Rough Work Part II

by Adam Huddleston

Here is the continuation of last week’s story.

Lucas alternated hammering his fists against the Waldon’s front door and jabbing repeatedly at the bell beside it. A minute later, the door creaked open and Fred Waldon stood in the entrance, his massive frame eclipsing the light coming from his small kitchen.

“Lucas? What’s wrong? It’s nearly eleven o’clock.”

“Have you seen Kim or the kids today? I just got home and the car is in the garage but the house is empty. I can’t get ahold of her on the phone either.”

Fred took the frightened man by the elbow and led him into his home.

“Sit down, son. You want a drink?”

“No. No, I’m fine.”

Waldon grabbed a couple of longneck bottles from his fridge and sat down in the chair opposite the younger man. He twisted the caps off with large, calloused hands, handed one to Lucas and waited for him to speak.

“She didn’t say anything about going anywhere tonight. And the Suburban is in the garage so someone must have picked them up. I mean, the kids have school tomorrow and all, so why would she take them somewhere?”

Fred remained silent, sipping his pilsner. When his visitor had quit speaking for a minute, he cleared his throat.

“Relax, Lucas. Drink your beer and relax. What if I told you that your family is alright? Would that calm you down some?”

“What the hell, Fred? What’s going on? Where are they!” Lucas started to get up, and with a speed belying his size, the older man sprang to his feet and pressed Lucas back into his seat.

“Be still, son. Finish your drink. They’ve been chilling all day.”

Lucas kept a firm gaze on his neighbor and did as he was told. When the only thing left in the bottle was a thin line of foam, he lowered his eyes and began slowly peeling off the label. Feigning what he hoped was calmness, he began making an inventory of his surroundings. If the situation turned south, he wanted to know if he could escape. Regardless, he planned on keeping a firm grip on his empty bottle.

The older man nodded at Lucas’s free hand. “You cut yourself?”

Lucas looked down and reflexively closed his hand into a fist. “No sir. Been painting.”

Fred gave a small grunt and continued drinking.

“Okay, Fred. I gotcha. Everything’s cool. We’re good.”

The older man stood up and leaned over Lucas. “Damn right we’re good.” He reached one grimy hand behind his back and that’s when Lucas made his move.

Holding the glass bottle by its neck, he swung downward as hard as he could in a large arc. Fred’s eyes went wide for a moment, then the bottle connected with the top of his balding scalp and split the skin open. Warm blood splattered Lucas’s upturned face, running into his eyes and mouth.

“Whaaa-,“ Fred moaned. From a holster attached to his belt, he pulled a small pistol. Lucas swung the bottle again, this time cracking his neighbor’s left temple. Fred dropped to the floor, twitched twice, and lay still.

A Bit of Rough Work

by Adam Huddleston

This week I wanted to share a small portion of a suspense/thriller/drama I had tucked away from awhile back. Enjoy (if you want), or don’t, whatever.

Lucas pulled his car into the garage and killed the engine. His thoughts were on the last email he had received before leaving the office; a not-so-lighthearted scolding regarding sales vs. purchases. He never noticed the light that usually filtered through the bedroom window blinds was absent.

He popped the radio button and slid his thin frame out of the sedan. The door leading from the garage to his family’s laundry room was locked.

Great. I always leave it unlocked for her…

Lucas turned his key, wincing as the tumblers gave a tiny shriek. He rolled his eyes at the new project his wife would be laying on his shoulders that weekend.

He opened the door leading to the kitchen and stopped. No lights were on. The house was almost completely dark. The only light he could see was the digital green glow coming from the clock on the microwave above the stove.

“Babe!” he yelled. “Ya’ll already in bed?”

Nothing.

He flipped the switch on in the kitchen and moved from room to room, turning on lights as he went. His house was empty. No children. No wife.

Lucas thought back to when he pulled into the garage and remembered seeing the family SUV in its usual spot.

Well, where was everybody?

He pulled out his phone and hit his wife’s number under the “Favorites” list. Five rings later, her voicemail informed him that she wasn’t available and to leave his message after the beep.

He sat down on the soft leather sofa in the den and grabbed the remote lying beside him. His palm pressed into something moist and sticky.

“What the-“

He pulled up his right hand to reveal a dark red substance smeared across its surface. He swallowed hard and heard an audible click in his throat. His stomach seemed to twist on itself and he feared he might vomit the fast food burrito he’d scarfed down in the car all over the den’s tan carpet.

Lucas leaped up and took a long look at the remote control that had fallen to the ground. It sat there staring up at him with its numerous eyes. The top was covered in what looked like raspberry jam.

Without another thought, he spun on his heels and ran out the front door. He went straight to the Waldon’s house across the street, absently rubbing his stained hand against his slacks. It never occurred to him that this would be the worst decision of his life.