Deader than Dead

© Joshua Scribner

Dolton Twainer was rarely alone.  He seemed to prefer the public, and the public seemed to prefer him.  In the many nights that Larry Sims had watched the man, tonight was the first exception.  Twainer was walking alone in the park.  Larry followed at a safe distance as he calculated the logistics of various plans.  Then he felt like he had won the lottery when he saw Twainer step onto a trail into the woods.  Larry moved in.  He waited until he was on the trail before he pulled out his gun.  He took off his shoes, so as to make little noise.  He walked at a quickened pace and relished the thought of what lay ahead.  He was going to kill the man who had ruined his life.

He couldn't hear or see Twainer now.  The trail was not meant for night walking.  With little light, he had to use the surface beneath his feet to guide him.  When he felt the surface grow soft, he knew he had moved onto the grass and adjusted accordingly.  Occasionally, he brushed against the branch of a tree. 

Finally, he could clearly hear footsteps ahead.  He heard those steps stop.  Soon, his eyes having adjusted to the dark somewhat, he was able to make out a silhouette ahead of him.  It was very still.  Larry aimed his gun. 

He'd spent a lot to buy the pistol from a street dealer.  It had a built in silencer.  He pulled the trigger and the gun made no more sound than a bird would make. 

Twainer did not fall.  Larry was sure he couldn't have missed, but he fired again.  Still, Twainer did not fall.  It took another few seconds for Larry to figure it out.  The silhouette was very still, too still.  He had shot a decoy.

He heard a whoosh, and intense pain shot through his leg.  He fell backward to the ground.  A body came down on top of him.  His gun was snatched away.

He was quickly twisted to his stomach, and his right arm was locked behind his back.  He screamed out a combination of anger and pain.  He then shouted, “Damn you, Twainer!  You killed the woman I loved!”

Twainer gave a smug laugh.  “Correction, sir.  I believe I had an affair with the woman you loved and then killed her.”

Larry tried to break from the stronger man's grip, but was very unsuccessful.

Twainer said, “Two years have passed, and you are still seeking revenge.  You used to be a man of great ambition and compassion, a rare combination.  But for two years you did nothing but watch me.”

Larry could think of no one in the world whose opinion he cared about less.  “Once I get up, I'll do much more than watch you!”

Twainer laughed again.  “Tsk, tsk, Larry.  Now your feelings have driven you to make idle threats that at best will get you killed.”

Larry felt no fear, only anger.  “I don't care.  I'm ready to die.”

“Oh no,” Twainer responded in a confident tone.  “You died two years ago, and all I do is live.  You see, I move on.  Yet you are still stuck in moments that have gone by.  You're deader than the dead, because the dead don't stop.”

Larry thought he would rather be shot than listen to any more lecturing from his worst enemy.  He tried to bait Twainer, shouting, “To hell with you!”

Twainer was quiet for a few seconds and then said, “I like you, Larry.  Always have.”

Larry was fairly certain this was the first time they'd met.  “You don't know me at all.”

“Sure I do.  I've known you for a long time.  I've watched you grow from a distance and up close, and because you grew so well, I decided to teach you a very important lesson.  I'm sorry it took so long to teach, sorry as I get anyway.  But now that I've gotten you stuck and will soon set you free, I hope you'll recognize how to never get stuck again.”

Larry wondered what kind of sick pleasure Twainer was receiving by doing this.  “You're crazy!”

Twainer laughed once more, like he'd heard this many times.  “Yes, but who isn't?  I'm going to release you now.  You can still shoot me if you want.”

Just then, Larry felt pressure on his free hand, and then he realized what Twainer was doing.  He was giving him back the gun.

Twainer let him go and got up.  Larry got up too and pointed the gun at the retreating silhouette.  He was prepared to shoot, but then dropped the gun to his side.

The silhouette was not that of Dolton Twainer, but that of the woman Larry had once loved.