Fiction

Caterpillar

Mike Gormly

Unfortunate looked up from the wheel briefly and turned to Baron von Concentrate.

"Bare, are you sure this is the right street?"

"Yeah, but like I said, we have to stay on it for like, ten minutes before we get to the house. I think it eventually just turns into a driveway"

"If this guy wanted this much solitude why didn't he just live in the goddamned Northwest Territories?"

"Well you can ask him when we get there."

Baron took a long swig of his blue-flavored Powerade and gazed down at the city as the car crept higher up the mountain road. He listened carefully for the sound of the back road as the pavement switched in quality. He checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror. His olive eyes looked as calm as they could be, his oval face wasn’t more pale than usual, and no beads of sweat were forming on his brow. All he noticed was that he could use a shave. Turning to Unfortunate, he noticed that he also looked largely okay in his almost-healthy complexion. His brown eyes were set on the road and seemed ready and focused.

“You still okay?” Baron asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just making sure,” he said, taking another sip of his Powerade “Remember, we don’t have to do this.”

Unfortunate laughed “yeah, I know.”

“Alright, just checking” he said as he turned back to the city lights below him. Above them, he also watched the fingernail moon sitting in the sky as long, thin clouds drifted slowly past it.

"Do you think we could live to be a hundred?" Baron asked.

"With our lifestyle I doubt it. Why do you ask?"

"I dunno, I just never really wanted to live much later than 50."

"Why not?"

"Well when I was a kid I never really wanted to live that long. I suppose it's cause my old man had all those medical problems, I grew up thinking that getting old was the worst thing that could happen to you."

Unfortunate paused to think about the first question, not taking his eyes off the road. The turns were getting sharper and there wasn't a streetlight anywhere. The only lights were their own, apart from blades of moonlight leaking through the trees.

“That reminds me of something my mom used to say. Whenever someone told her about some old codger ‘tragically’ dying at like, one-hundred and two, she’d say ‘dying old is so overrated. If I get to Heaven I don’t want it to be full of old people. I’d rather take my chances with Hell.’”

"Sounds like a wise old broad," Baron said, taking another drink of his Powerade. He didn't even know why he drank it. He never felt more powerful, but he felt less guilty about drinking it than soda or coffee, or the beverages that didn't at least try to look like they were around to keep your body alive. He turned to look at the city again, but it had disappeared behind the treeline.

“Well do you think we'll go to hell for this?"

"I certainly hope so.”

The response surprised Baron.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well why should I be afraid of hell? I mean, we're sent there because we've done things that piss off God right?"

“Yeah."

"Well I don't see any threat in being sent to a place for disobeying God that's run by a person who bases his whole existence around that.”

Baron turned towards Unfortunate with his undivided attention. He found it odd that he had only known Unfortunate for two years, yet this topic which he had clearly thought about had never come up until now.

"So you're saying that you think hell’s actually a nice place?"

"Well I don't see why it wouldn't be. I mean, sure, God probably saw to it that it wasn't nice, but I don't see why Satan would bother treating us badly. I mean, if we fuck things up for the almighty, then we're essentially doing Satan's work without him lifting a finger, so why would he want to submit us to eternal torment for helping him out?"

"He is just a rebel I guess, which isn’t exactly the same thing as being purely evil.”

“Well the idea is that you’ve crossed your loving creator.”

“Details,” Baron said, finishing his drink and tossing the empty bottle into the backseat. “It makes sense I guess. I always thought Heaven sounded like it would be boring.”

"My guess is that's probably just like being stuck in Church for eternity. I mean, it's probably a hell of a lot easier to swallow, but a lot of people act like that once you get in that's all you have to do in terms of pleasing the big guy," he paused when he noticed how dark the road had gotten, and it took him a second to re-gather his thoughts. "Ummm, but that doesn't make any damn sense. That's like saying that once you get into college they won't ever expel you. My guess is that once you get on the road of Almighty ass-kissing, you've got to keep up that act for the rest of your damned existence. Plus, I'm sure if God looks down on sins like rampant fucking on earth, he probably isn't going to reverse himself once you're on his turf, which will probably shoot down the plans for most of people who planned on getting in. Plus there's the fact that half of the god damned people there are going to be smug, holier-than-thou, judgmental, God-fellating Christ-ies, and who wants to spend eternity attending divine pot-lucks with that lot? I sure as hell don't. Hell has John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix, and every porn star in recorded history, so from what I can tell, it's the place for me."

Baron looked forward to the road. He felt like he should say something in the defense of the religion he grew up with, but ditched in his teen years. Nothing came to mind. Though even if he were the type to pose a substantial rebuttal to Unfortunate's perspective, he saw their destination cautiously snaking out in front of them. It was a palatial estate for sure, not quite a mansion, but not the type of house to which you resist being handed the keys. Baron winced when he saw it. To him, it was simply a multi-sectioned affair, hideously modern and dressed in various shades of beige, with one Prius and two black SUV's standing like ebony sentinels that might somehow come to life and crush them at a moment's notice. "There she is" said Baron, introducing their destination with a dramatic flip of his wrist. They parked the car in front of the door and walked up the long walkway. He pulled a black ski mask out of his pocket.

"Masking time," he said to Baron, who did the same.

“Got your lines down?” Unfortunate asked.

“Oh yeah, don’t worry about me, it’s going to be smooth. I even brushed up on my vocab.”

“You’re going to do the candlestick thing aren’t you?”

“I like the Candlestick thing.”

They walked up the gravel path, which was flanked by plants that neither of them had seen before.

"God, is there nothing ridiculously played up about this place?" Unfortunate said as he rang the doorbell, which chimed a rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth.

"Guess not" Baron said with a chuckle. They waited for a few moments for the owner of the house to come to the door, and Baron felt compelled to dispel the silence.

"So where did you come up with that little theory of yours?"

"Come on Baron, didn't you ever read Nietzsche?"

"If I were the type to read him do you think I'd be here right now?” Baron replied. "Why, did you ever read him?" Unfortunate shook his head.

"Ick, are you kidding? Of course not."

A woman opened the door. She was wearing an impeccable off-white wardrobe that complemented the house perfectly.

"Can I help you?" She asked with a hesitant smile, as though wondering what could possess these two poorly dressed strangers to bother her at this hour.

"Hey there" Unfortunate said, brandishing his handgun and forcing his way in. The off-white matron screamed and tried to run, but the combination of her sudden panic and skyscraper heels caused her to just stumble and fall onto the vaguely oriental welcome mat.

"Sorry, but would you mind being quiet?" Baron requested calmly, having also pulled out his pistol, which he was pointing squarely at her head. With this she stopped screaming and quieted to nothing but heavy breathing interspersed with whispered ohmigods.

"Thanks a bunch" Baron said. He squatted down to look her straight in the face. "Now, could you tell me how many other people are in the house, or do I have to go hunting?"

"Three others" she said in her exasperated panic "my husband and daughter in the living room and my son upstairs in his room."

"Now I assume the living room is probably just beyond here am I right?" Baron said without breaking his stare. She didn't answer but frantically nodded her head.

"However, it would appear you have a rather large second floor here, could you be a little more specific about your son's whereabouts?"

"Second door on the left," she whimpered.

"Why, thank you Ma’am," Baron said, before making his way to the living room while Unfortunate escorted the woman to the dining room in the opposite direction. As Baron neared the living room he heard a sound system blasting some lightweight network sitcom. Some woman was yelling at some man for doing some thing and it made her feel some way. Over the din he heard the husband yell "Honey are you okay?!?" with an inflection that made Baron wonder if it was the second time the husband had said it. He entered the large room to find three sofas, two of which facing each other and a third facing a TV the size of an oven, the husband and daughter sitting on the two facing ones while watching TV. The father was a middle-aged man, still with most of his hair, even though the sides were beginning to gray, and he looked as though he had once been in great shape, but had fallen out of practice a few years ago. His teenage daughter on the other hand was small and pale, with dark brown hair draped along her pale face, which matched the black shirt that loosely hung about her small build.

Baron, after lingering for a moment in the alcove, stepped in further pointing his gun, the daughter turned and screamed, causing the father to turn around as well.

"Hi there, would you mind putting your hands over your head and following me?" said Baron. The pair did what he said. As he marched them to the dining room, the father turned his head and said "Look, how about you just leave now, before you dig yourself in too deep?" Baron almost laughed.

"Hey aren't you at least going to say something like 'just take what you want' or something? Surely you could spare it.” This didn’t sit well with the father.

"Listen you motherfucker, I've spent too much of my life getting these things to have them just stolen by a punk like you"

"Wow you've really mastered the art of talking to people like they aren't pointing a gun at you, and I must say it would be pretty embarrassing dying trying to save this monstrous place, now just shut the hell up and keep walking"

They were marched into the dining room where Unfortunate had already tied the woman to one of the dining table chairs with duct tape as she made a frenzied and inarticulate plea for her life while Unfortunate kept rolling his eyes.

"Alright, why doesn't hubby sit next to his wife," directed Baron, then turning to the daughter, "and you can sit on the opposite side of the table.” Baron kept his gun raised as Unfortunate taped the father to his chair.

"I swear I will kill both of you motherfuckers as soon as you turn your fucking backs." With this Baron smiled and turned to the wife.

"I can see you married him for his poetic soul,” he said, though she appeared too far gone to hear him. With the father restrained, Unfortunate moved on to the daughter.

"So do you want to get the son?" asked Baron "Or stick around here?"

"I'll get the son, thanks, I can't take much more of her frantic ramblings," Unfortunate said, gesturing his head towards the wife, who looked like her whispered pleas were now serving as a mantra as she made her way to her happy, expensive place.

“Fine with me," Baron said. Unfortunate finished tying the daughter, pulled his gun from out of his pocket again and headed upstairs. He took note of a series of picturesque family portraits with the smiling clan all dressed in soft white outfits, which made him wonder if they were secretly part of a cult. As he reached the top of the stairs he even noticed that they were arranged in order from most recent to earliest. Upon reaching the second floor, he opened the second door on his left with the gun drawn, but then saw that it was a bathroom. He wondered if the mother had legitimately forgotten which room was her son's in her panic, or if she had tried to trick him but just wasn't very good at it. Annoyed, he shut the door and looked at the three other doors in the hall. He noticed that one had a crudely-drawn sign that said "Clark's Room: Ladies Entrance," and entered. To his lack of surprise, he found no ladies inside, but only the pudgy, acne-scarred mid-teenage son playing a video game on his computer while wearing headphones that were on so loud that Unfortunate could almost hear the song being played. Not wanting much of an exchange, he raised his gun and said "hey,” but the boy didn't stir, but instead continued to blast at polygonal demons with a very large gun. Unfortunate shrugged, then tore off the boy's headphones.

"What the fuck!!?!" the son barked, turning around with a furious look on his face, which instantly converted to fear upon seeing the gun pointed at his face.

"Charming. Ever notice that that phrase doesn’t really make any sense? I don't know how things like that ever get off the ground. However while a discussion of American slang would be fascinating right now, I suggest we just make our way downstairs." The boy shielded his face with his hands and pleaded Unfortunate not to shoot him.

"Dear God don't shoot me, Jesus Christ!"

"Well I suppose I should consider it encouraging that violent video games such as yours have not desensitized our youth so much that they aren't jarred by having a gun pointed in their face.” He paused, in reality he was thinking about stomping on the computer "but anyway, please stand up, stop shielding your face because it's a terrible insult to my friend here, and march downstairs.” The shaken youth did as he was told, and within a minute he was sat and bound beside his sister. By this point the mother had slightly regained her senses and upgraded from babbling to shivering, while her husband merely stared venomously at his two captors.

"Alright," announced Unfortunate, "Now I suppose you might be wondering why it is we dropped by this evening."

"If you fucking hurt me I swear I will I destroy you, you fucking son of a bitch," the husband interrupted violently. Unfortunate turned to him with a smirk.

"Please don't interrupt me sir, and please have the common decency to speak in defense of your family as well as yourself. Look at your wife sir, she's a nervous wreck.” Upon hearing this, the husband shot him a furious look, but decided to keep quiet.

"Anyway, as I was saying. What was I saying anyway?" Unfortunate asked turning to Baron. Baron caught the glance.

"I believe we were going to offer the moral choice."

"Is it really a moral choice? I think of it as a formal inquiry that addresses societal concerns."

"You aren't getting into Nietzsche again, are you?"

"Who?" asked the son, throwing off both Unfortunate and Baron.

"You my boy, should read more," said Unfortunate, switching his gaze to the father "So, pops, it's fair to assume that you're the patriarch of this establishment, right?"

"The what?" responded the father with a sneer, though it was unclear if he was more confused about the word or the man from whom it was coming.

"You know, the male keeper of this household. Would you say that you are running this place in the old, male-as-god, sense?"

"Why the hell does that matter, what the fuck kind of degenerate scum are you?"

"Alright, I want to hurry this along and you aren't being cooperative in the least so I'll cut to the chase.” Unfortunate then stood behind the father and pointed his gun at the two children.

"Anyway Pappy, let's say that I am the bad man that you clearly assume me to be, now, I am going to offer you a choice. You have two children. Which one do you want to live?"

"What!?"

"Well, surely you're familiar with the hypothetical situation that you, as a parent, may someday be demanded by deranged psychopaths, such as my friend and I, to choose which of your children is more deserving of the gift, or whatever, of life. I know, or at least hope that you would never explicitly tell them that you prefer one over the other, if in fact you do, but I can’t really believe that there are not moments when one of your children does not do something good or bad that makes you consciously or subconsciously evaluate them in respect to their sibling.” He paused for a second “to admit if you have, in the past, done this, well then this choice should be relatively simple for you. For your sake I hope that it is, for you see I am, possibly, a deranged and homicidal maniac bent on striking at society with no reason, compassion or concern for human life, and if you do not choose in a relatively expedient manner, then I will simply shoot all of you out my psychotic rage. It's up to you dad, either one of your children dies or the lot of you dies, which is simply careless from a survivalist perspective. So please, if you would, tell me which kid is the one that is going to go.”

The every family member went white and slack-jawed at what Unfortunate was proposing. Both the son and daughter rapidly glanced between Unfortunate and their father to try to make sense of this whole situation.

"What kind of sick bastard are you?" the father shouted. "You can't be serious.” Unfortunate strolled around to the end of the table to face him.

"I'm afraid I am sir. Now, I would hate to impose some sort of melodramatic countdown on this, but if you don't select quickly, then I'm afraid I will have no choice.” Unfortunate cocked his pistol after saying this to play up his seriousness, but also because he loved of the sound. He saw that the father looked up to signify that he was putting genuine thought into the problem, which elicited a grin from Baron, who had been concerning himself with a candlestick on the cabinet in the corner of the room.

"Is this real brass?" he asked the wife. Her face snapped toward him with a wide-eyed stare.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"I'm sorry, I simply have a great appreciation for a good candlestick. I would guess that this is a copy of a late 19th century design, and not all of them are even made with brass. It's tragic really, so little care or craftsmanship is being placed into even the most minute of household accouterments."

"Go to hell!" she shouted, breaking into tears. Unfortunate rolled his eyes, while Baron shrugged and returned his attention to the candlestick. Unfortunate returned to the matter at hand.

"Anyway, this discussion of interior design has been a riot, but really I want to finish this business here, so anyway, should I start the countdown at ten? Or is three better?"

“Three would be more suspenseful I think,” Baron said, “more urgent.”

“I agree. But should I go down from three or up from one?”

“Surprise me,” Baron said with a smile.

The father’s face was white and starting lightly perspire. Unfortunate sat on the table facing and looked straight into his eyes.

“Now, I know what things you’re probably, or at least hopefully thinking. ‘How could these people be so sick and heartless?’ ‘How could I possibly-”

“That had occurred to me” the father interrupted, trying to look defiant at the insane freak.

“Well don’t,” Unfortunate said with quietly “You’re wasting valuable evaluation time. Remember sir, your legacy is in jeopardy here. Your choice is to have it snuffed out right now, or simply wounded. Sir, this is simply not a choice in which your emotions can be allowed to interfere.”

He stood up and bent his elbow, aiming the pistol towards the ceiling.

“One.”

He paced around the table and stood behind the son and daughter. Baron noticed that except for the mother, who was staring at her husband with a mixture of fear for their lives and, seemingly, incomprehension at the universe, each family member was averting their eyes from each other.

“Two.”

"Clark," the father muttered.

"Pardon?" Unfortunate asked.

"I want Clark to live."

“Very well then.”

Unfortunate raised his gun, while all the family members shut their eyes. The mother once again descended into her "ohmigod" mantra. Slowly and cautiously, like a golfer lining up his putt, Unfortunate aimed at the girl's head. She had tensed up noticeably, keeping her head down while whispering something to herself. With the gun aimed to his satisfaction, Unfortunate pulled the trigger, which responded only with an empty click.

"Well how about that, not even loaded!” he said cheerily, the collective heads of the family snapping open towards him with utter disbelief. “Thanks everyone for a pleasant evening, now we'll be on our way”. He began walking towards the door but noticed that Baron was still playing with the candlestick in his hands. “Are you coming Baron, or would you like to keep admiring that thing?"

"I think I'll just leave it here. It's nowhere near worth having, but it's at least worth keeping with its sister over there, I would hate to be responsible for subjecting this cabinet to such gratuitous asymmetry in its decoration.”

"Lovely, well, goodnight folks.”

And with this, Baron von Concentrate and Unfortunate stepped out of the house, the family all staring at each other. Out of the corner of his eye, the father caught his daughter staring with disbelief at him.

"So you want to get some burgers" Baron asked Unfortunate as they made their way to the car.

"Baron, you know I don't eat meat."

"Oh come on man, there are few pleasures on this earth as great as sinking your teeth into a fast food hamburger. Plus, hey, special occasion.”

"Sorry man, but I just don't feel like killing animals and eating them, it's a pretty sick thing to do.”

"Hey, as long as it doesn't look like the animal it was made from, eating meat is fine with me. But hey, Burger King has veggie burgers, surely that will work."

"I think they cook them on the same grill as their meat burgers."

“I thought they microwaved them” Baron said while pulling off his mask.

“Eh,” Unfortunate replied, doing the same.

"Jesus Unfortunate,” Baron sighed, “why do you have to be so fucking difficult all the time?"

Mike Gormly is a writer who resides in Burlington, Vermont. He is the author of the forthcoming novel, Catepillar.