Didn’t know that one day I’d be perusing illegal posts on the dark web, laughing like they were all jokes even though I damn well knew they weren’t. Even that real gritty shit that would be seen in works of fiction: they still got a chuckle to fall from my lips. I was laughing to myself up to the point where I wasn’t seeing rational posts anymore—I won’t get into that stuff. But when a public “hitlist” came up on the side of the screen like some malware ad, and my name flicked into place, I sure as shit quit laughing.
P’as Kel, some strange dysto’ sci-fi name—not something one would expect a hitman to be titled as. My name, in it’s entirety, was smacked down next to a date: Saturday, November 19th. I clicked on the tab. In hindsight, probably wasn’t the best idea, I myself said it looked like a malware ad. It took me to the full page, chock full of names, both planned and disposed of. The sicko kept records online for everyone to see who he had killed. Thought it would’ve stopped there, but there was a secondary tab titled, “Videos Of My Work”. I’m not ballsy enough to open up that bag of not-so goodies.
I eventually got tired of staring at names. When I tried to shut down my laptop, I got the typical “screen-lock block”. When one browses the web long enough, it’s just something they get used to. I closed the screen and hopped off the bed I had cozied myself on. I made my way out of my room, and passed by Derrick’s mess of an abode, his door swung right open. I feel like he attempts to present his lumps of strewn-about clothes. I noticed that he was absent from the room as I passed by. I’ve grown to notice those small things, when somebody hurls a swear at me everytime I pass. It really makes me think that they just put on a facade about caring about me.
“Hey, Mom. Got a clue where Derrick is?” I asked.
“Couldn’t tell you, honey.”
“Well, what the fuck. Does he always hop up and leave like this when I’m here?” I asked, growing irritated.
“Hey don’t cop that attitude with me! Watch your tongue,”
“You know damn well I don’t deserve it.” She said, glaring at me for a moment, only to return to washing dishes.
I shot my head down before I passed her, knowing she might try to swing. But to my surprise, she didn’t. Not this time at least.
I sat on that bench outside for quite some time, waiting for Derrick to pull up in his car—that rusted piece of shit that he brags about. I suppose if it had one advantage, it would definitely be fitting in. My head perked up when Mom called for dinner, which now that I’m thinking about it, was right about when I saw the rust bucket’s headlights coming up the road. I caught my mind up and made my way inside for that supper,
“Hey, Mom. Derrick’s just down the road, I’m gonna go wash up.” I said as I made my way into the kitchen.
She gave a slight nod and opened up the oven. I made my way to my room and grabbed the computer from my bed. I planned on showing it to Derrick again, to see if he could fix it. I heard the front door open right as I was leaving the room.
I plopped down on one of the stools, almost losing my balance because it was so fragile below me.
“Mom, I think you might need to tighten these stools again.” I said.
She gave yet another small nod,
“You okay, Mom?” I asked.
“Yeah, just tired is all.” She said, barely managing to lift her fork.
I rested for a beat, thinking of what to say to Derrick.
“Where’d you go today?”
“Out.” He said, not raising his eyes to see me.
“Out where? I asked.
“God damn, do you forget how to act when you’re not talking to Mom?” He said in a huff.
My eyes shot down, my head followed. Mom sat there, letting him verbally abuse me. She treats him with such high manners—even when he treats her like shit.
“You go hunting again?” I asked.
I ask because he always brings that rifle home after he’s out. It’s only ever the rifle, though.
I went quiet after a while during dinner. I never got the chance to ask Derrick to fix my computer. My computer is still frozen, but my name is not. I saw it go up the list after one of the top names was crossed off. Mom did end up smacking that piece of shit. He acts like he isn’t still under her care. It’s high time I see myself to bed. Before I get riled up with more hatred for Derrick, that is.
I just heard Derrick leave the house, right after I woke up. I heard him on the phone through the wall last night, he seems to have no care for others. He was talking to one of his buddies, saying random bullshit about hunting, that he was “gonna catch two” today. Surprising part is, his friends actually take a liking to me. I wonder if I told them to break bonds with him before it’s too late, they would listen.
Day like any other. No work or school, and socialization is the least of my worries. Saying that because my name went up to the number one spot on that website. Something is telling me that I should be worried. But, I mean, how do hitmen find the people they’re told to hunt anyway? Mom is out in the kitchen, working her ass off—like usual. Sometimes I do want to go hang with her, I just don’t think she would grasp my point in it. It’s tough to be out there, but I do love her. But hey, no better time to start than the present.
“Hey Mom, whatcha up to?” I asked.
“Why’re you acting like that?” She said.
“Acting like what? I’m being normal.” I said, slightly irked by her sense of judgment.
“You’re just- nevermind. Would you go grab Derrick out of his room for me?”
“I don’t think he’s here but I’ll go see for you.” I said.
I walked out of the kitchen. I tried there for a second to act like she would want me to. Yet right as I show myself, she wants me to go get her favorite of the two. But if it makes her happy, I might as well.
His room looks oddly posh. It’s a far cry from the last time I saw it, and that isn’t very often. And, as I suspected, Derrick wasn’t there. Most definitely out hunting—getting the fated double-kill that he mentioned on the phone last night. Maybe he’ll bring us back some food. Shit, what am I saying, he never does. I leaned out of his door and directed my voice down the hall,
“Yeah, Mom. He isn’t here.” I said.
“I could’ve sworn he didn’t leave the house again.” She said.
“Again? I thought he’s been gone since this morning.” I said with confusion in my tone.
“Nope, he was back about an hour ago.”
Maybe I was spacing out. He may have come home. In fact, he probably did. I don’t keep tabs on him. I found this as an opportunity to browse around, maybe find something for myself. And if he were to see me doing so, I could just say I was looking for him. His room was filled with expensive shit. Not always visibly spendy, but stuff like his computer rig definitely weren’t cheap. I don’t quite understand where he gets this much cash, because it sure as hell isn’t his job that he blows off every day. His room was decorated like most country to city-boys—graffiti and street art. I always wanted him to show me how to get into it. But he said I would clash with his work. There’s a pile of those “Hello, My Name Is…” stickers on his night table. A hefty amount of them too, he most likely wouldn’t notice if I took a few for myself; to make my own tag. I sat down and grabbed the pile, almost glossing over the used ones at the very front. But I couldn’t help but notice that his tag seemed familiar. P’as Kel. I couldn’t grab a second to think before I heard him speak from behind the closet door,
“You fucking weasel.”
I layed there on the floor, my abdomen gushing blood. He shot me… my own god damn brother. I watched as he sprouted from the abyss of the closet,
“I’m not fucking done with you yet.” He said as he quickly made pace to the door.
I feel like I heard Mom scream or say something after he shot, but it was so abrupt, I can’t remember. A few moments passed after he left, but I began to hear talking. And after that talking, tussling and yelling. But to put an end to it all, another gunshot. He killed Mom too.
I wanted to rest my eyes, I really did. But I just had to see an end to this. That zero found his way back into the room a couple moments after the second shot: his face covered with blood. And my intuition suggested that it wasn’t his.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” I said, I couldn’t comprehend the last minute in that small amount of thought.
He didn’t even respond. He has an entire ritual down. He pulled a camcorder off his desk and turned it on, pointing it at me.
“Look at this little rat bastard squirm,”
“I wish it was in my job title to gut him like a fucking fish.” He said.
“You’re a monster!” I said, spitting up blood due to the volume of my voice.
He slowly looked up over the screen,
“I know I am.”
“This one didn’t put up much of a fight, his mother did, but not him,”
“But do you want to know one thing they had in common?” He said, pulling the camera back to aim at his face.
“They made a fucking mess,”
He pulled his pistol from it’s holster, and aimed it at my forehead. Directly in front of the camera.
“And so, I’d like to finish it up before I have more to clean later.” He said.
As I looked into his eyes for mercy, he slowly pulled the trigger back.