What
Lies Within
by
Robert Smith
Genre:
Crime Thriller
“There
are four kinds of Homicide:
felonious,
excusable, justifiable, and praiseworthy.”
—Ambrose
Bierce
This
is a story about duty, revenge, murder, and horror.
The
system failed Tyler McDermitt. He and his brother have vowed to
protect unfortunate youth from a similar fate - or at least make
those responsible, pay. The McDermitt brothers, victims of child
abuse and molestation, escaped their hell and have decided to clean
up after the failings of a flawed justice system.
The
rough streets of Dorchester, south Boston, have hardened two aspiring
vigilantes and prepared them for a mission. One brother has a good
heart, a conscience, and a burning
compassion. His twisted sense
of morality has burdened him with a deep sense of responsibility. The
other brother is as hard as nails and as cold as ice. He is hell-bent
on revenge and aims to ensure the other stays the course.
A
motivated young detective is on their scent; she and her veteran
partner look to foil McDermitt brothers' plan.
Something
from the boys' past - something dark - is also closing in.
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With
a hard tug, my blade sank deep into his neck, easily through the jugular and
carotid, then through the gristle of his trachea. There would be no call for
help as life pulsed from him. The remaining vessels cut like butter. I lowered
his emptying form to the ground. Adrenaline kicked his heart into high gear and
the oozing current of blood became a flowing torrent.
A
flash of panic lit his eyes and he mouthed something. It was inaudible beneath
the weak gurgles and clucks. Then the light in his eyes went dim.
That
was our plan, it was going to happen, nothing could stop it. I had no control
over it, him, or myself.
I
opened my eyes as a figure emerged from the side of the building. The darkness
shrouding the alleyway veiled him. He cursed a fixture above the door, the
fixture from which I had earlier smashed the bulb.
On
that night, black clouds had refused to allow the moon to glow. A solitary
street light, from the far end of the passage, cast light which danced on his
jingling keys as he fumbled for the lock.
As
I looked on, Devil hissed into my ear, “Let’s do this already!” His hot, wet
breath was like that of a dog—a hungry dog. I wiped
the spit from my cheek and glanced over at him. I had seen that look before.
“Shhhh,” I urged.
That
expression, the look in his eyes brought me back.
The
dark figure finished with the lock, then turned to walk down the backstreet. He
had parked his car behind the building, as he did every night. That ensured he
would walk by the dumpster which served as our blind. Pungent odors of rotting
food wafted from the big metal box we hid beside. The stench stung my nose and
watered my eyes—doubt clouded my mind.
“He’s
coming, get ready.”
“Yeah...
I’m not sure about this one,” I answered, remembering how I was rushed—pressured—into setting it up so fast. I never liked to pull
same-day jobs. It didn’t leave time for planning. And the wild look in his
eyes, was it excitement, anticipation, desperation? I couldn’t tell, even
though I had seen
it
so many times before. He looked right at me, but through me, with panic, yet
focus—such focus.
“Screw
that,” he jeered. “You did the damn research. What’s
not to be sure of ?”
“Some research, yeah. The police didn’t have enough to charge
this guy.”
“Damn
it Tyler, you read what he did to that kid—you know he did it. And you know we
don’t have a choice!” he hissed while giving me a little shove.
“Ease up, man,” I barked back, returning the shove.
“Hello?”
The man in the alley probed. “Who’s back there?”
Devil
and I leaned back, deeper into the shadow of the dumpster.
“Hey...
are you okay? Who’s back there?”
As
the footsteps approached, my instincts kicked in. I reached back, felt the cold
metal of my knife, slid it from my belt and got ready. The echoing footfalls
stopped, inches from where we were crouched.
My
heart pounded so hard I was sure the man just around the corner heard it aloud.
Adrenaline coursed through me. I focused on controlling my breathing. The
images—evidence—we had gathered flashed through my
head like a sequential montage, each one delivering a stabbing pain to my
temples.
I
saw red, nothing but red. In a pain-driven blood lust, I sprang from the
shadows and struck.
Devil
laughed as he fought to pull me off the decimated corpse.
“Tyler,
let’s go. It’s done. We gotta get outta here.”
I
wiped sweat and blood from my face and tried to compose myself. I stood on
shaky wickets, looking down, and thought, Oh my god, did I do
that?
I
had the same disbelief every time.
Robert
Smith (A.K.A. TyCobbsTeeth) hails from Prince Edward Island (off
Canada's east coast).
On
this small island, ocean waves drive hard against red cliffs. So,
with fears that the sandstone island might soon melt into the
Atlantic, Robert finished his studies in Information Technology and
moved to Canada's capital.
Robert
has worked in network design, administration and security. He
recently transitioned from a job managing a digital forensics team
(supporting investigations) to Enterprise Architecture. That's his
day job. At night, he writes.
This
author writes thrillers (psychological, suspense, crime and horror).
Pick one up if you like that sort of thing.
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