"In Anticipation of Adam Farwell" (Warning: Controversial Content)
"In Anticipation of Adam Farwell"
Brian Paul Dunlop
The clock in the hall ticked frantically. So methodically. Tick Tock. Tick Tock. My nerves clenched. The hair follicles on my neck rose like the quills on a frightened porcupine. What is to become of me? Those men earlier had said that they would ring my neck if I didn't have their money by three o'clock and it is already a quarter past four. Where are they? Were they bluffing? No way, they can't be bluffing. Not those guys, especially considering the man who sent them to retrieve the money. That man is Adam Farwell. Adam Farwell is known all over town as a take no prisoners type of guy and there will be no exception when dealing with me. I heard, one time, some guy owed him money and he coaxed the guy into letting his guard down and believing everything was all fine and dandy, until bam! He stuck a hypodermic needle filled with a high dose of GHB into his neck and then dumped his passed out body onto train tracks to get run over by the A-train and that A-train came and didn't leave a good impression on that guy's sprawled out body, I'll tell you that and now, that crazy fuck is coming after me! What am I going to do? What is there to do? Nothing...I guess, but pray.
The minutes went by like months, the hours went by like years and all that stood between me and my demise was a knock on the door by a couple of hench men. Sweat rolled down my face and neck like a raging river somewhere in the Midwest and my heart palpated in my chest like a pendulum in a therapist's office being played with by an energetic, immature child. What is taking these guys so long? Sometimes, I feel like the pure anticipation of it all is a fate worse than death. Sometimes, I wish that they would just come here and kill me, already and stop playing these mind games. Keeping me on my toes; telling me that they're coming at one point of time and then come at a completely different time to scare me, to make me nervous, to send me to the edge. I don't think that's such a wise move on their part to send a man like me to the edge because when I go off the edge...there is no coming back and it will not be beneficial to them, not one bit. Fuck...what am I thinking? I can't take him or his men, never in a thousand years, even if I do go batshit crazy, they will find me and they will kill me, but the only question is...when? When will they finally come to my doorstep, bust open my door and put an end to my pain ridden life? I think they'll be doing us all favors because everybody has to go, someday and I just can't take this anticipation, anymore. What do they think I am? Some type of animal? To play with my emotions as such to make me a complete mental wreck and have me laid out at the corner of my kitchen, lying against the wall. I don't have much energy. I could get up, but I choose not to. Why should I? All I would do if I got up would be to pace, but maybe I should. Maybe I should get up, plop myself in front of the television set and welcome the end of existence...the end of my existence, at least. Yeah, I might as well be entertained before those thugs come and snuff me out for good.
It took me a while to get up out of the oddly comfortable position I maintained on the floor, but I did and hastily made my way into the living room, where I sat down on my sofa to watch TV for what may be the last time ever for yours truly. I turned on the television set and got greeted by a lovely brunette anchorwoman who appeared to be in a great deal of stress. "I'll take you to a live feed straight from Manhattan, in what would appear to be one of the biggest crisis' in our state's or even our country's history", said the anchorwoman with a look of distress draped across her delicate face. "What is this about?", I queried aloud to myself. The television then showed camera angles taken from a helicopter of Downtown Manhattan, where people ran frantically down the city streets, but why? Who or what were they running from? The television then went back to the anchorwoman in her safe recording studio. "We don't have much information, but we believe the problems stem from-..." Then all power went off in my house.
And just like that, my house became just as dark as the heart of Adam Farwell. What was that anchorwoman going to say? Is that the reason Adam Farwell and his goons haven't made their presence known in my home? Is that the reason that I am still alive? And what could have been out there that made all those people run? They all seemed scared like they were, also, about to face their doom like I had felt, just hours ago. Could whatever had made all those people run have killed Adam Farwell and his goons because he does have all his operations set up in Manhattan, to my knowledge, at least. And how long will it be until whatever was making those people run, reach Brooklyn, where I'm staying? Oh God, now I have something even worse to worry about because Adam Farwell couldn't make all those people flee like that, even in his heyday of being a ruthless criminal. Whatever is making these people flee like that must be big and must be incredibly hard to stop. The only thing that I wish now is for that piece of shit Adam Farwell and the rest of his scum bag goons to die by the hands of whatever's in Downtown Manhattan causing destruction and for that thing to spare Brooklyn and most importantly, me. God, I know I may have done some unfavorable things in my life, but come on, I'm an alright guy, I don't deserve to go, just not yet. If you let me live, I'll promise, you can have my word on it, I promise I will change my life around and stop making all these bets with money that I can't afford and have scum bags coming after me, wanting to break my legs or worse. I promise, I'll stop doing all that and give to the church and attend mass like I use to do when I was a little boy. Please, let my sins slide this time and I promise that I will make things better and you know I will because you know everything, so please protect me from the evil in Manhattan or any evil, thereafter.
God never came, well at least, I don't think he did. All I felt as I sat on my sofa in the dark was paranoia, nervousness, and guilt. Maybe the reason this is all happening to me, now is because of the terrible thing that I did. I know what I did and sure as Hell, God knows what I did. Now, there was this high school girl and she didn't know me and I didn't really know her, but this high school girl had like a magnetic force like attraction to me and I couldn't help it, I knew that I would get into serious trouble if I got caught doing anything with this girl, but I didn't care. It was just like I had to do it, it was just like, it had to be done, I don't know, it's just that she reminded me of my babysitter when I was a kid. I knew at ten years old, I couldn't do anything with her; she wouldn't let me if I tried. At nights when she got drunk and passed out, I would feel her up, but I never had the courage or was man enough and literally speaking, too because I had no seamen or pubic hair of the sort, to penetrate this teenage girl, but I wanted to, I wanted to, so badly. And when I saw this girl, all alone, one night walking down the road, I couldn't help myself. She looked just like the babysitter I had when I was ten. The babysitter, I had so sorely lusted after. The babysitter that was the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden in my mind. And I couldn't help myself. I stopped my van, right next to the girl; exited my vehicle as fast as I could and I tackled the girl. Her head hit hard against a stone lying on the grass, so it made the process that much easier and all I had to do was dump her in my van and take her home. She made little noise on the ride home, besides the noise of her body slightly moving about because of bumps in the road. When I got her to my home, I noticed that she wasn't breathing and it made me terribly upset. Not only did I murder a person, but now, I will never know how it felt like to have sex with my babysitter; one of my all time sexual fantasies, and that affected me more than knowing I had just killed a person. I don't even think that this would be considered murder, I mean, I never wanted to kill the girl. I just wanted to rape her and then dump her off to a secluded area to find her way back. I never thought that I would ever kill anybody, but you know what? I think I kind of liked it. The rush I felt when I tackled this teenage girl to the ground was a rush I had never previously felt before and that rush felt good...damn good. And I mean, I already went through all the work getting her here and most of the memories I had with my babysitter, she was already in a state like the girl I killed; unresponsive with her eyes closed. So, then and there, I decided that I must fulfill the fantasy I had since I was a child and that was to have sex with my babysitter and this girl looked enough like my babysitter to be a fitting replacement for her to enact my deep, sexual childhood fantasy. So, I had sex with the girl's cold, lifeless body and had the most euphoric orgasm I ever had in my life, with time to spare to dump her in the East River, that very night. I know God must look down on me with a great deal of contempt for doing such a deed, but he knew I couldn't help myself. If God wants this world of ours to be free of evil, than why does he instill flaws such as these into his men? It is truly he, who is the evil one, if you really think about it. I couldn't help myself even if I tried, that girl set off a trigger in my brain that caused me to do those wretched acts. God could have stopped me. He may not be able to change my will, but he could have done something that could of prevented it. Like he could have cut my brakes, so, I wouldn't have stopped my van and none of this would have occurred in the first place. Fuck it...who am I kidding? I'm as sick and twisted as Adam Farwell, maybe even sicker. I shouldn't negotiate the severity of that act to the wall. God isn't listening. He stopped a long time ago. My fate is sealed. If there is any God in the world, than today will be my very last day. Maybe today is perhaps a lot more complex than just a disturbance in the city. Maybe today is Judgment Day, where God seeds out the good and the evil and knowing the deeds of my past, God will show no mercy on me on this fateful day. Or maybe, I'm just thinking too deep into this. Yeah, that must be it. If anything, God knows that I am sorry and willing to repent and all I heard the anchorwoman say was all that pandemonium was happening up in Downtown Manhattan and she mentioned nothing involving Brooklyn. So, it appears as if God is punishing the far more evil man known as Adam Farwell and his goons up in Manhattan and giving me a second chance down here in Brooklyn because he knows that I am sorry for much of the wrongdoings that I have committed and am willing to somehow give back to my community.
Look at how low I have become. Sitting here on this filthy sofa, wallowing in my own grief and self pity. I can never change anything about the past and a part of me doesn't want to. I wonder how that girl's family felt when she didn't come home that night. I wonder how they felt when they realized she was never coming back. I bet they would want to kill the man responsible for making sure she never came home, again. I bet they would thrive in seeing his torment and anguish. Well, wherever they are, they've got their wish. I am as close to the edge as I've ever been and I don't know if there's any turning back, not now. I can feel it. My sanity if I ever had one feels like it would be flying out the window if I didn't close my shutters. I feel like just taking the gun out of my jacket pocket and putting an end to my torment, once and for all. Yeah, that's what I should do. Yeah! I won't give Adam Farwell or whatever's lurking in Manhattan the satisfaction of getting to me. No, I won't let them win, no, I'll just end it all. Yes, that's what I should do. I then reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my Walther P99. I then placed the barrel of the gun to the right side of my head. I guess this is it for Jeffrey Rudolph. A man who gave into temptations and vices every chance he could get. A man who murdered a poor, defenseless teenage girl. A man who spent his whole life taking the easy way out and it is only fitting that I will go like this...taking the easy way out, once again. What a fitting end to a wasted existence. Good-bye cruel world. Hopefully, God has mercy on this sad, pitiful, wrong, sinful man. I then shut my eyes sharply, cocked the gun and slowly pressed my finger on the trigger. Alright, here it goes...
Tears then suddenly started streaming down my eyes and I put down the gun, decocked it and rested it to my side. I can't do it. I can't kill myself. I'm too much of a coward. I should just face whatever is coming for me and accept it. I should be a man for once in my life. I should face my problem, head on. I shouldn't be a coward and take the easy route like I did so many times before in my life. I should face whatever's coming to get me like a man and maybe then, I could prove to myself and more importantly, prove to God that I deserve a second chance. A second chance to prove that I'm not a pathetic, evil, putrid excuse for a human being and that I'm just a poor, lonely man just like everyone else who has just made a few big mistakes in his life. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Man...I've really gotten myself worked up. I should just take it easy. I mean, nothing is definite. Who knows? Maybe the threat in Manhattan isn't that serious and it's been contained or even neutralized in that area. Yeah and maybe I'm just thinking way too deep into this, I mean, I almost just whacked myself here. I then let out a brief laugh. Yeah, I'm definitely going a little bit overboard just sitting here, thinking. Yeah, thinking is no good. Thinking got a lot of men killed, hundreds of years ago, and even today, in places in the Middle East and thinking almost just killed me, a few minutes ago. Thinking got me so deep in a depressed rut, that I relentlessly put down the way I lived my entire life to an extent in which I was actually about to kill myself. I shouldn't kill myself. I know I still got a few more decades left in my tank to attempt to do good like I promised and to do a little bit of mischief here and there because knowing me and the way that I am, mischief is inevitable, no matter how you slice it. Yeah, I shouldn't be worried or at least, I shouldn't be as worried as I was feeling before. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? What's so bad that it could affect Brooklyn, as well as Manhattan? Why should I worry myself to death, almost literally, about something that may not even be a problem at all? Yeah, I was thinking too into this. For one thing, I should be happy, not depressed and self-destructive. I should be happy that that bastard Adam Farwell and his dogs never paid me a visit like they promised they would. I should be happy that whatever is causing problems in Manhattan is causing Adam Farwell and his boys a lot more trouble than they probably would be capable of bringing me. Hopefully, whatever is up in Manhattan killed all of them, painfully and slowly to show them all the pain that they have inflicted on their victims and to the families who have suffered because of this. If there is a God, he would make them pay. He would make them suffer. He would show absolutely no mercy. So, why should I worry? All the power in my house is out, but that's okay compared to what I would be dealing with if my house were in Manhattan. And I am tired, now. Dreadfully tired and this darkness accommodates fairly well with that. I should just sit back, relax and drift off to a world without all these senseless issues. Yeah, that's what I should do. Sleep. Yes. I then gently closed my eyes and drifted off into a dark, dreamless sleep.
A blood-curdling scream pierced through the air and awoke me from my dark slumber, which followed by a session of gun shots. What the fuck is going on? “Help! Help!”, said cries echoing from the streets, outside my house. Oh no…I know what’s going on. I then picked up the gun that was still resting at my side and gripped it tightly with my right hand. “Help!”, the cry came out, again, but this time, it sounded more passionate, with more fear. “Help me! Somebody!” I’m sorry, buddy, there is no way, I’m going out there. I then laughed aloud to myself. There’s no way anybody is getting in here, my shutters are drawn tightly shut and my door is bolted shut. Nothing and I mean, nothing can get to me. I then rested my gun back down at my side. I shouldn’t worry. I should just wait it out, whatever is out there will pass through Brooklyn just like it did Manhattan and I will be unharmed. I will be a survivor. I wonder what’s out there, though? Maybe terrorists? Nah, probably not; if it were, it would be an invasion and the American Armed Forces would of neutralized that problem by now. After all, we do have the strongest military in the world. Yeah, I shouldn’t worry. I then slouched down in the sofa in a more comfortable position and as I did the screaming, outside, became louder, but I ignored it; it had nothing to do with me. Poor schmucks. Oh well, probably most of them deserved it, anyway. Knowing the town that I live in; all it’s filled with are pimps, junkies and lowlifes, and good riddance to them, if you ask me. Yeah, God is punishing them. Punishing them for their sins. God knows that I never meant to kill that girl. God knows that I’m just a sexually frustrated man who just made a big mistake. Everybody makes mistakes and our God is a forgiving God, so I’m sure he’ll understand. Yeah… My drain of thought was then disrupted by a rattling noise, that I heard come from the kitchen. What is this? The rattling noise then became louder and with more force. What’s making that noise? Then I realized what it was; the front door was in my kitchen and it sounded as if people were desperately trying to open my door. Poor guys, they must be terrified. “I’m sorry”, I yelled out. “There is no room for any more people. The house is completely full. I couldn’t get any more of you in, even if I had a crowbar, handy. So leave, you’re all wasting your time.” The rattling in the kitchen continued and grew louder. “I told you people that there is no more room. Now, I don’t want to open any door that leads to the outside. Don’t bring the hell out there to all the people, in here. We’ll all die. Don’t be stupid!” The rattling continued then turned into a different sound, a sound similar to a gun shot; it sounded as if these people were now taking a few steps back and then running into the door. I then drew upward from the comfortable position I maintained on my sofa, in a motion caused from outright anger and picked up the gun that lay at my side. Now, these people are asking for it. “Listen…now you’re getting me mad! I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it on anyone who’s out there! So you better leave now!”, I said with anger intensifying with each word that came out of my mouth. I then heard the sound of glass shatter and I know all too well how that sounds like because those punk kids use to always do that when they played their little baseballs games out in the street, in front of my house, but I set those kids straight; just like how I‘m going to set whoever is fucking around outside my house straight, but this time it’s going to be different, this time it is going to be deadly. My windows…they’re trying to come through my windows! I then let out a laugh, which slightly, but only slightly eased my anger. Fat chance, they can’t get through my shutters. The material that my shutters are made out of was too thick and strong; they themselves can never bust through there. “You really fucked up; you know that?! If anyone of you ever actually get in here; it’s gonna mean a bullet in your head! I hope that you know that. And you know what else-” I then stopped talking. I think that I heard something…no, I’m sure I did. Then I heard the noise, again; much more clearer, this time around. It sounded like moaning; it was coming from outside my kitchen door. It was not only moaning; I also heard a very low, dog-like whimper protruding from beyond my shutters. What the fuck? These aren’t people seeking refuge, that’s attacking my house. No, those sounds don’t even sound human. The hand holding my gun, shook frantically and my stomach felt painfully ill as if I just ingested some bad shellfish. What is outside my house? What do they want? My emotions then spiraled from anger towards people who wouldn’t take no for an answer to fear and desperation to whatever unknown great force, which lies anxiously outside my kitchen door and shutters and they want me; they want to kill me! My heart pounded hard in my chest like the sound of a furious drummer performing a solo. I then gripped the gun ever so tightly in my hand, while sweat started forming on my upper brow. The sound of bodies throwing themselves against my door, continued and I heard my door sound as if it was giving way, a little more each time and so did my shutters and then I heard that defining sound; the noise that I feared would happen. I heard the sound of the front door bust open and hit my kitchen floor like a ton of bricks. I then heard my shutters give way and fall sharply on the floor, below. After that, the sound of unknown figures making there way into my kitchen and crawling there way through the square space on my wall that once held my shutters and window, invaded the sound waves of my home and of my mind. The sound of inhuman moaning continued and grew more rapidly and more passionately; now it sounded as if they were excited, they finally got in and they are finally going to get what they want. This moan sounded more and more anxious each time around and the whimpering continued; in what sounded like a dog begging for a treat from its master. I heard the noises draw closer…closer to the living room where I lay in wait of them and whatever they may bring. God…why have you forsaken me? I don’t deserve this hell. I don’t deserve this fate..not me! No, I won’t let them win and I won’t let you win, God. No, not this time. I know what I must do. As I heard the unknown figures enter into the dark living room; I closed my tear moistened eyes tightly shut, put the gun I was gripping in my right hand up to the side of my head and pulled the trigger.
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