Morning
Damon was seated beneath the window in his cell, enjoying the rays of sunlight that gleamed through the narrow window, when the guard informed him of a visit. It wasn’t a surprise for him to learn it was Detective Spencer, as the man had started visiting Damon in 2010 and over the years he’d paid several unannounced visits whenever Damon was incarcerated. He walked out of his cell, glad to be free for the moment and followed the guard to the visiting hall. There he found Detective Spencer, a lot older than he’d remembered, with a head-full of gray hair and deep wrinkles, seated at the table. His hands were crossed and Damon walked over to the man as he stood to his feet and introduced himself again.
“You still don’t remember Roosevelt Pierce?” Detective Spencer asked when they sat down. He handed Damon the same picture he’d showed him the first and last times he visited. A photo of Roosevelt: a buff prisoner, wearing a tan jumpsuit and timberland boots.
Damon gazed at the photo for a long time. He thought about the day his life had changed. The day he went from a confused teenager to an all-out thug. It was as if it was yesterday, but twenty years had passed. He handed the picture back to the detective, “I told you before, I’ve never seen him."
The detective not convinced continued, “He was paroled to Linda Anderson’s apartment in 1999, the same year you dated her daughter, Katherine Anderson, and your first cousin dated Krystal Anderson. You don’t remember Mr. Pierce at all.”
“Nope,” Damon said. He didn’t need to implicate himself as he knew the detectives trail ended with Linda Anderson, she was dead, and so was everyone else who knew anything about what happened to Roosevelt Pierce, besides him and Goliath.
Damon and Goliath King were first cousins, but Lilly King, Damon’s mother always told people, if you wanted Damon, look for Goliath. The boys only separated to spend alone times with their girlfriends. The absence was never very long, since they dated sisters. It was common knowledge back then if the boys weren’t on the block hustling redi-rock and dope, they were probably at Linda Anderson’s apartment with Katherine and Krystal.
Katherine and Krystal were like two peas in a pod themselves. A year apart, it was hard to tell one from the other. Despite Linda Anderson being their mother, the girls were blessed with congenial spirits and dark-skinned magic that beamed when they were spoken too. They had pretty faces, shiny and dark as ripe cherries, curves in all the right places, and they were book smart and street smart, the ride-or-die type Damon and Goliath admired. The girls weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty and it was nothing for them to hold bundles of crack and cash for Damon or Goliath. Together the quartet formed the type of bond that would take secrets to the grave.
The girl’s mother, Linda Anderson, was a bar hopper hoe. She worked mid-day at a factory and hung out in bars until after midnight. She used her pretty face and her voluptuous figure to draw a host of one-night stands and crews of week-to-week boyfriends, some straight out of prison. There was no shame to her game. After a few sleep overs, she would allow any man who professed his love, to move in quick. But, she wasn’t the type to keep a man, most of them stayed rent free and only long enough to collect a paycheck, before they moved along to the next available apartment.
Roosevelt Pierce, was really no different than the others. Linda Anderson was introduced to him, via a three-way phone call, by her sister Mona. Roosevelt was prison mates with Mona's boyfriend and according to Mona, he was looking for a hard-working woman to settle down with once his sentence was over. Mona further enticed Linda when she talked about his monthly social security checks and confirmed he had a large savings account and as his money was being held in the bank waiting for him when he gets out. Linda brought in lock, stock and barrel. After the introduction was made she sat on the phone with Roosevelt for hours and before long she was racking up collect-call bills and spending money to make visits.
It was nice when Roosevelt first came to live in New Bethill. He had a lot of money from social security. He splurged on Linda. Used a large amount to purchase a new car for her. With the rest Roosevelt, having become familiar with the dope dealers in New Bethill, made pitstops to get his fix, before joining Linda at the bar. They spent the first year together riding the Eagle Primer to bars, clubs and restaurants, as if they were wealthy. They were always together, stayed high and intoxicated. They laughed and played as lovers did. Until the money started to dry up; then things changed.
Linda continued to party, but Roosevelt retreated full-time to the living room. He preferred to sit around all day wearing baggy shorts and a wife beater, while he watched television in the middle of the living room. He held the couch hostage. Sipped on cheap beer and pretended not to snort dope. He carried a Glock. Kept it tucked inside his boots, daring anyone to cross him, including Linda. Half-past a year, the love making was over and Linda was asking him to leave.
~~~~~~
Afternoon
It was the Summer of Sam, 1999, when Roosevelt Pierce disappeared. Damon and Goliath were seventeen at the time, just boys—
During that summer Damon and Goliath both attended summer school in the mornings. Kat worked at the laundry-o-mat from 6 o’clock in the morning until noon and Krystal worked at Burger King. On the day Roosevelt disappeared Linda and Krystal worked afternoon shifts, so when Kat got off at noon she tarried in town. It was a Friday and she'd gotten her first paycheck for the summer, so she stopped at a few of the downtown shops and splurged a little. She walked to the park, sat outside near the water fall, enjoyed an ice cream cone. Before long she had no choice, but to wander towards home, it was just too hot to dwell in the streets. Even the shade was stifled by the sun that beamed without care.
Kat made it home and glanced at Roosevelt with a pained expression on her face. He was on the couch, sitting as if he’d worked a hard shift and needed to relax. His feet were up on the ottoman, his arms were stretched out and he had the fan positioned so that it blew directly on him. He glanced at Kat with a sinister gaze when she came through the front door.
Kat gave a wry smile and headed straight for her bedroom. He feigned niceness, asked her how her day went, and complimented her work ethic.
Roosevelt said, “You girls are just like your momma, always working." Then he grinned, "can’t keep a man that way, a man wants a woman to be home sometimes."
Kat didn’t respond. She despised Roosevelt. Despised his fake compliments and underhanded sweet nothings. When she entered her bedroom, she closed the door and sat down on her bed, glad to be out of the heat she leaned back and listened to the kids play outside. She could have never anticipated what Roosevelt would do next.
He knocked.
Her heart gave a leery thump, "Yeah,” Kat said in a cautious tone.
“Damon coming over today?” he asked, through the door.
Kat didn’t respond at first. Damon came over every day, so she was a bit suspicious. She felt queasy like she could hear his pounding heart and feel his rugged breath through the door. She glanced at the clock, the large red numbers blinked 2:45, Damon was usually at the apartment by 3:15.
“Yeah,” she said, “he'll be here soon.” It wasn’t the first time Roosevelt asked about. Damon, especially when he wanted to get dope on credit. It was nothing for him to spend half his social-security check before he got it, to keep control of his habit. Kat turned on the fan and relaxed. Roosevelt knocked again.
“Uhhhh…Kat,” he said after a minute. “I wanted to talk with you about your mother. Can I come in?”
Baffled and afraid Kat noticed the door was unlocked. She got up and went for the knob, but before she could reach the door, Roosevelt walked in wearing only his boxers. His wife-beater was removed and his bare chest was exposed. Anger flashed through Kat’s body. At a loss for words, she stood in place. Her window was opened and her shear pink curtains danced about lightly. She stood there watching him as he stood at the door. To break the awkward silence, Kat went to her dresser and pretended to be searching for something in the drawers.
“What do you want, Roosevelt?” she asked. Her tone was cold and sharp.
“Nothing, I just came in to see what’s up with you,” his voice was cool and measured, he lingered twisting the door knob back and forth, salivating at the mouth like an immature beast.
“What’s up with me? She answered, perturbed, “nothing I’m waiting for Damon to get out of school.”
“What do you see in that dumb motherfucker. I think you’re too beautiful for a nigger like that. He’s going to be in jail pretty soon.”
“You mean like you were?” Kat said, not expecting an answer.
He shrugged his shoulders, shut the door and walked further inside the room, “you deserve better than, Damon,” he said. His voice was deep and serious.
Kat face was frowned, but she laughed, into the flat air, her heart beat heavy. “Thanks, but I got this. He’ll be here soon,” she said, again hoping he’d get the message and leave. Her back still turned, but she glanced at him through the mirror. “Anything else?” She asked. She barely squeezed the words out of her dry mouth.
He nodded his head, moved in her direction like a snake, "there's something else," he said with a causal shrug. “I would like to know how you feel about me, you always seem so quite when I’m around.”
Kat rolled her eyes in disgust, “You make me no difference. Can you lock the door when you leave,” she said, “Damon’ll be here soon,” she repeated as she glanced at the clock and noticed the time. Then she became visibly anxious, he had at least another 15 minutes before he even got out of school. She closed the drawer and nonchalantly tried to walk to the door.
Roosevelt didn’t let her pass. He moved from side to side and kept talking. His demeanor shifted into a stiff stance and his language became violent and sexual, “you girls aren’t whores like you mother, are you?”
Kat faced him, gazed for a long while. Inside she shivered. It had started off as such a nice day. Now it was as if she was inside of a night mare. The two of them stood face to face, near the opened window the breeze still blew, only the pink curtain separated them. For a second she wondered if he would take things that far, she hoped she was wrong about Roosevelt’s intentions. Her confidence running on a single thought: no matter how wretched the men her mother dated, none of them dared to touch her, or her sister. Not even the ones that beat her mother.
He drew closer to her and peered down with wanting eyes. He was a tall man and had the physic of a body builder, his arms were bulged and his stomach was flat. He tried to grab here but she avoided his reach and she tried to make another move for the door.
“Aww come on now, I know you will like it, I can make you scream,” he said in a vile tone. “I know Damon can’t do that, he ain’t got shit.”
“you’re crazy, you’re crazy,” she shouted over and over.
Suddenly her room, her sanctuary, became a prison. She was trapped inside the tiny space. He came at her again, ripping her shirt and grabbing her breast. He weighed her down and managed to grab her at the waist and throw her on the bed. With his knee he spread her legs, pulled her pants down and had his way. The entire event lasted about 10-minutes.
Years later, on her death bed, Kat told Damon, how she’d survived; the way she stepped outside of herself, like a spirit leaves a body. She watched Roosevelt rape her. His was engulfed in evil. His expression demonic. His eyes deep red and filled with rage and anger. His big lips hung open and sweat dripped down over them. It was 3:08 when Roosevelt finished, 3:08 in the afternoon, the moment she stepped back inside herself, seven minutes before Damon got out of school.
Before Roosevelt left her bedroom, he removed his gun from his boot and put it into her mouth. “If you tell a soul,” He said, his voice deep and demonic and dark, “I’ll kill you, your momma. your sister and your punk ass boyfriend. You understand, you fucking whore—you fucking whore!” he shouted.
With wild eyes, Kat shook her head. “I won’t tell,” she said. Her tone was cold, yet strong. She was afraid but she didn't let him see her tears. He kept the gun lodged in her mouth for a moment, sweat poured off his ribbed four-head and spilled onto her face like toilet water. Then just like that he got up and strolled out as if nothing happened.
Kat didn't cry at first. When it was all over, she was grateful to be alive. When he left, she inhaled. Then she cried. Tears ran down her face, as the scent of sweat and ejaculated semen drifted out the window. She wanted to get up, but couldn’t bring herself to move. She let the warm tears ran down her face and blur her vision. She hoped she could stamp out the images of the man from her brain. In silence she stared at the wall, that at one time was a bright, glad- yellow, but now took on a grayish-yellow stained hue.
It was 3:13 when Kat heard the tinkle from Mr. Softie’s Ice Cream Truck, and not long after she heared Damon footsteps. He entered her bedroom.
“What the fuck,” Damon yelled when he found Kat.
He walked into the room and stood over her. He glared at her face, spackled with dried salty tears. Her eyes were blood shot red.
“What happened to you?” Damon asked in disbelief. He didn’t need an answer, it was clear what had happened. He stared at her body that was partly naked and bruised like a bruised piece of fruit. In disbelief he asked, “He raped you?” His eyes were squinted and his mouth was twisted, as if he tried to comprehend.
Kat nodded her head and pulled herself up, so that she rested on her elbows. “Roosevelt—” She began, but she couldn’t repeat the crime. Couldn’t repeat the violence. She cried like a baby.
The entire time, Damon repeated, “I’m going to kill him,” then he headed for the door, but Kat cried with fear in her eyes.
“Don’t leave me, Damon. Don’t leave me, Damon,” she repeated the words over and over, even after Damon had turned from the door and draped her with both his arms.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Damon said, as he held her close.
When she had hiccupped, spit up and was over the initial shock, Damon made her get up from the bed to clean herself. He helped her take a shower, in scorching hot water. In silence at first. Then Kat explained what Roosevelt had done. The way he came into the room and forced himself on her.
Damon was seventeen and knew the only payment for what Roosevelt had done, was death. He didn’t want to be a murderer at his young age, but when he looked at Kat after she’d finished dressing, he knew the only retribution was death.
By the time Kat finished dressing Kris and Goliath were in the living room. Kat told them the same story, Kris cried.
“We should call the police,” Kris said after Kat finished.
“No police,” Damon said.
“We’re going to handle this the proper way. Let’s pop that nigger,” Goliath said.
Damon agreed, he paced back and forth in anger as the quartet devised a plan.
~~~~~~
Evening
Back in the day everybody had guns in New Bethill. Shoot to Kill was the motto around the streets. Damon’s favorite gun was a 38 Special; Goliath held a Tec-9. They’d never used the weapons before for any reason, but now they were about to commit a crime.
It was Friday night and the streets were filled with people wearing glad faces. The air carried the melody of music from the bars and the beat of happy people buzzing with the excitement of a nice summer evening and a paycheck. It wasn’t going to be difficult to find Roosevelt. It was only a few days until the 3rd and he had to stick around to get his social security check, so he wasn’t far. He wasn’t going to leave town until he knew if Kat had remained silent, or sang like a bird. Damon and Goliath checked every bar in the neighborhood, and finally heard from a friend that he’d been sitting up in Bernie’s most of that evening. By the time they made it to Bernie’s Bar the sun had descended and a dark, sky was filled with stars and a big round moon.
“You go in, place nice, while I find a place to dispose of the body” Damon said to Goliath when they arrived at the bar. “I’ll be back in a few.”
“It’ll be like dangling a carrot before a rabbit’s eyes,” Goliath said when he disappeared into the darkness of Bernie’s bar.
Goliath walked inside the bar. His tech-9 tucked in the back of his pants and his shirt hung down to cover. According to their plan, he was going to make Roosevelt feel comfortable, pretend to be unaware of what he’d done to Kat and lure him out the bar with the promise of credit for dope. Goliath played real smooth he sat at the bar and ordered a drink. He started to sip, like he didn’t have a care in the world. The music was loud and a few people were dancing. Roosevelt was seated in a booth facing the door, drinking a beer. Goliath, gazed at him from his peripheral but made no direct contact. After a while Roosevelt approached him.
“What’s up G,” Roosevelt said.
Goliath smiled and gazed at the man he was about to kill as if everything was copacetic, “What’s up Roosevelt?” Goliath said.
“Nothing much, just hanging, letting off some steam,” Roosevelt returned, “headed back home in a few.”
“I feel you.”
“You ain’t been to Linda’s?” His brow was raised, as if he was expecting Goliath to sound an alarm.
“Earlier, I walked Kris over there. You want a drink?” Goliath asked. He was nonchalant and cool, although his stomach churned with animosity. He kept a close on Roosevelt, watched his every move, all the while he smiled, nodded his head to the music.
Roosevelt smiled back and feeling relieved he slide onto the bar stole next to Goliath like a snake. He was convinced Kat had kept her mouth shut. With glee he imagined how the sex would be the next time he took her. He’d decided he wouldn’t be so rough, she was a beautiful girl and at least deserved that amount of respect. Sitting there he started to feel a complete sense of euphoria, excited about his victory. He wanted to celebrate. He bubbled with an irresistible urge to get high and not just any high, he wanted that shoot’em up high, heroin right in the vein high, a high that could only be obtained with good shit. If he had the good shit he can go down by the tracks and shoot-up alone. “Linda’s trifling,” he said. He took a gurgle of beer and leaned back with relief. “The girls ain’t nothing like her.”
“You right about that. They’re the opposite of Linda in every way.” Goliath nodded his head, gazed at him with feigned sincerity. He wondered if Damon had found a spot to get rid of him.
“How are things on the front lines?” Roosevelt asked.
“Pretty good, pretty good, if I do say so myself,” Goliath said. He knew where Roosevelt was going and felt a tingle inside of his stomach, they were really going to have to kill. Secretly, he prayed they’d get away with the crime.
Roosevelt said, “that’s good to know.” He grabbed his drink and lifted his glass to toast with Goliath. Then he said, “Listen—my check be here day after tomorrow, and I was thinking since business is good for you, you’d let me hold something. I get it right back to you—double your dough,” he said with cunning eyes and a crooked smile.
Goliath had heard Roosevelt like to go down to the tracks to get high and he figured that would be a good spot to get rid of a body, “My shit down by the tracks,” he said to Roosevelt.
“Ah, no problem with that. No problem at all,” Roosevelt said. “Linda don’t know so I go down by the tracks to do my thing,” he said and he pointed a finger into the back of his hand.
“You don’t mind if I walk down with you.”
“Nah, I don’t mind. You just hang down by the freight trains while I go get my package, but I gotta wait for Damon, he’ll be here any minute.” Goliath said. He cast a leery eye at Roosevelt, thinking he might realize what they were up too, but Roosevelt was too busy with thoughts of his own.
He’d been thinking about how much money he wanted to spend, and mad at himself for saying he would double the money, and decided he would trap Kat again as payback for the double portion, “no problem, I’ll wait,” he said.
~~~~~~
Midnight
Outside Damon walked around the neighborhood, trying to come up with a spot to kill Roosevelt. It was stifling hot, even at that hour of the night, a lot of cars were out, but most people were going someplace to party. Damon passed a few friends and several feigns as he crossed one block and another. He reached Tabernacle Church and looked around. He glanced at the lonely structure, gazed at the painted windows, they looked almost enchanted beneath the dark sky, he wandered around the back of the church, approached the building and said a prayer. Down the street he reached the graveyard, he decided that was the place to kill someone, but changed his mind there were too many people scattered around. When he came upon the library, a dark and deserted looking building, he walked around it to the back and discovered a large dumpster, he decided that was the perfect place. He thanked God for leading him there, but before he got back to the front of the building he spotted Buckwheat, a neighborhood feign headed to the back of the library.
Buckwheat said, “Damon, what’s good--what you doing over here--got something I can hold?” He asked the questions all in one breath and gazed at Damon with ghost white-eyes and extra-large pupils.
“I ain’t got no time for you Buckwheat,” Damon said. He passed the man with a frown and headed back to Bernie’s Bar. He put the library on the back burner. When he reached the bar he went inside and found Goliath seated next to Roosevelt. He smiled and walked in with an un-phased expression. We got your ass, he whispered to himself as he headed in their direction.
When Goliath noticed Damon he got up to greet him, “we can do it at the tracks,” he whispered.
“Great idea,” Damon returned. He greeted Roosevelt, “what’s good Roosevelt?”
“Nothing much,” Roosevelt said, he pretended as if he’d done nothing wrong. He was an innocent man, in a bar, sipping a beer with friends.
Goliath said, “I told Roosevelt he can walk with us down to the track, he wants to hold something.”
“For sure,” Damon said, his faced frowned with exaggerated jubilance. “Any man that can put up with Linda, has a special place in my heart.”
“Man, I thought yah loved that chick.”
“Love,” Goliath said, playing along, “that’s a strong word. I wouldn’t say I hate her, but I dame show don’t love her. Kris don’t have none of her ways.”
“You keepin Linda in check. I’ve known her a long time and ain’t never seen a brother accomplish that,” Damon said. He had ordered a drink and leaned back on the bar right next to Roosevelt.
They left the bar after Damon drank two shots of vodka. The streets were dark midnight black, but still busy. Not one person ever said they saw them leave the bar together; not a soul ever admitted to seeing the three of them walk down towards the track.
As they walked Damon and Goliath were mostly quit, there heart beat heavy as they thought about how they were going to get away with murder. Roosevelt was giddy, happy as a lark and was in a talkative mood. He talked about Linda, bashed her whorish ways and praised Kat and Kris. Whenever he spoke of Kat he would glorify her in a way that made Damon cringe.
“Kat is so polite and neat, that’s why she got that job at the laundry-o-mat. You’re lucky Damon, if I was yah age, you would have a run for your money,” Roosevelt said. He taped Damon on the shoulder.
They stopped when they reached the barb-wired fence, put up to deter people from crossing, but had a wide long gash cut right through the metal links, allowing access. They walked through the gash and over the fence. They headed to the boxed freight cars, that stretched into the brow of the sky. In the air was the smell of iron and coal and they felt the sharp crevices of the crushed rocks beneath their feet as they approached the trains.
Damon started to pull his gun out of his pants when they reached the tracks, but was thrown off guard when there came a flutter of black creatures from out of the one of the train cars. There so many of the black creatures they sound like a loud gunshot.
Damon caught off guard instinctively turned around to run and Roosevelt let out a loud belly laugh.
"Bats," Goliath yelled and he grabbed Damon by the arm.
"Motherfuckers," Damon said. For a second he watched as the black birds flew across the sky like ink drops.
Roosevelt was bent over, laughing with no control. He held his belly and pointed at Damon., "You'sa scary motherfucker," he said.
Damon scuffed and twisted his face, "motherfucker," he repeated the word with offence. Then he pulled his gun out and cocked it at Roosevelt's temple, “I got your motherfucker and If you mention Kat’s name one more time, I’ll put a hole in your head, right now.” Damon said.
Roosevelt laughed. turned into a cough. With wild eyes he gazed at the 38. “I should have known, you were up to something--you pussy ass motherfuckers better kill me.” He tried to sound tough. He was afraid. His voice rattled.
“Put your hands over ya motha-fuckin head,” Damon said, as if he was asking him to sit down at the dinner table.
Roosevelt acquiesced, all the while he grunted, “You dumb motherfuckers ain’t going to get away with this,” he said.
“You think you’re tough," Goliath said with an indignant scowl, "You're not." With a towel he pulled the Glock out of Roosevelt’s boot.
“Yah siding with bitches,” Roosevelt said.
Damon laughed—he was angry—but he laughed. “We’re not taking your side—we’re disposing of bitch asses.”
“We’re gonna make an example out of you. You’ll never take what doesn’t belong to you,” Goliath said and he hit Roosevelt in his shoulder with his Tech-9.
Roosevelt screamed.
“You can call us Robbin Hoods,” Damon said with a snarky tone. He glanced between Roosevelt and the tracks, he wondered if they should shoot him right their by the train and decided to look around. Damon pointed his gun at Roosevelt's head and walked on the track. I
t was so quiet, they heard the echo of their voices in the dark night. There was a full moon and stars in the sky. Damon walked onto the ballasts and stood on the tracks. He looked to the east and the west, then the north and the south. No train came from the south, but to the north in the distance, a shape of a flashlight beamed. It was then it occurred to him, they didn’t have to shoot Roosevelt.
“Yo, G,” Damon called, “bring him up here.”
Goliath forced Roosevelt onto his feet, and ushered him towards Damon. Roosevelt maneuvered himself onto the rocks trying to come up with a way to escape, but whenever he moved he felt the muzzle of the tech-9 and Damon stood on top of the track with a perfect aim at his chest. He had no choice but to do as instructed.
Damon said, “We don’t have to shoot this dirty piece of shit, get our hands dirty. Let the train do it to this fool,” he said.
Goliath pushed Roosevelt so that all three of them stood together staring into the dark night. The light from the north train was now the size of a moon, and the sound of the train’s whistle drifted in the silence of the darkness. He looked back at Damon with wonder in his eyes, “what if he runs?”
“We stand-by, watch. If he runs, we shoot his ass.”
Goliath wasn’t certain, but he had to be quick about his decision, “let’s knock his ass out first.”
Roosevelt begged, “Come on guys, you’re not going to get away with this. Please, murder is serious.”
“So is rape,” Damon shouted, “which way you prefer, the train or a bullet in your head.”
They could hear the train. Damon searched around into the blackness, and when he spotted a brick he picked it up and threw it with a heavy force at Roosevelt’s head. Roosevelt cried out and then dropped over. His large frame hit the iron rail with a thud. Goliath turned him over so that Roosevelt was on his back. The train was now so close, they felt the pressed wind. The boys made haste, hid between the freight trains and watched the execution.
Roosevelt wasn’t just going to die. By the time Damon and Goliath reached the freight trains, Roosevelt’s eyes were opened. He had rolled over on his belly and tried to stand. His large dark frame weaved back and forth as he made every attempt to get on his feet. He raised up his big back, but fell right back onto the tracks with another bang. Eventually he was able to raise himself onto his knees and was almost on his feet. But the train moved too quick. The sound of the iron wheels, rolling over the iron tracks drew closer and closer. The whistle blew. First the usual, unintentional toot: choo-choo…choo-choo. Then there came a long shriek: choooooo, chooooo, chooooo, chooooo. Roosevelt struggled. The wind from the train pushed him back down. He tried to get up, get off and he even saw the light. But it was all too late--the train made impact. It hit his square torso with a force that sounded like a violent clap of thunder. Red blood spilled across the dark landscape like raindrops. Damon and Goliath watched, amazed at the impact. The iron wheels of the train skidded along, and the breaks screeched, and halted a few miles up ahead on the track. The boys didn’t stick around, they walked off the track, with the image of the splattered red-blood forever engrained in their minds.
The body was never identified. That’s the reason Damon never worried about Detective Roland Spencer’s hunt, he knew, the detective was searching for a body that had been splattered asunder.
~~~~~~
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