Silhouette

LII

Dave takes in the huge monstrosity before him. John has peculiarly small eyes. Slits of ink. Dave remembers the way Rose had gone over the edge and the horrible sucking gasps as she had tried to breath. He feels a wave of rage roll down his back. Then he remembers John is also a victim, so he flexes his jaw.

He says, "We need to talk."

"I'm sorry for what happened to the policewoman," says John. He stands there with his thick, tree trunk arms dangling by his side.

"Detective Rose? She was badly hurt, but she'll survive."

John nods slowly. "It was not my intention."

Dave pauses. There's something peculiar about this John standing before him. It isn't the John from the factory—a bundle of unease. This John is surefooted and definite. He isn't stammering.

Dave points at the freezer at the other end of the wall, with water streaming down and sloshing from the top. "How long has Justin been there?"

John just watches him walk past him with those tiny eyes. Dave peers into the freezer. Justin is stuffed in, knees to chest— head just above water— like some old, discarded mattress. Like rope folded. His eyes are wide open, panic stricken and unblinking. Alive but paralyzed.

Dave swallows. He turns. John is still there. Staring. "You don't have to do this," says Dave.

John cocks his head. "Are you here to stop me?"

"I know what they have done to you... what they did to you."

"You can't begin to imagine."

"I know what happened on that night at the pool. I know what Justin, Remi and Tomiwa did. What they did to you and Jimmy."

"You haven't answered the question, Detective. Are you here to stop me?"

"A squad is on its way. You will be stopped one way or another."

John grins. It cuts across his face slowly, like a snake uncurling. There is something bone-chilling about the grin that makes Dave feel lightheaded. It's in the way the edges of John's lips slide up his smooth face, and the way his small teeth are unraveled like pieces of shattered ivory.

Dave swallows. Forces himself to meet John's eyes. "You don't have to do this. Leave now before they come."

"I wonder why you would let me go, after what I did to the woman detective. After what I am going to do."

Dave had known ever since the first murder at The Cavendish that the murderer was going to strike again. He could feel it in the way the crime scene was bare, chilly even. It wasn't a crime of passion, it may have been the work of an assassin, but his bet was that it was revenge. And he was right.

He had mulled over it through the drive over and strange as it was, he'd felt he understood John. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it never fills the stomach. Yet, the desire for revenge, the burning desire to right a wrong was no small fire. Dave felt it burn through him whenever he found criminals who had managed to escape the hands of justice. It wasn't revenge exactly, but it was close.

"These people did things to you and your family, and you are right to feel aggrieved, but leaving a trail of bodies behind you won't endear you to anyone. You are a murderer in the eyes of the law and you will be treated as such. Leave now. Go somewhere else and start afresh. Justin will get the justice he deserves."

John stretches his arms out wide. "No sinner shall go unpunished."

Dave doesn't know what to do. He checks his watch; the squad will be here any moment. He looks at Justin in the freezer. Only his nose is above water. He'll be inhaling water very soon. "Allow me to take him out of there, please. You want justice? This isn't it."

"Your words are fragile. People like him do not reap the evil they sow. And you know it."

"Justin will get the justice he deserves. But this... This isn't right. You are dipping your hands in blood by doing this."

"Are your hands any less bloody, detective?"

A trail of ice runs down Dave's spine. "What?"

John takes two steps closer. Dave is rooted to the spot, sickened and enthralled. He looks up at John. He is so close that Dave can see up into his hairless nostrils, his bald head like a glistening silver ball. John's physique is even more monstrous up close. His arms and shoulders are so huge he could crush Dave in a hug if he wanted to.

"Do you listen to your victims' cries for mercy before you put a bullet in their head?"

Dave hears the blood rushing in his ears. How could John have known? "You don't know what you are talking about."

"Does it give you delight? The way you chase after them. I can see the hunger in your eyes. I can smell the blood on you."

Dave looks into John's eyes. He sees his shocked face in them, a coffee colored reflection. Those eyes hold him like a clamp. A sickening feeling dawns on him. Only one of them is leaving here alive. John knows it too. Dave sees it in his eyes.

John's eyes leave Dave's face and looks above his head. Dave hears a faint gurgling. "Do you hear that?" John asks. "The human lungs were never made for water. I was underwater for 8 minutes. Jimmy and I were both dead when they brought us out, yet, somehow my heart started working again."

Dave tries to punch him in the face, a long arc with all of his shoulder behind it. John catches the hand. He heaves Dave over his shoulder, throws him across the room like balled up paper. Dave rolls to a stop. He sees John's huge frame bounding up to him. He draws his gun and pumps the trigger twice.

John's shoulder is a red mist—bullet tearing into clothing, skin, muscle. But he doesn't stop. He comes hurtling into Dave like a freight train. Dave has only a moment to raise his hand to his chest when John rams into him. Dave has all the lights ripped out of him. There is a crack behind him and the window gives way in a shower of glass.

They're grappling, twisting in mid air. Dave feels absolute horror when he feels the cold rush of air on his face, and it feels like time has slowed for a bit. 

They fall, fall, fall.

There is a loud crash, and Dave realizes he is on the top of a car. His car. The thought cuts into the thick fugue of pain and confusion. He can't feel his body, only a metallic tang in his mouth. Thunder rumbles, the car alarm wails.

Dave coughs. He tries to move, but his body obeys a tad slower. He rolls, falls to the cold asphalt. There are shattered pieces of glass beneath him. His side burns, like there's a piece of metal lodged in his chest.

The last thing he sees is John, bloody and unmoving, torso sticking out of the space where the windshield was.

 The last thing he hears is the faint echo of a siren.

Dave takes one torturous breath, and another. He tries to force himself to his feet, but he can't raise his head up. He is in a whirlwind of pain and panic.

The darkness comes, and it is absolute.