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The Blood of Our Fathers
By Zachary Tannar
|
Sunday, March 6, 1999
I find it difficult to write.... My heart feels too heavy. I thought I would rid myself of the weight when I... did the deed, but instead it is heavier. I killed him. I killed Abe Andrews. After years of searching and training, it is done. Why must I continue to suffer now only with more pain? The whole thing is a blur up until the moment I pulled the trigger. The bullet went straight through his heart. I watched him fall. I watched him bleed. I watched the life leave his eyes. I took it from him. When I could watch no more I turned away, and then I discovered, to my horror, that I wasn’t the only one watching. A young boy stood in the hallway - Abe Andrews’ son. He wasn’t suppose to be there. Nobody was suppose to be there at the time. The kid’s face was affixed in shock as he looked at his father. Then he looked at me. I knew what I had to do. I went so far as to put the gun to the kids head. He didn’t move. He was paralyzed by the shock. I should have pulled the trigger. Just one more time, and that would be it, but I couldn’t do it. How could I? I walked away and I didn’t look back. As I walked to the back door though, I knew that the kid had woken up because I could hear him crying for his father. I didn’t look back, but I can imagine him laying over his bloody father as he cried, “Father! Wake up! Father!” Father.... |
Ray Kinley wrote that entry in his journal nearly fifteen years ago.
Now he sits in his study room at his desk. He’s fifteen years older and fifteen years wiser. When he gave up the gun long ago, he picked up the pen, or rather the laptop, and began a writing career in journalism. When he can’t write, like at the moment, he picks up the glass of Scotch as a crutch to ease his weary soul. He swirls the liquid around in the glass. He stares lost in thought at the laptop screen. The typing line blinks back at him.
His study room is his sanctuary. It’s blue walls give peace and tranquility. Solid oak bookshelves provide stability. The shelves are filled with books and plants. The books feed his mind. The nature quenches his artificial suffocation. Everything stands upon an earthy cork floor.
A table to the side of the room is covered with models. While he has achieved a career with writing, he loves to build models as a hobby. He’s built a city consisting of the famous structures of the world - the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, the World Trade Centers, etc.
His desk sits in front of the open window where he can look out at the suburban world. It’s a great view from the second floor. On the desk along with his laptop rests a globe, writing material, a few books and a framed photo of his family. He has a loving wife, a beautiful daughter, and a growing ten year old son. None of them are home at the moment. The house is empty except for the struggling writer and a vengeful cub.
Ray takes a swig of his scotch and empties the glass.
He’s stuck with the story he’s writing. It’s a story he’s been trying to finish for many years. The problem is he doesn’t know the story’s ending yet. He doesn’t know if the ending will be happy or sad. He would like to write a happy ending, but that may contradict reality. It’s possible he may never actually be able to finish the story.
The clock is ticking. His son should be home soon. His wife and daughter will be home a little later. Then he will have to stop writing for the day.
He stands up from his chair with his empty glass in hand. He walks to the cabinet where he refills it. As he pours the liquid into the glass, he hears a creak from outside the room somewhere in the house. The sound was subtle like that of a door being gently prodded open in an attempt to not alert him of an intruders presence, but he did hear it. He puts the bottle of scotch back on the shelf. He listens and hears faint foot steps.
Ray walks to the room’s closed door. He pauses in front of it and becomes tense. All of his senses are attentive. He darts up against the wall next to the door. He waits.
The door opens quickly but quietly. Ray ends up behind the opened door. He watches a man walk in. The man is clad in black. His face is hidden by a ski mask. The man enters wielding a gun raised. He walks in slowly and scans the room. As he is turning in Ray’s direction, Ray springs out from his hiding place with great ferocity.
Ray grabs hold of the man’s wrist and wrestles the gun out of his hands. The gun falls to the floor. Ray kicks it. The gun skids across the floor and underneath the desk. The two men grapple with each other and exchange blows. The man appears younger and more fit, but Ray is bigger and more experienced.
The battle is like two hurricanes running into each other and tearing everything apart in a vortex of mayhem. They storm throughout the room. Items are hurled about. Plants are uprooted. Books fall from the shelves. Ray flings the man onto his modeling table. Poor Big Ben is crushed along with many other models. Time and effort are laid to waste.
While the man is down, Ray runs for the gun hiding underneath the desk, but the man gets up and charges into Ray before he can reach the gun. They collide into the desk. Ray is forced to take the landing. The desk shakes at the impact. The globe is knocked over. The man has Ray from behind. He smashes Ray’s head into the desk and then throws him backwards onto the floor. Ray collapses, and he is slow to get back up. Too slow.
The man retrieves his gun from under the desk. He turns around and points it at Ray who still remains on the floor but is slowly lifting himself into a supporting position. He stops when he sees the gun pointed at him. Ray is sore and worn out. His face is scraped and bloody. Like many things strewn about the floor, he is broken.
They are frozen in the aftermath of destruction. The room is a wreck. The man towers over Ray with the gun pointed at him. The clock hand is motionlessly waiting to strike 5 o‘clock. It is an agonizing moment of stillness and silence. The clock strikes, but everything else remains still. Ray and the man just stare at each other. Ray breaks the silence.
“I know how you’re feeling right now.”
“Shut up, you son of a bitch. You can’t even imagine what I’m feeling right now.”
“Yes I can, because fifteen years ago I stood in the exact same position as you are now. I stood above a man, and held his life in my hands just as you do now. I want you to listen to what I have to say before you decide to pull the trigger.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, I know who you are Mack Andrews. I’ve been waiting for you to come and find me for what I did. I hoped you wouldn’t, but I expected you would.”
Mack pulls of his mask revealing the face of a young man around twenty years.
“You killed my father! Why should I listen to you?” The young man says venomously.
“Because you need to know the truth. Because the truth can stop all of this. The truth can end the cycle of agony for the generations to come.”
Mack stares at Ray for a moment in thought.
“What truth?”
“Do you ever wonder why men kill each other? Why we wage wars? Men do it for resources, power, freedom.... It all brings pain and suffering. In your case, if you are to kill me, you will do it for revenge. You think it will be justice. You think it will bring peace, but it won’t. Any man who kills has a reason. Do you wonder what my reason was to kill your father? No? To you I am a man without conscience who you can despise without thought. I will tell you why I killed your father. It is the same reason you would kill me. I killed your father, because he killed mine.”
Ray pauses to let it sink in and then continues.
“And my father killed your grandfather. And your grandfather killed my grandfather. One dispute by our forefathers has created a vengeful bond between our families and the blood of our fathers has been spilt in a violent and painful cycle for generations. Every generation has felt the pain of loss, swore revenge and continued the cycle. Violence begets violence. Here you are to carry on our terrible tradition of revenge, but you have the opportunity to stop this. You can end the cycle.”
Mack stares at him in disbelief.
“I think you’re full of bullshit.”
He moves threateningly closer with his gun.
“You’re wasting your breath thinking I’d believe a story like that.”
“It’s the truth.”
Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Mack jumps in shock.
“You yell for help, and you’re dead! We’ll wait until they leave.”
They wait quietly. The door bell rings again.
“It’s probably my son.”
They wait a little longer, and then, proving Ray right, they hear out the window a young boy yell, “Hey Dad, are you there?”
Mack is now anxious and worried. The situation has become problematic. He doesn’t know what to do.
Ray begins to get up. Mack freaks out at him.
“Don’t get up! Stay where you are.”
Ray stops moving.
“Dad!” Ray’s son yells from outside.
“Don’t say anything.”
“Don’t do anything you will regret, Mack. You can continue the cycle, or you can put the gun down and we can all move on.”
“Do you regret killing my father?”
“I have from the moment I saw the pain in the face of a young boy.”
“Dad open the door!”
“Why didn’t you stop it - the cycle?”
“Because I didn’t know the whole story then. Would you get something from my desk?”
“Why?”
“It’s a red journal that you should look at. It should be on the desk.”
Cautiously, Mack walks backwards to the desk. He keeps the gun pointed at Ray. He looks on the desk. He doesn’t see the journal there. It had fallen on to the floor. He spots it. He looks at Ray and then picks it up. He holds it for Ray to see.
“Is this it?”
“That’s it. That journal describes my story of a young man bent on vengeance who upon its deliverance discovers a shocking revelation that will lead him on a search for truth. It will explain everything - my guilt and our families’ history. You should take it.”
“And what?”
“Read it and discover for yourself.”
Mack is full of doubt. He looks at Ray. He looks at the journal.
“You have to believe me about everything, especially when I say, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. Now you have the chance to make right all the wrongs of the future.”
Mack slowly lowers the gun. Ray stands up. They look at each other. Mack reverts his eyes to the journal. He opens it. Ray turns to the door and walks out of the room. He walks down the stairs to the front door. He unlocks and opens it. He finds his son waiting on a chair outside.
“Hey, what... what happened?” Ray’s son looks at the blood on Ray’s face.
“I... had an accident.”
Ray holds the door open and his son walks in. They stop past the doorway as they see Mack at the top of the stairs. He walks down to them. He’s looking at Ray’s son. Ray’s son looks at him.
As Mack reaches them, Ray’s son says, “Hi”.
Mack say “Hi” back. He stops in front of them. He looks at Ray.
“Bye.”
He heads for the door. As he passes, Ray stops him with a touch on the shoulder.
“Thank you.”
He lets Mack go and watches him walk away with the journal in hand. Ray closes the door and looks at his son.
“Who was that?”
“Just an old acquaintance.”
Ray is beaming with joy.
“Come here.”
He grabs his son and hugs him.
“Dad, what’s up?”
“I’m just happy. I think I’ll be writing a happy ending to my story.”
The end.
Now he sits in his study room at his desk. He’s fifteen years older and fifteen years wiser. When he gave up the gun long ago, he picked up the pen, or rather the laptop, and began a writing career in journalism. When he can’t write, like at the moment, he picks up the glass of Scotch as a crutch to ease his weary soul. He swirls the liquid around in the glass. He stares lost in thought at the laptop screen. The typing line blinks back at him.
His study room is his sanctuary. It’s blue walls give peace and tranquility. Solid oak bookshelves provide stability. The shelves are filled with books and plants. The books feed his mind. The nature quenches his artificial suffocation. Everything stands upon an earthy cork floor.
A table to the side of the room is covered with models. While he has achieved a career with writing, he loves to build models as a hobby. He’s built a city consisting of the famous structures of the world - the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, the World Trade Centers, etc.
His desk sits in front of the open window where he can look out at the suburban world. It’s a great view from the second floor. On the desk along with his laptop rests a globe, writing material, a few books and a framed photo of his family. He has a loving wife, a beautiful daughter, and a growing ten year old son. None of them are home at the moment. The house is empty except for the struggling writer and a vengeful cub.
Ray takes a swig of his scotch and empties the glass.
He’s stuck with the story he’s writing. It’s a story he’s been trying to finish for many years. The problem is he doesn’t know the story’s ending yet. He doesn’t know if the ending will be happy or sad. He would like to write a happy ending, but that may contradict reality. It’s possible he may never actually be able to finish the story.
The clock is ticking. His son should be home soon. His wife and daughter will be home a little later. Then he will have to stop writing for the day.
He stands up from his chair with his empty glass in hand. He walks to the cabinet where he refills it. As he pours the liquid into the glass, he hears a creak from outside the room somewhere in the house. The sound was subtle like that of a door being gently prodded open in an attempt to not alert him of an intruders presence, but he did hear it. He puts the bottle of scotch back on the shelf. He listens and hears faint foot steps.
Ray walks to the room’s closed door. He pauses in front of it and becomes tense. All of his senses are attentive. He darts up against the wall next to the door. He waits.
The door opens quickly but quietly. Ray ends up behind the opened door. He watches a man walk in. The man is clad in black. His face is hidden by a ski mask. The man enters wielding a gun raised. He walks in slowly and scans the room. As he is turning in Ray’s direction, Ray springs out from his hiding place with great ferocity.
Ray grabs hold of the man’s wrist and wrestles the gun out of his hands. The gun falls to the floor. Ray kicks it. The gun skids across the floor and underneath the desk. The two men grapple with each other and exchange blows. The man appears younger and more fit, but Ray is bigger and more experienced.
The battle is like two hurricanes running into each other and tearing everything apart in a vortex of mayhem. They storm throughout the room. Items are hurled about. Plants are uprooted. Books fall from the shelves. Ray flings the man onto his modeling table. Poor Big Ben is crushed along with many other models. Time and effort are laid to waste.
While the man is down, Ray runs for the gun hiding underneath the desk, but the man gets up and charges into Ray before he can reach the gun. They collide into the desk. Ray is forced to take the landing. The desk shakes at the impact. The globe is knocked over. The man has Ray from behind. He smashes Ray’s head into the desk and then throws him backwards onto the floor. Ray collapses, and he is slow to get back up. Too slow.
The man retrieves his gun from under the desk. He turns around and points it at Ray who still remains on the floor but is slowly lifting himself into a supporting position. He stops when he sees the gun pointed at him. Ray is sore and worn out. His face is scraped and bloody. Like many things strewn about the floor, he is broken.
They are frozen in the aftermath of destruction. The room is a wreck. The man towers over Ray with the gun pointed at him. The clock hand is motionlessly waiting to strike 5 o‘clock. It is an agonizing moment of stillness and silence. The clock strikes, but everything else remains still. Ray and the man just stare at each other. Ray breaks the silence.
“I know how you’re feeling right now.”
“Shut up, you son of a bitch. You can’t even imagine what I’m feeling right now.”
“Yes I can, because fifteen years ago I stood in the exact same position as you are now. I stood above a man, and held his life in my hands just as you do now. I want you to listen to what I have to say before you decide to pull the trigger.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Yes, I know who you are Mack Andrews. I’ve been waiting for you to come and find me for what I did. I hoped you wouldn’t, but I expected you would.”
Mack pulls of his mask revealing the face of a young man around twenty years.
“You killed my father! Why should I listen to you?” The young man says venomously.
“Because you need to know the truth. Because the truth can stop all of this. The truth can end the cycle of agony for the generations to come.”
Mack stares at Ray for a moment in thought.
“What truth?”
“Do you ever wonder why men kill each other? Why we wage wars? Men do it for resources, power, freedom.... It all brings pain and suffering. In your case, if you are to kill me, you will do it for revenge. You think it will be justice. You think it will bring peace, but it won’t. Any man who kills has a reason. Do you wonder what my reason was to kill your father? No? To you I am a man without conscience who you can despise without thought. I will tell you why I killed your father. It is the same reason you would kill me. I killed your father, because he killed mine.”
Ray pauses to let it sink in and then continues.
“And my father killed your grandfather. And your grandfather killed my grandfather. One dispute by our forefathers has created a vengeful bond between our families and the blood of our fathers has been spilt in a violent and painful cycle for generations. Every generation has felt the pain of loss, swore revenge and continued the cycle. Violence begets violence. Here you are to carry on our terrible tradition of revenge, but you have the opportunity to stop this. You can end the cycle.”
Mack stares at him in disbelief.
“I think you’re full of bullshit.”
He moves threateningly closer with his gun.
“You’re wasting your breath thinking I’d believe a story like that.”
“It’s the truth.”
Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Mack jumps in shock.
“You yell for help, and you’re dead! We’ll wait until they leave.”
They wait quietly. The door bell rings again.
“It’s probably my son.”
They wait a little longer, and then, proving Ray right, they hear out the window a young boy yell, “Hey Dad, are you there?”
Mack is now anxious and worried. The situation has become problematic. He doesn’t know what to do.
Ray begins to get up. Mack freaks out at him.
“Don’t get up! Stay where you are.”
Ray stops moving.
“Dad!” Ray’s son yells from outside.
“Don’t say anything.”
“Don’t do anything you will regret, Mack. You can continue the cycle, or you can put the gun down and we can all move on.”
“Do you regret killing my father?”
“I have from the moment I saw the pain in the face of a young boy.”
“Dad open the door!”
“Why didn’t you stop it - the cycle?”
“Because I didn’t know the whole story then. Would you get something from my desk?”
“Why?”
“It’s a red journal that you should look at. It should be on the desk.”
Cautiously, Mack walks backwards to the desk. He keeps the gun pointed at Ray. He looks on the desk. He doesn’t see the journal there. It had fallen on to the floor. He spots it. He looks at Ray and then picks it up. He holds it for Ray to see.
“Is this it?”
“That’s it. That journal describes my story of a young man bent on vengeance who upon its deliverance discovers a shocking revelation that will lead him on a search for truth. It will explain everything - my guilt and our families’ history. You should take it.”
“And what?”
“Read it and discover for yourself.”
Mack is full of doubt. He looks at Ray. He looks at the journal.
“You have to believe me about everything, especially when I say, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I wish I could take it back, but I can’t. Now you have the chance to make right all the wrongs of the future.”
Mack slowly lowers the gun. Ray stands up. They look at each other. Mack reverts his eyes to the journal. He opens it. Ray turns to the door and walks out of the room. He walks down the stairs to the front door. He unlocks and opens it. He finds his son waiting on a chair outside.
“Hey, what... what happened?” Ray’s son looks at the blood on Ray’s face.
“I... had an accident.”
Ray holds the door open and his son walks in. They stop past the doorway as they see Mack at the top of the stairs. He walks down to them. He’s looking at Ray’s son. Ray’s son looks at him.
As Mack reaches them, Ray’s son says, “Hi”.
Mack say “Hi” back. He stops in front of them. He looks at Ray.
“Bye.”
He heads for the door. As he passes, Ray stops him with a touch on the shoulder.
“Thank you.”
He lets Mack go and watches him walk away with the journal in hand. Ray closes the door and looks at his son.
“Who was that?”
“Just an old acquaintance.”
Ray is beaming with joy.
“Come here.”
He grabs his son and hugs him.
“Dad, what’s up?”
“I’m just happy. I think I’ll be writing a happy ending to my story.”
The end.
Copyright Zachary Tannar August 7, 2012