Page 27 of Last Breath

“No,” she says curtly.

I’ve struck a chord it seems. Shewasthe princess of her school, she did date the quarterback. I knew it.

Realizing this little distraction nearly had me missing the turn toward Salem’s dirt track road, I set the blinker to turn left. Waiting for traffic to pass, I look for those I might know behind the wheel. I’m fearful of seeing them, I don’t want to have the conversation that I know is imminent.

To reach my parents’ home, I’d have to drive on straight for five or so minutes. Hopefully, after we deal with Tress, we can head off without a second glance at this town. I can avoid my own history.

Turning onto the road, a dilapidated sign states,‘Do not enter. Road un-assumed.’The gravel doesn’t seem to have been graded in years. Weeds are taking over the middle of the lane and life has passed around it.

Moving slowly, nearly bottoming out on potholes, the Impala groans in protest.

“When we get close, I’ll pull up at the side of the road. I don’t want to alarm him. He shouldn’t know it’s coming.” Salem’s face is determined and set. Doing as instructed, I don’t answer him. An answer isn’t necessary.

Seeing Tress’s place in the distance, I slow down.

“It hasn’t changed much,” Salem states absently, and he’s right.

There’s still ruined cars out front, junky appliances lying about on the wrecked front porch, boards needing to be replaced on the siding, and the roof has more saplings growing than it has roof. Under the weathered oak tree sits his most prized possession, the red two-door Dodge truck.

Stopping at the side of the road just down from the house, I shut off the motor. We’re behind the oak, slightly out of sight from the front of the shack. Rolling down the window, the air about the house is thick. There’s not one sound on the wind. Even the animals of the area know to avoid here. Nothing grows, nothing flourishes, even the cicadas are quiet.

“Where are we?” Joy whispers. “Why are we at this house?”

“This is where I grew up,” Salem states. His voice is devoid of inflection. There’s an odd calmness to him. I was expecting him to be a bit edgy about where we are. It’s kind of creepy he’s so at ease.

“Joy, can you reach under the seat? There’s a leather pouch I need.” Searching around under the seat, she brings out the satchel and hands it to Sal. I know what he intends, and that satchel means this will be extremely close, personal, and messy.

“Stay here,” Salem says as he opens the door. “This is mine to deal with.” As the door shuts with a clunk, Salem starts off across the road.

“What are we doing here, Malachi?” Joy asks worriedly.

“This is where Salem grew up,” I inform her. With sorrow clouding my words, I watch him venture up the laneway.

“Yeah, I got that. But why are we here, and why did he want that package?”

I forget that Joy’s only just met us. She has no understanding of our lives.

We’ve been on the road for a few days now, pulled in the direction of retribution. Joy is slightly oblivious to the shit-storm we’ll introduce her to, but it’s a necessity. Tress has lasted longer than the demonic man should have.

“Salem is the man he is because of his father. We ran away from this town at thirteen.Thisis his moment of retribution.” I want to help. I want to be there for him. I truly want to take all the pain away and give him peace.

I want to fix it.

Thing is, Salemneedsto do it. He needs closure.

Sitting in the car, watching him walking up to the door, I hold my breath. Tress has been a bane on our lives. He’s the reason why my sweetest friend became the darkest soul. Years of abuse, both physical and mental, harmed him beyond recognition, causing him to become the man with no remorse.

Knocking on the door, I watch as Salem waits for an answer. I think it’s absurd to be knocking on the door of the man you wish to kill, but in a way it’s perfect poetry. If he answers the door, he’s opening the door to the devil, allowing him entrance to his demise.

Seeing the door open and the instrument of all our pain standing there, I want to pull out a gun from the door pocket and take the shot. The easy way out for us all.

But I won’t.

He deserves every ounce of pain that Salem will inflict.

Even from here, I see the confusion light Tress Mann’s features. He’s an old man. His hair has grayed considerably. His face seems to have seen better days. Looks like the years of drugs and alcohol abuse has taken a toll. Watching the two interact, the moment adjusts from the unknown to understanding. Unfortunately, it escalates quickly.

“Shit.” Opening the door, grabbing the gun I hold under the seat, I rush toward the house. Running as fast as I can, the yelling from the two men increases. I hear Joy shouting in the background, but she’s the least important thing right now.

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