Glimpse: The Broken

Chapter 2: The Accident

“I thought you said you were getting forty of them,” Dante berated the sunken eyed woman in the room with him. He crushed another pill on the mirror and snorted at it vigorously, sinking back into the stained blue velvet couch, allowing it to swallow him as the pills were slowly making their way into his system. “I did baby, but I must have lost eight or so of them,” responded the thin blonde rail of a woman, nervously. “I am sick of you and your bullshit lies,” the angry, balding Dante screamed at the woman as he pounding his fist on the table. “It's obvious you are either keeping them for yourself or selling them on the side! Useless bitch, you probably can't even count in the first place.”

“Dante, baby, I'm so sorry. I don't want to upset you,” replied the woman shakily. Clearly she was afraid of the outcome if she did. She remembered what happened last time. Dante breathed deeply through his nose, “Just don't let this happen again Trish, I get my prescription in six days, we just have to make this last until then.” He said in a flat, commanding tone. “I have to head back to the house soon anyway Lucille is going to get suspicious.”

Trish looked upset and hurt, “She hasn't even hinted at work that she knows I am not your sister,” she replied to Dante. “Besides, I never get to see you anymore, what with the kid moving out, Lucille always wants someone there to watch the house. She keeps saying weird shit at work, you know. Like she hears things outside her house and stuff, the whole store thinks she's losing it. Probably due to her husband dying, the guy was clearly the brains in that relationship,” Trish remarked.

Dante laughed a thin raspy laugh. “Maybe, but I can't very well get rid of her and rob the place with the kid snooping around, now that he's out of the picture I can make it look real accidental-like. I think I scared him off good earlier. I just wish the little bastard wasn't so quick, I'd have stomped my boot on his face and told his mom that he fell down the stairs or something. She's more gullible than you would believe, and she's so afraid I will walk out on her that I can do anything I want,” Dante bragged.

Trish shivered as she snorted her half of the pill Dante had crushed. “So when are you going to do it all anyway,” she inquired. Dante put his finger to his mouth, “I've thought about it for a while now, best time is going to be after he gets his stuff out of the house and is fully moved in to his new place over on Thyme street, downtown. Once he is out, one of the nights after she gets home from work and is sleeping, I can light the place up and tell the police I wasn't able to get to her in time. I'll make up some bullshit excuse like I fell asleep on the couch and couldn't make it to the bedroom with the flames and smoke,” Dante announced proudly. “Seriously babe you act like this is my first rodeo.”

Trish smiled brightly, a tooth missing in the front. “Do you remember that old couples’ house from Pittsburgh?” She laughed and coughed… smoke pouring out of her mouth from the cigarette she still had dangling there ever so gently. “That score kept us up for almost two years. I hate this nickel and dime shit we have been up to since, it's not consistent, and you're not as young as you used to be babe. This score better be as good as you say it is,” Trish mentioned.

Dante smiled and shook his head. “Do you think I am stupid or something?” He questioned. “She said there was three million dollars in duffle bags when they found the kid on the doorstep. Apparently her husband decided they would keep it for his eighteenth birthday, said it wasn't rightly theirs. What a bunch of idiots,” Dante laughed. “But, I just got her to sign me onto the bank account last week, so we are set. I just need her out of the picture first… before his birthday. “If everything goes according to plan we should be set for the rest of our lives after this one baby, we just gotta lie low.”

There was a flicker of headlights in the window. Shadows from the snowfall playing across the room as the light shone through the curtains. Maxwell stopped the engine, he was hoping to find Dante at his sister's house. He stepped out of the car, the wind carrying the smoke of his breath away, to dissipate in the cold night air. He had never been so furious in his life, he didn't know what argument caused the black eye but that meant little to him now, he was going to confront Dante. The only problem he had was that out of blind rage he had forgotten a weapon, and had no back up. He didn't know what was on the other side of that door but there was no turning back now, this would have to be as good a time as any.

He knocked on the door. It opened a crack, just enough that he could make out Trish's face from her sunken, spider-veined eye and wide pupil. “If you're looking for my brother, he ain't here,” she uttered rudely. Smoke from her cigarette still poured out of the room into the open night. “And I don't want any girl scout cookies kid,” She laughed, shutting the door in Maxwell’s face.

Maxwell's blood began to boil. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, as the wind shifted behind him. He turned on his heels to stare into the empty space curiously, unable to shake the feeling he was being watched. He looked around and seeing nothing, moved on to make an attempt to look into the window. His head turned to notice the curtains, completely drawn shut. He had half assumed he would see Dante's ugly mug poking up from the couch to see who it was. Just as he thought of what to do next, a rustle was heard.

Was that shuffling from behind the house, Maxwell wondered to himself. He hopped over the locked gate fence and made his way to the backyard. Another shuffling noise, but nothing. He looked through the crack in the shades from the shut blinds of the backyard glass door. Just the usual it seemed. looking into the dining room he could make out the silhouette of the door to enter the living room. Nothing out of the ordinary there. There was light flickering off the walls from the TV in the living room. The usual picture of Trish's cats was hanging right above the dining table, and the festive bells hanging from the doorknob into the kitchen, the litter box over in the corner and the… dark, brown, muddy men's boots sitting by the rug. Got him.

Maxwell kicked in the front door, cracking the wood at the hinges. “What the hell do you think you're doing?!” Dante shouted as Maxwell stormed into the living room. “Sure as hell not selling thin mints,” Maxwell spit venomously at Trish. “Ain't here huh?” He asked the woman angrily. Dante spoke over the woman, he was the one in charge here. “Sometimes I am, sometimes I ain't” he said aggressively. “But, I sure as hell don't remember any of that being your business. Come back for another ass-kicking?” He asked.

Maxwell gave a smirk, half of his mouth playing up his face in a smile, baring his teeth that were now gritted together in anger. His cheekbones extended out, as he spoke through his clenched jaw. “I will give you a one time courtesy warning, stay away from my mother,” Maxwell said lowly with a rumbling anger. “Or I assure you, things will go a lot differently than they did earlier today.” Dante laughed maniacally, “Is that so there sprout? Leave now, or I will cut your tongue out of your head so you can't warn anyone of anything.” Trish looked panicked between the two of them, “Dante, maybe we shoul...” She was cut off. “Adoption be damned, you definitely have your mother’s eyes,” Dante laughed while looking at the bandage. That was all it took.

Maxwell wasted no time, jumping across the room at him. Maxwell and Dante rolled across the floor, one on top of the other in a constant clutch of swinging fists and elbows. Maxwell was on the bottom now, receiving a flurry of jabs from the straddling Dante to his face. His mouth quickly filled with a burst of salty blood. The heavier pot bellied man pulled a switchblade out of his back pocket and pressed down on Maxwell’s neck with it. He put his hand over the young man's mouth so he could not scream. Maxwell was almost choking on the metallic taste of blood pooling in his mouth and sliding down his throat.

Maxwell desperately reached across the floor for anything solid, anything to help him out of this situation. His fingers crept along until they found purchase. He grabbed the object and smashed it along Dante's head. A loud thud was heard as the cast iron cat door stop impacted the man’s head, and tingles thrummed through Maxwell's hand from the force. Dante clutched the side of his head as Maxwell kneed him in the groin so hard he could have sworn he felt a crack, causing the man to drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Maxwell jumping at the opportunity, mounted him and began bludgeoning him repeatedly in the nose. Dante was laughing hysterically with each blow as the pills completely inhibited his ability to feel anything. Blood continued sputtering from his mouth, a shower of frothing red pouring from his broken nose as his eyes started rolling back in his head, still laughing maniacally.

Then, out of nowhere, a flash of light played across Maxwell's vision, followed by hot darkness. He felt as if he just fallen asleep and woken up at the same time, his brain unable make out what was what. He heard a faint crash, but had no idea it came from him until he felt the floor under his chin. He had bit down on his tongue and felt his mouth fill once more with sticky blood. Trish stood over him panting, with the broken mirror in her hand. Crushed pills and broken glass sprayed all over the room. Trish bent down and shook Dante, slapping him, tears welling in her eyes and dripping down her cheeks.

“Baby, baby get up!” She shrieked. Dante's eyes opened and he focused on her face, he backhanded her. “Quit wasting time, get my pistol,” he demanded abrasively. Trish scurried out of the room. Maxwell could barely feel his body but he knew he had to get out of there. He crawled, his hand stretched out as far as he could. His arms moves in long strides, pulling his body weight along slowly with his fingers. He found little grip on the carpeted floor. This wouldn't be it, he wouldn't die here like this, he told himself. He struggled to get his crumpled form to respond to what his brain was telling it to do. Get up! Run! He slowly mounted on one knee, only to collapse back down again. The walls and floor were gelatin. He put his fist into the floor, collected his thoughts and lifted himself up, his vision blurred and his head felt light but he was standing, and watching Dante attempting to do the same.

Luckily Maxwell was up first, he kicked Dante as hard as he could manage in the ribs, causing him to crumble back down onto his knees. Dante coughed up a mouthful of red and swore under his breath. As Maxwell was doubled over and trying to limp out of the room, he noticed a distinct lack of weight around his neck. He reached up and the necklace was gone. He frantically looked around the room, though it was hard to see with the only light in the room coming from the television, and his eye still bandaged.

After several moments he noticed the swirling red of the shard under the coffee table. He hobbled over as fast as he could, reaching down to pick it up. As his fingers wrapped around it, Maxwell felt a sharp twinge of pain across his palm. It wasn't his shard at all. It was just a shard of glass from the mirror that Trish had broken over his head swirling with the red of his own blood. Thick red fluid now dripped down his fingers from the fresh cut, as he threw the glass at Dante's body. Maxwell observed the newly formed incision on his hand. It was deep, definitely going to need stitches, he thought to himself. Maxwell felt his concussion setting in, just as Dante kicked the coffee table towards him. It slid across the carpet and hit Maxwell in the shins, causing him to buckle and trip backwards. His head hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Laying on the floor with his head to its side Maxwell felt an uneasy, yet peaceful embrace across his body. His breathing slowed as he began losing consciousness, this time for good. Dante was up on his feet now as Trish came back into the room trying to load a pistol, with fumbling bony fingers. Dante ripped it from her hand impatiently. “Time to end this shit, tell your Pops I said hey, if he even recognizes your orphan ass,” Dante said across the room, loading the pistol vigorously. As the bullets found their home in the six chambers of the revolver it gave Maxwell a moment to think.

He wondered what life would be like if he hadn't been adopted. Would his brother have grown up to be as bullheaded, protective, and caring without a little brother? Would he have been interested in the military? If he wasn't overseas he may have found a job closer to home and not had a daughter to a Navy nurse on the submarine. He might have been able to help mom with the bills after dad died and she wouldn't have met Dante in the first place. Maxwell hoped his mother would have the courage to leave him, and the cunning to find out that this woman was not his sister, but his real lover. He wondered what his real parents were like, and which of them died and left him his necklace.

Thinking of that very necklace. There it was… just within reach. Maybe if he reached out and grabbed it in time he could stuff it in his pocket before he was shot. At least then the cops might find it before Dante and Trish would, and could get it back to his mom. Who knows, it might even be worth something. If it is, he sure as hell didn't want them to get their hands on it. He reached out, fingertips just brushing against the swirling red and blue shard. He saw the gleam of the silver chain and his eyes focused. This was it, he determined, his last act of defiance against the man. He pushed forward with the rest of his energy and grabbed the shard, his hand sealing around it.

Something was happening. The shard felt strange before but now it was thrumming violently in his hand. His hand shook with the vibration of the necklace as the red and blue hues of the shard seemed to shine brighter, the ever swirling pattern spinning faster and faster. Maxwell’s blood pooled and spilled over the side of the shard. Its brightness far outmatched anything in the darkened room. Blue and red light swirled about frantically, as Maxwell stared at it in disbelief. Maxwell tried his best to stay awake, but his body was finally began to fail him. His eyes began closing as his mind started slipping into the dark abyss that surrounded him. As he heard the hammer cock back, he was sure the gun was pointed to his head. He felt at peace, this was it.

“Do it Dante!” Trish shrilled. “Take this little bastard out of his miserable life.” Maxwell waited for the shot of pain, or of light or anything, but there was just… silence, a heavy silence. Maxwell's senses were failing him now, he knew it. The shard that once seemed heavy and dense now felt very light as if he were holding nothing at all. And at this point he was sure his mind began dreaming, as he heard the throaty, reverberating growl so deep that it shook his very chest. Maxwell swore he even felt hot breath steaming on the side of his head.

Maxwell wasn’t sure if he was dead, or if this was a dream, or what exactly was happening, but… it all felt so real. He was lucky he was losing consciousness, it made staying absolutely still a breeze, as he felt the cold snout press against his cheek. “What the hell is that!?” shouted Dante. As Maxwell finally slipped from consciousness, his mind descended into the black cloud of infinite darkness around him. He could not will his eyes open to see what was going on, but the last thing he heard was several bullets going off, and Trish and Dante screaming.

Lots, and lots of screaming.