Jim's haunted past

Chapter 7: confrontation with the greasers

Jim sat cleaning his revolver at the kitchen table, hands moving with military precision. The comforting ritual soothed his rattled nerves. He would need steady hands and sharper wits for the confrontation ahead.

Around him, newspaper clippings of smiling Stratford High students looked on mutely, their numbers steadily dwindling as the killing spree claimed more lives. Jim paused on a photo of Kate, one of the latest victims. Such an innocent face silenced too soon. He carefully set the framed image aside - he wouldn't let her down this time.

Tonight marked the endgame. Jim had tracked the greaser trio to an abandoned lakeside cabin where they were holed up. Once night fell, he would finish this cat and mouse game for good. His brother Wayne would finally rest in peace.

As Jim gathered ammunition, Sally appeared in the doorway, her belly swollen against her nightgown. "Please Jim, don't do this," she entreated, eyes shimmering. "There has to be another way."

He shook his head resolutely. "There's no reasoning with monsters. I have to cut off the head of the snake if our child will ever be safe in this town."

Sally wrung her hands, looking small and afraid. Jim crossed the kitchen and took her delicate face in his hands. "This will all be over soon, I promise. Then we can focus on our future. Okay?"

She searched his face desperately. "I can't bear to lose you too."

Jim pressed a fierce kiss to her forehead. "You won't. I'm coming home. For both of you."

As darkness fell, Jim parked discreetly down the wooded lane from the greasers' hideout. Gripping his revolver, he swiftly approached and took up position outside a broken window. Muffled rock music and cruel laughter drifted out into the cold night air.

Jim steeled himself for what had to be done. He said a solemn prayer for his victims, past and future. Then he kicked in the door and burst inside, gun raised.

The greasers leapt up in surprise. Richard reached for his switchblade but froze at the click of Jim cocking his revolver. Their eyes widened, recognizing there would be no escape this time.

"Your reckoning is at hand," Jim proclaimed. "Now we finish what was started long ago."

He stepped forward purposefully. The killers' end would mark a new beginning. Jim sat parked down the street, watching the abandoned warehouse the greasers used as their hangout. He'd been tracking them relentlessly, through bleary stakeouts and sleepless nights, all leading to this moment. Their smoldering hideout would become a tomb tonight.

Jim walked a perimeter check, verifying all the building's exits were chained shut from the outside. Earlier he had soaked the walls with gasoline, the fumes now cloying in the damp night air. There could be no mistakes - the killers had evaded justice too many times already.

Satisfied with his preparations, Jim struck a match and tossed it through a broken window frame. Flames erupted within seconds, crackling and voracious. He stepped back, transfixed by the sight. This was for Wayne, for Billy, for all the innocent lives unfairly taken. Tonight, vengeance would be delivered.

Agonized screams soon pierced the air as the greasers awoke trapped in the raging inferno. Jim listened dispassionately to their wailing pleas for mercy. The pleas Wayne never got when they plunged the knife into his fragile body again and again.

As sirens approached in the distance, he slipped away unnoticed. The greasers' deaths would be written off as a tragic accident, their murderous secrets turning to ash along with their cursed bones. No one else had possessed the fortitude to stop them for good. But Jim did what was necessary, as always.