Demon of Death
What if you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the day you would die? How about if you knew the exact moment and the method of your demise? Would you take advice from Prince and party like it’s 1999? Or would depression and fear overwhelm you, leading you to hide from your ultimate divine appointment?
My choices led me to this dirty convenience store facing down a gunman with nothing to lose. Not my day or time. The adolescent girl faced a different fate. Her future brought me here. I would save the day, at least I hoped I would.
My plan of attack was simple because these scumbags lacked brain power.Total idiots who all thought alike. There must be a robbing school for morons they all attended.
Step number one. Confront the thug, diverting his focus away from his intended victim. Next step. Make sure the intended victim and any potential secondary targets are safe. The third and most important step, kill the punk. No need to allow him a return engagement on his murder spree.
Yes, I am the judge, jury, and executioner. Get over it! Every punk I’ve killed deserved it, even if this sounds a little like pre-crime.
Then, in the aftermath’s confusion, melt into the night. I’ve done many missions before and will kill again. A regular vigilante serial killer of evil dudes.
Earlier tonight, the fortune telling machine in my garage told me a nine-year-old girl named Bella would take her last breath at 8:17 PM in this crappy store. This same machine told me the exact moment of my death. You might think I am nuts listening to some fortune telling machine. But the device never erred. It gave me winning lottery numbers three times, sending me on thousands of missions like this one. Each time the situation matched what the machine told me beforehand. With that track record, wouldn’t you believe it too?
You may wonder where the machine came from? Before the incident, my father ran his own business called Johnnie’s Junk and Treasure. I always wondered about his odd choice of name since his name wasn’t Johnnie. Today you would call him a picker, and he might even have his own reality television show.
One day, dad brought home a Gypsy Fortune Telling Machine. A big windowed box with an evil-looking gypsy woman inside. You put your nickel in and the lady performed her jerky mechanical gyrations. Your fortune came out of a slot in the base on a small card. My dad couldn’t get the machine work, so it sat in our garage gathering dust. Impossible to sell when it didn’t work.
When I was ten, I put my first nickel in the machine. The start of my wild adventure. For unknown reasons, the machine only worked for me when I was alone. I never plugged it in.
I don’t know about you, but I can’t stand the thought of this girl’s life being snuffed out for seventy-three dollars and forty-seven cents. That’s how much money the till in this dump held. I didn’t count it, but I knew the amount because the gypsy told me.
My fury directs my actions, serving up real justice. Not the same standard the system supplies. No due process putting the criminal back on the streets to repeat their same evils again. The police, lawyers, and judges have job security. Neglecting their duties, not performing their jobs the first time. Their meager results make the public feel good about crime prevention. My justice system provides a permanent solution. The world becomes a safer place when I am done.
A gruff voice yanks me back to the present, “Back off, hero, before I blow your brains out!”
What a moron. I don’t back off; rather, I hold my ground with my right hand held up in a non-threatening manner. At least that’s how I want it to appear. My left hand grips my walking stick, which I don’t need for walking. I can fake an exceptional limp, making people believe I need it. It has the benefit of making me look harmless. The last mistake they make.
“Just put the gun away, and we all can go home alive tonight,” I speak in a calm, commanding voice.
Everything I do is calm since I know the thug won’t shoot me. Tonight isn’t my time to die. He stands there with an expression on his face saying, “Yup, I’m a stupid caveman.” He doesn’t speak the words, but his eyes make the confession. Bullies expect everyone to back down and cower in fear. They’re stumped when someone doesn’t capitulate.
It would be fun to know what these scumbags think when they looked at me. I dressed in black on every mission. Black Fedora on my head, black gloves, black trench coat, black shirt, black jeans, along with black boots. Even my walking stick is black.
On the back of my coat, white angel wings finish my wardrobe. Theatrics? Yes, but a confused enemy doesn’t think about lashing out and killing the people surrounding them. Their confusion allows me to do my best work. I don’t carry a gun or a knife because I don’t need either.
The voice spoke again. “Do you want to die tonight?”
“We all want things we never get and get things we never wanted.”
His head tilted like a dog’s head does when they don’t understand what you’re saying to them. The dumbest dog I ever met is smarter than this clown.
Now you might think killing this mental midget is extreme, but I look at it as a trade. He came here to kill a nine-year-old girl, premeditated or not, and instead of the girl’s death, he will die. This girl could die tomorrow in an accident or become the most prolific serial killer ever known. I’m not meant to know the outcome of tomorrow, yet, only tonight.
His death means the universe stays in balance. A death for a death. If this wasn’t true, then why did the machine keep giving me these missions?
Instead of these life and death missions, I could have remained in my role of serving my country. That could have been a worthwhile life. Uncle Sam taught me novel ways to kill people, but then said I couldn’t follow orders while taking too many risks.
The breaking point came one night when a captain ordered the death of an enemy combatant wanted for terrorism. Being a career military officer, he saw this as the path to his next promotion. His ambition made the sacrifice of an entire village of innocents ok. Collateral damage for the greater good. I wasn’t willing to allow the sacrifice of women and children for his gain, so my military career ended with his death. His career died when he took his last breath.
“Hey, old man, are you hard of hearing or just plain stupid?”
Man, I am growing tired of hearing his petulant voice. I am not an old man either. See how the limp helps disarms the attacker? Keep them unbalanced until you finish them.
“My age or health shouldn’t concern you. What should concern you is putting the gun away before you get hurt.”
“I’m the one with the gun, not you, fool. You should be the one worried about dying tonight.”
Wow, the moron could string two sentences together at one time. I’m impressed by his effort. We were racing toward the climax of this confrontation. If anyone had called nine, one, one, then the police would interrupt my work. Justice still needed to be served here. I didn’t want anyone to suffer grief the way I had.
The incident happened when I turned twelve. My mom left for work like every other day. She had been the gentlest and kindest woman I ever knew. A motorcycle gang visited our town that fateful day. We lived in a typical small town with an ineffective local sheriff. He had been a decent man but not a mensa candidate.
They elected sheriffs, and he served as a politician, not a dedicated lawman. The gang discovered an easy target at our local bank. Easy pickings.
The thugs entered the bank during my mother’s shift, demanding all the money. An old slow security guard, retired from the city police force, tried playing hero. He confronted the criminals, drawing his antique 38 Special. A one-sided gunfight broke out, ending my mom’s life with a stray bullet.
My dad turned to the comfort of the bottle to quench his demons. But my mom’s murder turned me into a fighter. A crazy old vet took me under his wing and taught me things a twelve-year-old boy shouldn’t know. If your mind goes into the gutter, it shouldn’t. He wasn’t a pervert, but a man who taught me about revenge and justice. A regular vigilante.
Together, we took out a child pornography ring. The inept sheriff did nothing to stop these perverts. But we stopped them in one afternoon. None would ever touch a kid again, only rot in Hell.
Over the next few years, we dealt helpings of justice on other low lives. Crime dropped to an all-time low in our small town. The machine told him when his time would end. But he refused to hide, fighting evil right until his last day. A blaze of glory for a hero.
Unlike the brave ex-soldier, my dad drank himself to death. A silent, pathetic death by himself. The incident ended dad’s life the same day as my mother’s. He continued to breathe (I wouldn’t call it living) a little longer before the alcohol destroyed his body, along with his mind.
Cold metal pressed against the side of my head, bringing me back to the convenience store.
“Last chance to breathe, hero.”
Total nonsense. Not exactly a Schwarzenegger worthy line and a fatal mistake on his part. His previous advantage of distance disappeared because of his stupidity. His tiny brain didn’t understand how a gun worked.
In one well-practiced move, I stepped left, raising my left hand high, releasing the walking stick. Continuing the motion, I grabbed the gun, trapping his trigger finger in the guard, twisting his hand backward toward his body. The walking stick’s flight found my right hand, which continued and intensified its trajectory, bringing it down on the gunman’s head.
A sickening thump echoed throughout the small space. He dropped, suffering with a broken trigger finger and a crushed skull. His neck snapped after a quick twist. Like Uncle Sam taught me. The fight ended before it started. This scumbag wouldn’t pull a gun on anyone ever again.
My trademark move followed the death of the perp. Hand the intended victim (her mother in this case) $1,000 cash and dispense some heartfelt advice.
“Next time, get a babysitter. Don’t bring your daughter into a dump like this.”
What a helpful gentleman I am! Don’t you think?
Another successful mission to my credit. I never doubted it. None of the witnesses will remember any details about me. They never do. The threat of imminent death has a way of dulling your memory. Plus, the cash I hand out helps to keep mouths shut.
The media calls me the Avenging Angel or the Nighttime Vigilante based on the vague descriptions they’ve received. I prefer the first nickname. Deep down, I know that I’m no angel. Maybe I could pass as a fallen angel? Then they would call me the Demon of Death. Take your pick on your preference.
I headed straight to the garage to visit the machine once home. Sleep won’t come until I know my night’s work is finished. After inserting my nickel in the machine, I say.
“Oh mysterious Gypsy Queen, Is Bella safe now?”
The machine’s mechanisms whirl, buzz, and hum, causing the Gypsy Queen to perform her rough dance. A loud bell dings, letting me know the fortune is ready. The machine dispenses the card from its slot before I can reach for it.
Shit! The message drew the curse from my lips.
“At 2:09 AM Bella’s mother’s boyfriend will rape her and…”
I saved her from certain death in a crappy convenience store, only to suffer a worse fate.
I’ll never forget the blank look in the eyes of the abused children we saved breaking up the child pornography ring. I wasn’t much older than the kids we saved. Those pathetic perverts didn’t deserve to continue to breathe the same air as the rest of us. Now they don’t. This destiny isn’t one I’ll let Bella face. Death would have been better than living in the aftermath of this abuse.
So I stand on the porch of this well-worn duplex in this rough part of town. The place reeks of rotting garbage and pot smoke. Some optimistic people might call this mess of a house mid-century modern. But some time in the early 1900s is the last time they painted this dump. Bella lives on the first floor of this over-under duplex. Even at 2:05 AM loud car exhaust, dogs barking, and the occasional voice assault your ears. Maybe I can slip in and out with no one noticing me?
I used my key. When I say key, I mean I put my boot through the flimsy wood front door separating the lock from the jam. The pop from the splintering wood causes a naked man, must be the perv, to pop his head out of a bedroom down the hall. Looks like I found Bella’s room. Before he can utter a word, I close the twenty feet separating us. My walking stick travels in an arc while I move, but he ducks out of the way. He throws a wild haymaker with his right fist. Impressive, an actual fight. I twist to the side while throwing up a block, so his punch misses the mark. I continue to twist into a spin, letting my leg fly out to catch him in the center of his chest. Not sure if my foot connected hard enough to upset his heart rhythm, so I followed up with a left-right combination to the face. That does the trick because he slumps to the floor. A tweak of his neck and he won’t be getting it up with any kids anymore. Somehow, Bella slept through the commotion, but her worthless mother didn’t.
“What did you do, maniac?” she asked.
“First, I prevented Bella from dying, and now I protected her from your perverted little friend. It’s time you started doing your job as her mother and protecting her yourself.”
“What gives you the right to tell me my business in my house?”
“Lady, do you know who I am?”
She replied, “You’re the Avenging Angel.”
“If you know that, then you know I have no problem with killing to save the innocent. If I have to save Bella again, I will make sure she is an orphan. Are you following me?”
She nodded, so I left before the police showed up. In this part of town, it would take them a while to respond, but they would investigate a murder scene. They would call it a cold-blooded murder. I call it a mercy killing. Mercy for Bella! Maybe she would finally find some peace in her life.
Thankfully, the old Gypsy Queen had nothing else for me that night. My bed called to me. I slept like a baby after ridding the world of two dreadful villains.
Tomorrow night we may meet. You may be the victim or the cause of my visit. If we meet, you better be on the side of the angels or you’ll have to face off with this Demon of Death.