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Novelo Rectangle

It was dark by the time Johnny came back to himself. The tightness in his chest and labored breath insisted he’d been running the whole time. His knees buckled and he went down, landing on a bed of crisp dead leaves. The pressure in his chest grew worse. He couldn’t breathe. Johnny rolled onto his back and stared up at the clear night sky through the branches of the trees. He didn’t know when he’d entered the woods, he couldn’t remember anything from the moment he ran away from the hospital. And the dead men.	&nbsp;	Johnny didn’t fight the pressure building inside him and waited for it to stop his heart. There was no reason to be alive now, nothing to live for… no one to live for. All that remained now were broken promises and shattered dreams as he failed to fulfill Donny’s last wish of taking care of Gunner.	&nbsp;	Despair and disappointment crept through him when his heart continued to thump against his ribs, keeping him alive… torturing him. Johnny lay still in the frosty leaves, the bitterly cold air numbing his face and body. He closed his eyes but didn’t know if he’d slept or if any time had passed when he opened them again. His numb fingers rested limply against the belt buckle.	&nbsp;	The buckle Donny had given him.	&nbsp;	The buckle Vincent had taken from him and given to Lenny.	&nbsp;	The buckle Lenny had beaten Donny with.	&nbsp;	The buckle Johnny had used to whip Lenny and Gary before he butchered them.	&nbsp;	His fingers curled around the skull buckle; it was all he had left of Donny.	&nbsp;	No one would ever take it from him again.	&nbsp;	Johnny crawled to his feet and stumbled on through the woods, his legs numb and shaky. He thought about Vincent, his oldest brother, and what he would do when he came home and found the bloody scene Johnny left behind. It had been a couple of days; had he returned home already? Was he out hunting for Johnny? He would want Johnny dead—because of Lenny… Vincent’s favorite.	&nbsp;	Johnny didn’t care if Vincent came after him. The sooner he found him, the sooner Johnny would die. The only thing that bothered him about Vincent killing him—Vincent would take his buckle.	&nbsp;	Ghostly moonlight filtered down to reveal an abandoned, rusted-out old car up ahead. All the windows were still intact, and only the front windshield was cracked, but not shattered. With some effort, Johnny pulled open the rear driver’s side door. The hinges shrieked in response, amplifying off the trees.	&nbsp;	Johnny cautiously leaned inside the car, unfazed by the rank odor of mold and dankness… and a hint of something dead. A rat, maybe? Johnny didn’t care. He crawled into the backseat and yanked hard on the door, dragging it closed with another screech of the hinges. A filthy blanket lay on the floorboard, and Johnny picked it up, shook it, and pulled it over the top of him as he lay down on the grungy seat. Springs poked through rat-eaten holes in the seat cushion and dug into Johnny’s back.	&nbsp;	Hardly aware of the discomfort, Johnny stared out through the rear windshield, caked in dirt and dead leaves. Through the debris, he caught glimpses of the night sky, twinkling stars here and there. His heart knotted so tight he was sure it would burst. Donny was up there… in heaven. He had to be because angels went to heaven. Even if he died tonight, though, Johnny wouldn’t see Donny again. Killers didn’t go to heaven. Well, maybe… if they were really sorry for what they’d done.	&nbsp;	Johnny wasn’t sorry. Not for what he did to Lenny and Gary. Not even for killing the men at the hospital. They were liars—all of them—and he wasn’t sorry. The ones at the hospital stopped him from seeing Gunner. That was all he had left to live for—take care of Donny’s little brother. Now, because of those men—because of Lenny and Gary—he had nothing.	&nbsp;	Not one fucking thing to live for.	&nbsp;	Squeezing his eyes shut, Johnny clenched his jaw, fighting the tears with all his might. A sudden, hard sob erupted up his throat and burst forth in a strangled cry. “Fuck you all!” he screamed out brokenly. “I fucking hate you all! I’m glad you’re dead! I’m not sorry—I’ll never be fucking sorry!”	&nbsp;	Johnny twisted onto his stomach and buried his face in the dirty, rank blanket and choked on sobs trying to force up his throat. His breath hissed and hitched as he fought back the scalding tears and unbearable pain. You saw me cry once—you don’t get to look up from hell and see me cry again!	&nbsp;	Suddenly unable to breathe, Johnny threw off the old blanket and shoved open the car door and scrambled outside. Perched on hands and knees, Johnny shook as he sucked gulps of the icy air and blinked back the tears pooling in his eyes.	&nbsp;	“Fuck… you…” he choked, a thickness squeezing his words. “I won’t cry… not again… not ever again.”	&nbsp;	Something moved in the darkness to his left and Johnny gasped, scuffling back toward the open car door. His back struck the edge of the car, and he froze, staring hard into the deep shadows. A shift in the darkness, and then a figure crept forward. Johnny squinted, not taking his eyes off the thing. Not a person. It slinked closer, equally wary of Johnny.	&nbsp;	The animal passed through a patch of pale moonlight. A dog. A mongrel. It paused, head lowered, and stared at Johnny. It didn’t look like a big dog, but it wasn’t small, either.	&nbsp;	The only dog Johnny had encountered had bitten him. But it wasn’t the dog’s fault. His brothers brought home the stray and antagonized it until lashed out at anyone who got close. Gary had shoved Johnny at the animal, then laughed when it bit his leg. Afterward, they beat the dog to death. Later, when his brothers were back in the house, drunk and playing cards, Johnny sneaked out and buried the dog.	&nbsp;	Though the incident hadn’t made him afraid of dogs, he remained cautious of this one. Maybe someone had been mean to it, too. Johnny didn’t want it here. He didn’t want to be around anything or anyone.	&nbsp;	Working himself to his feet, Johnny picked up a few small rocks. “Go away,” he ordered, his voice thick. “Get outta here.” He raised his arm, a rock clenched in his fist. “Go.”	&nbsp;	The dog didn’t flinch.	&nbsp;	“Go.” Johnny threw the rock, striking the ground near the animal. The dog glanced at the rock and then looked at Johnny. “I said go!” Johnny flung all the rocks at the animal.	&nbsp;	The dog sidestepped when a small rock grazed its flank. Johnny took a threatening step toward the mongrel and raised his arm as if to throw more rocks.	&nbsp;	“Get outta here—GO!”	&nbsp;	The dog sank back into the shadows of the trees, fading away into the night.	&nbsp;	Johnny lowered his arm, shaking all over. He swallowed thickly and sniffed. “Don’t come back,” he whispered with a tremor and crawled inside the car, laid down, and pulled the smelly blanket over his shoulders.	&nbsp;	He didn’t close his eyes… too afraid to sleep… terrified of the nightmares that would creep in and rip him apart piece by piece.

Dark Ages: Clint - The Early Years (A Cowboy Gangster mini-series)

amsnead

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CJ Bishop

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