Jesse

34: My Green Mile

34: My Green Mile

            I knew exactly where I had to go. I had walked there so many times, not even thinking about where I was going—just knowing that I was. But now in this moment, the steps: the distance, felt as if a thousand miles away. And each step carried a flood of memories. Faces. Flashes of light. Times spent together. Laughs. Cries. Shouts. And whispers. Screams.

            In the wind that blew against my face: there was Ian. In the brooding sky above: there was Harold. In the way the leaves of the trees seemed to shiver in the cold: there was my Mother. In the shadow of movements: there was Emily. I saw her. I saw Joann in the face of every woman I happened to catch. And it was the same horrifying, gut-wrenching face. Twisted in absolute, shrieking fear.

            I did all I could to not let my thoughts linger on what that—I could even say his name—was or was planning to do to her. My stomach revolted. My heart thudded. My sweat collected. My breathing shortened. My fear swelled with every step. There could be no courage, without fear. As there could be no life, without death. Mom had said that. Why I was remembering her philosophical sayings right now…I didn't really know. Everything has a catch. A dark side. For balance. Day and night. Heaven and hell. Darkness and light. Shadows and the sun.

            I knew what I had to do. My eyes were narrowed, determined.

            This was my Green Mile.

            Mom was with me—Ian's courage fired through my veins: his strength, and bravery fueled every movement of mine. I was not alone. I could do this. I would do this.

            For the occasional passing of a car or truck, and a person here and there, on a porch, out working in a lawn, the sidewalk and road were pretty much deserted. I swallowed as I saw the unmistakable white, windowed wall emerge into sight, as I rounded the corner.

            I couldn't run, as badly as I wanted to: to just lunge into an all-out frenzy of a sprint. That would get me noticed. So I had to settle for a fast walk. Suddenly, as I making way toward Jo's place, I heard a strident meow. A second later, I saw a black streak, and the running cat stopped straight in front me: it's large, gold eyes drifting eerily to me. We shared a strange stare, before it meowed again, and bolted away across the street to its owner's house: Mrs. Jenkins. It was one of her many…But this one—this cat in particular—was odd. Its name was Marlow. Actually I had a scary incident with this cat before…

            I had been playing in the front yard, when that cat stole the ball I had been playing with, and so I chased after it screaming, calling for it to come back. It never did, so I followed. The cat led me to Mrs. Jenkins two-story faded green house, that was really old, and had a columned wrap-around porch. Marlow dropped the ball at the foot of stairs, and looked at me in a way I had never seen a cat look at somebody before, meowing. It was almost a human look in his eyes. It was if he wanted me to follow him. So, I did.

            Remembering, I entered the dark house that smelled thickly of moth balls, wool, and a overpowering sweet perfume, maybe of the millions of flowers she had packed everywhere in the house. There were so many things in that house that had creeped me out. I remembered vividly, the porcelain dolls everywhere your eyes looked, behind glass cases, standing on covered tables, and everywhere else, crowded with all of the other knick-knack objects I guessed she had collected over the years. It spooked me. Their haunting, piercing glares.

            More than anything I remembered the house being so silent, too silent—deadly silent. The silence of a killer lurking in the shadows, before they burst into sight and stab you to death. I had called out to Mrs. Jenkins over and over, but I got no answer. I eventually lost Marlow too, although I had bumped into the others accidently, them hissing at me. But when I entered her bedroom, I found Marlow just sitting, his head cocked to the side, staring weirdly at me. I realized with horror the cat was perched at the heels of Mrs. Jenkins fallen, crumpled body sprawled out onto the carpeted floor. A deep, crimson color. I remember screaming, and running back home—Mom called 911, who eventually came out and escorted her to a hospital. What I was told, she had had a severe stroke. She would have died, had I not showed up…

            The entire memory of this skewered through my head as I saw that cat, before it flurried away, vanishing. I shook my head, and continued walking: that cat always gave me the heebie-jeebies. I checked my pocket with a slight of my hand, just to make sure it was still there.

            I had made a quick stop at my old place, before heading back here. Walking back into that abandoned house was like drifting into a distant nightmare. I knew where Harold kept his deadly weapons. Luckily, they had still been there. I would only use it, if necessary. To save Joann's life. Or mine.

            There was no one waiting for me at the end of Jo's driveway. Nor on the front steps to the rustic ramshackle house of hers. Nor even in the doorway. But the door was open. Like Jo had just gone out to see about Roscoe for a moment and she would be back. Joann though was nowhere to be seen out here. I scanned my eyes from the open doorway to the front yard, seeing Roscoe dead asleep as usual. That dog.

            When I turned back around, I was no longer looking into the dark doorway, but into the barrel of a gun, and beyond a set of gleaming, malevolent eyes. Eyes that I knew right away. That I had seen for so many times in my nightmares. Unmistakable. J.'s blazing eyes. They had in them what I remembered Harold having.

            Monstrous murder.