Gideon by Russell Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

and Jolly Green Giant vegetables. There was one closet and that was cleaned out of everything except four wire hangers. Under the bed there was only dust. He was thorough, as usual, but the search didn’t take long and he found nothing of any interest. Nothing that would make his employer happy. And he knew he wasn’t going to find Momma One-Eye, either. Not today. But he’d been told to make sure this was not a wasted trip. At the very least, he’d been ordered to leave a warning. One that served a purpose.
    So he picked up a kitchen knife from Momma’s counter and took a deep breath.
    His job had just become twice as detestable. He was not going to kill one person. He was going to kill two.
    Without saying a word, he took three steps toward the middle of the room and slit the throat of the woman sitting in the rocking chair. Death was instantaneous. The woman never made a sound. She didn’t even look surprised. She merely toppled back into the chair as her blood spurted onto the front of his shirt and tie. He glanced down, revolted by the deepening stains, but he knew he couldn’t let that distract him. The little girl was free now and screaming. She was running toward the front door and she was fast, but not as fast as he was. He had her by the arm and he swung her around, hard enough that he heard something pop, probably her shoulder. That was the end of her resistance. She wasn’t screaming now; it was more of a whimper. She was too frightened to scream, even when he ripped her clothes off. Her head was down, tucked against her flat chest. She wouldn’t look at him, as if, somehow, not seeing him would make him go away. He took her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to look into his eyes. When he pulled the knife up, she shut her eyes tight, contorting her face into such an exaggerated expression, he almost laughed. But he didn’t laugh. Instead, tears of grief began to roll down his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so very sorry.” Then, with one more slice, he slit the little girl’s throat from ear to ear. She was so fragile, he nearly cut straight through the bone. As she slumped back to the floor, her head was tilted so far to the side, it looked like it was about to fall off.
    It took Harry several minutes to compose himself. He did it by forcing himself to look at what he’d done, willing himself to study the carnage and confront the reality of his deeds. When he knew the scene was embedded in his memory, so deeply that he would never forget the most minute detail of this horror, Harry went outside to his rental and opened the trunk, and took out a small, leather overnight bag. From that he removed a starched white shirt and a tie identical to the one he was wearing. He went back inside, took off his bloodstained shirt and tie, tossed them on the floor. There was an oil lamp on the mantel above the fireplace and he picked it up, holding it at chest level, then dropped it onto the wooden floor. He took out a cigar, a Dominican with Cuban leaves. It was one of the few unhealthy vices he allowed himself. Harry removed the wrapper, cut off the tip, and put the cigar in his mouth. He lit a match and held it to the end of the cigar until he was drawing in large, satisfying bursts of smoke. With a last look at the two bodies, one still rocking ever so slightly in the rocking chair, the other sprawled on the floor by the door, he dropped the lit match onto the spreading puddle of kerosene and walked out the door.
    As Harry got into his car, he heard the noise, the lovely whoosh of flame as it starts to catch and spread. He felt the warmth and then stared at the magnificent flames, beginning to roar higher and higher, out of control now, crackling and spitting, as Momma One-Eye’s cabin began to burn to the ground.
    * * *
    Heading out of town, Harry drove evenly and steadily, slowing down only once, as he passed a ragged football field. The letters on the scoreboard read “Go Owls.”