Baphomet

a short story from the vault

Art by Sofia Silvatica

posting another short story from the vault. this one’s a bit longer than my others (about 7k words) but it’s a good one.

song to listen to as you read:

here’s the story:

Archie Moss clenches the paper as it crumples in his hands. The crumpling dampens the cries of his wife Sarah in their bedroom. The cries are soft and pitiful. They suck the life out of the room like a suicidal graft, cries that beg for this life to not only be over, but to be completely dead and forgotten. They knew they were late. They told them they were going to be late. But none of that matters now, it’s all gone. 

His reality has now become transfixed to one word: foreclosure. His home, his life as he knew it, is now something to be owned and sold by the same bank that reassured him that they would work with him. Now all he can think about how they swindled them out of a life that he thought was his. It was never really there. It was just a ghost that haunted him until those that possessed him with his home exorcized him of it. 

His face transforms into a dark flushed red that boils beneath his leathery cracked skin. He suppresses his tears because even crying has become a luxury. His repression comes for him just like the bank did, and all it wants from him is to collect. He has no collateral for it because even his repressed thoughts knew that his fate was always a check that he could never cash. He releases his tight grip and the paper glides down to the floor like an injured sparrow. As it descends, he bellows a harsh demonic caw for there are now too many demons to repress. 

Sarah walks out into the living room with a face stained from a lighter redness and tears dripping from her charred eyes. She approaches Archie from behind and cusps her hands onto his shoulders as she cradles her neck on his collar bone. She attempts to speak, but stifles herself as the words fail to flow from her mouth. She does not have anything to say to him. As she attempts to say something, he lays his hand onto her cusped one. He turns around to embrace her, knowing that he cannot protect her from the perils which befall them. He has failed her, and she has failed him. No matter what they did, despite the overtime requests, despite the work that breaks them every day, the money that they so desperately need to stay afloat does not dare to look them in the eye and tell them its secrets. 

—I can’t believe it’s gone. Everything we’ve worked for. It’s all been for nothing. 

—Archie, we can come back from this. 

—How? We’ve lost our equity. We don’t have any savings. It’s gone. Completely gone. We only have our clothes and hardly any food. We won’t survive on the streets. We’ll crash and burn. 

—We’ll be fine. We can come back from this. 

—No we can’t, Sarah. We can barely afford to take care of ourselves. You know they won’t give us any overtime, and we’re not qualified enough to work anywhere else. We’re already on SNAP for Christ’s sake. Do you know how long it’ll take to get low income housing? We’re finished. 

His words contort her face into that of a desperate child. Tears begin to creep back out of her infantile eyes and haunt her begrudged and weakened face. She begins to collapse, but he catches her and embraces her tightly. She sobs into his blue polo shirt, staining it with her tears. He lets go and their embrace flutters into nothingness. They stare into each other’s eyes desperate for answers, and they find nothing. 

—What are we going to do?

—I don’t know. Come on, it’s late. We need to get some sleep.

Their feet drag to the bedroom and they drop onto their bed, waiting for their slumber to take them away from this horrendous reality. Halfway between life and death, Archie lays in bed, hoping for his fate to come to a screeching halt. 

That moment never comes. Instead, his slumber invites him to an open field. He has never seen this field, but as a shiver rushes down his spine he realizes that this field knows him better than he knows it. Years of anguish and terror torment over it in the form of black desolate storm clouds. Backbreaking toil and pain shout from the wind, but he cannot hear it for it can only caress his face. He does not know why, but he knows that he has died thousands of deaths here. The terror assaults his nose as a sharp pain pierces through his sinuses and a small stream of blood whisps out of his right nostril. He tries to wipe it off, but the blood paints his face a sanguine red. He blinks. 

A goat stands in front of him. Three pairs of matte black eyes and a lone one rest on its skull as its curved sharp horns protrude above them. The goat does nothing except stare at him with menacing indifference. Its black eyes taunt him with the abyss of pure nothingness pouring from them. Thunder rolls over the field with an operatic hum as he gazes into the goat’s seven empty evil eyes. As the blood drains from his nose, tears begin to flood from his face. He does not know what it wants from him. All he can do is stare into its eyes as they wash over the depths of his very essence. He musters the courage to ask this demonic vessel one simple question:

—Are you real?

The goat continues to stare at him as the thunder crashes and crescendos like a great bass drum in a large vacuous symphony hall. It gives no indication of its thoughts as its eyes continue to bask in the emptiness that consumes it. It continues to stare at him until it echoes a brief chilling retort.

—Yes.

He stares on in horror as the goat lets out a strident shriek that claws into his ear drums. In a fit of pure satanic rage, it charges at him and hits him with a blow directly into his stomach that knocks the wind out of him as he falls to the ground. It climbs on top of him and bites and gnaws at his face, ripping and tearing his flesh with ruthless proficiency. He lays on the ground motionless, paralyzed from the terror and unable to fight back as the goat eats him alive. Screams attempt to erupt from his mouth, but fail to escape from the pit of his diaphragm. The pain is so excruciating that he becomes completely helpless and unable to respond. All he can hope for is for it to release him from this phantasmic dreamscape.

His eyes snap open. He is cold and wet from the salty sweat dripping from his back onto his bedsheets. He feels between his lips and nostrils and notices a runny fluid graze his fingertips and releases himself from his sheets and jolts out of his bed. Vertigo assaults his head, shaking the world around him violently. He stumbles into his bathroom and flicks on the light. The sharp glow pierces his corneas, forcing them shut. He squints into the mirror as a disheveled man stands in front of him barely awake, blood coating his face just how it did in his dream. He grabs some tissue paper resting on his bathroom counter and wipes the blood from his face as its metallic taste hits his tongue.

He walks past the bed and into their living room and ganders at their eclectic country style furniture, most of which was gotten through finding posts on the internet giving it away for free. Their dark green recliner and matching loveseat make the grandest appearance, adorning their humble abode with a folk sense of welcomeness and home. The chestnut coffee table compliments the ensemble with its stout and wholesome presence. A glass vase engraved with an array of different shapes and patterns rests on top of the table and a bouquet of flowers with a myriad of different colors embellishes the almost ostentatious display of the vase. Sarah insisted on getting those flowers a week prior to today despite barely being able to afford basic living necessities. 

He relives the moment in his mind. The bright lights from the grocery store stung his eyes as he looked into his bleak shopping cart filled with select cans of soup and frozen vegetables, some milk, and a few boxes of cereal. He knew they were already pushing the grocery budget, but he couldn’t resist the smile he saw on his wife’s face once she set her eyes on that bouquet. He knew it was a luxury that would impede them of certain necessities, and he wanted nothing to do with the smiling heartfelt justification that his wife gave him to get the flowers.

—But Archie, the flowers will just put the whole living room right together. This is what we work for, our home.

He took a second look at the cart, thinking of what they could possibly eliminate from their already inflated grocery budget. He looked at the boxes of cereal and the milk. For as long as he could remember, a good bowl of cereal could get him out of any bad mood. It never failed to make his day better. As he looked at Sarah then back at the flowers, he realized that no matter what he went without, it meant nothing compared to the pure joy he felt when he saw his wife, a woman with the weight of this depressing life on her shoulders, truly smile and express her happiness. He sighs with discontent. 

—We’ll have to get rid of the cereal and milk, but fine. Let’s not make a habit out of this.

With that expression of approval, her smile grew even wider and ever more translucent. She excitedly picked the bouquet from the colorful jungle of assorted flowers and placed it among the desolation of their shopping cart. He released a small pitiful grin in response, knowing that their brief moment of evanescent happiness would come to an end. He blinks again. 

He’s back to the harsh fate of his dimly lit living room and ganders at the furniture again, grimly accepting the reality of its eventual repossession. A tear crawls out of his right eye and slowly glides along his face until it hangs from his jaw and plummets to the ground. He envisions the living room abandoned of its homeliness, a blank and desolate easel awaiting to be repainted by his home’s eventual new owners. 

He imagines what new pictures could be painted in this humble living space, but none of them hold a candle to the one that he and his wife spent years attempting to perfect. Everything from the dark green sofas to the vibrant bouquet will simply just become a number, an asset to be jumbled in with others in the form of a security that will be tossed between different conglomerates of portfolio managers and money lenders. To them, the memories created here will not exist. They will be buried in the graveyard of the hopes and dreams of those who actually thought they stood a chance.

As he stares into the confines of his home, his sadness and longing transmutes into unrestrained embitterment and resentment. He takes a glance at the crumpled sheet of paper on the floor that delivered his fate and his feet drag his lifeless soul to its entanglement of letters and symbols. All he can make out of the empty black print are the words FORECLOSURE NOTICE in big bold typeface. He picks up the message and scans it over again. Every word from we regret to inform you to delinquent payments to subprime loan muddles itself into a disarray of splattered ink as the words carom in a biting disorganized sequence. He studies the document for a moment, attempting to find any semblance of meaning in between the typeface’s benign corporate jargon, but none of it means a thing to him. He sees through its guise of operative politeness and efficiency and reads the message loud and clear: leave or suffer the consequences.

On the bottom of the notice lies a signature, graceful yet meticulous. Its hieroglyphic presence sends a chill throughout his spine as he leers at it like he’s critiquing a famous work of art. If there’s one thing he can surmise from this canvas it’s that whoever does the signing takes immense pride in doing so. Their professional emblem resonates throughout the page, an indicator of decisive action and aptitude. He takes a peek at the print below the signature.

Chester McGovern, Senior Vice President

The name rings through his ears as the paper trembles in his hands. Chester McGovern, the man who has signed the Mosses’ letter of exile from the middle class. The light grows brighter as he feels an electricity pulsate through his veins. All his feelings of grief and remorse for his life and his home channel themselves into a single orb pumping and dashing through his brain. An idea.

He rushes to the chestnut desk that matches his coffee table on the other side of his living room and sits in his matching chestnut chair and cracks open his old dilapidated laptop. It is adorned with stickers Sarah had collected throughout their years of adventuring and perusing flea markets, an activity that would always bring joy to them because of how much they enjoyed the diverse selection of personally designed local products and humble local salesmen. His fingertips glide across the cracked keyboard as his frenzied searches catapult into the ethereal reaches of the internet. Professional accounts, social media accounts, any web page that mentions a man named Chester McGovern soar from the computer screen into his immediate view. 

Looking into Chester’s background, he finds it littered in fortune. He gathers that Chester is the son of Bart McGovern, founder and chairman of McGovern Manufacturing, colloquially known as Double M, a national industrial manufacturing company that produces materials for some of the world’s largest companies. The family’s fortune spills into every aspect of their lives, from Bart’s home being plastered on several publications’ top mansion lists to the diamond studded watch Chester received on his thirty-fifth birthday that was posted on his social media accounts. The McGovern opulence oscillates through Archie’s computer screen and laughs in his face, showing off a fantasy come to reality of a life that he will never live no matter how hard he worked, how much he suffered. He indignantly stares at his computer screen in disgust knowing that his misery is the McGovern’s fortune and that for every fall he takes, the McGoverns will get just that much more ahead. 

He madly soaks up all the information on the McGovern family he can like a sponge freshly opened from its package. The seconds turn into minutes and the minutes turn into hours as the rays of fresh morning sunlight softly beam into their quaint country style living room.

A faint rustling emanates from their bedroom and a distinct sound of footsteps follows. Out of their bedroom comes Sarah, somewhat unkempt and lethargic. Her head crooks slightly and her messy tangled blond hair droops downward.

—Did you stay up last night?

Archie emerges from his trance induced by the laptop’s harsh blue light and looks to Sarah with intense eccentricity. He wants to say everything all at once, but his mouth cannot keep up with his mind, exhausted yet energized. He begins to quickly sputter out his discoveries, but his mouth jumbles his words and he becomes incoherent.

—Archie, slow down. What’s gotten into you?

—I’ve found a way out of this.

Sarah furrows her brow and squints her eyes dubiously.  

—Look at who signed our foreclosure notice. 

He hands her the sheet and she furrows brow deeper and crooks her head more obtusely. 

—Okay, it’s some guy named Chester McGovern. What does that have to do with anything?

—He’s from the McGovern family, the people who own Double M.

—Double M?

—It’s this huge manufacturing company. They make practically everything.

—So what’s your point?

He pauses for a moment and puts his arms on her shoulders. He ponders the exact way he’s going to put what he’s about to tell her. He knows that it’s a horrible idea, but when he looks into his wife’s sad and empty eyes all he can think about is the immense undying hatred he feels for the McGoverns. He wants to make them pay. He wants to make them pay in a way that they will never truly understand, with a currency that has no exchange rate, with a heart as heavy as the heart of every working class individual who just wants the game that they play every day to actually be fair. He wants to make them pay, even if that means he will be consigned to a life he never truly wanted. 

—You’re gonna freak out, but trust me. Do you trust me?

—Archie, I—

—Do you trust me?

Sarah lays her hand onto his outstretched arm. Her gaze meets his with an empathetic warmth. She stays silent for a moment. The murmur of their air conditioner rattles as she considers what her response will be. His eyes look into hers, waiting for an answer. All of the anguish they have endured since the foreclosure has bottled up and held itself in for this one moment, this one single chance to alter their lives forever and put them on a course there’s no turning back from. Knowing or not, everything has culminated in this final chance to make something of themselves, for better or worse. 

—Do you remember when we first met?

. . .

There was a spring just two miles from Archie’s apartment that he would frequent. It was cool and crisp, perfect for evening swims in the summer and was a popular place to go, evident in the hordes of locals and tourists looking for a place to wash their troubles away in the serenity of the spring’s fresh flowing waters. He would go there almost every day after working up a harsh sweat from his day of arduous labor and toiling. It was always the best part of his day, and he looked forward to it every evening. 

He would always perform his favorite jump there, a fifty foot plunge from the spring’s largest rock formation. It was his favorite jump because onlookers would observe in awe as those brave enough to take the perilous leap did so gracefully. As he climbed to the top of the formation, he would scan the crowd as people began to fix their attention onto him. Their clamoring would slightly dimmer and their heads would tilt upward as he progressed closer to the summit. It was one of the only times he felt truly noticed, that something he did mattered. 

When he reached the summit, he would look down to the crowd and spread his arms like Christ the Redeemer, give a thumbs up, and descend with a stylish backflip into the spring, creating an intense splash. He would ascend from the spring and give a hearty two thumbs up and the light applause of the onlookers would bring him a pureness felt only by those who knew the true pleasure of creating astonishment within others.

One crowded evening in the spring, as he was climbing the rock formation, he caught the eyes of a beautiful woman staring directly at him from its base. Her blond hair softly swayed as it was cuddled by the wind’s gentle breeze. As their eyes met, she gave a warm closed mouth smile and a friendly wave as he continued his rise to the summit. 

Once he reached it, he did not bother to scan the crowd because all he could see was her, still smiling brightly and heated with anticipation. He also did not bother to perform his Christ the Redeemer routine because instead of having an audience of many, this dive only had an audience of one, and she was still standing in that same spot waiting for his performance. He looked to her and gave her a thumbs up and she reciprocated with two, then he bounced forward and performed that familiar backflip into the spring with that same geyser splash.

As he ascended to the water’s surface, he found the woman at the edge of it expecting him. He swam over to her, excited to hear what she had to say about his performance. He examined her, knowing that he wanted to speak but not knowing just how to phrase it. Despite their nonverbal exchanges, they both knew that they had much to talk about. Eventually the woman spoke up with a coy countenance.

—You sure can jump. 

He motioned to the cliff, attempting to humble it to no avail. 

—What, that? Just another day for me. 

—Sure thing, Greg Louganis. 

He bellowed a slight chuckle, amused by her sarcastic compliment. 

—I’m Archie, and you are?

He extended his hand from the spring and she met it with hers, grasping it firmly and confidently. 

—Sarah, nice to finally meet you.

—Finally?

—I’ve been coming here every day for about a week and every day you’ve been here, showing off that same dive. It’s gotten a little stale, but it’s cute. 

—Well look at that. It seems like Greg Louganis has a fan. 

She laughed quietly, exhibiting a budding smile and a row of straight luminescent teeth. 

—Don’t think that your medals will sway me, sir. I’m more than a gold digger, you know?

—Oh I’m sure. You’re definitely not just a fan trying to cash in, right?

—I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?

He climbed out of the spring and met her at eye level with the water dripping off of his large muscular frame. He towered almost a foot above her, having to look down in order to gaze at her eyes. He took a moment to consider the situation. It was obvious that this woman wanted to do more than to just admire him from afar. She wanted to explore him, pick him apart and figure him out. 

It was also obvious that at any moment if she figured him to be dull or stale in any way, she would instantly move on and forget about him completely. He surmised that he needed to act quickly if he wanted to keep her attention and interest. After all, she was radically charming and ready to take a plunge into the depths of him. 

He gazed into her eyes with a sharp and intent demeanor and knew just how to grab this woman’s attention. If she wanted to really understand him, she was going to have to see just where he was coming from. He motioned to the top of the rock formation. 

—Let’s go take a jump. Together, you and me. 

She winced at him, shocked and perturbed with doubt, scanning him up and down to try and gather what exactly he just proposed. She took a responsive motion to the rock formation, accentuating its perilous height. 

—That thing? Look Greg, if you want to risk your life making that jump then go right ahead, but don’t expect me to just follow along like that. 

—It’s not as dangerous as it looks, trust me. At the end of the jump once you’re in the water you’ll be glad I dragged you up there. 

He flashed her a warm reassuring smile. She looked around pensively for a moment and then looked back at him with a sharp assertive intention. 

—If this jump kills me then you best believe I’ll come for you from the grave. 

—Well if it kills you it’ll kill me too, now come on let’s go. 

He took her by the hand and guided her to the base of the rock formation. Once they got there they stood in front of its imposing presence and simply stared at it, somewhat transfixed to its jagged and jarring features. He then motioned to the formation and looked at her. 

—I’ll go first. Just try not to fall. 

She gave him a slightly vexed glance and proceeded to climb the formation. The rough edge of the rocks gave them enough traction as they climbed higher. She looked out to the rest of the spring as its features began to grow smaller and called to him from above. 

—They’re so small from up here aren’t they?

—Don’t worry, they get smaller. 

She staggered to the top, already bent out of shape from the climb. He proceeded quickly behind and stood straight and tall, unperturbed. She took a moment to look down into the depths of the spring with waters so clear the bottom could be clearly seen and froze, her limbs tensed and twisted like a tight braid of hair. Her expression turned from coy to terrified as she looked to him for direction. 

—I’m not sure I can do this. It’s just—

—Hey, don’t worry. Any time I’m about to do something scary, I just remember that fear trumps regret.

—That’s easy for you to say, you’ve done this a bunch of times already.

—And I’ve never regretted it. Trust me, the fear you’re feeling now is nowhere near as bad as the regret you’ll feel later if you don’t jump and wonder what could have been.

As she stood there at the summit, she pondered his statement. He could feel her pensiveness and doubt and as he stood there with her for what felt like an eternity. After a few dragging moments, she finally looked up at him.

—Alright, let’s do it.

They approached the edge of the summit and looked down at the perilous leap that fell before them. Archie saw nothing but opportunity in that leap and as he felt the beautiful woman’s presence next to him, optimism and excitement filled within him. It was this leap, this one fateful plunge into a future that was bright and promising. He extended his hand next to hers.

—I think this will help your nerves.

She looked at him like a small animal desperate for help and held onto his hand. She winced at the sight of the jump but did not waver. Still looking at him, she muttered a hushed reply.

—Okay, I’m ready.

And with that, he leapt up and out toward the water and she followed him with their hands still linked together. The fall, despite being quick, felt slow and unhurried. Archie felt his stomach coming up into his throat as he descended into the placid water. As they hit the water, a large geyser-like splash erupted from it and they fell below the surface with their hands still linked together. The water made him feel weightless and the only thing he could feel was her hand tightly gripped onto his. For a brief moment, he felt true mindfulness and peace. Everything was exactly the way it should be and it was perfect and he wished that he could stay there forever but his moment was concluded by Sarah’s rush to the surface. He followed her up and when they finally gasped for air, she belted a hearty thrilled yell.

—That was amazing! We need to do that again.

He laughed, knowing that everything went absolutely perfect. She gave him a strong hug as she used him for buoyancy in the water. For the rest of that day, they jumped from that rock formation into the spring, swam in the crystal blue water, told stories from their lives, and had what he believed to be the best night of his life. It was something truly miraculous, having this stunningly gorgeous woman come to him and give him something that he will never be able to repay her for, a moment that will live with him for the rest of his days. 

. . .

—Archie, have you gone completely insane?

He looks at her direction but does not say anything. He wants to let her know that this will work, that it will get them back to living the life they want to live. The plan is simple. He gathered from his research that Chester has been frequenting some random strip club recently. All they have to do is wait for him to come out and get to his car so that Archie can steal his watch and wallet. It will be simple, quick, and will give them every opportunity to start over. Once they get the watch and wallet, they’ll get in their car and drive over to the next state, sell the watch, use the cash to spend some time in a motel while they find their next place, and that’s it. They’ll be free.

—This will work, Sarah. You just have to trust me. Once we get the watch and the wallet, we’ll be able to start fresh. We can move to a different state so we don’t have to worry about the police coming to find us. We’ll have enough money to get us back on track so we can get a new home. This will be a one time thing, I promise.

—Don’t you understand what you’re getting us into? If we get busted we’ll go to prison. We’ll be separated. I don’t want to lose you.

—We don’t have any other choice. I don’t want to be homeless. It’s no way to live. I will risk going to prison for this. Just imagine what will happen for us if this works. Everything will be good again. We can move on.

—There’s always other options, Archie. We can do something safer.

He feels the blood beneath his skin boil. So what if there are other options? This is not just about getting back on their feet. This is about justice. That man destroyed them and profited from it. And now it’s causing his wife to turn against him. They need to pay for what they’ve done. There is no other way to get justice. They have to fight.

—Don’t you hate them?

—What?

—Look at what they’ve done to us. They’ve torn you apart and eventually it could tear us apart. Don’t you know how rough it is to be on the street? It will break us and there will be no coming back from it. Doesn’t that make you hate them? They did this to us.

—What does it matter? It’s not like there’s anything we can do about the foreclosure at this point.

—Yes there is. This will give us a way out. Please, Sarah. I know you’re afraid, but just think about what will happen to us a few months from now. Whenever we’re getting robbed by some junkie on the street, don’t you think you’ll regret not doing this?

She scoffs at him and tries to sputter a reply but the words initially fail to come out. She composes herself and firmly states her case.

—This is nothing like jumping off that cliff. We’re talking about committing a crime, harming someone. 

—That’s just a risk we have to take. Please, Sarah. We’ve come too far not to fight for our life. If something goes wrong, you can leave me.

Tears begin to gush out of her eyes. Her voice raises and she begins to yell.

—But I don’t want to leave you!

He looks at her tears and his face turns to her in desperation. His love for Sarah and his hatred for the McGoverns coalesce and bounce from extreme to extreme. He does not want to lose her, but he also wants to fight for what he knows is right. There has to be a solution. There has to be a way for this to turn around. The way nature intends for this to work is that when injustice comes, justice comes right behind it. This is what hope is built on, the assurance that when things go wrong, they can become right again. All they need is hope, hope that this will work, hope that their lives will go on without fear and anguish. Tears begin to flow from his face and he bursts out at her, trying to get her by his side.

—Then come with me! 

She stares at him for a moment and then looks down, puts her arms behind her head and begins to pace frantically. He can see that she’s just as conflicted as him, trying to find a way to justify an action that she knows is wrong. But there’s no way around it. This is what is meant to be. She stops pacing and huffs a concerted sigh. She looks at him with tears flowing down her face like an abundant waterfall.

—Okay.

. . .

It’s a warm, desolate night for debauchery and degradation as Archie and Sarah wait inside their car outside the strip club’s dilapidated walls. GOAT CABARET. Its slimy, slippery exterior squirts in the eyes as the smell of cigarettes and alcohol sneak into the nostrils. 

There is no telling why Chester McGovern would come here of all places to get his rocks off, probably because he’s ashamed, probably because he does not want anyone to know just how he spends his nights in lieu of his successful career and family. This is the night where retribution will come and shine its glistening sword and slice the decades of tyranny and injustice right at the neck. 

Archie found out about Chester’s proclivity for this place through scouring his social media feeds looking for clues. He never shows it outright, but with all of the content Chester makes regarding his illustrious nights out this place was nearly constant, with all of his posts being somewhere near here. After finding the clues, he called the club and asked if there was a regular named Chester McGovern. The lady on the phone, assumed to be one of the dancers there, scoffed at him and mentioned that not only was he a regular, but virulently hated amongst all the girls for his flamboyant sexual harassment and groping. She also mentioned that the only reason why they still let him come was because of the fact that he was by far their most generous client. 

The wait is abysmal, with the air still as they float in a limbo in between what they need and what they do not have. It feels like a lifetime is passing them by as the muffled heavy bass from the club pulsates through the walls and into their car. The timing for this is essential because if there is a single wrong move, all of this will be for naught and they will be scratching at the surface of homelessness and deprivation. No matter how long the wait feels, they must endure it because without this single shot, there will be no other way out. 

Sarah sits in the driver’s seat gripping on the steering wheel as if she is holding on for dear life in a storm with the heaviest of winds. Archie patiently sits in the passenger seat grasping onto a rock he found just outside the alley, hoping that it will protect him from the harsh blows of the tempest that befalls him. This rock, granular and heavy, will knock Chester out and give him all the time he needs to search him and take off his watch and steal his wallet. This rock, with its jagged edges that make it feel almost serrated, will be the object that starts his life over and gives him the tools he needs to make it whole again.

Still no sign of Chester. At any moment they could leave and figure out another way, but any other way will just make them claw at a life that is not feasible to them. Archie begins to think about the horrors that he and his wife will face once they are forced to vacate their home. All that will be left is the clothes on their backs and whatever they could pack with them as they wander the city with no sense of where to go and how they will get there. He sees the smallest sliver of what they could keep begin to fade away into a memory, a memory of what was, of what could never be. It fills him with anger and masks his fear as he grips onto the rock tighter and tighter with an intensity that could almost crush it. As his mind wanders further off into this digression, Sarah nudges his shoulder.

—Archie, look.

There he is, Chester McGovern, stoutly stumbling out of the club in a drunken stupor, a tall man with broad shoulders wearing a striped black suit and a rose pink tie wearing that exact same watch Archie saw during his research. He looks happy as he marches to his car, but deep down beneath his banal macho alpha male guise lies a profound sadness, something that reeks of loneliness and regret.

 In this brief moment, Archie reconsiders what he is about to do. Maybe Chester has this same feeling of desperation as he does. Maybe he is just as desperate for a good life as him, despite all of his material success and wealth. But then he remembers that he will never have to worry about making sure that his life does not crumble beneath him, forcing him to do a reprehensible act that will force him to start over. He will never have to worry about letting those he cares about suffer because the difference between him and Chester is that Chester will never know what it is like to go without.

Archie surreptitiously exits the car, hoping that he will not notice him as he sneaks behind him. As he inches closer, the rancid smell of booze reeks the air around him. It is almost pitiful, but absolutely unbearable. He does not suspect a thing. Everything will go exactly as Archie planned. This miserable aching weight of uncertainty will be behind him with this one herculean blow. He is about two feet behind him now. With one singular motion all of this will be over. It will all work out.

He swings the rock and bashes Chester’s head in with one perfect flowing motion. He crashes to the ground with a roaring thud and lays there motionless just like the rock that did him in. Archie examines his work and notices that a pool of blood has begun to form around the point of contact. He bends down to take a closer look and sees that his skull is fractured and he is no longer breathing. He flips him onto his back and looks into his eyes that are still open. They are empty, lifeless. 

A new weight falls onto his shoulders: the weight of taking a life, even if it was as horrible as Chester’s. It feels heavier than desperation, crashing onto him with a force even greater than when he first saw the foreclosure notice. This new weight is guilt, something that will never leave him. No matter how hard he tries to work through it, it will always be there staring into his face with the same look as Chester’s bleak dead eyes.

An immense pressure begins to build in his head. His heart begins to pump faster and faster. Sheer panic and terror insulate his stomach. He wants to scream into the sky, but the fear of casting any attention keeps him from doing so. The fear also reminds him to get what he came for: the watch and the wallet. He frantically glazes his hands throughout Chester’s body, his hands trembling as he secures the diamond watch and wallet from his person. He rushes to the car, opening the door to the passenger seat and slamming it shut. There is no time. They have to leave now or face the consequences.

—Drive. Now!

—What happened?

—Didn’t you hear me? I said drive!

The panic transmits to Sarah as she begins to understand the reality of their situation. In the same frantic way Archie secured the valuables, she puts the car into gear and speeds off from the scene. 

Now they are driving with no particular place in mind, buzzing around the maze that is the city to a destination that they doubt even begins to exist. Archie examines the watch in its shining glory, the prize that has been won in this barbaric quest for something that he thought was justice. In reality, it was vengeance he was truly looking for. His life never really mattered to him. He let his hatred consume him and now it has caused him to become a murderer. Sarah darts her attention between the road and Archie as she begins to calm down from the adrenaline-infused conflict. 

—You wanted to kill him this whole time didn’t you?

He ignores her and grazes his fingers over the exquisite brown leather wallet, flipping it open to see what he gained from his conquest. He sees a small wad of cash neatly packed in the billfold and his stomach’s churning begins to slowly subside as he reaches inside to take the cash out and count it. Seven hundred dollars. The thousands of dollars in value that sit in his lap softly sing an illustrious song of opportunity to him. With all of this, there is some semblance of hope for the future, all for the cost of stripping a man of his life.

It will be all over the news. There will not be any avoiding these dastardly consequences but despite all of this, it somehow feels good. It feels good knowing that there is finally a sense of control, a sense of agency for change. Despite these demons that fall before him, he begins to finally feel like there is hope for him in this begrudged twisted world. He looks at her and gives an omen to the world that will crumble beneath his fury.

—I didn’t kill him, Baphomet did.

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