"Pride- What is the point?" By Greg Hernandez

Pride. National pride. Ethnic pride. What does it all matter? When I was young the parades used to fascinate me. The flags. The colors. The pandemonium in the streets. It was all new to me back then; a parade's atmosphere was intoxicating for me, seeing all the people out in the streets to celebrate. Yet, a certain weird sense of yearning bubbling up inside of me ceased to dissipate. What's there to celebrate? A question of "why," began to simmer in my mind. Why is anyone proud of their race?

I liked the different parades. The Dominican parade. The Puerto Rican parade. The Irish parade. I've attended all three. Performed in the latter twice during my high school marching band days. I don't get it. What is the point? Why are you proud to be what you are? I am not proud to be Dominican. I've met many Dominicans and found them to be deplorable. I've also met quite a few who are truly awesome individuals. It goes that way because we're human beings. Race only separates us. If I were any other race I would not be proud to be it. For me, being proud to be one race is basically saying this race is the best one. Being Dominican is better than being Jamaican! Oh wait, no it isn't! You're born a human being and afterward you are immediately classified by gender, race and class. This genetic lottery should hold no pride. Whether you're Dominican, Puerto Rican, Irish, Italian, Black or White, who cares? You're a human being. Isn't national or ethnic pride childish?

Our histories and cultural traditions are important, however isn't being proud of them superfluous? If you're born in a particular region you will obviously have certain beliefs and traditions derived of said region. You will look a certain way based on where your parents were born. Being proud to be of mixed race is even more hilarious to me. Why is that a big deal? A white man and a black woman got married and had sex and presto! You were born.

I know people have suffered. American slavery, English enslavement of the Irish, the Chinese and Tibet conflict, and the Tainos' extermination and subsequent rape. See below

"As the Spanish (white Spaniards from Europe) exterminated the indigenous Tainos through disease; treachery; and overwork, whom inhabited the Caribbean islands, survivors became the victims of rape and concubinage. They were forced to take the Spanish language and customs and become virtual slaves for the Spaniards. As their numbers diminished, Africans were replaced to continue the lucrative gold and sugar industries that had been created on islands such as Peurto Rico, Jamaica, and Cuba, to name a few. Those countries were forced to adopt the language, religion, and culture of their Spanish masters. Therefore, we may see dark Spanish speaking Latinos; however they are actually African, Taino, both, or a mixture of all including Spanish. For example, a Dominican may speak Spanish, but his true ancestors are African. In conclusion, Blacks and Native Americans were the victims of both rape and slavery which caused thier use of Spanish language… which makes them Latino."

So, it is important to remember. To commemorate certain days or events through parades, but let us be frank here, these terrible things are caused by human beings. Everyone suffers. Having a parade or a celebration for one particular race directly invalidates all of the suffering endured from every other race. Think about it. We know it to be true. Blacks only care about Black people's civil rights. Whites are only concerned with themselves. Hispanics don't care about Blacks, they even fight among themselves.

Race means nothing to me. Pride is beyond foolish. I know my history. Monsters, demons, devils and ghouls pale in comparison to the unbridled might of the purest creatures of terror- human beings. We are the worst. There is nothing to be proud of.

I prefer to be happy, not proud. I'm happy I'm alive. Happy to be, "tall, dark and handsome." I am proud of graduating from college, performing in Chile, performing in an off-off Broadway Theatre, writing short-stories. I am proud whenever I create something, run a few miles, or help someone out in their time of need. Most of all, I am proud whenever I finish reading a good book.

Happiness versus Pride...

Here is a video clip from George Carlin's final HBO stand up special. He sums it up beautifully in four minutes- George Carlin- "Pride"

Game of Thrones-S4E1 "Two Swords" Review By Greg Hernandez

Ah, Sunday nights are relevant once more. Our favorite series has returned. This season premiere did not disappoint. Let's dive right in. Remember, NO SPOILERS HERE!

 

-The beginning. The beautiful shots from season one of Ned Stark beheading the Nights' Watch deserter and getting beheaded himself remind the audience of his great sword, "Ice" which is Valyrian steel. Reforging the sword into two blades is symbolic. Ned and Robb are both dead. Tywin and Jaime Lannister are not. After the events of the Red Wedding last season, the Stark theme (heard at the very beginning) feels somewhat despondent.  Now when the Lannister theme came on the feeling changed to triumphant. The juxtaposition exemplifies the show's new direction. It's all about the Lannisters now. The show is theirs...for now.

- The scene between Tywin and Jaime was beautiful. Shorter and less dramatic in than it was in the book. I liked it this way. Jaime's refusal of his father's plan for him to retire from the Kingsguard and rule Casterly Rock in his stead is his triumphant moment. The word "No" which I believe he said three times was great to hear and see, because of Tywin's reaction. All of last season Tywin got exactly what he wanted. Minus Tyrion's debacle at his own wedding, plus his refusal to consummate the marriage of course. Here right from the start he is defeated. He tells his son to keep the sword he gave him, "You will need it. A man with one hand and no family." Remember this scene from season 1? Jaime and Tywin season 1 conversation.

 

-Joffrey and Jaime. What an ingrate! Making fun of your father like that, I mean uncle (Pretty sure Joff has a good indication of his true parentage). It is funny to see Joff being a douche to everyone. After all he is the King. You could tell though how Jaime wanted to punish him. Each kept their cool and traded some barbs. A nice scene. Age is important. Jaime is 40 years old. Older in the show than in the books, than again everyone is older in the show. Actors age of course. His skills, besides his fight with Ned in season 1 have not truly been showcased. It was said by Theon back in season 1, that Jaime, "Cut down 10 of our men." Yes, 10. In the books he almost got to Robb before he was subdued. Jaime was a fantastic killer. Being one-handed killed the Jaime from season 1-2. This new Jaime was there all along of course, buried beneath the smug demeanor. Martin's writing is brilliant in how he can essentially kill a character and keep them alive. Jaime is complex. He will be interesting to follow on the show. Oh, here is a nifty frame of reference. In the books, The Red Viper is 5-6 years older than Jaime. So...age means nothing. Bronn even said, while squinting, "I'm getting older." The warriors age but their wisdom grows. Bronn and Jaime will be dueling next episode. Jaime knows that his facade cannot last for long. He is weak. He is vulnerable. He must practice his sword play and become decent with his left hand. A difficult feat to achieve.

- Exposition galore in this season premiere and boy was it welcomed! The Red Viper told Tyrion exactly why he is back in Kings Landing. His older sister Elia who was married to the last dragon Rhaegar Targaryen. Was raped and butchered by Ser Gregor Clegane the Mountain. The Children were brutally slaughtered as well and wrapped in Lannister cloths to conceal all the blood! 

 

-The Red Viper shows us all that a true Bisexual can make both men and women feel equal in a brothel. "How do you like it?" he's asked by Littlefinger's procurer,  his answer: Grabs the guy's balls and says, "My way." I love The Red Viper. He's a terrific character who will no doubt be the spark plug for this season. His disdain for the Lannisters helps those who are "Team Stark" feel a little better. If not there is always Arya. Oh and his paramour, Ellaria Sand is her name. She calls herself a bastard because that is what she is. Sand like Snow as in Jon Snow is a bastard name. Remember folks, it's all about hierarchy. Ellaria wears her bastard name like a badge of honor. It cannot be used against her.

 

- Arya and The Hound are my favorite pair. Arya is firmly on that dark path. The deaths of her mother and brother prompted her to kill her first man last season. Now in this episode she kills two more. One being more personal than the other. Polliver was never on her "list" but he more than deserved the death Arya gave him. Let's call it "Just Desserts." Arya killed two more men, got her sword, "Needle" back and got to ride her own horse. Notice the obvious aspect of he retrieving her sword- the last Stark sword! Hence the title, "Two Swords." Now, some people are and will continue to be disturbed by how Arya is killing because of her age and what not. Grow a pair will you...and by pair, I mean a brain and some heart. This is fantasy. Fiction. A child that has lost both of its parents and has begun to kill will naturally come to enjoy the act of killing! If you were her age and had to survive in that world, you would be doing the same thing. Sure it is traumatic. Just be happy that you have not read the books, because it is far worse for Arya in that story.

 

- Jon Snow tells the truth. In one of his better performances- yes I think Kit Harrington's acting is not on par with the rest of the cast. Jon goes before the core members of The Night's Watch. Recognize the main guys at the left of the table? Ser Allister Thorne (Season 1) and Janos Slynt (Tyrion had him shipped off to the wall in Season 2.) He's finally made it! Jon provided some much needed back story on his relationship with this half-brother Robb. He was jealous of his stronger, faster, skilled hunter/rider and good with the ladies brother. The way Ned looked at Robb; Jon yearned for that. Instead he got the cold resentful looks from Catelyn. People who have not read the first book can forget that these two are brothers...why? A few of my friends have admitted to mistaking these two actors for the same character! Yes they do look a little alike handsome, beards, dark hair, same house, both with direwolves, come on, it's an honest mistake! One final point. This season is important for Tyrion and Jaime. Pay attention to their relationship this season. The Lannister brothers will each play a pivotal role in what's to come next.

 

- Staying in the North, the Wildlings are waiting on word from Mance. We get to see another tribe of the massive Wildling army. The Thenns. Styr The Magnar of Thenn is a more brutal Wildling than Tormund and Igritte are. I will say this though, you're intimidated by his sheer size and disposition however, cannibalism is well, old...The Walking Dead's season finale holds the crown of cannibalism. Sorry GOT. If only this was written before the creation of Hannibal Lecter.

 

-Now on to the weakest points of "Two Swords," Shae is a character I have not been happy with since season 2. I fully understand that this is an adaptation. This is the only thing I will sort of rant on (Don't worry I promised to keep this spoiler free, remember?) Her portrayal is more believable in the books than in the show, because of who she is involved with. Tyrion and Shae have just never truly been believable for me. The attachment has seemed forced because of what needs to take place this season. I will leave it at that. Understand that seasons 3 and 4 are one season. One story. Look at this first episode as episode 11 and not 1. Season 1 and 2 stand on their own. That is why the connection between Shae and Tyrion should have begun to deteriorate more last season. Sure, she was jealous because she assumed Tyrion bedded Sansa after their wedding, but this fight needed to happen earlier some how. It fits for the non-book readers, but not for those who know better. It feels rushed to the book readers. Case in point, my reasoning earlier in this paragraph seems strained because of gap in time between seasons. Remember, Jaime told Cersei after she refused his advances, "I've been here for weeks!" I thought that was truthful. Shae's outburst to Tyrion, I did not buy at all. Perhaps it's the acting?

 

- Daenerys. Yup besides the growth of her dragons her storyline has become stagnant since episode 8 of last season. We're getting into the meat of her voyage through the slave arc. Her understanding of what it means to be a ruler- "I will do what Queens do. I will rule," her quote from one of the trailers will be a slow transition; 163 miles on foot to be exact. One interesting thing you may have noticed was the change of actor. Daario Naharis looks different and is acting different. I applaud the change because this actor is doing a much better job than last season's actor. Daario is supposed to go through a slow process of trying to win Dany's trust and ultimately her heart. This actor is smoother and more believable than the actor from last season. It was going way too fast last season. It completely undermined Dany in the final two episodes. It even bordered on cheesy at some points. Obviously Dany misses Drogo but the viewer only feels that way because the show runners butchered the house of the undying two seasons back.

 

- A few tidbits from this episode.

 

-  QUOTES- A few good ones. Let's start with Cersei her quote was the most important one.

 

-  Cersei- "Everything's changed!" It certainly has...

 

 "Now I've been forced to marry my eldest son to a wicked little witch from Highgarden while I'm supposed to marry her brother, a renowned pillow biter." This is why I love Cersei!

 

- Maester Aemon on how he can tell when someone isn't lying. "I grew up in King's Landing." Love that quote.

 

- The Hound was hilarious in this one. "What the fucks a Lommy?" 

 

  "You're a talker. Talkers make me thirsty."

 

-Bronn- "I'd like a sigil." Awesome delivery by Jerome Flynn.

 

- Best moments from this episode.

 

-Joffrey's posing statue shot was BRILLIANT! I LAUGHED SO HARD WHEN I SAW THIS!

 

-Arya smiling when The Hound said, "Fuck the King." Also her smile when riding the horse at the end. And finally obviously her killing the two men. Arya is slowly becoming a bad ass.

 

-Tyrion turning down whores. Even The Red Viper was surprised haha 

 

-Bronn and The Red Viper banter was awesome. I love Bronn. He is also a great character, who is sure to get more time on the show than in the books. 

 

- Cersei and Jaime's Meisner scene. I loved their back and forth. Anyone who has taken Improvisational Theatre- Meisner understands how nice of a scene that was. Jaime was calling her out on everything. The stakes were high. The wants were clear and present. The truth was present throughout that entire scene. Beautifully acted part.

 

-Brienne being called "Marvelous" and "Absolutely singular," by  Lady Olenna Tyrell was perfect. Brienne the beauty is not used to receiving compliments. She's used to Jaime's barbs.

 

Final thoughts. We saw the Dreadfort in the opening credits but were not taken there in the opener which was wise. Plenty of time for 3 episodes of The Boltons this season. Mereen looks good as well. Cannot wait to see it.  

 

The Hound slamming that guy's head onto the point of his sword: hard to watch, but come on, you know you couldn't look away.

 

We still have not seen Mace Tyrell yet. He is the father of Margery and Loras. The big oaf will show up soon enough.

 

Overall this episode did a fantastic job of covering many story lines while maintaining a good pace. Game of Thrones has had a bit of a difficult time in doing that in the past, which is of course natural because of the sheer size in subject matter to cover. I hope the pace remains the same throughout the season.

 

Next episode marks the final wedding! Excited? I sure am! 

 

-Here is the trailer for Sunday's episode-Beware of the spoilers in the comment section... Game of Thrones- 4x02 "The Lion and the Rose."

 

Bran, Melisandre and Stannis are all back next episode. It looks like Shae slaps Bronn and Ramsay is hunting...well you will just have to find out exactly what this Sunday.

 

 Overall I give this first episode an 8.7

 

Please leave your comments below! 

 

 

"Game of Thrones Premiere!" By Greg Hernandez

Tonight the most action packed season of the fantasy epic is set to premiere.

This pivotal fourth season will begin to wrap up the events of the third novel, "A Storm of Swords," at 9pm on HBO.

The worst part of the storm is here...I know, you're all salivating.

Tonight we return to the violent, sex crazed, alcoholic, misogynistic, political, religious and supernatural world of Game of Thrones.
  
Here are seven things I'm excited for this upcoming season. Do not worry, NO SPOILERS HERE! 

1.  Family is an important aspect of survival in the world of Game of Thrones. The Lannisters are all back together again. This season will mark the first time that Tywin, Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion and Joffery are all under one castle. The house is at the height of its power to start this season. With the impending marriage with House Tyrell and the defeat of the Stark army last season, House Lannister is set to cement its reign of Westeros.

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   2.  The Red Viper is hands down one of the best characters that George R.R. Martin has ever written. This character epitomizes Game of Thrones. He essentially can do what ever he wants when he wants! Women lust for him, men envy his skills in battle, the young ones idolize him. He is uncompromising, passionate and let's just say he is not only here for the wedding! The introduction of Prince Oberyn Martell adds a new dimension to the show. The audience will get an insight to Dorne. We've heard Tyrion make a jape or two in past seasons and even saw Myrcella shipped off to Dorne for her protection before the battle of the blackwater in season 2. Things will get testy with the Lannisters, Tyrells and Martells all under one roof.

3. The return of characters from past seasons. Get ready. There are a few characters we have not seen in a while. Ranging from seasons 1-3. The one obvious happens to be the most recent: Mance Rayder the King Beyond The Wall. We'll see more of his Wildling army this season. Bringing these characters back into the fold will not only provide a nice boost to the season but will give one particular character HELL this season. I cannot wait to see this on the small screen.

4. Staying with The wall it's the perfect transition for the ACTION. Neil Marshal, director of episode 9 of season 2, "Blackwater" is the director of episode 9 of this season. We can expect a major battle during that episode (Book readers already know what I'm referring to). The two show runners David Benioff & D. B. Weiss have done a terrific job of surpassing each season.  I do expect the battles during this season to be even more exciting! Jon Snow and Ygritte had their major break up last season. With the two characters back on opposing sides this season, you are guaranteed for some carnage.

 

5.  The pairings. The unique changes from the book on to the screen are what truly make the experience of watching the show so titillating for me personally. So many characters in the books do not get a chance to meet each other or are never reunited. It is different on the show, to save time, many characters are partnered up which creates weird duos at first, but ultimately translate into awesome viewing. Case in point this season. From one of the trailers Ser Jaime Lannister is practicing his sword play with Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. In the books he practices with Ser Ilyn Payne instead, who is obviously mute. I am hoping the show will pair these two characters together. These two would make an interesting pair. Two stone cold killers. Brienne of Tarth ans Ser Loras Tyrell. Remember Renly Baratheon? His death in season 2 is believed to be committed by Brienne/Lady Stark. They were after all the last two people to see him alive. The biggest change in pairing from book to screen so far is below. And quite frankly it made the most sense.

 6.  The fantastic quotes! One of the reasons why this show has been successful is the writing. Good writing trumps all in the film business. A well written script is the equivalent of a Christmas gift for an actor. My three favorite quotes from the first three seasons are:

- Season 1: "There is only one god, and His name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: "not today.""

- Season 2:  "Power resides where men believe it resides. It's a trick. A shadow on the wall."

- Season 3: A tie- I'm a cheater, I don't care. These two quotes were the best from this past season.

"Chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a ladder. Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some are given a chance to climb; they cling to the realm or the gods or love. Only the ladder is real. The climb is all there is."

and of course... 

"If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention." 

I am looking forward to more epic quotes this season.

7. One last wedding...

 

Here is the preview for the first episode, titled, "Two Swords." "Two Swords" Preview

What are you most excited for this season? Let us know! 

What are your favorite quotes? Let us know!!

I will be reviewing each episode every Monday night!

-Greg Hernandez

"Last Chapter" Short Story By Greg Hernandez

Gregory Hernandez

Fiction

Last Chapter

O God, it was addicting. Every sentence pleasured him. Each turn of the page was a predictable award for his dopamine. It gave him the motivation to read voraciously. The quietness aided his concentration. Everything was tranquil, like when you bow your head during a moment of silence: at a eulogy or sporting event. The calming effect was interminable. He could not hear any foot-steps in the hallway. Life in either adjacent room seemed non-existent. How could a hotel be this dead? He sat in a chair near the window with the curtains drawn. Feet were propped up on the table. The end of his long magniloquent journey was near. All was perfect, until a noise disturbed him.

It was a slow, barely-audible turn of the knob. The door bolt being forced out of its locked position made his body tense. He reeled at the faint push of the door. It creaked open a few inches. A circular object speared through the void. It bounced several times and rolled in front of the bed. Dark red liquid oozed from the bottom. He shot up from his seat. It was a head! The face was deformed-nose, ears, eyes, lips, and hair were all missing-the mouth was open and some of the front teeth had been smashed out.

The door closed. A stranger locked it nonchalantly. He waved a bent gift card, “It’s easier to break into a room, when you have one of these, less noise and it’s cheap too.” He pointed to the maimed head with a sneer and said, “Don’t recognize him? Well, the way he looks now, I can’t either. That was the rude hotel clerk.” He spat on the head and set a small plastic bag down, containing a pair of latex gloves, the kind you see in a physician’s office. He took out a pistol and dangled it by his thigh. “This is a Type 67 silenced pistol. Silenced, is the operative word,” he said with a smirk. “My name is Harry. Frank told you all about me I’m sure…No need to grab your chest. I don’t want you having a heart attack now. Just, tell me, where’s the money?”

Dan could only hear the loud thumping in his chest. His eyes went from the gun to Harry’s face. No words would form. Harry scowled, “Dan, tell me where the money is.” The timbre of his voice sounded like the backfiring of a colt 45 magnum, hitting your eardrum. It lingered.

Dan was shouting in his head. ”WHY NOW? WHY NOT AN HOUR LATER? WHY DID HE HAVE TO ARRIVE NOW? I NEEDED MORE TIME!”

Dan's eyes darted toward the window briefly, but he knew it was futile. The hotel room was located on the twenty-third floor. He grimaced. Everything in the room seemed to tremble. It took him a moment to realize it was his body shaking.

Harry lifted his silencer and took aim. With only a modicum of control over his body, Dan elevated his chin and blurted out, “Give me fifteen minutes to live.” He gabbled like an innocent man in hand cuffs. He waved the book with his left hand and declared, “Th-this book is brilliant! I’m so close. Hey! You can keep the gun pointed at me while I read.” He flipped the pages quickly and counted. “Not much left to go!” Tears streamed down his cheeks. “Don’t kill me yet.” He sucked in a breath. “A-A few more pages then you can end me.” He forced a smile. “You can wait that long can’t you? I’m on the last chapter.”

Harry was surprised by Dan's defiance, yet remained inexorable.  On the outside his narrowed eyes showcased the lack of amusement. However, thoughts of a reprieve briefly entered his mind. Perhaps he could sit down and let this idiot finish his book. Yeah, rest in this chair, cross his legs, and watch this nervous son of a bitch blaze through the last few pages. He would have to keep the gun on him. No! This was a ploy- some diversion for escape. Besides, even if he were telling the truth, it was insanity. It was like Dan had just forged a contract on the spot. This was his shield! Some novel…bullshit! You screw with Frank Bruno, you have to go. He took a step forward and cocked the gun.

Harry pulled the trigger as Dan uttered the last word of his life, a small pitiful “No.” The blood spattered from his head and onto the book. He slouched in his chair while the book landed perfectly closed on the floor with a red ribbon still intact on the correct page. Dan's eyes remained open. Blood leaked out of the large bullet hole in the center of the forehead; it went down the bridge of his nose and into his left eye.

Harry picked up the novel and looked it over. Dan's final word echoed in his mind. He chuckled at the title of the novel, “Well, ‘Last Will’ eh, must have been one hell of a read, huh Dan?” He sucked his teeth when there was no response. He shoved the book in his coat pocket. After twenty minutes of searching for the money, he called Frank B. on his cell phone and told him the bad news.

Priscilla was a light sleeper. The faintest noises always woke her, so Harry was not surprised when he saw some movement behind the curtains of their bedroom window. The low humming of the garage door’s slow elevation must have broken her slumber. He parked the sedan and entered the house. He flicked the light switch on in the kitchen and immediately checked the fridge. “Club soda in the fridge and vodka in the freezer, not much choice here,” he thought.

Harry sauntered into the dark bedroom, club soda in hand; the curtains were parted, Priscilla’s back was to the window. She was crouching in a track runner’s starting position on the middle of the bed. The moonlight flowed through the room and revealed her nakedness. Her light blonde hair shone in the light, giving her the appearance of a lioness on the prowl, ready to pounce. The feeling in the air was primal. She lay down flat on her stomach and adjusted her hair; it looked like a lion’s mane.

“Trying to be creepy?” Harry joked.

“You’re home early from the city.” Priscilla purred, “A nice surprise.”

“Not much trouble tonight.” he said, draining his glass.

            Harry set the glass down on the nightstand and began to undress. He felt Priscilla’s eyes on him. Something about being watched in the dark by his vivacious girlfriend made him feel liberated. It was like being powerless. The vulnerability was nirvana. If she suddenly attacked him, he would no doubt feel compelled to let her win.

Priscilla could hear him strip off every article of clothing. He hung his fedora up on a hook next to the closet, followed by his trench coat, and suit. He unlaced his shoes and slid them underneath the chair. Finally, he slowly pulled down his underwear and threw it on the lounge chair and approached the bed with an erection. The side show was over. She crawled toward the edge and met his stiff cock. She caressed his large chest slowly and kissed him softly on his lips. Her hands worked back down toward his member. Her intricate work made him moan. She wrapped her arms around him and whispered a soft cogent “Now” in his ear. Harry lifted her up off the bed by the waist. Her petite hands could not lock around his wide back. He laid her down on the middle of the bed and guided himself inside of her.

Harry dreamed of a revolving bobble head. Its face was hideous and bloody. Like Rorschach without his mask. It was suspended in space, drifting without destination. The face bawled. “You didn’t let me finish! You didn’t let me finish! But you got to finish with her tonight! You didn’t let me finish MY BOOK!”

He awoke feeling cold and hot. He was sweating profusely. The crack of his ass was moist. The bedroom window was shut. Sloppy he told himself, plain sloppy. He opened the window and then staggered toward the kitchen for a drink of tap water.

When he stretched out in bed and closed his eyes the face reappeared. A pouty face with red eyes like fire and pulled out hair. The face was angry. “Why were you so impatient? Why? Why didn’t you show mercy and let me finish? I was dead anyway. Just didn’t have enough heart to let me finish, huh? ANSWER ME!”

He jumped out of bed. A startled Priscilla asked him what was wrong. “N-nightmares.” he stammered. He promptly dressed and left the bedroom. He dismissed his girlfriend’s inquiries with a grunt and set off for a walk.

The streets were peaceful. Nobody was around to make a racket. Harry checked his watch. 4:13 Am. He couldn’t believe he was out at this hour. If somebody saw him prowling the streets now, they would think he was committing some illicit act. He looked at his outfit and tipped his hat with two fingers. With his grey fedora on and trench coat pulled up tight, he admitted that he looked suspicious. He eyed several houses, and then set off again at a brisk pace. The cold air soothed him. It allowed him to put his paranoid thoughts aside.

The face in his dream looked like a caricature of the man he killed several hours ago. It was strange because he felt no guilt over that assignment. As a matter of fact he took pleasure in offing the son of a bitch before he could finish his stupid book. It felt like a cartoon show where the elusive main character did not make it out alive at the end of the episode. Everything had slowed down in those final moments: the man frantically asking for more time before his death, the book falling to the ground, the chair squeaking as the body fell back from the impact of the gunshot. This was a big character going down. Harry found it disconcerting to be dwelling on this matter. “Why I am awake?” he thought aloud. He rarely looked back on things like this. Twenty years of committing murder, hardened his spirit.

Harry stopped to think of his murder count. “Nope, too high,” he laughed. Most men never saw it coming. For those that did though, it was always the usual last resort, life clinging, rambling. Many men would bring up the fact that they had families, or made promises. Some offered cash that was hidden in some secret location. Hell, one guy even recited his safe combination without missing a beat. Of course, in the end, a majority of them would break down and cry.

He stopped and stared at the sky. There were no clouds. Instead the sky was littered with stars. He tried to count them, but could not focus. He sighed and settled his sights on the crescent moon. It was bright and lonely. He took out a pack of cigarettes, lit up, and blew the smoke toward the sky. Then, he remembered the book in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked it over. It was worn out. Harry flipped through the pages to discover the condition was even worse on the inside. The pages were yellow and spotty with what appeared to be coffee and spaghetti stains. It wasn’t a library book, so it only showed how big of a slob Dan was. He shut the book with a loud clap. With his hands at his sides now he let it dangle on the edge of his fingertips. He wanted to drop the book and walk back home. Yet, a thought echoed in his mind.

“What made this murder different from all of the rest?” Harry cogitated. A car whizzed by blaring its loud horn, shattering his thoughts. He realized then that he was standing in the middle of the road.

Harry’s eyes were bloodshot. He spent two hours on the porch smoking an entire pack before crawling back into bed for one hour of uncomfortable tossing, turning, adjusting, pulling the sheets, sighing, and fluffing the pillow. Priscilla managed to sleep through his ordeal. She yawned, scratched his head, said good morning and stretched in front of the bed for ten minutes. Her noisy morning routine had begun. Normally, Harry slept through it, but now wide awake and cranky; he was helpless against her unruly assault.  

Priscilla made her way to the kitchen to make coffee. She came back through the room and entered the bathroom to shower. The curtain flew back and forth, the sound of water pounding the curtains and the bathtub floor coursed through Harry’s ears. When the coffee maker buzzed to announce that it was done brewing, she emerged from the bathroom, body toweled, humming a tune from one of her favorite musicals. The toaster dinged, and the utensils rattled, the refrigerator opened and closed. The noise was constant. She re-entered the room crunching on the toast and asked, "Are you OK?" Harry withheld eye contact and simply nodded his head with an expression on his face that yelled you-loud-clumsy-woman-hurry-the-fuck-up-and-get-out-of-here. She washed out her mug because she had this obsessive compulsive routine of not leaving any dirty dishes in the sink before she left for work.

 The quietest moments were when she got dressed. However, she had a bad habit of walking back and forth to search for one item that she misplaced. She would be out the door and back again because she forgot something, whether it was her lunch or the car keys. When she finally left and didn’t come back, Harry closed his eyes.

The comfort of silence was palpable, yet Harry could not fall asleep. He tossed and turned, and then threw the covers off in frustration.  He stumbled toward the bathroom and banged his knee on the side of the entrance. In a quick 180-degree turn, he grabbed his knee in pain and slammed his shoulder up against the handle of the bathroom cabinet, cutting himself. He winced slightly and stopped his momentum. As the pain began to cease he stared into the mirror and found a bald man with red eyes and a cut on his left shoulder looking at him. The blood flowed down his arm at a steady pace.

Harry lay in bed, shirtless, his shoulder patched up. The afternoon arrived and he still had not slept. Television irritated him, yet he turned it on to drown out the incessant burbling of two plump pigeons outside. Finally, he decided to shut the television off and get dressed. He was feeling hungry and had no desire to cook. He left the house and lumbered down the road a few blocks to a nearby café.

The brilliant autumn sun shone brightly. It warmed his face and hands. Three young children were playing with a miniature football on their front lawn. The two older boys ganged up on the youngest and tackled him hard to the ground. The young boy ran into the house, sobbing. Harry chuckled. “That’ll toughen him up.”

With his mood upbeat again, he wore a small smile. It felt good to be out of the house. He preferred being outside. You’re cut off from everything when inside, but being outside leaves you exposed. You’re deep in the world, whether you like it or not. A house is only necessary for shelter and your belongings. A home is more than a shelter. A home is an abstract idea infused with the owner’s intrinsic values. That is why it’s scary when someone breaks into your home. They have not only invaded your area of peace, your sanctuary, they have invaded you.

The coziness of the cafe kept Harry at ease. He ordered coffee and read the newspaper that he bought on the way. It made him feel slightly old-fashioned reading it there while everyone else had their electronic devices to keep themselves occupied. Young adults looked like bobble heads with their over-the-head ear phones on. They were in their own worlds; head-banging, snapping their fingers, humming and playing air guitar all while they ate.

Harry ordered beef barley soup with a chicken sandwich on rye. When it arrived he ate it with gusto. On page six there was a short article regarding the hotel clerk and Dan. Dan Watts was his full name. He was a producer in the movie business, but more importantly a degenerate gambler with some outstanding debts to pay. According to the article, “Gambling and alcohol caused the inevitable vicissitudes in Dan's life.” Harry chortled, “Ah, way to distort the truth Frank.”  Of course it was obvious that Dan owed a ton of money to Frank B. Dan believed he was on the cusp of some great movie idea. With the successful implementation of said idea, he would then be able to pay off his debt to Frank B. His plan was to adapt a series of books into several full-length movies. Sure, that idea might have floated well with one of his contemporaries, but not with Frank. Frank never liked movies. His reaction toward Dan's so called brilliant proposal was remarkable. He actually laughed. Frank never laughed.

Conducting a business proposition over the phone with a volatile gangster who you happen to owe a major debt is a huge mistake. Now, there are only three occasions when that strategy has any merit. A) You are in possession of an important hostage. B) You have an ace in the hole. C) Someone else will be delivering the money to said volatile gangster. Dan held the final book of some famous series. Hiding out in a New York City hotel under an alias only prolonged his death. It took Harry three days to find him.

Harry’s thoughts drifted back to the novel still in his possession. Harry was not an avid reader. Newspapers and magazines were one thing, but books? No. This book was thick, too. He turned it over, frowned at the weight, and checked the length. It was just shy of 600 pages. Why he had kept it, he did not know. Keepsakes were meant for psychos. Harry sighed and began to read. As he hit the second page his cell buzzed. Frank B. had called a meeting.

The train doors closed behind him. He found a seat alone near the window and rested his head against the pane. A man walked past his seat. The sight of his underwear disgusted Harry. ”Only in the afternoons do you see that,” Harry thought. “In the mornings the Metro North is packed with SUITS!”

Fourteen stops were plenty of time for a good nap. Harry blinked twice before shutting his eyes. He awoke six stops later and found a youth reading next to him. “The car is mostly empty; why didn’t this kid find another seat? This row has a total of six seats. Why the hell, sit next to me?” The youth was a college-type, draped in University gear from head to toe. Harry cleared his throat, looked the youth up and down, and decided he was not worth telling off. As he turned back over to nap again a sudden panic took hold of him. His eyes burst open and they remained that way as he caught sight of the title of the book he was reading, “Last Will.” What were the fucking odds? He spied the kid’s progress. He was about sixty pages in.

“I once knew a fellow who enjoyed that book in your hands.” Harry spoke as if he were having a conversation with the seat in front of him. “He didn’t get to finish it though.”

 “Really, that sucks…” The kid made no attempt to hide his disinterest.

Harry narrowed his eyes and shook his head, with a really-you-sit-right-next-to-me-on-this-fucking-train-and-blow-me-off-when-I-try-to-make-conversation. He persisted, asking the youth how the book was so far. The kid looked up from his book and glanced at Harry, his face softened. He elaborated on the book.

 “It’s great so far. I mean, I didn’t know what to expect from a fantasy/mystery novel; but it’s written by this very famous Japanese author, who’s renowned for his wonderful prose. I’m already engrossed.” he laughed. “You would think a story about a family of super naturals fighting over the will of their deceased patriarch would be dumb, but no.  They all begin to suspect each other as...” He trailed off. “Hmm…I don’t want to give anything else away. Uh, I just found out the author died two weeks after the book’s release.” The kid smiled sadly, “He was young, only middle-aged. I bet he’ll get a posthumous award.” The kid turned abruptly, understanding his loquaciousness and resumed reading.

The kid got off on the next stop. Harry stared out of the window and watched him walk down the stairs until the train pulled out once again and he was out of view. He purposely missed his stop, and remained in the car until the last stop. His body felt heavy like a dense suitcase. The conductor’s voice boomed over the speaker, commanding all riders to vacate the car. He exited sluggishly and fell down on the bench like a drunkard.

Harry no longer had any intention of meeting with his boss now. He slouched and closed his eyes. A feeling of curiosity and incompletion gnawed at him. The job was not finished. He accepted that fact axiomatically. Dan was dead, but it still left one thing. The book; he needed to read it to understand, not the man he murdered, no, that was an impossible endeavor, however, making an effort to understand the murder itself was plausible. Trying to understand why he died for a book was possible. The face of Dan Watts reappeared in his mind more vividly than before and this time it was not sad, in fact it looked irate. A pistol hovered around the head at a slow pace. It was aimed at the floating head. Dan cursed and wailed and spat at Harry. His veins on his forehead were bulging. His eyes were dark red. His face was purple. He looked worse than dead. The gun fired point blank at his forehead. Harry jumped up clutching his own forehead and chest. His heart was racing, he was sweating, and his ears hurt from the noise of the gunshot. It went off again. Harry stumbled forward. Once more the sound came. He was losing his balance. It came again and again. BANG! BANG! His panic slowly dissipated once he found the source of the noise. It was not a gunshot at all, but the sound of lumber hitting lumber at a construction site down the street.

Harry caught himself at the edge of the platform, eyes on the track, thinking of Dan. “Did Dan lead me here?” He felt a cool breeze touch his neck. The whisper of the wind was his answer. “Come and lie down on the tracks with me,” the wind seemed to tease. Harry slowly backed away from the edge. Then suddenly the breeze picked up and pounded his back. He teetered over the edge for a few seconds, until he threw his head back with all his force. He flopped back onto the bench, mouth agape.

A middle-aged man with close-cropped hair and sunglasses sat two seats away. He was dubiously removing lint from his wool sweater. The man stopped what he was doing and peered at a heavily breathing Harry. He asked Harry if he was alright, but received no reply. The man continued to speak. He rambled on about panic attacks, heart disease, strokes, divorces, children, alimony, healthcare, proverbial mid-life crisis, his thoughts in comparison with the quarter life crisis, old age, retirement and the grave.

Harry looked down at the man’s shoes. His socks didn’t match. The banging noise resumed. He gritted his teeth. He could not concentrate on anything now. The man had still not stopped talking. Suddenly he said a phrase that made Harry snap in to attention. Harry asked him to repeat it. So the man did. “I said you look like you’re in the last chapter of your life.” Harry froze. He could not seem to form the words to refute the man’s statement. The banging of the lumber raged on.

Harry clenched his fists and bit his knuckle, and mumbled a “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man spoke again, his voice sounding different this time, deranged instead of concerned. “You didn’t let me finish!” Harry looked at the man; his face had contorted into a wicked sneer. A red leaking hole appeared in his forehead. His hair changed colors from grey to dark brown. The wave of hair caused the receding hair line to disappear. Suddenly the man had transformed into Dan. He stared with intensity in his eyes. He cocked his head to the side and said, “Don’t you hate that noise? Damages the ear drums you know.”

Harry shrieked and ran away. Down the stairs he went three at a time. He hit the sidewalk and continued in a sprint; Dan's presence with him all the way. After several blocks he tripped and fell down. He crawled toward a lamp post. His knees ached. He felt dizzy and anxious. Each breath was difficult to take. He heaved up the soup from earlier.  Pedestrians stared with disgust as the vomit flowed down his chin and coat. He crawled on all fours in a frenzied semi-circle. His cell phone fell out of his pocket. He stopped, then hurriedly picked it up and called Priscilla.

Harry arrived home in a taxi. Priscilla met him at the house and paid the fare. She was shaken at the sight of him. She said he looked sick. He collapsed in her arms. The last noise he heard was the screaming of his name. HARRY!

Harry awoke in bed to darkness. His mouth was dry and his head burned. A small trail of light came from the living room. He knew his girlfriend was there. He was thankful to her for not calling an ambulance. A green light flickered on the nightstand next to Dan's book. It was his cell phone. He checked it and found four new voice-mails. Frank had to be furious. He dialed voice-mail and entered his password. The first message came on with a strong whimper. A frantic tone that sounded familiar. The lights in the living room went off. Harry turned on his side away from the door. The voice ceased whimpering and the first message ended. The second one began with a shout of “No, No, No!” The same “No,” that Dan uttered right before the bullet penetrated his skin. The sound of the door creaking forced Harry to turn around to face a small figure in the doorway. Harry gasped as the figure turned the lights on, pistol in hand pointing it at him. The third message came on with a click. He began to shout his girlfriend’s name- as the fourth message ended with a bang-PRISCILLA!

Priscilla had never seen her boyfriend look as frightened and pathetic as he did that night. She found him hunched up in the corner of the bedroom with his head in his knees and his hands covering his ears, shouting vociferously for help.

 For days she worried about his incessant insomnia. He had undergone a grotesque transformation. The bags under his eyes were heavy. His face was dirty and unshaven. The once brawny sculpt of man had shrunk to a scrawnier version of her Harry. His skin had begun to change into the color of curdled milk. Harry’s body odor was unbearable. He refused to bathe or change his clothing. Priscilla begged him to wash and shave his armpits, but he gave her a nasty rejection. Her once charming companion had become a recluse, never leaving the house, and barely leaving their bedroom. He turned off his phone, disconnected the house phone and refused to let any light enter the house. Whenever she checked up on him, he would shout at her about needing every minute of the day to read.

Harry’s change shattered Priscilla’s equilibrium. It made her reminisce of their first few encounters. Three years ago on their second date, he told her jokingly, “No kids, no marriage, and no questions, that’s how I operate.” She remembered how upbeat and funny he used to be. How his signature off-the-cuff remarks and dark humor won her over immediately. She realized early on, that it was his way of showing her his honesty. She remembered the first time she found blood on his shirt. The juxtaposition of her fear and his reaction, when she confronted him about it was incomprehensible; Harry switched his tone to a casual, almost child-like-voice, the sort of aw-shucks, voice you see in old cartoons. It was like a playful yeah, you caught me, but I wanted to be caught anyway, “No need to worry babe, I bring the monster to work, never at home.” It was all a job to him. As long as she never brought it up, things would go smoothly. His boisterous attitude always buoyed her mood, but now her morose, snarling boyfriend mopes, curses, cries and scratches the back of the bathroom door when he’s thirsty. She could not fathom the cause behind her lover’s change.

Harry required little nourishment. So, Priscilla bought an assortment of snacks from a delicatessen and placed them in the bathroom. She also, laid out several jars of vitamins on the bathroom counter. It was her desperate attempt to keep some semblance of good health for Harry. He felt content to remain in the bathroom with the lights on while Priscilla slept. She wanted him in bed with her, but the stench was so foul, you could not be within ten feet of him without covering your nose or furiously spraying an air-freshener. Sometimes at night she would listen to his whimpering. It sounded like a dog trapped in a cage with its own urine. He wandered around listlessly in the dark, stating which chapter, page he was on, and how much he had left to go. At times she could make out bits and pieces of a potentially one-sided conversation, which always ended with the repeat of the word “No, no, no, no!” It terrified her. However, when she confronted him about it during the day-time, he fleetingly reassured her that it was all a trial. He promised her that this ordeal would be over soon. She just had to be patient. Once he was finished with this book, everything would be normal again.

One morning, Harry asked Priscilla to spend a weekend with her mother. She thought the request crazy. The idea of driving south to West Virginia, to spend time with her mother instead of taking care of her Harry was out of the question. She pursed her lips and asked him to come with her. Yet, Harry remained obstinate, telling her that he needed time alone to figure things out, and most of all to finish his books. She left Friday morning in tears, with a bruised cheek.

The air was terrible. It was dark and cool. The door kept the light from coming in. Harry was half way through “Last Will,” when he realized his shit had changed form and color. He kneeled over the toilet seat and stared at the unrecognizable excrement with astonishment. He furrowed his brows and turned away, all the while holding his stomach as he thought about the last meal he ate.

The letters D-A-N were carved into the bathroom door. Harry’s long dirty nails were sharp. His dry, bloody lips made him moan for lip balm, but it came out sounding like “Lim-Bo.” Harry’s stomach churned. His head throbbed and his skin burned. His ribs began to show. He intermittently read. The lack of concentration and feeling of disorientation were fueled by shocks of hunger pangs.

Dan seemed to follow Harry everywhere in the house. He hovered over Harry’s back in relentless spite. His persistent mocking of Harry’s slow reading pace was like a vulture’s circling of a dying mammal. Harry missed the quietness and solitude of his home. He somnambulistically opened drawers and cabinets in the kitchen in search for food.

“READ!” commanded Dan. “There is not much time left to finish!”

“Hungry…I’m feeling…hungry.” Harry slurred.

“Quiet…read…I must know…how it ends…” Dan's voice was now low. He placed an emphasis on his (s). Harry thought he had a lisp, but the funny thought was buried when Dan growled at him. It made Harry shudder as he turned the page.

Dan did not let Harry shower. He seldom allowed Harry to drink water either. If Harry did manage to slip by him it was only for a few seconds of bathroom water. Sometimes Dan would disappear but it was only a trick that he played on Harry. Whenever Harry took a break from reading to lie down on the floor and sleep, or crawl to the door to make a quick trip to the kitchen for a snack, Dan would appear with Harry’s gun cocked and ready.

One morning, the slow enervation had finally taken its toll on Harry. He lashed out at Dan. He jerked awake and reached for his own gun, only to discover that it was his flashlight that he used for reading. When Harry looked up, Dan was gone. Harry slowly retreated to the corner of the bathroom adjacent to the toilet. He pulled the shower curtains over him like a blanket and faded into unconsciousness. He opened his eyes to the sound of numerous joints cracking all at once. He looked up at all the cracks on the ceiling. They were moving. The cracks spread out all over the ceiling. He heard the word “No” ring out a few times. In his bones, he knew it was Dan. As the echo reached a crescendo he saw something liquefy through the cracks. Harry’s jaw slackened. Drops of black liquid exploded on his face. He felt a weird urge to suck in the liquid like a vacuum. His tongue escaped the safety of his mouth and touched the smooth dark fluid. It tasted like a sour cocktail. His face twitched as he sat up. He vomited in the toilet and fell back on the floor weakly. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and began to laugh. He thought about his 20’s when he did coke, had hair, and was slim. Now he was in his 40’s, bald, slimmer, and had swapped coke for the ubiquitous Dan.

Loud thumps echoed from the front door. Harry was unhindered. Then a loud crash came. The front door had collapsed. Harry grabbed the book and held it to his chest. He scurried about the bathroom for his hand gun. It was not in the bathroom. “Dan took it, fucking bastard,” he thought. Three short light knocks touched Harry’s ears like a bucket of ice cold water thrown on a drunk. He held his breath and gaped at the door. The doorknob gently turned. He exhaled. He heard multiple voices and sounds. One was calm and quiet, the other nervous. The sound of a gun being cocked forced Harry back up against the wall. The door swooshed open and a large brute with a black trench coat and black fedora stood ready with a shotgun. He took aim at Harry for a few seconds before casting a disparaging look at him and deeming him no threat. Harry felt a little scared but mostly insulted. His fear was amplified when the brute vacated the room at the behest of his boss.

Frank was a tall lean man with a soft voice. Very few men mistook his tone as lenient. Men who failed to make that distinction did not live long. He sported black shades and a black walking cane. It almost made him look like an old movie star, which of course if you knew Frank, you recognized the irony. He removed his shades and squinted at Harry in disbelief. The sight of a malnourished, bearded homeless looking man wearing a worn out brown stained white collared shirt and faded black pants caused him to do a double-take. He turned slightly to one of his brutes and whispered, “You sure this is the right place?” His brute gave a curt nod. Frank shook his head at the gaunt figure. He made it obvious that the mere sight of the new Harry repulsed him.

            “Pull him out of there,” Frank murmured as he walked out. “Lay him on the bed. I’ll speak to him there.”

            “Good call,” said one of the brutes.  He looked relieved. “The smell is horrible in here.”

            “Plus it’s too crammed,” chimed the other.

They were three. Frank the boss, and his two brutes, Anthony and Freddy. Frank pulled up Priscilla’s lounge chair. Anthony and Freddy stood at opposite sides of the bedroom with their hands at their sides. They looked at everything and nothing. Harry was in bed clutching the book. He felt sick, afraid and most of all vulnerable. He tried to sit up in bed but kept slouching. Frank wore a sad smile. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out as he stared at a picture of Harry and Priscilla on the nightstand.

            “Did she leave you?” Frank inquired.

            “Gone for a few days is all.” Harry said in mild tone.

Frank’s smile turned into a frown. His eyes darted toward Harry and then fell to the book in his arms.

            “You’ve abandoned me Harry,” Frank hissed, “My most reliable soldier abandons me for a book. Ten days without contact. You don’t answer your phone. You don’t answer the door. I’m left to assume that you’re either dead or skipped town to start life anew, yet here you are, frittering away your life in the bathroom.”

“You look like shit.” said Anthony with a pinched face.

            “And you smell worse than shit,” added Freddy who stood near the door with his nose wrinkled.     

Harry knew this act all too well. First, the swift accusation, then the lecture, which was chocked full of manufactured rhetorical pain, followed by the physical beating by the two brutes, that ultimately ends with the enforcer strolling in to finish the job. Harry wondered if Frank had found a replacement yet. He looked down at his toes with a solemn disposition. They were dry, cracked, and yellow.    

“Pay attention.” Frank snapped his fingers twice. “Why don’t you answer your phone huh? You’ve gone soft now? Mr. Sentimental, why do you have this book? Huh? Answer me, Harry!”

Harry felt miserable. There was a feeling of doom that surged through his body. Frank seldom raised his voice. If he decided to yell, the person’s chances for survival took a plunge. He could not meet Frank’s eyes. This was more than owning up to tardiness, this was the ultimate confession. Suddenly it felt like church. Frank was the priest and his two brutes were the altar boys. He could not tell them. He placed the book aside and began to sob, “I was so close to finishing. I was so close to understanding why he died.”

            “Jesus fucking Mary and Joseph,” chuckled Anthony.

Frank leaned back in the chair dumbfounded at this sudden outburst. Freddy moved forward to Frank’s side and whispered in his ear. Harry stopped crying. His eyes got really big. He saw brown hair slowly come into focus, then a forehead with a gunshot wound, and finally a wide grin. Dan hovered over the bed and directed Harry with his nose to the adjacent pillow. Harry blinked in amazement.  He felt for the pillow. Frank whispered to Freddy. Freddy gave a slight bow of his head and left the room. Harry’s eyes were now glued to Anthony. Anthony watched Freddy leave while Harry felt underneath his pillow. He felt something hard and cold.

“I brought someone.” Frank muttered. “In fact,” he said clearing his throat. “She’s the reason why we’re here.”

Harry was not listening. He now understood what his fingers were touching. Dan gave Harry a perfunctory nod and vanished. The pistol was there, but was it loaded? If so, how many bullets? Was the safety on or off? When was the last time he cleaned it? Could it be jammed? All of these questions were haunting him. Immersed in his paranoia, Harry froze when he caught sight of Anthony's gaze. “OH SHIT!” Harry thought. “He’s looking at me weird now. HE KNOWS! I can’t pretend I’m scratching my ass…I gotta do something quick!”

Harry cleared his throat, looked Frank right in the eyes, pointed his right finger at him, and recited a line from the Last Will novel, “Thou must pay for thy impudence!” Frank was taken aback. His eyebrows shot up. He put out his cigarette in the ashtray by the nightstand and glared at Harry. Harry appeared to be hallucinating. His exophthalmic eyes, thin face drenched in sweat, almost made him look demonic.

                        “Is he on crack or something?” Anthony sighed.

            Harry whipped out his pistol with his left hand and pulled the trigger twice. Both shots hit Anthony in the chest. He fell down over a chair and remained motionless. Frank yelled, “JESUS CHRIST, HARRY!” Harry swung his arm around and shot Frank once in the cheek. He fell back in the chair. It looked like he was a taking a nap now. A small trail of blood leaked out of his left cheek. Harry checked his pistol. Empty. He jumped out of the bed and ran to Anthony. He padded him down and took his weapon. A 38 fully loaded. “Wonderful,” Harry thought. He took a few steps toward Frank and fired one shot in his forehead.   

Freddy charged into the house like a college full back. He yelled when Harry pointed the gun at him, howled in pain when he was shot point blank in the stomach twice, and collapsed on the rug. He jerked his head up and groaned and cursed. Harry stood over him and fired one shot into his skull.

Large puddles of blood engulfed the three fresh corpses. Blood flowed to and around Harry’s feet. Blood covered his hands and clothes. The blood reached his toes. It felt warm. All the red filled him with zest. His opponents were dead, their mission to separate him from his book failed. Remembering his book, he jumped on the bed and showed it obeisance by holding it over his head. With his mouth open he gazed at his book and spun around in circles throwing the sheets and pillows off the bed and onto the red pool below.

Priscilla found Harry on the empty bed with the book in his left hand and a small gun in his right. Everything was quiet and still in the room. The tips of his toes touched the red floor. She covered her mouth and held in a gasp. The hallway floor creaked as she backed away. Harry lifted his head and gazed at her. In that brief moment the only thing that moved was her heart. It beat furiously. He flashed a yellow smile. “I’m on the last chapter,” he whispered. She fell to her knees and choked up. “The neighbors, they’ve, called the cops. They’re, coming any minute now.” Harry jumped up from the bed and clumsily tripped over a corpse. He cursed and bawled. He kicked Freddy’s body and shut the door in Priscilla’s face. She heard him lock it. The bathroom door slammed shut. He cried “NO!” repeatedly. “I’m not finished yet!” She heard the breaking of glass. “DAN!” he said in a guttural voice. She heard the approaching sirens. She knew that he could hear them coming too. She yelled his name several times. “Harry…Harry…HARRY!” She beat her fists on the door to no avail. She resumed yelling, “Harry…HARRY…HARRY, PLEASE!” The sounds of the sirens intensified. Cop cars and ambulances were closing in. She could hear the tires of the cars screech. Red flashes immersed the house. Their doors opened and closed in a hurry. Shouts of infiltrating commands surged through her eardrums. Footsteps resonated in her core. They were near. She turned to face the wave of cops. “HOLD UP THOSE HANDS!” they yelled. She sucked in her breath and froze. A gun shot went off. Her hands didn’t move. It was all over.