long journey into darkness
James sat in the large arm chair across from the motel bed, in which Amber was fast asleep in. The Chair was old and ratty, and the leather was cracked, the stitching was frayed and it squeaked when he tried to get comfortable. At the side of the chair was a back pack he had filled with gear when he decided it was time to hunt down The Man. James pulled out the empty rounds from his Bulldog Pug snub-nose and threw them in the back pack, he pulled out a box of Blazer 200-grain Gold Dot rounds and replaced the three rounds. He went back in the back pack and removed a large knife he had, a fifteen and one eighth inch Marine Raider, It was his fathers. He strapped to his left leg and then concealed it under his pant leg. He sat back again in the old armchair. He held the gun in his lap. He would stand watch for long as possible, even if fell asleep, and one were to enter, he would awake at the slightest sound, and would be ready, point, click, dead. That's what his father taught him, even though James grew up without his father, he remembered all the lessons taught before he died.
Amber snorted slightly, and he found it endearing. What was she doing all tied up in that warehouse? What purpose would this small woman have to The Man? She was young and appeared as innocent as a child. Whatever The Man had in store for her was unknown, but he knew if The Man was after her, he'd have to protect her. He closed his eyes, and before he knew it he was back in dreamland.
In the basement of his old house; he could tell from the old yellow Led Zeppelin posters, and pictures from magazines taped up to the wall with Jimi Hendrix smoking pot. He heard two mens voices rising in volume in the next room. He stood and hid in the disgusting kitchen that was full of old newspapers and smelled of rat feces. It was dark, and no one would see him, he stood and listened.
"They must die," said one man, his voice was familiar, but the person remained unrecognizable.
"Kill the husband and wife, but let the boy live?" said another voice, one he had never heard before.
"Yes, but remember, it is imperative they die, they must be, irrevocably, dead."
James looked across the darkened basement hall, a small scrap of shiny metal reflected an image of himself when he was six years old.
"What the hell?" he whispered to himself.
The men began shuffling around a large wooden table, James peeked out and saw a varied assortment of instruments that were laid out upon it, all surgical looking in nature.He withdrew back into the dark kitchen. Young James finally recognized the voice when he saw The Man walk past the kitchen where he hid, and walk up a stair case that led to the kitchen above.
"He killed my parents? What the fuck? What the fuck is going on?" He again whispered to himself, as the old latent memories poured out before him to see.