into the slush with a choking groan of pain. I stepped forward and grabbed the back of his shirt, lifting him up, and throwing him on the table. I kneed him in the crotch again for good measure, then rolled him onto his back.

"You are Jack Timberly," I said, thunder rumbling in the distance. He gagged, choking on vomit. I reached down, wrapped one hand around his throat, and squeezed. "I'm here to kill you."

He began gagging, slapping at my forearm, clawing at the denim. His eyes went bloodshot and his face turned dark in the moonlight. I counted to twelve, then released his throat.

"The rock," I said, looking down at him. He was gagging, choking on the vomit I'd kept him from throwing up.

"Who, who are..." he started.

I reached back down, sinking my fingers into his throat, and squeezing again. I counted to ten, listening to the wind and the thunder, then let him go. It took a few seconds for the pale spots on his neck to get blood again.