“...Death is an Old Friend of mine...”- David Draiman

There was dim light emanating from the living room ceiling as little Connor sipped his bottle of cranberry juice; he was four years old this past January, Twenty-Eighteen. He sat with his black hair covering his half-shut eyes, wrapped underneath his dad’s right arm with his legs propped on the lap. Malcolm had selected a nature documentary narrated by David Attenborough, rather than modern cartoons; the narration was expositing the symbiosis of Funguses.

Malcolm looked at his child, then out the window into the nighttime backyard. His eyes glared into it like a burrowed predator, waiting for his catch to have backup.

Nobody else is coming. He’s alone.

Malcolm checked his watch, and the time was eight thirty-seven.

If tonight’s a reminiscence, this one can’t have anything to do with it.

“Done.” Connor squeaked with perfect timing.

“Your gonna need a big boy cup!” Malcolm smiled, “I bet it’s time for bed.” Malcolm stood, picking the little boy up; Connor wrapped his arms around Malcolm’s neck like a monkey. They crossed through the kitchen where Malcolm listened intently to the muffled yells in the garage. He then brought his child upstairs, where his room was.

Connor squeaked, “Can’t I stay up?”

Malcolm soothed. “It’s too long past your bedtime.”

“Mommy don’t know.” Connor said.

“There’s plenty for her not to.” He continued softly as he turned right, down the hallway. “I don’t want her mad cause you’re nodding off tomorrow.”

Malcolm opened the door and saw the dim night light in a wall outlet next to Connor’s little bed. What toys the boy owned were under the bed or in the closet. There were seven shelves across from the doorway, most were empty save for one which had little pop-up books Malcolm used to entertain Connor.

“I up again.” Connor spoke as Malcolm sat him on the tiny mattress.

“Oh, will you?” Malcolm grinned as he poked Connor’s heart. “Suppose you see something best not seeing?”

Connor looked up to him. “What?”

Malcolm smirked. “Nothing that you would get.”

Connor cocked his head, “Why?”

Malcolm shrugged with a thoughtless answer. “Because you’re too young to understand the reasons behind the Black.”

Connor deadpanned, “Bullshit.”

Malcolm struggled not to laugh. “Don’t repeat that around Mom, kiddo.”

He nodded. “What you do?”

Malcolm patted Connor’s shoulder. “The lengths I’ll go again to stay here for you.”

Connor smiled. “Why?”

“Because I need you to do as I say…and never what I’ve done. Understand me?”

Connor nodded.

“That’s my boy!” Malcolm scuffed little Connor’s head of hair. The child smiled; he began to sink into his covers so Malcolm could tuck him in. “Goodnight kiddo.” He whispered before leaning in to kiss Connor on the forehead. After exiting the room, Malcolm checked his watch and realized the time was passed eight-fifty.

Meryl’s clocking out at ten; never do I let her catch a whiff of that Beast in me. Never shit where one eats, especially not where you care for children. Thank God for garages.

Malcolm was in the kitchen and fetched himself a six-pack now that Connor was in bed again. He grabbed a beer and snapped the cap; he was gulping it steadily before he set the bottle on the counter, zoning out with piercing eyes.

Should I even feel like a predator still? Should I even do this after breaking the habit?

He entered a garage big enough for two cars. A little woodworking station sat in the center, between the two support beams. The station was a conventional metal desk that supported a safety board connected to another buzzsaw that could clamp down. Next to that was a sander Malcolm used to shave wood chips until any block was the shape he desired. The walls were perfectly mirrored versions of themselves with tools hanging in rows.

Chained next to the metal desk, was the catch which overrode Malcolm’s second thoughts. The beanie-headed intruder had his hands cuffed behind a support beam. He struggled to stand but his knees were half bent by the time he resorted to begging beneath his duct tape gag.

Malcolm stepped toward the intruder, unblinking as he ripped the tape off his mouth. “Be quiet or I’ll give you a reason to scream.”

The intruder was an ugly young man, pockmarked from substance abuse; his teeth were straight, but yellow as the sun and his eyes were beady. “…Please don’t kill me…” he quietly muttered. “I was never gonna hurt nobody…”

Malcolm nodded. “Considering your pitiful food intake, I doubt you could hurt a bug.”

The intruder winced. “No one was supposed to be here man!”

Malcolm pressed the man’s head against the pillar. “Shush.” Malcolm hummed as he raised the remaining beer to his nose. The intruder pitifully obeyed the silent order and was made to sip the beer before gulping all of it. “Another.” Malcolm whispered afterward; he then turned around to grab a new beer.

Malcolm satisfied his thirst with a third of the bottle while walking back over. The intruder was better prepared to gulp, and he swallowed more beer before coughing on it. After the bottle was empty, an awkward silence was exchanged.

Malcolm finally spoke, coldly. “What were you going to do?”

The Intruder stammered. “…I was just gonna steal some shit…”

“You were ‘just gonna steal’…” Malcolm interrupted. “My shit.”

“Look man…I’m broke!” The man begged. “…I just wanted to find a Blu-ray to fence. Maybe some written banking information…you’d be shocked!”

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Malcolm became more confident. “You’re admitting you’ve done this before.”

“…No! I…”

“With whom?” Malcolm asked.

“What?”

Malcolm’s teeth began to grind. “Please do not be any more of a fucking invalid with me. You weren’t going to carry my things through the streets. Where’s your van; whose waiting for you?”

The Intruder gasped. “No one…I-”

Malcolm cut him off with a backhanded slap. Again, he exchanged beer bottles and seamlessly snapped the cap off; he clenched the Intruder’s nose as he was forcing the bottle into his mouth. The man coughed as Malcolm pulled the bottle out. “I have a hose. Don’t make me run out of beer.”

The Intruder shook his head, hyperventilating. “He would’ve left already...”

Malcolm was crossing to the six pack. “Where was he parked?”

“The first street behind your house…” The Intruder looked desperate. “He would have been waiting by the fence for me to pass him shit.”

“My shit.”

“Look man! We thought…”

“I’ll let you speak.” Malcolm was picking up his fourth beer. “How long have you been watching us?”

“Hardly a day!” The Intruder answered. “We didn’t know there was a kid here!”

“Tell me more about this fellow.” Malcolm was uncorking the cap. “It’s him; no other accomplice?”

“Yes!” The Intruder gasped. “He’s my bro!”

“So…” Malcolm grinned. “Your ‘bro’ would just leave you behind?”

“I…”

Malcolm pinched his nose and forced the bottle down the Intruder’s throat. In seconds, the man was hacking on it. Malcolm allowed the intruder spare seconds to inhale as he drank the rest. “Is he even what a brother should be?”

The Intruder tried to stand straight. “I-I’m not ratting on him…”

“Well…you actually did…” Malcolm smiled once more. “You realize you’ve given me enough for the cops to pursue? And that I’m Active Military?” Malcolm cocked his head.

The Intruder’s eyes bulged. “Shit!!! Please just let me go! I’ll let your house be, I swear!””

“Mine? You better…” Malcolm became slyer. “What about other people? Will they be as poor as you are?”

The Intruder grew more fearful. “I gotta make a living! How about I cut you in on it…huh?”

Malcolm’s eyes swelled blacker. “Are you soliciting a bribe from an Army Officer?”

“Fuck man…just please stop! Call the cops already, just let me go!”

“Shut up.” Malcolm hushed while holding a fifth beer. “When did you drop out of school?”

The Intruder was distressed. “Jesus Christ! What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Everything…You don’t really have a future, do you? Both you and your fucking ‘brother’…I can tell you have a record. Anyone who didn’t, would be just as scared of the cops as they are of me. What’s your rap sheet? Is it Vandalism or Felony assault? Do you have a sob story about having to work to feed the family at a young age, resulting in a classic Drug Dealer saga?”

“No!” The Intruder was flabbergasted. “You wouldn’t get what happened…”

Malcolm silenced him with a wave. “However sad your beginnings are, it’s relevance only goes so far; you made choices in given instances. Whatever they were, in whatever capacity given, all of them hold lasting roots. You were only able to go so far in knowing or caring, now you don’t even know how this came to be…You’re lucky to have someone who’s like you, get that?”

The Intruder’s confusion became more apparent. “…My brother?”

Malcolm shook his head. “He’s not the one here.”

He gasped. “What the fuck…”

“I get it…You and I; we’re grey depictions of the American Dream gone wrong.” Malcolm leaned in, letting his hot breath creep on the Intruder. “What sets us apart? I’ve amplified my developments into a purpose, and I thrive, allowing my child to grow up in peace. You? Everything with you amounts to a parasite; this ‘living’ of yours takes from the people who try harder.”

“Fuck you man!” The Intruder spat on the floor in a pitiful attempt to establish dominance. “You’re torturing me! I never hurt people!”

“…Your diction implies a lacking grasp on the reality of that word…” Malcolm sharply hissed. “Hurt.”

The Intruder began to shudder. “…You’re going to kill me…”

Malcolm flashed his grin. “I commend your perception…I was afraid that you’re retarded; I’d hate having to let you go.”

“…Why?!” The Intruder looked close to tears. “Why you gotta do this?!”

Malcolm clicked his tongue. “That’s…not what they used to ask. They didn’t usually ask much, come to think.” He tapped the rim of the final beer bottle, “That’s a...unique takeaway for this occasion…”

The Intruder’s legs trembled. “Are you out of your mind!?”

“Of course, I’m not…I’m…perfectly leveled.” Malcolm withheld his laugh. “What higher state of being is there than to kill a renegade burglar in the name of Family?” After speaking, Malcolm finished the rest of his beer and sheathed it in the six pack.

The Intruder seemed to fidget where he was chained. “…You don’t have to do this!”

Malcolm gently shut his eyes. “It’s okay…” he spoke soothingly. “There’s meaning in being the one-hit-wonder to my reunion act…people die senselessly everywhere, every day...There are far worse ways-”

After the clank of chains was heard, the Intruder was free of handcuffs thanks to the tiny screwdriver in hand. The Intruder flailed his tool in Malcolm’s direction like it were a shiv; Malcolm’s nose flared instinctively, causing the Intruder to shudder his defensive posture. The Man shouted, “Get the fuck back!”, as he thrust the screwdriver into Malcolm, piercing his pectoral.

Malcolm let out a whisp of air as he stammered back with the tool’s handle poking out his chest; soon, his back was against the wall. Malcolm looked at the handle and processed what had happened; after his thoughts gathered, Malcolm slowly lifted his head to look at the attacker. Malcolm’s flashing smile became so wide that his black eyes forgot to blink. “…Thank you…” He spoke wholeheartedly.

The Intruder’s eyes began to weep as he panicked; Malcolm sprung forward with a hanging pitchfork as the Intruder grabbed a random mallet. The Intruder smacked Malcolm across the cheek, failing to stop the momentum of the pitchfork. Malcolm’s vision returned and he noticed his sharp pain dulling from the snap of prongs in flesh.

Malcolm had forced the Intruder onto the ground while holding the pitchfork through his torso. A dragging croak forced the blood into a pool around his mouth; a whirling sound was heard as blood seeped down the garage’s drain. The Intruder’s helplessly prying fingers turned limp, and the croak ceased.

Malcolm finally blinked at the sight of his own blood dripping out his lips and threw the pitchfork to the side. Immediately, Malcolm circled to grab the handcuffs. While pocketing them, he fell onto the ground near the door, sitting while he pulled the screwdriver out of his pectoral. Malcolm kept his pained groan muffled, and his shirt was seeping red after the final tug. Malcolm’s painful breaths were slow while he set the screwdriver down, he then looked at the deceased Intruder before slowly exiting the garage.

Malcolm had gathered the bottles into the recycling bin, stain free. He rushed a look around for potential evidence before grabbing his phone to dial nine-one-one.

“…What’s your emergency?”

“…I need help and an ambulance!” Malcolm used his pain to sound desperate, “I just got attacked in my garage!”.

The Operator sounded stoic. “Sir, please relax…You said you got attacked?”

“Yes!” Malcolm forced the plea.

“Where is the intruder now?”

“…He’s still here…”

“Is anyone injured?”

Malcolm stammered. “He stabbed me! H-He’s impaled!”

The pause dragged on enough for Malcolm to become distracted. The Operator returned. “…You said he’s impaled?”

“…H-He’s dead.”

“And you’re injured too?”

“Yes…”

The Operator was quiet for another moment. “Please confirm your address.”

“Malcolm Nelson, Four-Five-Five-Two Kelley Road...”

“Okay sir. I’m sending help now. They’ll be there shortly.”

“…Thank you…” Malcolm was grinning as he hung up the phone.