Page 71

Down by the Riverside

M arian Anderson’s, ‘Deep River,’ played smooth and easy like, as if coming from a scratchy old LP record from Grandma’s house a great many years ago.

The nostalgic melody climbed out of speakers in Kage’s truck, filling the cabin.

A pair of metal skull hands swung back and forth from the mirror, and a subdued red glow from the large skull eyes on the front of his truck competed with the hues of the setting sun.

Kage turned up the music a tad in an attempt to keep focus and quiet his inner emotions.

The classic spiritual songstress had been a contralto, and Kage recalled his grandmother educating him on such things as she played her gospel, blues and country records when he was just a little boy.

She and Grandpa’s marriage hadn’t stood the test of time, but she claimed to be grateful because she’d learned from the experience. Kage shot the bastard a look.

Grandpa sat beside him in the passenger seat, his ponytail unraveled and his mood somber.

His seatbelt was pulled so tight around him, it caused the fabric of his expensive jacket to indent and buckle like playdough wrapped in rubber bands.

The old man’s mouth was duct-taped, his hands tied behind his back, and his ankles shackled.

Kage’s jaw tightened as he piloted the truck over rocky terrain, and they drew closer to their destination.

He’d daydreamed of this day since he was a teenager.

The thought had sustained him during the darkest times of his life: that somehow, some way, he’d get his hands on Grandpa and bring him to his knees.

Now that this was reality, all he felt was hot anger, rather than sweet relief.

He took the back roads, the little known overgrown paths that most folks had long forgotten about or didn’t know existed. Dark, cool areas that the sun barely kissed, past moss-covered tombs and run down graveyards along the side of the boulevard, with weathered markers from the 1800s.

Kage knew this area so well, he could drive it with his eyes closed.

He’d placed quite a few bodies underground here, over the years.

Folks that needed to be disposed of. Like the tweakers and meth heads who had tried to rob him, or the guy that kept showin’ up at Mama’s house, trying to scam her and get her money.

Grandpa shot him a glance every now and again, but otherwise remained motionless.

The dread, however, showed in his eyes. The way the skin in between his brows bunched, and the darkening of his complexion as the blood rushed to his forehead told the truth of his worries. He was a shell. A soulless old heathen who’d sold himself to the devil long, long ago.

Kage felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, but ignored the incoming call. After a while, they pulled onto his property, and he navigated the path until they were at their terminus: the river. Today the water was calm, and the air a mere murmur with a slight, fragrant breeze.

The river had a subtle ripple, as if it were waiting patiently for a special guest. Kage parked, but didn’t cut the engine.

He left the radio on just in case he needed assistance to drown out screams and horrific groans of agony, but it was damn near impossible to hear anyone out this way.

Still, he preferred to be safe than sorry.

There was another reason, too. He rather enjoyed the cries of his enemies, and he liked to hear them with music—an extra set of lyrics to a nice beat.

Hopping out of the truck, he went over to his grandfather.

Swinging the passenger’s side door open, he made quick work of releasing the shackles from the old man’s ankles, and ripping the tape from his mouth.

Grandpa huffed then swallowed the discomfort he undoubtedly felt.

His lips were now red and raw, sticky looking in places.

Leaving his hands bound, Kage yanked his arm and dragged him over to the riverbank.

He looked down at the flowing, clear water—how pretty the green, brown and tan rocks were beneath the current, God’s tears racing over each one.

He karate chopped the old man hard in the back, causing the bastard to drop to his knees.

Then he knelt beside him, as if they were going to pray together.

“Grandpa, did you ever hear the story of the wolf and the river?”

Grandpa’s gruff voice, coated with whiskey, rum, cigars and regrets broke the tranquility, “…Not in the mood to play riddles and story time with you, boy. You’ll burn for this.

” Grandpa’s eyes glowed like an electric serpent’s.

His nostrils flared, as if smelling his own shitty defeat, and all the hatred of a million demons seeped from his pores to poison the air.

“ Now, here’s the thing… there’s two versions,” Kage began, ignoring Grandpa’s threat.

“In one version of the tale, the wolf, named Stone, is beaten down but lives to see another day—it has a happily ever after, and no harm comes to nobody, ’cept his first family.

He turned the other cheek, so to speak. In the other version, a more realistic account if you ask me, the big, bad wolf went into the town in the late night hour and devoured the hunter, his whole damn family, and then the whole fuckin’ village, until not a soul was left.

Then, with blood dripping down his furry gray chest and staining his big, glistening fangs, he drank from the river, turning the water blood red.

He headed off to create a new family and a new pack, but rumor has it that after that day, the river was cursed.

Anyone who drank from it, except the wolves and other animals, was damned.

Any human being who dared to quench their thirst, fish, swim or even wash their hands here would find themselves knockin’ on the death’s door. Take a sip!”

Winding Grandpa’s hair around his fist, he viciously dunked the old man’s head under the water with brute force.

Kage grinned wide as he began applying more pressure, keeping the demon down in the aquatic grave for all the fishes to see.

Grandpa struggled, his legs kicking and darting about as he lost oxygen.

With his hands still bound, all he could do was to roll from side to side, but that offered no relief.

Grandpa flipped and flopped like a dying catfish, the river water spitting high into the air, sprinkling Kage’s shirt in the process.

Eddie Noack’s, ‘Psycho,’ played from his truck, and the eerie tune sank in his soul during the ruckus.

“…Ohhh, Granddaddy, look how far you’ve fallen from grace…

” He snatched the old man up from the water, and he gasped for air.

His light blue eyes were wild now, the whites turned pink as pussy.

“Grandaddy? Yeah.” Kage smiled as he kept a tight hold of his neck.

“I used to call you that when I still loved you, but that’s so long ago now.

A lot of time has passed, ain’t it? Lot of things have happened, right? ”

“Why do you have to play with your food before you eat it?” Grandpa sneered. “Just go on and do it!”

“Is that a dare? A challenge?”

“No.” Grandpa’s eyes widened as he realized his bluff had been immediately called into question.

“Oh, ’cause you know I like me a good challenge.

Now, ’bout this playin’ with my food… What’s wrong?

You don’t like it when somebody toys with your life the way you did mine?

” It seemed at that moment that the bastard saw him with renewed clarity—it was clear in his expression.

“Now there’s somethin’ I want you to understand.

This is merely a baptism. You’re a religious man, right?

I thought you’d appreciate a good dunk in the water.

“Let me quote a fitting scripture: John 3:5. Jesus answered, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God.” So, I expect a little more appreciation than what I’m currently getting from you, old man.

You told me a while back that, uh, you knew my weakness: That I didn’t wanna love again.

I’m addicted to isolation and closin’ myself off.

Well, I know one of your weaknesses, too: you don’t want to die alone… ”

Grandpa shot him a look from the corner of his reddened eye.

“…Kage… you might as well hang yourself. If you’re gonna kill me, you better kill yourself, too!”

He yawned, then dunked Grandpa back into the water and watched the old man thrash about.

Meanwhile, The Allman Brothers crooned ‘Midnight Rider.’ Kage hummed to the music, tightening his tattooed fingers around Old Man Wilde’s throat.

With his entire hand, he was able to squeeze the fucker’s esophagus with great ease.

Lifting Grandpa back up, he forced the bastard to face him.

“And he cried mightily with a strong voice! Sayin’, Babylon the great is fallen, and has become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird!

’ Grandpa, that’s in the book of Revelation, 18:12.

See, growin’ up under your wing taught me a lot of things.

You made sure we grandchildren read our Bibles.

You insisted we go to Sunday School, and spared no rod on the boys…

I remember those teachings, and I perked up when my name was mentioned.

Now sure, it’s not the exact text, and I didn’t get my own book in there like Roman, but it’s close enough…

‘A cage of every unclean and hateful bird.’ I am your cage, sir.

And you are the unclean and hateful bird.

A vulture that flies around, looking down at dyin’ animals, weak humans that are on their last leg crawlin’ in the desert, and the injured roaming in the forest.