Hostage.

Questions just bounced of those dark eyes staring at me, all I was
getting was silence and then more of the same. It didn't help, I felt
uncomfortably hot and kept wiping sweat from my forehead like someone
had turned on a sprinkler. I was in a corner, not quite physically, but
mentally at least, I wasn't even sure why I had come here in the first
place. I supposed now that it had been some sort of macho impulse, like
you wanna impress someone so you jump and as you fall you wonder
whether it was really such a good idea. It was too late now. I had
crossed over from where Jane and me had been hanging, for the past few
weeks. Left the sunny spot by the apple tree, which was in full bloom,
filling the air with a bustle of bee's and birds, the sun made the
dampness rise from the grass and the air felt warm and accommodating.
We were sipping on lemonades during the days and had beers and
barbecues most evenings, apart from one night when it had been raining
like it was the end of the world.
Anyhow the music had been blaring from speakers inside the house across
the street, which we sort of accepted for some time, but when Kit
started crying and just wouldn't stop I was reaching the end of my
patience. Kit was just over five. Kit was getting to grips with riding
a bike. Kit kept falling over, but to our delight made much progress
and now Kit was crying loudly, yet barely audible cause of the music
coming from across the street. I didn't mind not hearing the child cry
so much, but trying to calm her I had to raise my voice till I felt
myself shouting. Which seemed to have the adverse effect on Kit and who
could blame her for that and that combined with the humid heat and the
air so still and thick that if you could cut air this would be prime
target, proved too much. In short, I flipped, started to stomp over,
across the lawn opening the little wooden gate, crossing pavement and
street then walked up the paved driveway up to the big wooden door that
I had often noticed but never seen opened and before I gave it another
thought I started hammering against the door like I was ready to tear
the house down. Just when the door opened I realised that I wasn't
ready. I wasn't exactly small myself and had in recent years broadened
some in most directions but up, however I felt dwarfed by who opened
the door.
The dark eyes stared at mine for a long time without saying anything
and all I was doing was burning up inside and sweating like a pot
bellied pig over a fire. Then he indicated for me to wait, there was
nothing threatening in that gesture but it was conveyed by one who
seemed very sure of himself so as much as it was an indication it
almost seemed like a command.
The music was turned down then off and he returned, his stride as sure
as the gesture earlier till he came to a halt in front of me.
'Yes' ,he muttered in a somewhat southern drawl. There was something
reassuring in his voice, something soft that I couldn't have told
earlier. Now it was up to me to feel apologetic, just that I was
holding on to my rage while racking my brain for something to say. I
turned just then and found myself pointing across the street, pointing
at Jane and the apple tree and Kit who was back on her bike laughing
out in a manner which clearly travelled across the street, sounding of
joy only a five year old could feel and convey, a joy that would hit
you low and fill you with pride and you wanna point out that the little
girl is yours and your pride and joy and that you love more deeply than
you would have thought ever possible. I pointed and my voice crackled
into gear before making sense once more as I turned.
'We moved across the street' I found myself saying, 'just over a month
ago we moved across from you, I thought I come by and do the decent
thing, make sure we don't get off on the wrong foot. My partner Jane
and our daughter Kit and I am Mark.'
I was still pointing half turned and could see Jane wave sort of
friendly if a little hesitant.
'I am Darryl', he said in that same deep voice, a big hand stretching
out for me to shake and it covered mine, would squash it if it wanted
to but instead just gave it a firm friendly squeeze.
'You came cause the music was, driving you crazy hm, I
apologise.'
There it was with that one line he had disarmed me, taken away the
reason for anger, would have made me stutter were it not for the fact
that I knew of nothing to say.
'I got carried away, playing the guitar.' He mimed the motion of
playing a guitar, like we had done when we were younger sometimes
utilizing tennis rackets other times just using thin air. He gave off a
chuckle then sort of stopped with a final silent cord and a satisfied
laugh proud, of his performance as much as amused by it. He took a step
forward, but his face clouded over and suddenly the giant in front
seemed vulnerable. He looked me over then, pointed up and to either
side before speaking up again his voice gone quiet.
'I can't.'
And I didn't know what he wasn't able to but it became clearer just a
moment later when he continued.
He raised his hand pointing now as I had done before just that there
wasn't so much as one target he pointed out it was more the everywhere
we were surrounded by.
'They are out there, watching, as we speak.' He retreated quickly from
there, back to the safety of his hall, throwing me a smile, meant to
look reassuring. Reassuring me of his sanity, or though I presumed at
the time, but I didn't buy it, not all anyhow. He motioned me inside
his eyes shifty now, cautiously surveying the periphery of his vision,
his world which had shrank so much since I had first approached his
door.
I looked back towards my own yard, Jane's eyes following me and the
child at a similar pace. I followed Darryl inside, feeling her big eyes
burn holes in my back, somewhat tensed by that feeling, my shoulders
tighten upwards, knowing that I am taking a wrong route just then, but
somehow unable to stop, say no and turn in my steps.
As much as the house oozed warmth from the outside once indoors the
place is stripped of all comfort, bare walls, bare floors, standard
issue furniture, all immaculately clean, bordering on the never before
touched, entered, lived in, like a blank canvas or a showroom home. The
air itself seemed to have an unnatural crispness to it, an
artificiality achieved by ? through ? I couldn't tell. I followed
through a bright but lifeless living room towards the terrace, sun
streaming through the large glass pane windows which take up the whole
end of the room. Outside a well groomed lush green, like had been at
the front of the house just that this was the sun side and the garden
set back and much larger than the one we called our own just across the
street. A couple of six packs were stood on the breakfast bar dividing
living room from kitchen. Darryl grabbed a couple, passed me one and we
twisted the tops open simultaneously.

He turned the music back on with the volume down, but I could see his
head starting to bop along and his hands forming invisible cords or the
beginning of such. He placed himself on the three seater by the window
while I was left to hover about, suddenly unsure what my reason for
being here was. And as the silence underneath the music grew so did my
tension. I started thinking of an excuse to cut my visit short when I
noticed the gun leaning just beside the sofa within easy reach of where
my neighbour was sat. It made finding an excuse that little bit more
difficult and a lot more desperate.
Although I had never actually owned a gun myself, friends had and had
talked of the joy the weapon gave them. Those were friendly encounters
with people I had known for a long time sometimes since childhood.
There was no deception, no secrets, the weapon would be there unloaded,
for anyone to touch. There was indeed something about the cold
mechanical construction which fitted so well that was admirable, yet
the ease with which it could be turned into a deadly instrument had
always prevented me from going down that route. Now the two of us had
met again, I was unsure of the way I ought to react. Was I to mention
the now obvious presence of the gun, or ignore it, finish the beer make
some random comments on the music he seemed so fond of then retreat to
the other side of the road, forget I was ever here, but take my family
inside, out of sight, out of range. As an afterthought I may call the
police. I wasn't thinking just now though, not of the police not
wanting to arouse suspicion not even through thoughts he may be able to
read. My unease grew.
'Nice garden', I remarked.
He briefly looked at me, at the garden nodded then stretched to turn up
the volume, up to a level it might have been at before I had come over,
up to a level were words had to be shouted to be understood. My beer
neared empty and I indicated as much, causing him to point at the
bottles, finishing his own then burping while signalling to me who
hadn't moved from where I was stood to get him one too. There was no
discussion or exchange of words, perhaps there was no need for such
action. Had I become hostage? Or was I free to leave if I so desired.
The only way to find out was to announce my departure, but that took
guts which right then I did not possess, I got each of us another beer
seeking solace by numbing my thoughts although given the choice I would
have replaced the beer with something stronger.
Once or twice I cleared my throat to make a comment but it remained
unheard, I walked onto the terrace and out into the garden. Calm, I
kept telling myself as I scanned every square inch for an alternate way
out. A higher then average wall was surrounding the house, dividing
front from back yard and by doing though making it impossible to gain
access to either without having to cross through the house. The wall
was not always visible through the lush vegetation, and once or twice I
trembled with the excitement of having found a gap only to realise my
error when I looked close. I admired the diversity of plant life, its
abundance, the care someone had invested to create this illusion of
unspoiled wilderness only to make it the setting for the tragedy that
was about to take place.
Darryl eased himself onto the terrace, clinging to the edge of the
building, his eyes anxiously darting around the yard. I couldn't help
wondering whether I would be able to reach the gun, if I were to make a
dash for it. I thought I couldn't, perhaps due to there being a gun to
dash for, rather than actualities. He looked like a hunted animal,
expecting to find the sniper behind a bush aiming at and then firing.
The music had stopped, and been replaced by the happy song of birds and
the occasional car passing on the other side of the house. I wondered
whether Jane might have called the cops, but couldn't see why, not from
her point. I returned from my wander then, casually walking towards the
door. I could see how there was a twitch in his movement as he himself
got animated, swiftly moving back inside, quite obviously relieved to
do though. He gave me a good natured smile when I came indoors, one
which would have translated into thank you under different
circumstances. Again he took his seat by the window, the gun within
easy reach, but oblivious to it all the same. My second beer was
nearing its end, and I was aching for something stronger, something to
cloud my mind and take the tension from my shoulders. And just when I
don't quite know how to handle the situation any longer, I find myself
asking the question.
"Do you have anything stronger than beer," I ask and then swallow my
fear and breath heavy, while sweat keeps running from me. I get little
reaction, am not even sure whether he has taken the question to heart
or whether it bypassed him completely. Then after what feels a long
silence he nods and rises, slowly in that particular way of his, he
moves towards the kitchen and my eyes follow every one of his steps. He
opens a large build in fridge freezer and that is when something inside
me clicks, realises that there is nothing to stop me now to gain
control of the gun. I rush over to where he was sat just a minute ago,
knocking his bottle on the way, but don't care, I clutch the gun pull
it up, swirl around and point, gripping it so tightly that my knuckles
go white and my shoulders still so tense and sweat running from my
forehead. He is halfway between fridge and myself, holding some
glasses, a bottle his head cocked to one side with slight disbelieve
yet still showing that soft smile that got me earlier.
"Don't", I shout but he keeps on coming so I do what you are meant to
do when you point a gun, I pull the trigger back hard and the gun
explodes and I near enough keel over backwards. The last thing I see is
his big face with that smile on it, I hear glass break, sort of imagine
the glasses and bottle drop, a big red patch is forming right in the
middle of his chest. He is pushed back then, tumbles to the ground with
a loud thump and I let go of the gun. All of me is shaking, the
tension, the relief, the big bang I start sobbing like a child, snot
running from my nose, sit down continue to shake.
The police find me not much after in very much the same state, pointing
their guns at me then cuffing me, just to make sure I suppose. They
calm me some too, hand me some water to drink which I swallow quickly,
I feel thirsty and exhausted and tired, but before I can get to rest
there are the questions I must answer. And I explain what happened,
from the beginning, where Jane and Kit and me decide to move to the
burbs to provide a better life, and perhaps try and make things workout
between Jane and me cause things were a bit rocky. Telling them calms
me more, till I get to the music being overly loud and then me inside
with him acting weird and me being hostage.
The ambulance guys come in and take him away, and I can't help
wondering what went wrong, why he would do such thing.
A sergeant comes and whispers something into the captains ear, passes a
note which the captain studies careful. He then looks up from it and
throws me a long glance. Something isn't right and I can feel myself
sobbing again, tears welling up.
"What is it?"
"Mr. Bonine, Darryl Bonine, he had a condition." "He was attacked a few
years back and lost his family, he hasn't left his house since,
couldn't face it, agoraphobia I think they call it."
"He was just about moving in here as part of his therapy, change of
scenery, fresh start."
"That's why the place is so empty."

© Marcus Bastel