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| Excerpt |
Tremors erupted in Dan’s groin. Not satisfied with remaining imprisoned at the junction of thigh and
trunk they traveled through every available nerve until reaching his abdomen. Dan’s gut roiled.
Without pausing the tremors spread to Dan’s chest, his extremities, and exploded through the crown
of his head. Dan shuddered. The involuntary action agitated the unyielding noose curled around his
gooseflesh neck. The rope stroked his shoulders with a harsh caress that forced thoughts of
imminent death to consume Dan’s mind.
Unable to halt the fear-induced chills sweeping through his body, Dan fought to reduce the
damaging effect as the abrasive rope jerked across his exposed skin. He lost the skirmish. The
rough-woven manila scraped Dan’s skin raw—drew blood.
Dan tried to cry out, failed.
His throat constricted. He bit his tongue. Overcome with fear, the copper taste of blood flowing down
his throat failed to penetrate Dan’s screaming mind. Please! Please help me God!
Witnessed by none able to assist him—the bizarre character of the macabre scene shifted after Dan
heard an unfamiliar man behind him. His scrambled brain attempted to place the voice but failed. It
resonated without recognition.
“Calm yourself or risk bleeding to death. Ye shall die in your sins—but not by your hands,” the man
said.
The man’s words added to Dan’s confusion. “I…I…What…?”
“Quiet!” The man backhanded Dan, drew additional blood.
Dan tried to stand. Two immense hands on his shoulders pressed down. Dan’s rear end slammed
onto a three-legged and backless stool he used when working on his pride and joy, a half-restored
1936 flathead Ford pickup. Languid and unmoving—the antique sat to Dan’s right.
The unknown man slapped duct tape across Dan’s mouth. He rechecked the knot trussing Dan’s
crisscrossed hands positioned behind his back. He did the same for the lashing around Dan’s
ankles.
Satisfied Dan’s bindings restrained his movement, the man grabbed the rope above the noose. The
rope’s loose end lay sprawled across the concrete floor. The stranger remained quiet. He tightened
the hangman’s noose, positioned the eight-coil knot behind Dan’s right ear.
A coarse choking cinch replaced the abrasive caress of the noose. Multiple sensations and emotions
battled for control over Dan’s mind and body. Tears welled in his eyes, cascaded down his cheeks.
His bowels loosened. He lost control of his bladder. A blinding fear blocking all sensations except
terror supplanted any embarrassment.
A woman stepped from behind Dan. He recognized her as the woman who enticed him into his
current predicament.
Their eyes locked—and death stared into Dan’s soul.
The woman watched Dan’s struggle. Her eyes blazed with unwavering hatred.
Dan interpreted the woman’s loathing manner. The thought aroused extreme panic. Dan again
attempted to scream, to cry for help, to arouse anyone within hearing distance. His constricted throat
refused to emit any sound except a muffled internal groan held captive by the duct tape.
The man stepped close behind Dan, laid his hands on Dan’s shoulders. Dan sensed, what, a hint of
compassion, remorse? His hopes soared.
The woman’s voice brought Dan’s momentary hopes crashing to earth. “Remember our duty, our
vow. The wicked shall not triumph. He deserves death—not our pity.”
The man grunted agreement. He removed his hands and plunged them into Dan’s armpits. With little
effort, as if Dan weighed no more than a rag doll, the man lifted him off the stool. He raised Dan six
inches, twelve inches, eighteen inches above the concrete. He held Dan without wavering, turned
and kicked the stool across the garage.
Dan coiled and uncoiled his legs. He aimed for the man’s groin, connected.
The man didn’t flinch, remained silent. He crushed Dan with vice grip fingers.
Dan stopped kicking.
The woman disappeared to Dan’s left. He heard a familiar sound, understood what the pair intended.
She wheeled Dan’s wheelbarrow into view, the one purchased new two weeks before. She
positioned the red wheelbarrow beneath Dan’s dangling legs. The man lowered Dan until his feet
touched the red death machine.
Unable to arouse the physical or mental strength to support his weight, Dan’s legs crumbled. The
man maintained his grip. He positioned Dan’s feet inches above the wheelbarrow and nodded at his
female companion.
She took two steps, grasped the end of the rope lying loose on the concrete floor. She threw the
rope over the intersection of a roof truss and cross member. The rope landed where she aimed,
loose end dangling from the truss.
The woman pulled the rope taut against Dan’s larynx.
Dan reacted by kicking out but discovered only air. He thrust again and struck the man a glancing
blow. The man tightened his grip without comment. Dan uncoiled again, drove his bound feet into
the man’s groin. The man refused to flinch.
Dan squirmed in an attempt to loosen the man’s hold. The woman yanked on the rope causing Dan’s
eyes to bulge.
“Keep him quiet!” the woman said.
The man released his grip and Dan fell towards the waiting wheelbarrow.
The woman reacted, preserved her hold on the rope. She wrapped it around her right arm and
planted her feet against the pickup’s front tire. She stopped Dan’s fall as his knees hit the
wheelbarrow.
Dan gagged, blacked out for a moment.
“Down, let him down!” the man said. He stepped towards Dan. He lifted him—relieved the pressure
on his throat.
The woman loosened her hold on the rope.
Momentary hope and light replaced Dan’s blackened state of mind. His feet touched the wheelbarrow
and did not crumble. He stood, stopped fighting for the moment. The rope loosened around his neck.
The unknown man moved in front of Dan. He raised his right hand. “Whatsoever a man soweth, he
shall also reap. We seek vengeance and vengeance we will have.” He turned to the woman as if
offering her an opportunity to have her say before Dan died.
“We need to take our leave,” the woman said. “We need to see to the others.” Without waiting for a
response, she returned slight pressure to the noose around Dan’s neck and tied the loose end
around the front bumper of Dan’s pickup. She walked under the rope, turned and faced Dan.
Dan heard his final moments on earth ticking off in clanging mental seconds rather than minutes,
days, months, or years—a lifetime compressed into an instant. His anguished mind screamed—Why?
The woman’s demonic gaze offered no answer.
Please, God—why?
Dan received only silence in reply.
His mind sought his wife Barbara and their children. The mental image produced further anguish.
trunk they traveled through every available nerve until reaching his abdomen. Dan’s gut roiled.
Without pausing the tremors spread to Dan’s chest, his extremities, and exploded through the crown
of his head. Dan shuddered. The involuntary action agitated the unyielding noose curled around his
gooseflesh neck. The rope stroked his shoulders with a harsh caress that forced thoughts of
imminent death to consume Dan’s mind.
Unable to halt the fear-induced chills sweeping through his body, Dan fought to reduce the
damaging effect as the abrasive rope jerked across his exposed skin. He lost the skirmish. The
rough-woven manila scraped Dan’s skin raw—drew blood.
Dan tried to cry out, failed.
His throat constricted. He bit his tongue. Overcome with fear, the copper taste of blood flowing down
his throat failed to penetrate Dan’s screaming mind. Please! Please help me God!
Witnessed by none able to assist him—the bizarre character of the macabre scene shifted after Dan
heard an unfamiliar man behind him. His scrambled brain attempted to place the voice but failed. It
resonated without recognition.
“Calm yourself or risk bleeding to death. Ye shall die in your sins—but not by your hands,” the man
said.
The man’s words added to Dan’s confusion. “I…I…What…?”
“Quiet!” The man backhanded Dan, drew additional blood.
Dan tried to stand. Two immense hands on his shoulders pressed down. Dan’s rear end slammed
onto a three-legged and backless stool he used when working on his pride and joy, a half-restored
1936 flathead Ford pickup. Languid and unmoving—the antique sat to Dan’s right.
The unknown man slapped duct tape across Dan’s mouth. He rechecked the knot trussing Dan’s
crisscrossed hands positioned behind his back. He did the same for the lashing around Dan’s
ankles.
Satisfied Dan’s bindings restrained his movement, the man grabbed the rope above the noose. The
rope’s loose end lay sprawled across the concrete floor. The stranger remained quiet. He tightened
the hangman’s noose, positioned the eight-coil knot behind Dan’s right ear.
A coarse choking cinch replaced the abrasive caress of the noose. Multiple sensations and emotions
battled for control over Dan’s mind and body. Tears welled in his eyes, cascaded down his cheeks.
His bowels loosened. He lost control of his bladder. A blinding fear blocking all sensations except
terror supplanted any embarrassment.
A woman stepped from behind Dan. He recognized her as the woman who enticed him into his
current predicament.
Their eyes locked—and death stared into Dan’s soul.
The woman watched Dan’s struggle. Her eyes blazed with unwavering hatred.
Dan interpreted the woman’s loathing manner. The thought aroused extreme panic. Dan again
attempted to scream, to cry for help, to arouse anyone within hearing distance. His constricted throat
refused to emit any sound except a muffled internal groan held captive by the duct tape.
The man stepped close behind Dan, laid his hands on Dan’s shoulders. Dan sensed, what, a hint of
compassion, remorse? His hopes soared.
The woman’s voice brought Dan’s momentary hopes crashing to earth. “Remember our duty, our
vow. The wicked shall not triumph. He deserves death—not our pity.”
The man grunted agreement. He removed his hands and plunged them into Dan’s armpits. With little
effort, as if Dan weighed no more than a rag doll, the man lifted him off the stool. He raised Dan six
inches, twelve inches, eighteen inches above the concrete. He held Dan without wavering, turned
and kicked the stool across the garage.
Dan coiled and uncoiled his legs. He aimed for the man’s groin, connected.
The man didn’t flinch, remained silent. He crushed Dan with vice grip fingers.
Dan stopped kicking.
The woman disappeared to Dan’s left. He heard a familiar sound, understood what the pair intended.
She wheeled Dan’s wheelbarrow into view, the one purchased new two weeks before. She
positioned the red wheelbarrow beneath Dan’s dangling legs. The man lowered Dan until his feet
touched the red death machine.
Unable to arouse the physical or mental strength to support his weight, Dan’s legs crumbled. The
man maintained his grip. He positioned Dan’s feet inches above the wheelbarrow and nodded at his
female companion.
She took two steps, grasped the end of the rope lying loose on the concrete floor. She threw the
rope over the intersection of a roof truss and cross member. The rope landed where she aimed,
loose end dangling from the truss.
The woman pulled the rope taut against Dan’s larynx.
Dan reacted by kicking out but discovered only air. He thrust again and struck the man a glancing
blow. The man tightened his grip without comment. Dan uncoiled again, drove his bound feet into
the man’s groin. The man refused to flinch.
Dan squirmed in an attempt to loosen the man’s hold. The woman yanked on the rope causing Dan’s
eyes to bulge.
“Keep him quiet!” the woman said.
The man released his grip and Dan fell towards the waiting wheelbarrow.
The woman reacted, preserved her hold on the rope. She wrapped it around her right arm and
planted her feet against the pickup’s front tire. She stopped Dan’s fall as his knees hit the
wheelbarrow.
Dan gagged, blacked out for a moment.
“Down, let him down!” the man said. He stepped towards Dan. He lifted him—relieved the pressure
on his throat.
The woman loosened her hold on the rope.
Momentary hope and light replaced Dan’s blackened state of mind. His feet touched the wheelbarrow
and did not crumble. He stood, stopped fighting for the moment. The rope loosened around his neck.
The unknown man moved in front of Dan. He raised his right hand. “Whatsoever a man soweth, he
shall also reap. We seek vengeance and vengeance we will have.” He turned to the woman as if
offering her an opportunity to have her say before Dan died.
“We need to take our leave,” the woman said. “We need to see to the others.” Without waiting for a
response, she returned slight pressure to the noose around Dan’s neck and tied the loose end
around the front bumper of Dan’s pickup. She walked under the rope, turned and faced Dan.
Dan heard his final moments on earth ticking off in clanging mental seconds rather than minutes,
days, months, or years—a lifetime compressed into an instant. His anguished mind screamed—Why?
The woman’s demonic gaze offered no answer.
Please, God—why?
Dan received only silence in reply.
His mind sought his wife Barbara and their children. The mental image produced further anguish.
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| O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill! Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men! Lord Byron (1788-1824) |