Pressed to Kill

Pressed to Kill

Owen Cardif

Copyright © 2019 Owen Cardif

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc. 2019

ISBN 978-1-64462-282-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64462-285-8 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

In Loving Memory of My Father

Chapter 1

Early one rainy morning, a young Aaron realizes he has a special ability. But unlike the supernatural or paranormal powers, he has something God-given: the ability to survive. He possesses a fear no man but God mentality. He fears absolutely nothing, and if anything, the thought of dying motivates him to fight for his life. Even if that means taking someone else’s in the process. Nobody really wants to die, especially not at the hands of a stranger.

There he is, a fourteen-year-old boy taking his usual walk to school. His walk becomes a sprint as a slight drizzle transforms into flashflood-watch weather. The raindrops are cold, heavy, and aggressive, with each drop ruthlessly attacking his uniform. The sun is yet to rise, and not a soul wanders the streets. Even stray dogs have sense enough to find shelter.

Every few minutes, a car or two speed past with their hazard lights on, unintentionally splashing water onto him. He needs to get out of this rain, and he has to do it fast. Trying his best to abscond from the obnoxious weather, he spots an eerie abandoned house. From the looks of it, you’ll think that Satan himself lives there.

The home is charred to a crisp, the door is missing, and all the windows are boarded up. Although the house still holds its ceiling, the roof is nearly gone. There is no grass, and the front lawn is littered with beer bottles, broken glass, and submerged crack pipes.

A dilapidated fence stands between Aaron and the temporary shelter of his own. He scales the fence and leaps twice onto the mud, escaping its shoe-grabbing grips. Landing on the porch of the abandoned house, he stands in the doorway, examining the inside of the home. He looks at his now-soaking-wet school uniform, new shoes, and backpack. He thinks to himself, Will this rain ever stop in time for me to make it to school on schedule?

His silent thought is interrupted immediately by the noises he hears coming from inside the home. Aaron turns around and tries to observe what is happening, but the moonlight shining through the doorway of the house makes it difficult to discern his surroundings. From the sounds of it, Aaron believes what he hears are two men arguing. All of a sudden, the noise stops. Aaron begins to hear footsteps approaching him.

By now, the average fourteen-year-old will have run home crying in fear of the unknown. Hell, even a grown man will. But Aaron is not your average fourteen-year-old boy. As the footsteps from the squeaky burnt wooden floor get closer, Aaron clenches his jaws, mentally preparing himself for whatever will happen next.

A tall shirtless man appears from the darkness of the house, scratching his bald head and rubbing his unkempt beard. His jean pants are unbuttoned, with dried piss and feces stains all over them. The man drops his head to look at his beaten, shoeless feet, then scales up at Aaron, giving him a perverted stare for a number of seconds. From the looks of it, you’ll think he is undressing the boy with his eyes.

The fixation is promptly interrupted by a second voice coming from the back room of the abandoned house. Crip! the voice coming from the room exclaims. What in the hell is taking you so long?

Crip shouts back, We have company! Jeff, get out here, man! Get out here now! His deep and heavy voice sounds demanding. Jeff nearly stumbles trying to get to Crip in time. He is under the assumption that Crip has gotten himself into some type of trouble, dealing with an intruder. In Jeff’s hands is a twelve-inch metal bar, with duct tape wrapped around the bottom for a handle.

Jeff’s fear of Crip being potentially threatened by an intruder quickly turns into joy and excitement he sees what lies before Crip and himself. If only they truly understood the boy that stands before them, they would’ve run from him. They both would have run as fast as they could, without ever looking back.

Aaron still stands in the doorway of the house, facing the two men. He is trying to make sense of the alerting of one man from another, as well as the vaguely recognizable excitement Jeff expresses as his face shifts in and out of the darkness. Suddenly, he snaps out of his excitement, his face displaying what can only be described as a look of gratitude. He turns to Crip. Man, why didn’t you tell me we had company? Shit, don’t just stand there staring at the damn boy, let him in! Jeff goes on to tell Crip, but Aaron doesn’t budge. He doesn’t smile or even acknowledge Jeff’s instructions to Crip.

Both men sense Aaron’s disinterest in their hospitality. Crip then says to Jeff, without removing his eyes from Aaron for even a second, Fuck him! Let him stay where he is!

Aaron is not moved by Crip’s tone of voice, his stare, or his profanity. Jeff tells Crip, Take it easy. The boy is cold, wet, and probably afraid. Crip takes a second to consider Jeff’s words.

No! Fuck the bullshit! You can just get your ass up outta here!

Crip points toward the outside of the door, directing Aaron to leave. Aaron just stands there, looking up at the man, who stands six feet four off the ground, who is also looking down on a five-foot-ten Aaron. From the looks of it, you’ll think that Aaron is mentally challenged to provoke a man so much bigger and stronger than he is. A man he doesn’t even know at that.

A stranger with nothing to lose, not even his life, if there is even still such a thing. Crip looks down at Aaron with a face full of confusion, which quickly turns into anger and frustration.

Crip motions to Jeff to hand over the twelve-inch metal bar he has tucked away in the waist of his jean shorts. Aaron looks at his watch to check the time. He realizes first period will begin in less than thirty minutes. He turns his head slightly toward the slow-moving traffic caused by the six-inch floodwater. He then proceeds to walk away, looking at Crip, without the utterance of a single word. Crip and Jeff look at each other, then look away in silence, hesitating briefly.

Moments later, Crip snaps his fingers and runs to the door. He yells out to Aaron, Keith Marsh!

Marsh, Marsh, Marsh, Marsh, Marsh, Marsh…

The name echoes in the quiet streets and into Aaron’s ear, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. Aaron turns around and walks back in the direction of the abandoned house. Crip, standing at the doorway with both arms folded, looks back and forth at Jeff and Aaron with a huge smile on his face as Aaron approaches.

I knew that would work! Crip tells Jeff with great excitement.

Aaron enters the doorway, possessing the posture and attitude he left there. Crip takes a few steps back then begins talking gleefully while rubbing his hands together. He certainly has Aaron’s attention, just as he intended. He starts shaking his head as if he were reminiscing the final hours he and Jeff spent taking turns on the eleven-year-old boy.

Keith Marsh was Aaron’s younger brother, who went missing two years prior, was last seen playing street football one block away from his home. His decomposing body was found two weeks later in an abandoned housing project unit. He was sexually molested, beaten nearly to death, and then strangled by a metal bar that crushed his larynx.

Crip continues taunting Aaron. Yeah, that boy was a tough little something!

Aaron begins remembering the times where he and his younger brother practiced martial arts in the backyard of their parents’ home. He remembers hearing their father, the self-defense instructor, reminding them daily about the lethality of the fighting style he was teaching them. He was Aaron’s youngest sibling, his only friend and heart.

While telling the story to Aaron, Crip reaches to the small of his back to pull out the twelve-inch metal bar. He begins waving and pointing it at Aaron.

You know, that kid tried everything in his power to get away from us, Crip says to Aaron. Hell, he even tried some karate shit too!

Crip and Jeff look at each other, then bust out into laughter simultaneously at the thought of an eleven-year-old boy beating the both of them up. You know, I used to see the both of you walking to school together every morning. He then states in a whisper-like tone, Then I started watching you walk to school…

Aaron squints his eyes while cutting to Jeff. He looks back at Crip, who is pulling his pants up with one hand.

Must’ve been your little friend or neighbor, or maybe… He smiles while turning to Jeff. His eyebrows raise as he reads into Crip’s mind. Or just maybe he was your little, you know…

Aaron’s head tilts to the ceiling as his eyes slowly close and reopen.

He turns to Jeff, whose slight grin and bloodshot eyes watch him. You’re fucked now, boy, Jeff says in a childlike tone. Aaron’s head shakes as it turns to Crip. You should’ve gone on about your way. Ain’t that right, Crip?

Shhhhh, Jeff! Crip whispers while holding up his index finger to his lips. He slowly turns to Aaron, inadvertently smiling at the thoughts running throughout his mind. His face straightens as he proceeds to talk. He forces his tear gland to water as one finally drops onto the hair overlaying his chest. What I would do to have a home, a wife, and my son. Jeff steps back into the darkness while smiling at Crip’s actions. Actions he has witnessed over a dozen times before. Instead of trophies being handed out for such a performance, newspaper clippings of their victims are collected on the behalf of their horrifying deaths.

For every word Crip whispers, a smile creeps onto his face. Crip pauses, then drops his head and the metal bar he is holding. He reaches into his pockets as his face fills with an empty expression.

From the looks of it, you’ll believe he is beginning to feel some remorse. Crip rests his back against the charred wall of the house and slides down onto the floor. Now covered in mud, grime, and miscellaneous garbage, he looks up to the ceiling, laughing to himself, then turning his attention back to Aaron.

At this point, his deep, strong voice remains at a gentle whisper. What are you? Fourteen? Fifteen? Some shit like that, right?

Aaron begins walking slowly toward Crip.

My son is fifteen years old, facing life in prison for first-degree murder…, he softly utters. I tried my best to be a good father to that boy. God knows I tried! Tears uncontrollably roll down his face. He looks back up at the ceiling, closing his eyes briefly, only to reopen them, seeing Aaron standing just a foot away. In his mind, his plans are to offer Aaron comfort, luring him in with deceptive tales of his broken home and his own rebellious son. Ironically, this boy he talks of is himself.

Crip grew up in the heart of Liberty City. He never met his biological father, and his mother died in front of him while shooting heroin; he was only six years old at that time. He was picked up by DCF and placed into foster care for a number of years. By the time he was fourteen, his older sister was stable enough to gain custody of him, but it was too late.

The damage had been done. He was molested the very first day he stepped into a foster home. Sometimes the molestation would come from the male parent or one or more of the older foster children. His dignity was stripped as well as his childhood innocence. He turned to the very same drug his mother killed herself with.

One late night, while high on the drug and intoxicated, he walked to his old foster parents’ home. He rang the doorbell, and the foster mother opened it. Her eyes widened with gleam as she gave him a huge hug. The father entered the doorway and smiled. Crip looked at him for a split second while stepping away from the mother. The sclera of Crip’s eyes began to redden at the sight of the father. As his head shook and tongue forcefully flipped around, the father scratched his head and looked at the mother.

Are you hungry? the mother asked. He shook his head no while never taking his eyes off the father. Come on in, baby, she said while waving her hand inward. His gaze wandered around the quiet neighborhood as he pulled a gun from his waist. The mother clutched her chest while placing her other hand over her mouth. He shot her point-blank in the face, killing her instantly.

The father attempted to raise his hands but was shot in the chest as he fell to the floor. While stepping onto the front porch, he shot the mother once more in the head. He entered the home of the injured father, who was lying on his back. Blood quickly covered the shiny tile floor underneath his fatiguing body. Why, Robert? asked the father. Crip stood over his body and shot him repeatedly in the head before running throughout the house and robbing it off anything of value. He was later charged and sentenced as a juvenile to fifteen years in prison.

He shakes his head and laughs at the thoughts in his mind of binding Aaron’s hands and feet then slowly strangling him while ejaculating inside of him.

I blame his raggedy-ass moth—

Today ends your suffering, Aaron states. His voice is low as his head tilts downward. He slowly removes his backpack from his shoulders.

Crip’s eyes widen in shock. Moments later, a smile appears. Oh, really, he says while attempting