You Can Run

Henry Thurmond knew the moment he opened his eyes that Christmas morning that something was definitely wrong. He always slept on his left side, on the left side of the bed, so the first thing he had seen each and every morning for the past fifty-three years was the back of Livvie's head. His wife, in all the decades he'd known her, had never gotten up before him, not even when she'd gone into labor with their son, forty-nine years ago. He used to kid her about it all the time, how she was the only woman in the world that could make a baby wait to be born, in order to not disturb her "beauty sleep." No matter what time they'd gone to bed, no matter what went on the night before, she absolutely did not get up before ten AM.

She scheduled any appointments accordingly, and she of course never had to work. (Henry, being ninety-four years old and traditional-minded, would never have even heard of his wife getting a job. Although normally not a domineering man, he had always maintained his staunch position that a woman's place was in the home.) He lay there for a moment, blinking the sleep from his eyes, and trying to get his bearings. He knew what time it was. Without even glancing at the clock, he knew it was exactly six forty-five. He knew, because his internal alarm clock had been waking him at that time for nearly forty years. He continued to stare at his wife's empty side of the bed. She must've had to pee, he thought, frowning before the thought was even complete. She had never once gotten up to go to the bathroom in the night or early morning. Well, he thought, Maybe she's sick or something. That thought got him moving. Liv had always been a healthy girl, but hell, she was 85 now, and shit was bound to start going wrong sooner or later.

Glancing down once more at the empty bed, Henry rolled over on his side and sat up, bones creaking and protesting, and put his feet on the floor. He peered around the room, looking for any clues that might explain his wife's early rising. Her housecoat was still draped over the chair beside her bureau, her slippers still sitting patiently at the foot of the bed. Frowning even deeper, he stood up, favoring his right knee, and slowly hobbled over towards the bathroom door. It was closed, as always, but when Henry turned the knob the door swung open, thinking against the toilet as it had done forever. For the millionth time, Henry couldn't help but wonder what the architect had been on when he had designed this damned house. He poked his head in through the door, and saw exactly what he had expected to see; an empty bathroom.

Henry turned back into the bedroom, scratching his head. Hey, a little voice inside his head said. It's Christmas! Maybe she got up to make you a nice breakfast! Henry pondered the thought for only a fraction of a second. "Hmph," he mumbled. "That'd be the day." He went out the bedroom door, his bones and joints loosening up a bit as he walked, and stopped at the top of the stairs. He listened. He even took a sniff at the air. If there was any breakfast going on down there, it was cold cereal sitting silently in the pantry. There was neither sound nor smell coming from downstairs.

"Livvie?" He called down the stairs. He waited, hearing only a slow-moving car pass by front and the soft clunk-hmmmm of the refrigerator coming alive. "Livvie, what the hell are you doing?"
Still no response. His concern mounted as he slowly made his way down the stairs. Just for her to have gotten out of bed before him would have been a miracle. But to get out of bed, get dressed, and go out? Just where would she have gone before seven on Christmas morning, anyway? Absolutely nowhere, which caused Henry's concern to grow up to the lower limbs of panic. As he made it to the living room and turned towards the kitchen, he glanced around in the still-gloomy morning light.

Everything seemed in order; Christmas tree standing in the corner with the grandkids' presents beneath it, furniture all still resting comfortably in their proper locations. The front door was closed and locked, with the chain still hanging on it. The oak coat rack stood next to the front door, with both Henry's and Livvie's coats hanging from it, just where they'd put them after returning from Christmas shopping the evening before. Henry stopped in his tracks, staring at the coats and then looking down, where both pairs of their boots stood, dry by now. If Liv had gotten up, if she for whatever reason decided to go out, she'd gone out on a fifteen-degree morning after a heavy snow with neither coat nor boots on.

"Livvie, goddamit, where are you?" His voice cracked a bit as he called out, realizing for the first time that he was really scared. Something was wrong here - dead wrong. His old bones told him so, and his old bones didn't lie. The kitchen was exactly as they'd left it the night before - spotless. Liv would no sooner go to bed with a dirty dish in the sink than she would get out of bed before full sun. Of course, Henry would have that no other way either. Nearly twenty years in a very strict military would do that to a man.

"What the hell is going on around here?" He called to no one. He looked at the rifle-shaped key rack that had been a gift from his son on his, what? 75th birthday? 76? Ah, hell, doesn't matter. The important thing was every key the two of them possessed was hanging on the little hooks. So she hadn't even taken her car.

Back in the living room, Henry threw open the closet door, and there was her purse, right where she'd left it. He reached out to pick it up, afraid of it somehow, and gingerly opened the little hasp. Her wallet, containing her credit cards, driver's license, and cash was still in there. Henry fumbled and dropped the purse on the floor. He stood in the foyer area, looking around blankly, and felt hot tears on his cheeks.

He walked slowly to the end table and picked up the phone with shaking hands. He dialed 911. It seemed to take forever for the damn thing to even start ringing, and then it rang once, twice, three times...
"C'mon, what the hell..."
"911, what's your emergency?"

The woman's crisp voice startled Henry, and he couldn't speak for a moment. He was afraid that the second he did, he'd start blubbering like a fool. He swallowed, willing himself to do what needed done. After all, hadn't he always done what needed done? Wasn't that why he was growing ancient in a world thousands of miles away from home? Because he had done what needed done, and many people just couldn't or wouldn't understand?
"911 emergency, hello?"
Shit or get off it, as they say.
Henry cleared his throat once more. "Yes, ma'am. I need to report my wife missing." That was it, he was crying like a baby.

"Take it easy sir, it's going to be OK. What is your name sir?" Henry could hear faint tapping noises through the line as the operator typed on a computer.
"Henry. Henry Thurmond."
"And your wife's name?" Tappity-tappity-tap-tappity.
"Liv - I mean, Olivia. Thurmond."
"Age?"
"Eighty-five."
Henry heard the tapping abruptly stop, and heard nothing but silence for a moment. "Ma'am? Are you st-"

"Um, excuse me sir, does your wife suffer from Alzheimer's, or does she have a history of wandering off?"
Henry was silent for a moment, not understanding what she meant. Finally it sunk in what she was hinting at, and Henry became fumed.
"Listen here, lady," he said. "Just because someone is old doesn't mean they're senile. My wife's got more of her shit together than most people a third of her age. Now don't ask me any more stupid fucking questions, and tell me what you're going to do to help me find my wife!"
"Excuse me sir, but I really don't appreciate the way you're speaking to me."
Henry bit his tongue.

"The questions I'm asking, sir," she went on, "are standard. You must realize that many elderly people do just wander off. It happens all the time."
"I do understand," Henry said, gritting his teeth. "Forgive me. I just need some help finding her. She's gone."
"Perfectly understandable sir," she said in that there, now we can be friends again voice. "I'll forward this information to police as soon as I get the basics. Address?"
"511 NE 62nd Street."
"Ok, and um, when did you say you last saw her?"

"Well, actually it was when we went to bed last night. We watched 'A Christmas Carol' like we do every Christmas Eve, and then went to bed. It was around 10. Then this morning she was gone."
Tappity-tap-tap.
"Alright Mr. Thurmond. If that's who you really are - Are you sure that's your real name, Mr. Man?"
"I beg your pardon?" Henry asked, mouth hanging open.
"I mean, could you blame the silly old cunt for walking out on you? After all, she knows you, doesn't she? She knows who you are."

Henry dropped the phone, staring blankly at the wall. He could still hear her voice, the evil things that she was saying, and he was sure it would drive him mad if he had to listen to it another moment. He reached down and snatched the phone up and threw it across the room, where it shattered into a million pieces against the fireplace.
He simply stood there for some time, reliving a life he'd long since buried. It all came back to him in a flood, all the pain and horror he thought he'd so neatly packed away. He slumped down on the couch, absently wiping drool from his chin. His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt a stabbing pain shoot across somewhere under his left nipple. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to go away and the breath to come back.
She knows who you are.

Henry pressed his temples, refusing to give in to the madness that was quickly surrounding his soul.
"Bullshit," Henry finally said. Drawing in a deep breath and ignoring the thunder in his chest, he defiantly struggled to his feet. "You're losing your mind, old man." He walked, limping slightly, back through the kitchen and out the back door.

The cold air slapped him back to reality, and the super bright winter sun nearly blinded him. He stood on the stoop for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust. He took a deep breath, trying to decide on his next move. The cops were out, that was for sure, at least for now. No way was he going through that again, imagined or not. Maybe some of her friends...He looked down at the freshly fallen snow. It had snowed a good 9 inches the day before, and he and Liv had only used the front door since then. The snow on the side of the house should be as pure as Snow White's cherry, yet there was a set of tracks leading from where he stood, straight across the side lawn, and up to Charlie Atkins's porch. Henry followed the prints with his eyes, looking at every single one, every slip and slide, the smallness of the feet. Bare feet.

"Merry Christmas, Old Man!"
The voice made Henry jump, and he damn near slipped and busted his ass on the steps. He looked across at Atkins's porch, and there Charlie stood, Old Milwaukee in hand and shiteating grin on face.
"Damn, Henry, you alright? Didn't mean to scare ya!"
"Uh, no, no Charlie, just startled me is all. Hey, is Livvie over at your house?"
"Livvie?" Charlie asked, sounding as incredulous at the idea as Henry felt. Liv thought the Atkinses were drunks and druggies, partying all the time, and having sex-orgies. Henry didn't know about the orgies, but the couple did do their fair share of boozing and hell raising, that was for damn sure.

"Yeah," Henry said. "Is she over there?"
"Nah, we ain't seen her, Henry. Is she missing?"
Another dumb question. "I don't know. She was gone when I got up, and that isn't like her at all. Plus, her keys, coat, boots, and purse are all still here."
Charlie took a long pull off his beer, belched, and rubbed his stubbly jaw. He stared off into the distance. "Damn, Henry, I hope she's all right. Sure would hate to hear that something happened to her."

Henry glared at Charlie, the worthless, drunken piece of shit that he was. "Look here, Charlie. See these tracks? They're small feet, look barefoot, and they head right to your porch. You sure you haven't seen her? Or heard something, you know, late last night?"
Charlie shook his head. "Nope, sorry buddy. Me an' the old lady got pretty shitfaced last night, and I was out of this world up till about a half an hour ago." He drained his beer, tossed the can in the yard, and opened another. "I gotta go in an' take me a piss, my man."
He started towards his door. "Hey, Charlie?"
Charlie stopped, hand on the knob. "Yup."

"You don't mind if I look around for her, do you? You know, in case she was sleepwalking and fell down in your backyard or something."
Charlie turned to look at Henry. He smiled. "Hell no, man. Go ahead. Knock yourself out." With that he went inside and slammed the door.

Henry gingerly stepped down off the porch, favoring his right leg even more now, and started across the expanse of white. The distance between his house and the Atkins place couldn't be more than thirty or forty feet, but it seemed like miles. Henry stared straight down at the footprints as he walked, careful not to step on any of them. It was as if he knew they could be the last evidence of his wife having walked the earth. By the time he reached Charlie's porch, he stopped and wondered what he should do. There was obviously no sense in searching around his house, since the tracks stopped right here. He tried to think of any possible scenario that could have happened, but came up blank. There was no other explanation. Charlie had lied, the son of a bitch. The tracks, leading right to his fucking door, did not.

Briefly he thought about marching up the steps, kicking the asshole's door in, and demanding to know where his wife was. Fifty years ago he would have done just that. Seventy years ago, he would have probably done much more. But he was old, dammit. He knew he probably wouldn't even make it up the steps, as icy as they were, and he'd wind up on the sidewalk with a broken hip. So, he forced himself to turn around and head back to the house. He supposed he would have to contact the cops, but he'd call them directly. Fuck that 911 bitch.

When he finally reached the door, he realized that it was closed, although he certainly couldn't remember closing it. He tried the knob, and it was locked.
"God-DAMMIT!" he yelled. He was in his robe, and certainly had no keys on him. "You dirty son of a whore." He briefly thought of trying the front door, until he remembered looking at the chain. It was locked up tight too. There was no sense in even going around there.
Enraged by this point, Henry stooped over and grabbed a brick off the small pile that was left over from the barbecue project last fall. He straightened up, drew back, and, just before he let the brick cost him an expensive piece of double-insulated glass, he saw movement on the other side of the door.

"Liv?" he said. The glass was frosted, so it was impossible to actually see her, but he could see the figure approaching the door. "Oh, Livvie, thank God," he said, dropping the brick. The figure was at the door now, and then Henry could hear the lock being turned. The door swung inward.
"Liv, what the-" he started.
Only it wasn't Liv. It was a young woman, eighteen or so, and completely naked.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she asked. "Get the fuck out of here before I call the cops!"
She started to slam the door, but Henry, as dumbfounded as he was, quickly jammed his foot in the doorway.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, ignoring the pain that shot up through his barefoot after the door slammed into it. "And what are you doing in my house!"
"You're crazy, old man. What did you do, run off from the nut house? Now get lost!"
Henry had had enough. He slammed into the door with surprising force, knocking the girl backwards into the kitchen, where she landed on her bare ass. She sat there, leaning back on her hands for a second, glaring at Henry with a mixture of hate and fear. And wonder. Her huge breasts hung down and out to the side, and despite the situation, Henry couldn't help but admire the effect the cold air had had on her nipples. She didn't sit still for long, though, because before Henry knew what was happening, she was on her feet with a knife in her hand.
"Now, just hold on a sec-"

Before he got it out, the girl lashed out like lightning and sliced open his side. It was so fast, and so unbelievable, that he didn't even realize what had happened until he felt the hot blood running down his side. He staggered backward, slipping on the floor where he'd tracked the snow in. He held his cut side with one hand and fruitlessly pin-wheeled the other. He landed on his ass, the pain from his hip screaming through his brain.
He looked up, and realized the crazy girl was advancing on him. "Wait!" he yelled. "No more, please!" He realized how pathetic he must look and sound, and it made him sick. But he was scared, dammit. He was a defenseless old man now. A skinny, bald, helpless little old man, and he was scared shitless.

"Oh you ain't seen nothing yet, mister. You fucked with the wrong house."
"But this is my house," Henry babbled. "Why are you here? Why did you cut me? I'm gonna bleed to death now, and Livvie's gone..."
"Your house? Hey, Dell! Dell, come down here!" She looked down at Henry. "Now you're gonna be sorry." Then she just leaned against the counter, watching him with a witchy smile on her face.
"Please," Henry croaked. "I'm bleeding bad. I need help..."
"You should've thought about that before you kicked my door in. Just cause you're old don't mean you can do shit like that."

Henry was feeling spacey, his vision starting to blur. His ears began to ring, and that was why he didn't hear the heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and into the kitchen. From his position on the floor, he couldn't see the doorway, but he damn sure heard the voice.
"What the fuck is goin' on?" The voice boomed, deep and loud. That voice made James Earl Jones sound like Judy Garland. "Who the fuck is that?"
"This crazy old sonofabitch kicked the door in. Says he lives here. He tried to grab me so I cut him."
From the corner of Henry's blurred vision, he saw a figure move into view. The man Dell was the biggest black man Henry had ever seen, easily six-foot eight and 375 pounds. He walked over to the woman and stood there for a moment, looking at Henry, then the woman, back to Henry, then the woman again.

"You stupid bitch!" He punched her so hard in the face that Henry could hear the bones breaking even over the ringing in his ears. She flew backwards into the cabinet, blood splattering everywhere, and then fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes. "What the hell you gonna cut that old man for, huh? What the fuck is wrong with you? Now get the hell up and go get dressed, ain't nobody wanna look at your wore-out nasty ass."
Henry thought Dell was wasting his time, the woman was dead for sure, but amazingly she stirred, and actually got to her feet. Blood poured from her ruined nose, and there was appeared to be a tooth stuck through her grossly swollen lip. She said nothing as she left the room.

The man watched her go, and then slowly turned to Henry.
"The fuck's with you," he said.
Henry looked up at him through blurry eyes. "She cut me. I'm gonna bleed to death. And what are you people-" he had to pause to take a breath, "-DOING IN MY HOUSE!"
He started a coughing fit so bad he thought he'd pass out or puke, and when it finally subsided, he could hear the huge black man laughing. Somehow Henry couldn't see the joke.
"Man," Dell said, "this ain't your fucking house. You must be crazy, like the bitch said. And you ain't gonna bleed to death. Not from that little cut."

Henry looked down, and he was surprised to see that, although it was indeed a nasty cut - he could see white, lobster-looking meat in there - the bleeding had seemed to have slowed. He figured he better attempt to get to his feet because, his house or not, he figured it'd be in his best interest to get the hell out of here, if he could.
Dell leaned back against the counter and crossed his fire hydrant-sized arms and watched the old man struggle. He smiled, offering no assistance.

Henry managed to grab the doorknob and then pulled himself to his knees. The world spun for a second, and he closed his eyes. Drawing a ragged breath and squeezing his eyes shut, he hauled himself up, where he stood shaking, holding onto the door for dear life.
Alright, old man, he thought. Just find a bit more strength in there somewhere, enough to make a dash out this damn door. Surely that gorilla won't chase a half-dead old man who's trying to retreat. Just go.

Henry wasted no more time thinking about it. He steeled his nerves, and readied himself for the attempt. But when he opened his eyes, all thought of escape vanished when he saw Dell was now standing directly in front of him, a butcher knife in his hand.
"I said you wasn't gonna bleed to death from that cut," he said, pointing the knife at Henry's wounded side. "But I bet you you'll sure as hell die from this one." He thrust the knife at Henry's throat, but Henry somehow managed to raise his arm, deflecting the fatal blow, and sidestepped at the same time. The big man didn't expect this, and was momentarily caught off guard. Henry scrambled around the door and out into the bright sunshine.

His knees were popping, and his lungs were full of concrete, but he ran. Unsure of which direction to go, he found himself heading around towards the front of his house. He cursed himself for not going straight across to Charlie's (Henry was sure that there was at least a gun or two in the Atkins home), but by the time he thought about hanging a right and heading in that direction, he heard Dell's deep laugh and his footfalls in the snow. The sonofabitch was coming after him.

Henry ran as fast as his tired legs would carry him, which wasn't very fast. As he neared the corner of his house, he dared a glance backward, and sure enough, Dell was coming for him, sneering and grinning at the same time. The big knife gleamed in his hand. Henry cried out and ran. He knew it was useless, he could never outrun that big bastard, but he did it anyway. When he rounded the corner, he slipped on a patch of ice that had formed from water running off the roof, and down he went. Lightning shot up from his hip, and he screamed in pain. He rolled onto his back, eyes blurred with tears. It was over now, he knew. Dell would be here in a second with the knife, and he would cut his throat.
Why? He thought. Why is all this happening? He thought of Liv, not wanting to think of the fate that befell her. Dell and his whore must have broken in last night, and hid somewhere. Then they somehow had gotten Liv first.

Oh God, he thought. Please God, no, no. Not Livvie. She doesn't deserve this. I do, I know, but not her. He thought of the sweet, sort-of-crooked smile that still made him melt inside, the way she smelled after her bath. She had turned his life around, gave him new purpose after...after back then.
Henry just wanted to die. He couldn't go on like this, not anymore. Liv had been able to show him that the things he had done were forgivable, that he had had no choice. He had just been following orders. But, with her now almost certainly gone, murdered, there was no way he wanted to do this anymore. He welcomed Dell and his cold sharp knife.
Suddenly it dawned on him that Dell should have reached him only a few seconds after he'd fallen, and now at least half a minute had passed. He opened his eyes, and looked towards the corner form which he'd just come. There was no one there. He listened.
Silence.

He waited a minute or two, certain that the black man was just toying with him. But as more time passed, Henry started to wonder. Was he crazy? Had he imagined this whole thing? He was sure it wasn't a nightmare. He was very much awake. Once again, he tried to sit up. The explosion in his hip let him know quickly that he wasn't imagining that, anyway. And when he turned just a bit to get in a better position in which to stand, the ripping agony in his side reminded him that the gaping hole in his side wasn't simply imagined either.

When he finally made it to his feet, he was sure he would simply fall down again. His hip was shattered, he just knew it. But, although the pain was unlike any he'd ever experienced in his life, he did stay on his feet. He very slowly attempted to move his left leg, taking a tiny baby step. It hurt like hell, but it held. He took another, and then another. Finally, he was back at the corner, standing on the very patch of ice that had been his literal downfall a minute or two ago. He slowly peered around the corner, once again sure that Dell would be there, and the last thing Henry would see was the knife coming for his throat. Although scared shitless (by the warm feeling in the rear of his trousers, he was pretty certain that that was a literal statement as well), he welcomed it.

But it was not to be. The side yard was deserted. Henry took a couple more steps, moving out into the open of the yard. He could see his door now (it was his door, dammit!), and it was closed. Henry briefly thought once again that he must be crazy, and that he should just go home. Just go home! Ordinarily such a benign procedure. But he reached down, wincing as he touched the raw flesh of his wound, and thought of Dell, the Black-Jack the Ripper, and instead began the slow and arduous journey to Charlie Atkins's front porch. The footprints were still in his mind, but he couldn't think straight enough at the moment to question their significance. He needed a familiar face.

What seemed like thirty miles and as many hours later, Henry arrived at Charlie's porch. He'd glanced over his shoulder a few times on the way, looking for Dell or his naked punching bag, but he had arrived unmolested. He took his time climbing the steps, knowing that he wouldn't recover from another fall. As it was, he felt like his skin was the only thing holding his pelvis together.
He made it to the front door, and heard voices and music coming from inside. Hope filled him, suddenly thinking of the Atkins's as the finest humans in the entire world. He pounded on the door.

A few seconds later, Charlie opened up, grinning with a beer in his hand and a Camel hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
"Hey man!" he said. He looked Henry up and down, noting his blood-soaked side and the mud and snow all over his legs. "My God, man, what the hell happened to you?"
"Please," Henry stammered. "Please, just let me in." He was crying again, and he didn't care.
Charlie stood aside. "Sure, man, c'mon in. Hellfire. What the fuck's going on?"
"I don't know, Charlie, I don't know. First Livvie's gone, then some people broke in my house, the girl cut me..."

"Hold on, Pard. Who's Charlie? Are you OK? Do you know where you are?"
Henry snapped his head around to stare at Charlie. "What are you talking about? Don't mess with me, please, not now."
"Look, man, I'm not playing no joke on you." He took Henry gently by the arm and started to lead him down the hallway. "Sure I'm Charlie, whatever you say. Now why don't we get you in the living room where you can sit down for a minute while we call someone who can help-"
Henry jerked his arm away. "Godammit, don't you humor me! I'm not crazy! Something is sure the fuck crazy around here, but it's not me! Where's Livvie, you sonofabitch!"

"Easy oldtimer, easy. I don't know where Livvie is. Just come on in and sit down, and we can figure all this shit out, OK? I promise, I'll help. Just come on. We'll get you a cup of coffee. Or how about a shot of whiskey? Yeah, that'd be better. It'll calm you down some, and then we can figure this mess out."

Henry, weak and beat-down, allowed himself to be led down the hall to the living room.
He could hear laughing and mumbling over the Led Zeppelin that was playing in the living room. There was something awfully familiar about that laugh, and when Henry entered the room he stopped dead cold in his tracks. He fell sideways, ending up leaning against the door frame. His knees tried to buckle, but he somehow stayed on his feet.

"So what do you think, old man?" It was Dell, lying on the couch getting a blowjob. He threw his head back and laughed. From Henry's position, he couldn't see the face of the person servicing him, but he assumed it was his naked companion. Henry insanely wondered how she could be doing that when only a few minutes ago old Dell had extracted one of her teeth via her top lip.

Henry could say nothing, he just turned and looked at Charlie, who was also grinning.
"I already got one. She's damn good too." Then he started laughing too, and Henry noticed for the first time that Charlie's teeth were disgustingly black and rotten. He looked back over at Dell, who had his hand on the woman's head, forcing her to swallow his entire penis. He could hear her gagging and retching, and Henry thought he might throw up. Dell was panting and moaning, slamming the woman's head up and down faster and harder. Finally he yelled out, and bucked against her face, over and over, until he finally fell back limp onto the couch.

"Whew!" He said. "God damn she can suck one! Say, Old man, you want a piece of this before I kill you?" He looked questioningly at Henry, who then noticed the knife that was still in his other hand. "Nah, you probably wouldn't. You ain't been able to do her any good all these years, why the hell bother tryin' now?"

At first Henry wasn't sure what the hell Dell was talking about. Henry wasn't sure about anything right now. But as he watched the woman start to raise her head, as he saw the first glimpses of the gray hair, the horror of what Dell meant dawned on him. "Oh God, no," was all he managed, and when Liv turned and looked at him, smiling with huge gobs of semen all over her face and hair, he slid to the floor in a dead faint.

He wasn't allowed the relief of unconsciousness for long. Charlie threw a bucket of freezing water on him, causing him to jump and cry out. His old heart once again thundered, and he felt the lightning bolt pains shooting across his chest. He gasped for air, waiting for his heart to explode so this nightmare would finally be over, but it miraculously eased up. He looked over at the couch, where Dell was now standing, zipping his fly. Livvie sat beside him, licking her lips and fingers.

"You know," Dell said, "when your woman here told me how tiny your pecker was, and how you hadn't satisfied her since she's known you, I just felt kinda sorry for her. I mean, for a woman to get old and never get no good dick, well, that just ain't right. So I gave her some. Ain't that right, old lady?" He looked down at Liv, who just smiled and said "MM-mmmm."
Dell turned back to Henry, who was just staring. "Liv," he whimpered. "Liv, how could you do this?"

"Oh drop dead, you old piece of shit!" Liv said. "It's true, ain't it? I haven't been fucked properly in forty years!"
Henry couldn't believe the words coming out of his sweet wife's mouth. She had never said a single cuss word since he'd known her.
"I need it," she was going on. She stood up, and took a step or two towards him. "You should have been here a while ago! I let that one put it in my ass!" She motioned to Charlie. "It hurt at first, BUT I LOVED IT! But then, as soon as I saw the size of Dell's thing here, well, I knew I couldn't fit that up there, so I sucked him instead!"

"Oh Liv, what's going on here, why is this happening..." Henry tried yet again to pull himself up, but Charlie stepped up and kicked him square in the ribs. Henry went down, blinded by pain. His stomach curled into a tight knot, and before he could do a thing, he threw up all over himself and the floor.
Everybody was laughing at him, as he lay there in the fetal position, with vomit all over his face. He was unable to care, and he just cried and wished for the end.
When the laughter died down, Dell said, "Hey. Old man."
Henry rolled his tear-filled eyes in that direction.

He stepped up behind Liv and put his arm around her waist. She nuzzled her head against his chest, and looked at Henry, smiling. Dell looked at him over Liv's shoulder.
"I just thought that you'd want to see this." Then he grabbed Liv by the hair with one hand, jerked her head back, and used his other hand to pull the big knife across her throat. Henry tried to move, but Charlie kicked him again, knocking him back to the floor. He could do nothing but watch, as his dear, sweet wife's face bore a look of not pain, exactly, but surprise, and the blood flew everywhere. The front of her nightgown was drenched almost instantly, and as she kept her eyes on Henry's, he could actually see the life disappear from them.

Dell laughed and threw his wife's lifeless body into the corner of the room, where she crumpled in a heap.
Henry was numb; he simply couldn't believe what he'd just witnessed. There was no way any of this could be real. He curled into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut.
"Whatsamatter, old man? You gonna cry?" Dell asked. Henry heard Charlie laughing like a lunatic. "Oh hell, you already been cryin, huh? Well, you won't have to worry about it much longer. You're gonna join that old bitch here in just a minute."

Henry opened his eyes. He saw Dell slowly coming across the room, bloody knife in hand. Livvie's blood. He quickly pushed that thought out of his mind and resolved to get up, somehow, and get the hell out of there. He still wanted to die - he had no more reason to live - but he wasn't going to give that piece of shit the satisfaction of killing him. Not if he could help it.

Dell was in front of him now, grinning down at him. "Well Pops. It's time to go. I'll be seeing you later." He started to reach down, and when he had the knife less than a foot from Henry's face, Henry grabbed the arm and twisted with all his might, pulling himself up at the same time. The quickness of Henry's move startled Dell, who lost his balance and fell sideways. He recovered in a second, but by then Henry was heading towards the door. He smashed Charlie as hard as he could in the face, not knowing where the strength came from and not caring. He broke his hand in the process, but damn did it feel good. Charlie fell to the floor screaming like a little girl, and Henry limped past him in high gear. He crashed into the hall, about falling over a bookcase that stood just outside the doorway, but he corrected himself and moved towards the front door.

Charlie had no fight left in him, of that Henry was certain, but he knew Dell would be on him before he made it the ten feet or so to the front door.
He'll have to stab me in the back, Henry thought, halfway to freedom. Because I ain't turning around for shit.
Suddenly Henry had the knob in his hand. He could hear Dell laughing and his footsteps coming behind him. He fumbled with the knob with shaking hands, and just when he was sure he was going to feel either Dell's hand on his shoulder or the knife between his ribs, the door flew open and out Henry went.

There were people on the street now, it being after eight o'clock. A couple of kids were riding by on new Christmas bicycles, grinning and without a care in the world. On the other side of the street, a young mother pushed a stroller that contained a bundle of wrapped up baby. Henry tried to yell, but his lungs didn't work. All that came out was a gurgling-whimper sound, and no one paid him any mind. He raced across the porch, slipped on the ice and tumbled down the steps. An excruciating pain exploded in his hip, and he couldn't move. He felt hot blood on his side, where the gash had ripped open again, and he realized he couldn't feel his legs. Broke your fucking back, he thought. Isn't that wonderful.

He was lying on his back, and he looked up onto the porch, and there was Dell. He smiled faintly, and then slowly started down the steps.
No way, Henry thought. Fuck you.

He forced himself through the agony to roll over on his side, and he began to drag himself down the sidewalk using only his hands. His entire body was a wreck of dead weight, but he moved. He thought of Liv, lying back in that house, of what they had done to her. He knew that she must have been drugged or something, that she would never have even gone over there, let alone do...those other things. The thought brought fresh tears to his eyes, and he tried to push the thought away and concentrate on the futile task ahead of him.
When he was almost to the street, he could go no more. He collapsed on his back, knowing that Dell had abandoned the pursuit. He could hardly kill a defenseless old man right out in the street, could he? He looked towards the house anyway. The front walk and porch were deserted, and the door was closed.

"Oh my God!"
Henry heard the woman's voice, coming from the street. He turned, the sky spinning around as he neared blackout, and saw the woman with the stroller approaching him, a look of horror on her face.
"What happened to you? Oh God. You need a doctor, bad. Oh my God." Henry could see her pulling something out of her purse, and he flinched, thinking she had a knife and had come to finish him off. But it was only a cell phone, and she soon had it to her ear. Henry relaxed his head and stared at the sky. His eyelids were growing so heavy. He just wanted to sleep...

"I...an...lance. ...be...in...minute." The woman was talking to him, so he tried to turn towards her.
"Ambulance," she said. "They'll be here in a sec. My God, who did this to you?" Henry couldn't answer; he just looked at her and tried to smile. The look on her face told him how lovely he must be looking right now, and he closed his eyes.

When he next opened them, he was lying in a bed. His brain was foggy, and he couldn't even remember his own name for a minute. He blinked a few times, and tried to look around. Slowly the world came into focus, and he realized he was in a hospital room. There were tubes running out of his arms and nose. He felt no pain, and, judging from the buzz he felt, he was pretty well doped up. Then he remembered. He remembered what had happened to him, and to Liv. He felt the tears welling up in his eyes, and he was about to pull the tubes out of his arms and find a way to kill himself when a young nurse walked in the room. He just looked at her, relaxing back.

"Well, welcome back!" she said. "You had us all a bit worried there for a while. You've had quite a day, Mr. Thurmond, haven't you? Well, don't worry. I don't know who did this to you, but you're safe here. There's some police officers waiting to talk to you, but the doctor will need to see you first, OK? I'll go let him know you're awake."
When she left, Henry closed his eyes. How in the hell could he ever get out of this? He wanted no part of the doctor, or the damn cops. He just wanted to die peacefully, and be done with this nightmare. He could feel nothing in his legs, so he seriously doubted he could walk out of here. Oh God, please just let me die.

"Oh, you're not going to die," someone said. Henry didn't realize he'd spoken out loud, and he felt embarrassed. He opened his eyes to see the doctor, trying to think of something to say. The last thing he needed was to be put in some nut ward, where he'd spend out his days wearing paper slippers and being fed his breakfast with a spoon.
The doctor had his back to Henry, doing something to one of the machines that he was hooked up to.

"Um," Henry said, "I didn't mean that literally, you know, I just, ah, feel pretty bad..."
"Mmm hmm," the doctor said. He turned around and Henry's heart froze solid in his chest. Hot piss flooded his crotch, and his breath ceased to exist.
It was Dell. Grinning. "Well, hello there old man. How the hell are ya?"
No no no, Henry wanted to scream, but of course could not. Not YOU!
Henry coughed, spittle flying out onto his chin. "What do you want from me?" He finally asked. "Why are you doing this?"

Dell looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, as if seriously contemplating the meaning of life. He pulled a chair over close to the bed, where he sat, his face so close to Henry's he could smell his breath. It stank of rotting meat.
"All in good time. First, I have to finish something." He pulled out that fucking knife. What did he do, sleep with the damn thing?

Dell slowly pointed the knife towards Henry's face. Henry could do nothing but watch, as Dell waved the knife slowly in circles around his entire head. He made as if to cut his ear, even pressed the blade against his lobe, before moving on to his nose, then his lips. Dell smiled then, and said, "You've seen a lot in your time, ain't ya? Maybe too much."
With that he pushed the knife into Henry's left eye. He felt sharp pain and then pressure, and he screamed as he felt his eyeball burst, hot fluid running down his cheeks. "No sense leaving just the one, huh?" Dell said.

"NO! No PLEASE NOOOOOOooo!" Henry screeched, trying to squirm but couldn't move. He managed to open his remaining eye, and although blurred and extremely distorted, he could see the silhouette of the knife approaching. He squeezed his eye shut, and bawled like a baby, until he felt the pain of the blade cutting through his eyelid and piercing his eyeball.
The pain and the horror were just too much, and Henry could feel the last threads of sanity floating away. He began to feel himself detaching from his body, and he started to lose the memory of what was even happening to him. It started to not matter anymore, in that mysterious way that even the most vivid of dreams have of losing substance once you awake. He was, yet he wasn't. He didn't know his name, didn't even know what a name was.

This must be death, he thought vaguely. Thank God.
"Oh, no. Not yet, you don't." Henry heard the voice, that monstrous voice, and suddenly he was back in the hospital bed, his ruined eyeballs running down the sides of his face. He sobbed, desperately trying to will himself back to that safe oblivion he'd just gotten a small taste of.
"That would be nice, wouldn't it?" He heard Dell say. "But that won't never be, not for your fucking ass. No sir."
"Wh-what do you want?" Henry managed. "Why are you doing this? Why is this happening to me, Goddammit!"

Dell laughed heartily. "You really don't get it, do you, Herr Lehmann?"
Henry froze. He hadn't heard that name spoken aloud in over sixty years. He had gone to extreme measures to ensure that the name Lehmann was buried for good, and for decades no one had a clue. Until now.
"Yeah, you must have thought that it was quite a joke, huh? After murdering what - ten thousand people? - you manage to sneak off and hide in the very country that was hunting your sorry ass down. They thought you committed suicide in Berlin with your master, Hitler, but you simply killed another man and placed him in your uniform with your documents on him. Neat trick."

Henry said nothing for a moment, and then muttered, "How?"
"You're dead, you fucking murdering piece of shit! Don't you get it? You died of a heart attack last night, and now you have to pay. You have to pay, and my black ass is the bill collector. Your crippled old ass is mine for eternity. Did you enjoy your Christmas? Have a nice day today, did you? Well, I sure hope so, because you're going to relive this day forever. Over and over and over again. For-fucking-ever."
"Fine!" Henry said. "Do what you will to me! I only did what I was ordered to do, what I had to do!"

"Oh, if that were only so. But you see, you're heart was in that shit. Don't you think we know these things? When you gassed those people, when you shot those people, when you laughed in the faces of those that were being tortured and butchered alive, you loved every fucking minute of it! Just like I am going to enjoy every minute I'm going to spend with you."
"I know though. Now I know, so I'll be ready. At least I'll understand what's happening, and I won't play your fucking game! I'll just sit there and let you do what you want. You'll get no satisfaction out of tormenting me."

Dell was laughing again. "You stupid bastard. You don't actually think you'll remember anything, do you? Ha ha, when you wake up, you won't recall anything that happened today, so you'll get to experience today brand new. Every...single...day.
"Well." Henry could tell by his voice that he was standing up. "I gotta go now, but I think I'll cut your throat before I go, let you bleed out while you think about all the tomorrows you won't remember. Goodnight, Herr Lehmann. Sleep tight."

Henry could feel the ice-cold blade press against his neck, and then slide slowly across. He felt no more pain, not now, but he felt like he was deflating, almost. The blood gushed out of his gaping neck, and he could feel it soaking down his chest. He grew sleepy and foggy, once more slipping into the sweet oblivion. He embraced it with open arms, ever so grateful to just be going away from this world. Surely he would just be dead now, that Dell was bullshitting him, tormenting him to the end. The darkness grew, and Henry was at peace. Goodbye, Liv. I've always loved you. You were my saving grace in this world... Henry knew no more.
Henry Thurmond knew the moment he opened his eyes that Christmas morning that something was definitely wrong...

The day Olivia Thurmond had her husband cremated was bitter cold, with snow flurries swirling around in the gusty wind. She had promised, should he pass before her, to sprinkle his ashes on the rear lawn of the Jewish Synagogue downtown. Liv had always been puzzled by his request, knowing that he had been a German soldier during World War Two, but she wouldn't break the promise.
When she opened the little box, she said a silent prayer. As she slowly turned it, and the wind began to scatter his ashes, blending the gray in with the white of the snow, she said, "Rest in Peace, Henry."
When the box was empty, she turned and made her way back to her waiting car.