1
Coleman John Hamilton drove his Chevrolet down the road. At this time of the day, traffic was very slow. So he didn’t have to think about the other drivers and all that he was hindering them from getting to their destination. Thoughts of recent happenings completely took over his mind.
Coleman was once a very happy man. Straight out of the military, he’d met the love of his life and it’s seemed things were off to the right place. Their promised land.
Little did he know that Rachel had news for him.
He’d loved Rachel and thought she did the same too. He’d wanted to propose when he’d set the meeting with her. However, she spilled her guts first. She’d revealed that she was going away. Coleman couldn’t tell where things went wrong. As much as he could remember, they’d been on the right track.
Like a gun barrel pointed to the throat and blasted away, Coleman felt wasted. He hadn’t been able to deal with it. Here he was, three days after, still unable to stop himself from thinking about her. The worst thing was that she hadn’t come up with a good excuse. She said she couldn’t be with a man who had so much blood on his hands.
That might seem like a credible excuse. However, when he’d asked her once, three years prior, she said she liked him because he was bold and could look danger in the face and not flinch.
Doesn’t looking darkness in the face mean you’d also have to slap her?
And, no. He didn’t just feminize danger. He’d merely been reechoing his father’s words.
Rachel just wanted to go. Case closed.
She broke his heart and left without giving him a chance.
Coleman thought he’d been a fool. They’d deceived him too easily. For someone who’d just come out of the military, he ought to have seen it. He shouldn’t have been so easily deceived.
“Damn, I’m a fool,” Coleman said, banging the steering.
He’d even taken Rachel to see his father, and his father had liked her.
No.
The old man hadn’t. Not totally. After she left, he’d pulled Coleman, taking him under a big bear stronghold, and made him sit on the sofa.
Then, he’d spoken heartily, telling Coleman what he liked about the new girl. And what he didn’t like very much.
Yet, Coleman had so blinded by the fluttery butterflies of love that was the first sign of every relationship ready to hit the walls.
How could he have forgotten that his father had said Rachel looked like someone who could dig for gold just for the fun of it?
“Damn you, old man,” Coleman said, banging the steering again, drawing concerned looks from cars driving by.
Why hadn’t the old man just said it as one word? Maybe he would have taken notice more if he’d just said it that way?
Now, the tears were streaming down.
Hamilton had been right. Too right.
He pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. There, he sobbed uncontrollably. If only he’d seen the signs. Maybe he wouldn’t be so foolish.
Coleman wiped his teary eyes with the back of his hand and looked up towards the front mirror. His eyes looked excruciatingly reddened.
“You will fix this,” he told the guy in the mirror.
In the military, they had taught him to always go back to the beginning to trace the problem from its roots.
Yes. It was from the three-day vacation. Everything had gone south from that one event.
It was from those three days, maybe the third that they took away the one person he cared for the most.
To Mr. Hamilton, his son just needed to take three days off to clear his head and to strategize for his future. For Coleman however, it was to be the weekend that would change his life forever.
He’d wanted to propose to Rachel.
Little did he know that fate would blow everything away from within his reach.
With that opening, the bastards had taken his father away.
They wouldn’t have gotten the chance. They wouldn’t.
No one would dare attempt murder in the presence of the US most crazily skilled personnel.
They’d planned it well.
Maybe they even had the house taped. Surely, that had to be how they’d known he was leaving town.
Or was Rachel the mole?
No. She couldn’t. She was too chicken-hearted, the very trait that had piqued his attention.
“Fool,” he whispered into the mirror. “That’s why you will fix this. Your mistake. Your cleanup.”
Coleman turned on the ignition and turned back into the road. A ten minutes journey became an easy five. No, four with some change to spare. He’d wiggled through traffic like a crack head high on methamphetamine. Yet, he’d known his way. Maybe he could become the new Transporter in town, but that would have to wait until he put paid to this one.
He would sleep first. Then, when he was awake, he’d begin what he hoped would be the short journey towards discovering the truth in finding justice for his old man.
He would avenge Pa Hamilton. By God, he would.
Finally, he arrived home. Climbing the stairs, he headed straight upstairs. The moment his head hit the pillow, he lost consciousness. As fast as when overdosed with a full dart of tranquilizer.
His dream was at first peaceful. However, within fifteen minutes, the images blurred out.
A bloodied one came up instead.
The man who was no longer his father appeared with bloodstains all over his shirt. Coleman watched in horror like a late-night zombie film was in.
The dream toppled his senses, had him believing the old man was still alive.
“Dad. Is that you?”
Then, he looked down to see his father’s hand stained with blood.
“Did you cut yourself?” he asked.
Hamilton didn’t say a word. Coleman saw the answer for himself—a bullet hole.
He rushed to his father but the old man stopped him with a raised hand. “It’s too, Coleman.” He gasped for breath. “The bullet cut through my lungs.”
“How would you know that, dad?” Coleman asked.
“The doctor said it,” the man replied.
Coleman turned around today see a doctor that wasn’t there before. He, too, had blood on his hands. Dark circles stood beneath his eyes, deep sadness dulling his features.
Hamilton dropped to his knees and Coleman turned back to face him. “Take care, Coleman. You must avenge. Please promise me.”
Coleman dropped to his knees. “Dad, don’t go. Please.”
Hamilton held his hands. “Promise me, son.”
“I promise, dad. Please...”
His body went limp, giving up the ghost. Coleman shook his body repeatedly, but that was the last of him.
He was shaking all over when he woke up. Coleman careened out of bed, heading straight for the cabinet in the bathroom. There, he took a shot of Diazepam.
He backed off to the wall as his breathing slowly steadied.
He shut his eyes, willing the memories to go. Yet, they wouldn’t.
Coleman sighed, disposed of the syringe and went to make himself some marmalade.
He knew what he had to do. He would begin now but it wasn’t daylight yet.
The iron was still hot. He would strike; cut it to pieces before it had the chance to cool off.
First posted on my Uptrennd blog
Help a struggling writer buy food. Complete copy only $1.99 on Amazon
