Several long minutes went by before he finally took his BVLGARI wood essence body wash from one of the alcoves and poured a generous amount into his palms. His movements were slow and methodical, his mind drifting to thoughts of how this fly-by-night operation was going to end. They’d trained for every possible situation and scenario the enemy could throw at them but they’d never trained to defend against their true nature. It’d been years since he’d been defiant, not since he was teenager.
It hadn’t been a time he’d thrived; it’d been a time of survival.
With much practice thirteen-year-old Marshall Hayes—before he became, Meridian—got his key inside their apartment door and disengaged the bolt lock without making a sound. He’d stayed after school to give his father as much space as possible, working well past nightfall in the library until the custodian had put him out. With no friends, and nowhere else to go, he’d lain on a park bench behind his building until his body could no longer tolerate the frigid cold of winter in Chicago.
Meridian didn’t remove his coat or hat when he was inside, instead he listened to confirm exactly where his parents were. He heard his mother in the bathroom weeping and his dad’s snores over the television blaring the highlights of a basketball game in the living room. Meridian skirted along the edge of his dad’s recliner, his back close to the wall but not enough to touch it and cause a sound. He stepped over the third and sixth floorboard in the hallway that led to the bedrooms—they creaked when touched—and slipped into his bedroom, quietly closing his door and locking it. He froze, his body as still as a thief as he waited to see if he’d really made it undetected. Over the years, he’d gotten good at being invisible.
He removed his heavy boots and coat and sat on the edge of his bed. He could still hear his mother and he wondered how bad off she was this time. Another broken rib, or a busted lip. Of course, all injuries came with countless lashings as if his mother was a bad girl and deserved constant punishment. She’d sometimes stare at him as if she was waiting on him to help her, but he didn’t anymore. He was too afraid.
It was after midnight on a Friday night and he knew his dad had been drinking cheap bourbon chased with warm Budweiser most of the day. He couldn’t afford premium alcohol to drown his failures with—which was their fault. He’d been laid off for two weeks for poor job performance—also their fault—and was furious at the world. Meridian lay on his thin mattress in his bedroom after listening to his father’s belt come down on his mother’s back so many times he lost count. He slammed the pillow over his head but her screams couldn’t be drowned out. Sometimes the police were called but they never came. No one ever came. No neighbors, police, fireman, child protective services, goddamn Batman. No one. It was as if the world didn’t care of the hell he lived in.
Meridian shot up in his bed, his hand going for the old .25 he kept under his pillow at the sound of their front door being kicked in. He shook as heavy footsteps and gruff voices flooded the tiny space, calling for his dad. Meridian’s grip on his gun was slippery in his sweaty palm. He was so terrified of what was happening, and for a long moment he stood there shaking with the gun aimed at his door. The pistol was so small he wondered if it’d even stop his bull of a father or whomever the animals were that’d barged into their home. It was better than nothing and it’d at least be enough for him and his mom to get away.
The sound of her screams propelled him to move and he charged into the hall with his weapon pointed and ready to fire at the first person who angled in his direction. He immediately searched for his mother when he rounded the corner, surprised to find her curled in a ball in the corner of their tight living room, watching in horror as four men dragged his father into the middle of the floor and started to beat him over and over again... with their belts.
“So we hear you like to take your troubles out on your wife and kid, Mr. Hayes.”
Meridian hadn’t noticed the man in a long black trench coat, on the couch with his legs crossed, staring down at his father. His posture, his tone, his entire demeanor radiated the word boss.
“There are decent people in this building who are fed up with it. Family who have been cut off from Mrs. Hayes are fed up with it. And we’ve been sent to take care of it.”
Family? Meridian swallowed.
“Please.” His mother wept some more. And Meridian didn’t know if she was begging for her husband’s life or pleading for them to take it.
The house was dark in the middle of the night and all of the hoodlums wore heavy black clothes, making it difficult for Meridian to recognize them. A man who stood guard at the door saw him but didn’t make a move towards him. He was a hulking beast of a guy, his face cratered and rough, but surprisingly Meridian didn’t feel him to be his biggest threat. Nor the composed man on the couch. It was the ruthless men pummeling his father. Were they going to go for him and his mother next?
His father hollered louder when they switched from using belts to using their fists. Meridian thought he should be sick from all the spit and blood... his own father’s blood... but he wasn’t. He felt... nothing. Maybe not nothing, he actually wanted to see more blood spilled.
“Fists to the face don’t feel good do they, Mr. Hayes?” the boss asked when his father was forced to his knees by a handful of his sweaty hair. His face was a mess. “Cracked ribs are excruciating, are they not?”
One of the men holding his dad shot his big boot out to the side and slammed it into his father’s rib cage—much like his dad had done to him when he was ten years old—sending him back to the floor in pure agony. His screams were louder than his mother’s. Finally. His dad turned his head, the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut landing on him, then on the baby-piece he had cocked in his palm.
“Marshall, kill’em! Do it! Shoot now!” His father spat red venom from his mouth before he was kicked in the stomach. “Fucking do it, you pussy!”
His mother was on her knees, her body too broken to even get to him. “Marshall don’t. Put that down. Don’t do it, honey.”
Meridian locked eyes with the boss man on the couch. His stare was cold and blank, almost testing Meridian to see what he’d do. The boss didn’t appear afraid of the weapon Meridian had in his hand, somehow confident that he wasn’t planning to use it on him. Then it was as clear as day what he needed to do, what he wanted to do.
Some men were just bad and evil to the core.
Then there were men like the ones in his living room, who were sent to eliminate that evil.
“Splendid young man you have here, Mr. Hayes. I’ll take good care of him for you.” The man in black said, his voice frigid as he stood staring down at the groveling piece of shit at his feet.
Meridian brought the gun up and aimed it at his father’s forehead.
“No!” his mother screamed, right before he pulled the trigger without a second thought.
BANG!
Meridian lurched hard as if the sound was right there in the shower with him. He jerked his right hand out and gripped the forty-five he had stashed on the shelf beneath the towels. With his piece aimed at the floor, his biceps bulged, while he flexed his hands around the familiar weapon. He slowed his breathing, calming his mind from a memory he never tried to relive. It just happened.