Damn It All to Hell

Chapter 17

I haven’t been home in a really long time. My first thought is to tell Edan to take me home so I can lay around the apartment all day, drinking coffee and thinking. Of course, if I did that, I wouldn’t get to spend the day with Edan. I’m not gonna leave him. It would take a lot more than a lack of sleep and clean clothes to convince me to leave him for even a minute. I think this is the first time in my life when I haven’t felt entirely alienated from someone. I actually feel like he knows what’s going on inside of me. I actually feel like he understands where I’m coming from when I say things no one else would even acknowledge. I never expected to find anyone else who even remotely understood my circumstance, but Edan is my other half. He’s the part of me that complements all the things I hate about myself. He completes me. And I didn’t even know I wasn’t whole.

It’s a beautiful day. The sky is a bright, cobalt blue with just a handful of puffy white clouds floating around. You can see both the sun and the moon, but the moon is very faint, like it’s trying to disguise its beauty from me. But I know it’s there. It’s still cold enough that I can see my breath, but it’s kind of fun just watching your own breath puff out into the air in front of you. I like to see my own breath. Being able to see that I’m breathing makes me more than usually aware of the fact that I am a living, breathing creature. Generally, I feel more like a bodiless soul, randomly floating around the universe, existing for the sole purpose of being tortured and condemned to hate every moment of my life.

I don’t think I understand exactly why I trust Edan so much. I’m not a very trusting person; I don’t trust anyone. And here I am in Edan’s car, noticing again how purple everything looks through the tinted windows, while, for what feels like the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours, I have no idea where we’re going. I don’t need to know where we’re going, though. I know he’ll take me someplace I want to be. I know we’ll end up where we’re supposed to be. Suddenly, my world of death, destruction, and violent bloodiness seems a lot easier to handle. The earth is such a glorious place to be today. I’m completed by the bright sunshine, the fluffy clouds, and the general knowledge that today is going to be a good day. I haven’t seen anyone die since the guy that fell from the building.

We’re driving past Sixteenth Street. Even through the closed car windows, I can smell the wonderful concoctions cooking up inside the bakery. I’m remembering the mochaccino I had with Edan, while I was soaked with muddy slush. It’s really hard to believe that was only yesterday. Now, we’re stopped at a red light in front of the bakery. This damn red light. I don’t think I’ve ever passed it while it was green. It seems to be constantly red.

The sun is shining off Edan like he’s radiating with light, satisfaction, and brilliant understanding, like he’s been enlightened and he’s here to share his enlightenment with me. He’s here to help me. He and I have been brought together to become the gods of Earth. We know more than anyone else, but he knows so much more than me that it makes me feel completely worthless next to him. I love him, but he makes me wonder why I haven’t discovered the things he knows by myself. He seems to have done a fine job on his own. Why didn’t I?

He looks perfectly content to be sitting here at the light, silently absorbing the sunshine. He seems to be taking in every detail of the scene, just like I am. He’s calm, serene, and entirely placid, as though every wave of insecurity has rushed from his body. It’s like the two of us have become such a fantastically solid whole that nothing could ever destroy it. His hair is so dark and perfectly arranged, and yet he’s been complaining about how messy it is all morning. His eyes sparkling brightly even beneath the dark sunglasses he wears for driving. His hands grip the steering wheel like the car is an extension of his very self.

Edan has the most perfect body. He’s like the physical embodiment of everything that’s right with the world. He looks so relaxed! I can’t even imagine being that relaxed and content. Everything for me always requires a little more stress, a little more worry, a little more than the acceptance which Edan seems to have for it. I have so much respect for him. He’s so much stronger than I am. He’s so much more worthy of handling the task we’ve been given than I am. He’s a much better person than I am. I wish I could be him. The mere fact that his body is perfectly sculpted and shaped with muscles that look like nothing could ever defeat him says to me that he is strong enough to take anything life gives him. He could handle the world falling apart before him. He cold handle anything and not know how strong he really is. I feel so safe when I’m with him. I wish I could feel this safe all the time. I’ve never felt this complete in my life. Even as a child, I felt I had been given a miserable deal in life. I always wondered why my family wasn’t normal, why my grades in school weren’t perfect, why my dreams always had to be bloody.

I wonder what he’s thinking right now? I wonder if he knows how much I need him and want him and have to be with him forever? I wonder if he knows that I’m sitting here beside him thinking of him as a god? I wonder if he has any idea how much I love him?

“Trista?”

‘Yeah?’

“I love you.”

He’s turning his head to look at me like he’s never seen something sweeter or more precious in his entire life. He’s looking at me like I’m the most calm and collected person he’s ever seen. I don’t understand any of this. These past two days have been so strange. All I’m feeling is disbelief, confusion, and even more disbelief. Well, that and the feeling of knowing I am thoroughly and completely taken by this man. ‘I love you too.’

I can’t believe he told me he loves me. I can’t figure out how he always knows what I’m thinking. It’s like he and I have the same brain waves, or the same trains of thought, or the same tendency to notice the more underlying themes of nature, time, death, love, life, and all that surrounds us at every moment of every day. It’s like we are all-knowing, all-powerful creatures that are here on earth only because the rest of the world’s population needs us. It’s like we’ve been chosen because we are strong. We’ve been chosen out of all the people in the world because we are the only ones who are strong enough to handle our gift. It’s like we’ve been given the ability to see all the deaths in the world because the power had to go somewhere, and we were the only obvious choices.

He’s taking my hand and squeezing it gently. His hands are so warm and gentle, so strong and powerful. He’s smiling at me, while we still sit at this unbelievably long traffic light. He is everything that makes up all the good in the world. All the bad things that have happened to me in my lifetime don’t matter anymore; everything I need is right here. I need him, and he needs me, and everything we need together exists as one inside this little car. The world surrounds us with a beauty that seems to understand what we have found. The world is out there, swirling around us as we try to make the most of the time we have together. Time is standing still inside this car. Everything else is trivial. Everything else is entirely inconsequential to us. Everything else is a mere detail of what we have found to be the big picture. We understand. We know.

Finally, the light has changed. My God, I feel like I spend half my life at that damn stop light. Now I’m kind of wondering where we’re going. I know it won’t be a problem, but it would be interesting to know. Actually, we might be heading back to my place. I didn’t ask him to take me home and I know he’s not suggesting that I leave him, but perhaps he’s picked up on the fact that I could use some clean clothes and a moment to prepare for the attack of a new day. Maybe. Who knows?

Ah, yes, I do think he’s taking me home. Wait, he doesn’t know where I live. ‘Where are we going?’

“I don’t know.”

‘You don’t know?’ He doesn’t know? What the hell? How can he not know where we’re going?

“No, but I know it’s somewhere around here.”

Okay...? This is odd. I’m not sure I understand why we’re driving around randomly in Malana’s neighborhood, but whatever. ‘Do you know we’ve just driven around the same block about four times?’

“Yeah.”

Okay...? ‘Okay, as long as you know.’ Luckily, I trust him. I trust that his instincts are correct. He looks likes he’s searching very intently for something in particular. ‘Are you looking for something?’

“Yes.”

Yes. Okay, ‘What?’ He’s being unusually mysterious about this. That’s kind of funny. I say unusually as if I know him all that well. I feel like I know him well enough to be sure that this is unusual, though.

“I don’t know.”

‘You don’t know?’

“Nope, but I’ll know it when I see it.”

‘How will you know?’

“I don’t know.”

This is not going anywhere. Perhaps I should just leave it at that. I don’t like fighting for answers. If he’ll know it when he sees it, then he’ll know it when he sees it. I wonder if we might not do something while we’re looking, though? ‘Do you want to go get a mochaccino?’

“No, I think we’d better stay in the car.”

Okay. I’ll shut up.

“Oh God, no...no...”

He’s whispering quietly under his breath and staring at something in disbelief. It’s like he doesn’t think he can handle what he’s looking at, like he’s looking into the face of death, like all he sees is horror, mayhem, and bloody gruesomeness. I don’t see anything. ‘Edan, what’s wrong?’

“Look.”

He’s pointing out the windshield at a line of cars in front of us. ‘Is that what you’re looking for?’

“I hope not.”

That’s it: He’s crazy.

“But it has to be.”

‘Edan, does this happen often?’

“What?”

‘This random urge to go somewhere when you don’t know where you’re going?’

“No.”

Well, that’s a relief. ‘Just checking.’

“Trista?”

‘Yes?’

“Are you up for some action?”

Action? What? ‘What kind of action?’

“Just be prepared.”

He’s being exceptionally weird. I wonder if he has the slightest idea what he’s talking about. Maybe he’s just tired. I bet that’s it. Neither of us have slept much.

“Let’s go.”

‘What?’ He’s getting out of the car. What the hell? We’re not even parked! The car is just sitting randomly in the middle of the road and he wants me to get out? What?

“Trista, now!”

Oh. Well, if it’s that important to him that I get out of the car and it gets ticketed for being double-parked, that’s fine with me.

He’s running down the sidewalk towards the bakery. I kind of doubt he’s decided he suddenly wants a mochaccino, but for the sake of still finding him to be sane, I’m gonna assume that’s what he’s doing.

The familiar, amazingly perfect smell pervades the cold winter air, and the chill makes my eyes water as I run down the sidewalk behind Edan. I can’t see, I don’t know where we’re going, and I don’t know why, but I have to follow Edan. Whatever is on his mind is sure to concern my mind too, so I’m gonna follow him wherever he goes until I either figure it out myself or get a satisfactory explanation from him.

There seems to be some sort of commotion at the stop light in front of the bakery. Several people are trying to look like they’re not staring at a little black sports car. I wonder what’s so interesting about whoever’s in that car?

Oh my God. I think I want to stop running now. The crowd of people is suddenly screaming in fear as the man in the sports car shoots a single bullet through his front windshield and into the car in front of him. Two abruptly shattering windows pierce the air with a muted but shrill sound of certain and painful destruction. The shattering noise sounds like thin ice breaking under the weight of a small child from where Edan and I are approaching, but we’re closing in quickly.

The crowd is scattering, screaming and yelling as though they’ve never seen such a threatening thing. They’re running away as though their lives are in danger. They’re fleeing the scene without so much as a look at the little sports car’s license plate. The man in the front seat of the sports car is getting out of his car and running down the sidewalk. Edan is slowing down, but I know he wants to follow the fleeing man. The man from the sports car just started heading down a dark sidestreet between two brick warehouses. ‘There he is!’

The man looks like he’s never tried to run at any point previously in his life. He looks awkward and clumsy as he runs, with a billowing silhouette bouncing around him, making him look like he’s coming in and out of focus. He’s heading into the tiny sidestreet and glancing behind to see if he’s being followed. He is; Edan and I are steadily catching up to him.

The alley smells of garbage and sewage, and something resembling mold or mildew is growing along the walls of the buildings to the right and left. I recognize the faint scent of marijuana, probably rising from the homeless men lining the bases of the walls. The combined smell is so overpowering that I wonder how I can keep running with this filth entering my lungs, but I know the situation at hand is of much greater importance than any of my personal concerns.

Suddenly, I wonder if Edan knew this was going to happen? He seemed to glance into the windows of the cars as we passed them, and I swear I recognized a strangely forced look of horrified familiarity. I swear I saw him grimace in pain. I saw this one man, who has seemed at moments to have the strength of ten men, grimacing in pain at the sight of a single bullet fired from a gun into a random cab.

The alleyway is narrowing and closing in on me with an insistence that makes me claustrophobic beneath the certainty of an impending doom. A threatening silence is surrounding the three of us as we barrel onwards to the end of the alley. The man seems to be tiring. Edan is running after the man like he’s been overcome by some force stronger than himself. It’s like he’s trying to convince himself that the man doesn’t exist. He has in his eyes a look of fury, along with a stronger, more recognizable and undeniable look of passionately violent hate. That’s what it is: hate. I’ve never seen such hate in anyone’s eyes. It seems to be radiating from his eyes in a laser-like intensity that could destroy anything in its path at the slightest provocation.

The man tripped over his coat! Finally, our chance! He’s not even fighting to find his feet, he looks rather like he’s fumbling through his pockets for something. Oh God! The gun! He’s pulling it out of his coat with a hand that’s shaking with fear, exhaustion, and certain defeat. He took one look at Edan’s face, and that was all he needed to know he hasn’t the slightest chance of escaping safely. He’s firing shots wildly into the air, without the slightest regard for where Edan and I are standing. This is ridiculous. He’s lying on his back on the ground, coughing and wheezing like he just smoked an entire case of Cloves. Actually, he’s must be where the pot smell was coming from. Alright, that’s it: this man has no business having that gun in his hand.

Edan is still furiously pursuing this man’s defeat, confidently approaching the man as shots are fired straight up into the air. Edan has grabbed him by the hair and dragged him to his feet. The man is struggling against Edan’s grasp, his eyes widened so much that the whites are painfully visible. The gun is grasped loosely in his right hand. I can’t let this go. I have to take the gun from him....

Okay, that was entirely too easy. I don’t think he even realizes the gun is gone. Edan has his arm around the man’s neck, cutting off his air supply. The man has forgotten all but the lack of oxygen. He’s pulling at Edan’s arm with his fingernails digging futilely into a handful of Edan’s black leather jacket.

The gun is cold and heavy. It feels like the tangible assurance of my safety. Between Edan and this gun, I feel like nothing in the world could ever harm me. I’m perfectly safe, and I hate the miserably ugly man before me with all my soul.

He’s shaking pitifully, his eyes searching the surroundings with every intention of finding something to fight back with. It’s hopeless, though. Edan has purposely loosened his grasp to allow the man to breathe, but the man has started shaking violently. Edan is standing, blinded with rage, empowered by vengeance, hovering over the ugly man with a maniacal look of pure hatred dominating the soft features of his face.

“You made a big fucking mistake, asshole.”

What? When did this get personal? The man has started sobbing with fear. The expression on his face is one of sincere regret.

“Do you know how much I hate you?! You fucking killed my best friend!”

Oh my God. What? His best friend? Oh my God, that must have been who was in that cab. Edan must have known this was going to happen. Oh my God. He’s right. He’s right about everything. I hate the ugly man with every ounce of vitality in my soul. I want to kill him. I want him dead. I want him to know what he’s done to the only man on earth who knows my pain. I want him to feel the pain we have inside of us every day of our lives, but I want him to know it in physical terms. I want him to feel it in his waking reality. I want him to suffer. I want to see blood pouring out of his eyes.

Edan’s grip on the man is loosening. Hair ripping out of the man’s scalp grates against my eardrums with a sickening tearing sound. Edan’s anger is so intense, it’s frightening. With every second, he gets more and more insistent in his intent to punish this pitiful excuse for a man. Edan is pounding the man’s head against the ground with repetitive thumps that make the ground seem to tremble from the force. Why won’t the guy just die? Die already!

“Do you know how much I fucking hate you?! Do you know you killed my friend! I hate you, motherfucker!”

I don’t think Edan has any idea what’s happening right now. I don’t think Edan has any concept of the strength he is exerting on this man. I don’t think Edan knows that he’s talking out loud, screaming at this man, while anyone who might be in the nearby buildings can hear. I don’t think he cares. He just wants the man dead.

I hate the ugly man. I can’t believe anyone would want to do something like this to Edan or anyone involved in Edan’s life. I can’t believe anyone would want to cause such pain. I can’t believe something this horrible could actually be happening right in front of me. I hate the man. I hate the man. I hate the man. I want him dead.

Edan just dropped the man to the ground, where he landed with a half-hearted thud. He doesn’t seem to be fighting any more. He’s just lying there in a pile of blood, hair, and grimy black coat. He’s pitiful.

Edan is backing away, finally returning to a wakeful semblance of reality. He looks stunned, like he can’t decide if he should be proud or not. He also looks like he thinks this should be bothering me, but it’s not. It’s not bothering me. I hope the man is dead. He’s lying there with Edan standing as a dark shadow towering over the figure of a fallen evil. The figure is silent and motionless.

“Do you think he’s dead?”

Edan’s question swirls around in my brain like it just doesn’t know where to go to be heard. I don’t know if the man is dead, but I do know I can’t let the body just lie there with Edan not knowing what to do. I can’t just stand here and watch. What if this guy is so hopped up on drugs that he has superhuman strength and he’s just playing dead until the opportunity to strike presents itself? I hate the man. I don’t know if he’s dead or not. I need to be sure. All of the hate in my body is tingling through my arms. I didn’t even realize that I’ve had the gun aimed directly at the man’s head all this time. I hate. I hate. I hate. I hate that people kill. I hate that people kill over stupid things that may have been remedied. I hate that people stand off to the side doing nothing when something goes wrong. I hate. I hate. I hate...

There. I pulled the trigger, and I shot him in the head. He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t move. His head splattered off in several directions with the force from the bullet. The man is definitely dead. The kick from the gun sent me unexpectedly backwards a few inches, but it didn’t really bother me. The gun feels so right in my hand. It feels so right for me to be in control of the situation. It feels so right to know that I am safe, and I am not alone. ‘Yeah. I think he’s dead.’