The First Three Rules (3 page)

“Do you think Jon likes anchovies?” Rudy said.

“What?”

“I don’t like anchovies so, if he likes anchovies, they’ll have to put it on his side. But you don’t like anchovies either so that means they’ll have to make two sides with no anchovies, one side with anchovies. Maybe he’s allergic to anchovies, then all three sides can have none.” Rudy grinned.

“Why are you worried about anchovies?”

“Because he’s going to take you to get pizza.”

“No, he isn’t.”

“But he asked us to go get pizza.”

“He asked me to go get pizza.”

“Oh.” Rudy’s brow scrunched up. “Then when you go I can sit in the truck and you can bring me some pizza.”

“I’m not going.”

“But he asked.”

“And I said I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, Rudy.”

“But I like pizza.”

“I like pizza too, but I’m not going to go get pizza with Jon. We’re not going to get pizza with him.”

“But Jon’s my friend. I gave him baseball cards. And he likes you.”

Ellis stopped at the four way. “We’re not going with Jon to get pizza.”

“But—”

He held up a hand. “No. End of conversation.”

“But—”

“No, Rudy. Now drop it.”

Rudy’s face crumbled. At least they’d be home soon. Then he could distract his brother with a board game or a coloring book.

Rudy continued to stare at him.

Ellis slumped in his seat. “I’m sorry I yelled. I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m sorry Rudy. Just sometimes I…” Wish you were normal. “I get upset when I’m hungry.”

Rudy nodded. “You should have eaten all your chili.”

“Yeah. I should have.”

“I ate oatmeal this morning then ice cream at Paulie’s.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“You only ate grilled cheese.”

Ellis pulled into the driveway. Gravel crunched under the tires.

“How come you didn’t eat before we went into town?” Rudy said.

“I was out of eggs.”

“Eggs are yellow. I don’t like yellow. You could eat oatmeal instead.”

Then they would run out and Rudy wouldn’t have anything for breakfast tomorrow. “You don’t like eggs and I don’t like oatmeal, remember.”

“It’s better than being hungry. And oatmeal isn’t yellow, so that means it’s good.”

“You’re right. It’s better than being hungry. I guess next time I’ll know better.” Ellis parked under the oak in front of their house.

Rudy got out and stomped his way up the porch steps to the house. The screen door smacked shut behind him. Ellis closed his eyes, savoring the silence of the truck.

What would it be like to have the freedom to tell Jon yes?

If only those kinds of things weren’t impossible for Ellis. He should have been used to it, but every time he saw two happy people, a strange sadness settled over him.

A knock on the window made Ellis jump. Rudy had his hands next to his face, and his nose smashed against the driver’s side window. “You coming inside? You can’t change your pants if you don’t come inside. They’re wet, remember.”

The loneliness remained, but Ellis’s anger and frustration melted in front of Rudy’s smile.

This was a mistake, but Jon couldn’t help himself.

After he rolled out the dough he covered it with tomato sauce. He hated using the canned shit, but he didn’t want to spend hours cooking his own. This way he could just add the spices. It wouldn’t be as good as the home made, but it would do.

This was definitely a mistake.

He didn’t even know what Ellis liked on a pizza. To play it safe he went with ground beef and a lot of cheese. There was a fresh block of mozzarella in the fridge. He could have bought the package of pre-shredded cheese, but he was already skimping on the sauce.

Why was Jon doing this? Did he really think Ellis was going to be okay with him showing up at his house?. Most people asked, but Jon hadn’t gotten the chance. So he decided to risk getting the door slammed in his face.

Besides, even if Ellis turned him away, this gave Jon something to do. A task that kept him from sitting on his couch and letting the racing thoughts swallow up his mind. Keeping his hands busy meant he didn’t have time to worry about the gun. It sat on the counter near the loaf of bread. An ominous piece of black metal against the white Formica.

Jon covered it with a dishtowel.

Cheese, he needed cheese. He retrieved the block from the fridge and looked for the grater. It wasn’t in the cabinet, or the junk drawer. He had one. When was the last time he used it? He wasn’t sure. He found it in the back of the cabinet where he kept the pots and pans. What on earth made him put it in there?

Jon cleared off a spot on the cutting board and set to work. He had to hurry.

But that was ridiculous. It was three in the morning. Ellis probably wouldn’t be up for hours. Jon wouldn’t have been up, but getting to sleep was harder nowadays without taking something to knock him out. He hated the after effects: headache, dry mouth, light sensitivity. It was worse than a hangover. At least, then he was paying penance for over indulging and not being punished just for trying to get some rest.

He spread the cheese. The ground beef would need to be cooked, but he wanted it fresh. Jon covered the pizza in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge. He had no problems finding room. Normally he went out for supplies at the beginning of the week, but he hadn’t planned on being here after today.

Fear coated his skin in icy cobwebs. So close. He’d been so close. It was almost as if the .38 called to him and he found himself staring at the dishtowel.

End this.

He wondered if an industrial garbage bag would contain the mess. He could go behind the woodshed. The animals would probably make a meal of him before anyone ever noticed he was gone. Then, of course, there was the bathroom. The walls were tile.

Why hadn’t he thought of that before, instead of going to the park? There were people there. People like Ellis and Rudy. Had he wanted someone to find him?

The spot he’d chosen was out of the way, almost lost in the greenery, tucked behind trees and bushes.

Jon kept the dishtowel around the gun and picked it up. The chill of metal leaked through the terrycloth. Or was it in his mind? He carried it into the living room and put it in the drawer of a small table near the door.

Now what? Sleep would be good. He probably wouldn’t even need a sleeping pill. Staying up would be better. The dreams didn’t normally plague him then. After meeting Ellis, the sounds of falling bodies, the smell of blood, and the crack of automatic gunfire had been almost nonexistent. Jon couldn’t remember the last time the constant chaos inside his head had been quiet.

He took the plastic box out of his pocket. The cards clicked against the side when he turned it over. He’d read the address a hundred times already, but he never got tired of looking at it. Ellis was going to think he was some kind of nut. Jon laughed. According to the paperwork signed by the psychiatrist, he was a nut.

He set the box down on the coffee table, then picked it up again. For some reason, he needed to hold it.

“They died when I was twelve.”

Ellis and Rudy had no other family. How on earth had they survived?

Why did it matter?

Jon sat on the old recliner, turned on the TV and then turned it off. It was better he didn’t watch it. Like salt in a wound, it only served to aggravate every other bad memory. Did he even have any good ones? It seemed that every past moment in his life had been replaced by that day at the warehouse.

Until today. Until Ellis.

The clock over the mantel read four o’clock. Was Ellis an early riser or did he sleep in?

Jesus Christ. Jon scrubbed a hand over his face. What the fuck was wrong with him? Even if by some remote chance Ellis was interested in him, Jon didn’t have anything to offer a relationship except a complete emotional mess. A mental disaster.

If only he could find the light to lead him from his perpetually dark tunnel.

But what made him think he deserved it?

He was here because he failed the people who relied on him. The blood was on his hands.

Jon didn’t deserve to live, let alone be happy.

A familiar anger burned its way under Jon’s skin. Sorrow weighted down his lungs and every breath he pulled wheezed in his chest.

Keep your head on
. Ten…Nine…Eight…

Darks spots danced in front of his eyes.

It will pass.
Seven…Six…Five…

Sweat broke out over body.

Relax.
Four…Three…Two…

He squeezed the arms of the recliner.

Please, please, go away.
One…

The smells of summer and hay, the sounds of song birds and equipment humming across the field and the streaks of sunlight slipping through the slats on wood and dividing up the shadows inside the barn, echoed through his mind.

There used to be a time when he could convince himself these moments, when a sound, smell, or the brush of fabric against his palms, never happened.

Even that day he saw Danny standing at the corner of the intersection, Jon had reasoned it away. The fog had been heavy, the traffic thick. The figure standing just ahead could have been any boy dressed in overalls. But it had been real enough to hold Jon in place when the light turned green and when the car behind him honked.

Jon should have never been able to hear the boy speak.

One day you’ll understand.

The eighteen wheeler was nothing but a blur as it blew the red light destroying the stagnant quiet with screaming metal and exploding glass. Pick up trucks, SUVs, and compact cars were mowed over or wadded up. People flopped like broken dolls as their cars were tossed into the median.

Everything quit moving and the shattered bits of metal came to rest. Some of it on the road, some of it on the hoods of other cars. Silence filled the gaps left by the lack of survivors.

Jon had convinced himself that day at the intersection was nothing but a trick of the mind but couldn’t dismiss the appearance of his brother again, last year in the warehouse. Standing there between the slices of smoke filled sunlight.

He looked just like Jon remembered him: overalls, tousled black hair, dark eyes.

The gunfire, the falling bodies, the screams of death were snuffed out by the words Danny whispered once again.

One day you’ll understand.

What was there to understand?

His best friend, two detectives and a dozen or more young girls who’d been given the unlucky position of human shields were all dead.

Jon had one job. One simple task. Run. Run across the stupid room, draw the fire, give Alex enough time to get to the exit.

But he’d frozen and they’d died.

It made no sense because he was the one standing in the middle of the room, an open target for the shooters.

A familiar static broke apart the memories. In Washington it had been more of a sense of anxiety, here, in Gilford, it became words.

End it.

The voice was right. It would be so much easier if he did.

But if he gave up now he wouldn’t see Ellis again.

What makes you think he wants to see you? He couldn’t even look at you. Pathetic, Jon. You are soooo pathetic.

The vise squeezing his chest let ago and the sudden rush of air fueled his flickering anxiety into a raging inferno.

Jon jerked himself out of the chair and stormed into the kitchen. The ketchup bottle fell out of the fridge door when he yanked it open.

On the second shelf, the pizza waited to be finished. Jon flung everything into the sink. The pan skipped off the dishes and clanged against the back splash. Clumps of dough were left dripping off the edge. He took out the remnants of cheese, the grater, the cutting board, and everything else on the counter with a sweep of his arms. Globs of red sauce painted the cabinet doors.

Jon shoved the dish drainer off the counter. Cups and plates became porcelain shrapnel.

The static wouldn’t stop. It needed to be fed. It needed—wanted more destruction. Outside. Inside.

Jon attacked the pots on the shelves. He didn’t look at where he threw them, they simply left his hands, flying in random directions.

It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

But it could be. If you really want it to. And you know you do.

A stabbing pain raked at the inside of Jon’s skull and he pressed a palm against his eye.

Quit fucking around, Jon, and do what needs to be done.

Jon didn’t even realize he walked to the front door until he was there, gun in hand, muzzle shoved under his chin.

That’s it, Jon.

He clenched his eyes shut.

Pull the trigger.

Garbage bag. He should have grabbed one.

So what if it makes a mess? It won’t be the first time you’ve left one behind.

But it could be the last.

For once it wasn’t his brother he saw, it wasn’t his dead best friend and partner. It wasn’t the dozens of other people he’d seen on the streets and been helpless to save.

Just gray-blue eyes and a soft smile.

Ellis.

Jon dropped his hand and his knees gave out.

As usual, the tears he shed were silent. Sometimes Jon wondered if screaming would purge his body of the terrible thing infecting him.

But Jon never screamed.

He only suffered.

Sometimes the funny feeling in Rudy’s chest demanded he take things or touch things he wasn’t supposed to. Sometimes it wanted him to draw pictures.

That morning it pushed him into the kitchen and made him want to fix oatmeal for Ellis.

Rudy stood in the middle of the room trying to figure out how to do what the funny feeling commanded?

The stove was off limits because he’d burned his arm. Aunt M’s Cafe had breakfast. Ellis tried to take him once, but like so many other things, it didn’t work out.

Rudy got the carton of oatmeal out of the freezer. Ellis always hid Rudy’s favorite foods so he wouldn’t eat them. The freezer was a pretty good place to hide the oatmeal, but finding things was easy for Rudy. He’d just think about what he wanted and the answer would pop right into his head.