All that's left of who I am . . .
Amandi Montresor sat cross legged in the street, staring into the bright windows of the Curtis household.
He'd been here since it got dark, plotting. Half of him wanted to snap every neck in there right now, but the other half held him back. A broken neck would be too easy. Too painless.
He counted how many of them were in there and grinned. There was the first step of the plan. Now he just needed the location, time, clues . . .
Oh, tonight would be so much fun!
But, in the midst of his careful planning, he found himself slipping back into the past . . .
Splat! Tomato juice dribbled down his neck, followed immediately by deep, cruel laughter.
"Hey, nigger!"
He looked up slowly. Darrel Curtis stood high and mighty on the roof of the newest house. "Didn't you warn that little shit not to mess with us?" he mocked, "Maybe then he'd still have his brains."
His fists clenched. "You had no right."
More laughter. "As if it matters."
"Rudy was just a kid!"
"A little nigger boy who needed to be taught a lesson."
"You're a monster!"
"You're a black man!"
He roared. "Come down here and fight me, you goddamn son of a whore!"
Curtis snarled. "Alright, Black Bastard," he threw down his hammer and slid down the ladder. Cracked his knuckles. "Let's go."
Then nothing was visible anymore. Only flashes of faces and dirt, grunts, shouts from the crowd. Fists, nails, teeth shredded skin both black and white.
"STOP!"
Curtis threw him off him. "Molly, get out of here!"
Molly McMarian didn't listen, running to where he had fallen. She offered a hand. Her pale skin seemed almost translucent compared to his. "I'm sorry," she said, "He has quite the temper."
"Molly!" Curtis shouted again.
He stared at her hand. It was a crime for him to touch a white woman. But she was so beautiful . . .
He got to his feet on his own. "Thank you," he whispered.
She nodded, though her blue-green eyes had turned sad.
"Molly," Curtis said dangerously, "Get over here."
She looked at him one last time, then ran to her man.
"Now you listen here, you little fucker," Darrel hissed, "If you even look at my girl again, I swear to God --"
"What, you'll kill me?" he spat.
"No. But when I'm through with you, you'll be wishing I had killed you." Then he took Molly's shoulders and steered her away.
Montresor felt his fists clench. He could imagine the rest of that day from Curtis' point of view; walking Molly home, scolding her for getting in the way and nearly getting herself hurt, then rallying up his boys and setting fire to the Montresor household. Amandi had lost his little girl that day, and his wife hadn't spoken to him since.
He'd regretted killing Molly. She wasn't involved in any of it, only wanted to help. But it's hard to choose who lives and dies in a car accident, and Darrel needed to be punished.
Yet that wasn't enough. As long as the Curtis spawn still lived, he could never let go of his hate.
And tonight, that plan would finally come into action.
Montresor winced as the darkness was pierced by a pair of headlights. A Ford Thunderbird came screaming up the street, directly at him.
He stood up.
CRASH! The car jerked backwards, the entire front buckling inward. Tires squealed to a halt, bending metal groaned, broken glass rained down, the sharp edges glinting eerily in the headlights.
Montresor grunted. He'd probably get a bruise in the morning. He walked around to the driver's side.
It was a kid. He slumped over the steering wheel, blood dripping from beneath his light brown hair. Another kid stared blankly forward, and a third lay sprawled and broken on the asphalt, launched from the truck bed. He remembered the way Darrel and Molly had looked after the accident: him cut up and ghastly beside a golden, bloody beauty . . .
A dog started barking wildly, and Montresor cursed. Curious neighbors would come running soon.
He turned away from the wreckage. Now that he'd gotten himself warmed up for the next event, he started down the street.
Soon, very soon, all this would be over with.
Enjoyable? Sorry about the profanity/racy language . . . it seemed unavoidable to me.
Reviews boost my self esteem.