Page 14 of The Silent Night Stalker
Once I finished my cigarette, I put it out in the ashtray sitting on an old plastic table next to two plastic chairs, just waiting for the bullet to smack me in the head.
I scan the neighborhood street one more time, looking for any sort of movement, but there’s nothing, so I turn my back and head inside, making sure to lock the front and back doors.
I really need an alarm system, and I should have already installed one, but this is the first time I’ve been nervous to live here. With the death of Enrique, I figured it’s time. I called a service yesterday to come out and install one, but they won’t be able to set it up until after the new year.
After grabbing a can of beer, I pop the tab and stare at the Advent calendar sitting on the kitchen counter. All the little ‘windows’ are open all the way through December 16th, the day before we found Enrique dead.
I take a sip of my beer and open the rest of the windows up until Christmas Eve. It’s an old-fashioned looking thing of a Victorian town covered in snow, with happy people holding presents, children running around, and Christmas carolers. Why the fuck did I get the stupid thing anyway?
I growl and shove the cardboard thing onto its face and go sit on the couch in the living room. I stare at the small wrapped box that’s been sitting on my coffee table for days now. Alfonzo gave it to me after his men spent time at Enrique’s place looking for any evidence to pinpoint his killer.
The small box is wrapped in red and white stripes with a white ribbon around it. The little white tag has my name written in Enrique’s neat print.
I also bought him a gift three weeks ago that he’ll never receive. It sits on my kitchen counter. He loved fine liquors, so I bought him a $200 bottle ofHennessy Cognac XO.
In fact, I want to open it, so I stand and head to the kitchen to unwrap the bottle. Once it’s opened, I grab a tumbler and fill it to the brim with the expensive liquor.
I raise the glass in the air and say with watering eyes, “Here’s to you, brother. Merry Christmas. I miss you so fucking much, ’Que.” The Cognac is smooth as it goes down. It’s not my thing, but it’s not bad either.
With a sigh, I head back to the living room and sit down before I pick up the gift, weighing it in my palm. It’s light, so I can only assume it’s some sort of jewelry.
I tear open the package and pry the lid of the black box open. Inside rests a gold chain necklace with a cross in the center. It has an etched pattern in gold with a diamond at each of the four ends. It gleams in the dim lighting of my living room, beckoning me to find grace where there is none.
I gave up my faith well over a decade ago, but Enrique never had, always pushing me back to loving God again, but I couldn’t. It’s hard to believe in a God who allows so many to suffer like I have. Eventually, I just stopped caring, rolling with life as it comes at me. Besides, it feels hypocritical. I mean, we’re fucking criminals. It’s not like we’ll ever have a spot in heaven anyway. Why ask for forgiveness if I’m not going to stop what I’m doing?
It’s so like Enrique to give me such a thing.
My eyes sting and some tears spill, but a small smile plays on my lips as I take out the necklace and fasten it behind my neck. I caress the cold metal cross and close my eyes. I feel nothing—no love from God. Not even Enrique is present when I touch it. I still don’t believe, but I’ll wear it for him. It’s my last gift to Enrique.
I chug back the liquor. It’s a lot, making me gag a little, and my eyes water even more.
After rinsing out my glass and emptying my full can of beer down the sink in the kitchen, I head toward the back of the house to the spare bedroom. I open the door and stand there. The room’s walls are covered with my paintings in various stages of completion. It’s where I do all my art. It’s my place of Zen, next to the sparring ring. I’m hoping to find a glimmer of creativity, but there’s no flicker of the need to create. It’s dead inside me, for now at least.
When I was younger, I’d paint on buildings, train cars, or wherever the creativity led me. The city of Chicago was my canvas. I even started to make a name for myself on the streets, but I was no Banksy. After I’d started earning money and bought this place, and with Enrique’s encouragement, I gave real art a try. Maybe one day I’ll have a piece in a gallery or create an entire mural on the side of a building. Over time, most of my art has been washed away or painted over, but a few pieces linger here and there on the streets. I smile as I imagine a train traveling across the country, showcasing my art as it goes.
Sitting on an easel is the latest piece I was working on before Enrique was murdered. It’s a riot of color. The woman looks away, taking up most of the white space. Inside her body is chaos, full of words and a painted city. Outwardly, she appears at peace and calm. But inside her is turmoil, and the words reflect that. I want to do a series of these, but for now, I have to put my art aside. My artistic drive is temporarily gone, or I hope it’s temporary.
With nothing left to do, I go to bed. There’s no point in staying up late. Who knows what I’ll do tomorrow? Nothing. Everything will be closed anyway. Maybe it would be nice to sit around and just relax all day. I still need to train. The gym will also be closed, but I’ve converted my basement into a small workout area with a matted space I can practice on.
I close up my art room, head to my bedroom, strip out of my clothes other than my underwear, and climb into bed. The alcohol has already gotten to me, and the room is slightly spinning. That one full tumbler probably equaled about four drinks. It also makes me sleepy, so it doesn’t take me long to doze off, which is good because I’m fucking tired of thinking about Enrique’s death.
Something’soff.
Alarm bells are clanging in my head.
My eyes suddenly pop open, quickly adjusting to the dim light of the room. I don’t have long to process as to why a man is hovering above me, dressed in all black, and a balaclava hiding his face.
I’m not fucking dying tonight. Not on goddamn Christmas Eve… or ever, if I can help it. Fuck this asshole.
My heart tries to beat right out of my chest, and my brain attempts to go into flight mode, but years of abuse, working with a criminal syndicate, along with my MMA training, allow me to push through the initial fear.
It takes a second for me to assess that he’s smaller than me. I can definitely take him. And I don’t think he’s realized I’m awake yet, giving me life-saving time.
With as much speed as I can summon, I sit up and lunge at him. The intruder yelps like a kicked puppy, and we tumble to the old hardwood floor, with him landing on his back. I fall on top of him as he tries to fight me, but he’s not nearly as strong, and I’m literally trained for this.
“You may have killed my brother, but I’ll be damned if you fucking kill me.”
“Wha-?” he wheezes.
