Obscure Blood (6 page)

Blood was spattered everywhere as she lay there. Maisey’s right leg was twisted underneath her, and her neck was cut in several places. Lucinda, watching from as close as she could, brushed away a tear that barely touched her cheek. She gazed at Maisey sadly as Octa loaded their dog’s corpse into the back of the van to take her away.

Their dog’s untimely demise didn’t faze the couple much. Dogs don’t seem so precious to people once they’ve seen humans brutally murdered. As Octa got into the van, a Mustang sped up to the house and parked right in front of his van. Octa got out and walked heatedly toward the car as his brother, Juan, stepped out and loudly greeted him.

“Long time, brother,” Juan said.

“Aren’t you always a surprise? I see you’re in shape . . . quit drinking, did you?”

A phone rang, and it was Octa’s. He answered it. The phone call came from a detective, Hell Cappucci, who was investigating the disappearance of Bob. The detective let Octa know that he would contact him just in case any more questions need to be answered.

After the phone call, Octa observed Juan from head to toe. He didn’t quite resemble the man he once knew as his little brother. His face had become rugged, and he had a lot more scars than he used to. His eyes gave away the fact that he still battled with substance abuse, but he still had that familiar boyish smile.

Juan had not been in the house when their mother was murdered. He was kicked out at an early age for vagabondage. Juan had a tendency to run away from home, so his parents kicked him out. He was sent to the
Arthur G. Dozier School
for boys in Marianna, Florida at age seventeen, and later on, he escaped from the school. For several years, no one heard from him, not until he resurfaced when Octa attended a volunteer meeting to help poor people. Since then, they had stayed in contact, but lost in touch eventually. Juan used to sell drugs and steal from others.

Would he want revenge against the family for kicking him out? After everything Octa had gone through in the past few days, he started doubting Juan. Five days had elapsed since Octa had waterboarded Bob. He is afraid that Juan is a killer and wonders if he might try to kill his family too. If Juan wanted revenge from the family, that would have happened long ago. After all, who is left? Only Octa, it seems. What would give him real, serious reason for doubting Juan, who, right now, just seems like a punk sort of drug dealer—the dime a dozen type.

“Me? Quit? Have you completely forgotten me?” Juan came closer and wrapped his arms around his big brother. “I’ve missed you . . . and Pa,” he said after a pause.

“I’ve missed you too. Come inside, you little brat. Let’s talk about what in God’s name you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

Octa put his right arm around Juan’s shoulder, as they walked toward the front door, when Lucinda called, “Love! Maisey’s still in the van!”

“Well, look who it is! Almost didn’t see you there, Lucinda. I hope my brother is keeping you happy,” Juan said in a weirdly flirtatious manner. He eyed Lucinda as he gave her a mysterious smile.

Lucinda looked at Octa and then at Juan, “Hello Juan, it’s nice to see you after so long.”

“I need to take care of this real quick,” said Octa as he broke away from Juan.

Octa hurried toward the van and called out to Juan that he should make himself comfortable inside till he came back. Lucinda escorted Juan through the door and told him how their dog had been killed last night by someone in the neighborhood who had threatened the dog for trespassing and for attacking him on several occasions. Lucinda could never believe such a thing. Maisey was a docile and caring animal. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Juan carefully listened as he noticed the attractive, still young-looking woman in front of him and responded with “tsk tsk” now and then as Lucinda told him how their little dog had died.
I hate dogs
, he mused to himself.
I would kill every last one of those motherfuckers
, and thought about the incident that happened to him in his childhood. A snarling, barking German Shepherd dog had run up to him and chomped onto his upper, right thigh, leaving several puncture wounds.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Lucinda asked whether he would like something to drink. As she made her way into the kitchen to fix him a scotch on the rocks, as Juan had requested, he scanned the living room.

Every inch and corner were a lot better than the kind of places where Juan had spent his last six years. He got up and looked at the comfortable furniture and the dark carpeting. He decided that when he left this place, he would be taking some of the goodies with him, with his brother’s consent or without.
My brother would understand, and he always knows
, he thought to himself, smiling.

Lucinda came back into the room surprised to see a standard 9-mm caliber pistol lying flat on the sofa where Juan had been sitting. She stood there shocked and frightened and saw Juan come hurrying toward her, with a menacingly devious smile on his face.

Leonidas Christopher, born December 27, 1992, hails from Port-au-Prince, Haiti. He is an active US Marine. He lives his life practicing the adage that life should not be about how it is but about how we can make it. He spent his childhood aloof from his family, spent his time wandering around dangerous and poor zones learning, as he did, about life. He met strangers who later became his friends, and he discovered that they too had their own secrets buried within. As he grew up, his own tragedies were added to the awful memories and stories of his friends. Using these, he hopes now to make a difference for the better in other people’s lives.

Visit his website at
www.christopherleonidas.com