He didn’t know why he checked the crime log. He had nothing to worry about. After years of doing the things that he did, he was as likely to get caught as was a mime likely to press his hands against a real wall. Not gonna happen. He continued to read though, and that’s when he saw his name, in bold, with a small reward amount.
“What?” he said to himself, and looked around trying to think of how he got caught but a sudden repetitious bang on his door broke his concentration.
“Open up! Police!”
His heart hammered, his mouth dryer than the Mojave during a drought.
BANG BANG BANG!
He shot up from his seat and watched a silhouette cross the window. Beads of sweat rolled down his face as if he’d just took a brisk walk through torrential rain.
BANG BANG BANG!
“Last warning! Open up or we’re coming in!”
He dashed from the living room, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, which faced the backyard. He had been preparing for this for a long time, and now that it was time, he was scared nothing would go right.
From his closet, he armed himself with a shotgun. It was loaded with only two rounds, but that was enough.
He heard the door open on the first floor. They had a key. They must have, because he had locked the door after grabbing the paper that morning. He always locked it.
When feet started stomping up the stairs, he positioned himself three feet from the door. It was enough for the door to open and enough room for the shotgun spread. When the door burst open, he fired. The blast hit his intruder in the chest, and he watched the uniformed man stagger back and tumble down the stairs. He waited for just a moment to see if anyone followed him, and when he heard nothing, he dropped the shotgun.
Gable ran toward the back wall of the room and kicked it. One, two, three times. The cracks started to appear, and then the wall crashed out onto the ground below. He worried that the break-away wall would fail him, but it turned out to work well after all.
He stopped at the edge, and looked out into the crisp morning sky. A cold wind nipped at his skin, and a distant dog barked at something. This was supposed to be another wonderful Halloween, which he’d prepared for all year long. Now, it was spoiled because a couple cops couldn’t mind their own fucking business.
Above his head, there was a metal twine rope attached to the wall and it lead down to the grassy area just beyond his backyard fence line. He opened the cabinet to his right, which contained clothes and other assorted items, and he retrieved a zip line mechanism. After quickly connecting it to the line, he zipped to the ground.
He looked up, and no cop appeared at the opening in the wall. They were probably being cautious or tending to their fallen comrade. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. He just started running, and as he approached the ally between his house and the other, someone turned the corner and he ran right into them.
After falling and then scrambling to his feet, he was about to dash the other direction when he saw it was Lucas, the man he’d known for over two decades.
Gable said, “They’re here! The cops. Dude, we gotta bolt!”
Lucas’s face was red, his eyes lit with the glisten of water. “You killed him!”
Gable stopped, and turned. “What?”
“Victor. You fucking killed him!”
Sirens blared in the distance as Gable approached Lucas. “What the hell do you mean I killed him?”
Lucas, through deep heaves of pain and anguish over his friend’s death, explained that he and Victor had dressed up as detective and cop, respectively, to play a prank on Gable. He was supposed to open the door and find two cops there, but then immediately realize that it was just a prank. When they heard him rummaging around, they used the key he’d given them a couple years ago to go inside and scare him a little more. Victor went upstairs while Lucas stayed behind to get a good laugh.
“Shit,” Gable said, the sirens near.
“Why the fuck did you freak out!”
Gable knew why. It was because normal people don’t understand him. They don’t understand that he has fetishes and desires that he had to feed. They don’t understand people like him, and so they call him monster, murderer, and try to lock him up in jail, but they don’t try to understand him. They never do. After this, they won’t even try.
“Why!” Lucas screamed and wailed in pain.
Gable listened as the police vehicles in the front of the house came to a screeching halt. Soon, they’d capture him, and then they’d find his friend dead in his house. The police would arrest him, and probably they’d search the rest of the house. They’d find the bodies he had stuffed in the walls, and the one he had in the basement that was still fresh. They’d examine those bodies and find that each one of them was missing fingers and toes. They’d find the bowl of fingers and toes in the freezer, and then they’d connect him to the fingers and toes he handed out to kids during Halloween. They’d know that he was the Candy Man serial killer–as the media so lovingly called him. They’d find out all of that, and he would go to jail. Likely he’d be put to death. All because his stupid friends played a stupid prank, and the stupid police responded to the stupid fucking gunshot.