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  After the kick, Derrick rested with hands on knees, deciding what to do next. He knew he had to take care of Martin completely or else Martin would kill him. Martin wasn’t the kind to just hurt people for the fun of it. Even though he enjoyed hurting people, the end game was always death. Derrick knew Martin’s intent would be to finish him off. He stumbled over to the toolbox and grabbed a meat tenderizer. Then he dropped it back into the box, knowing a bludgeoning would take far too long and too much effort. So he grabbed the serrated hunting knife and unfolded the blade. It locked into place with a silent click that he felt through his hand.

  Derrick was about to turn around when a huge fist punched the back of his head. He dropped the knife and fell over the gazebo railing. Derrick’s eyes were wide open but the stars he saw had nothing to do with the clear night sky. Hundreds of white hot spots flashed before his vision and he struggled not to piss himself. Martin grabbed Derrick’s hair and swung his head forward and back several times. Derrick’s forehead caught the railing, each time splattering blood on the mulch below. The force behind him was too strong to push backward. So Derrick used Martin’s momentum to his advantage and flung himself over the railing into the small shrubbery.

  Martin wasted little time getting after Derrick. He rounded the gazebo doorway and stomped across the landscaping to attack again. Derrick was puking on the ground and in a bad position to defend himself. Martin lifted a huge booted foot and brought it down on the center of Derrick’s back. A loud crunch sounded as the boot stomp re-aligned several vertebra. Derrick squealed and writhed in pain with mulch stuck to his puke-covered and blood-soaked face. Martin lifted Derrick’s head by his hair and dragged him across the mulch. Derrick tried to pry the huge hands from his scalp but the grip was too strong.

  Martin let go of Derrick when he reached his toolbox. He lowered his forearm with full force upon Derrick’s nose. Blood sprayed outward with a sickening crunch. Derrick cried out in agony and rolled around on the cement floor. Martin went to work in his toolbox, figuring he had a few minutes to prep the kill now that Derrick was preoccupied. He rifled through the tools and began laying out his favorite ones in the order he liked to use them.

  Derrick remained blind to all that was going on around him. His eyes had filled with tears upon the bone crunching forearm strike. The tears were mixed with the blood that ran down his split forehead. His whole faced burned with destruction. But he knew he had to do something. If he didn’t act immediately he would be dead in a few minutes, or worse, in a few hours. With one hand coddling his mashed face, Derrick used the other hand to feel its way along the floor for something to use against Martin. He knew that there were things all over the ground from their struggle but he hoped he could even find a large enough rock or anything that can help him put a dent in the large man’s skull. His fingernails scratched along the cement in a desperate search. He brushed along something that was thin and silky feeling. His hand played upon the object when he realized it was some type of cordage. Rather than feeling for the ends, Derrick snatched it in his fist and rolled over onto a knee. Through his blurred vision he staggered toward Martin who was still fumbling with his toolbox. He lunged forward and wrapped the cord around Martin’s neck and pulled tight.

  Martin was so occupied with his thoughts of torture that he never heard Derrick coming. The cord pulled tight around his neck and he immediately reached up to try to pull the cord away. It was too late to avoid the strangulation. The cord bit deep into his throat, cutting off all oxygen. He desperately strained to reach back and gouge at Derrick’s eyes but Derrick had smartly shrunk down Martin’s back as he pulled the cord tight. Such a position made it impossible for the big man to reach up and get at his attacker. So he leaned back all his weight into Derrick. From on top, Martin was able to reign elbows into Derrick’s body beneath him. Each blow stung Derrick badly but he maintained his tension on the cord with every fiber of his being.

  After several more seconds of the struggle, the elbows became weaker and slower. Each blow doing less damage. Martin’s eyes bugged out of his face as he gasped for one more breath of air. His grunts of struggle were empty and his arms fell limp at his sides. The dead weight of the large man settled even further into Derrick, making breathing difficult for him too. He continued pulling the cord tight to ensure his quarry was dead. His hands were bleeding from pulling the cord so tight, cutting into his palms and knuckles. He hoped that Martin was finally dead so he could get back to cleaning up this mess. Derrick pulled tighter one more time but got no fight from Martin. So he let go of the cord and gasped for air. He felt exhausted. Derrick fought to climb out from under Martin. He got free and stared up at the ceiling of the gazebo. Seeing Andrew nailed up reminded him of how far things had gone. He thought of Rachel and her crumpled body on the garage floor. The thought of losing Rachel hurt him far more than all the wounds he suffered tonight.

  Chapter 44

  Michael became aware of the battle that was taking place above him. He opened his eyes and saw the large man choking Derrick. He had Derrick around the neck, lifted up off the ground. Derrick was trying to knee himself out of trouble. Michael hoped that he lost the struggle.

  His head was throbbing so hard that it felt as if his eyes would pop out of their sockets. Each pulse shoved the eyes out and then sucked them back in. His face didn’t feel much better. Michael knew his nose was broken and it felt like his left eye was swollen. He rolled his tongue through his mouth and identified a few loose teeth to add to the list. His whole body was numb, but not numb enough to block out all the pain centers from ringing their alarms.

  Lying on the cement floor, Michael looked again at Andrew’s body hanging from the ceiling. His heart hammered his chest with sorrow. He tried to imagine the fear and the horror that Andrew had experienced in his last hours. It was too much for any parent to imagine their child’s pain, let alone such a terrifying death such as this. Michael wondered how he was going to explain all this to Stephanie...and Allison. How could he put such a scene delicately? There would be no way to adequately comfort them in this loss.

  Michael was so distraught. He knew that everything was his fault. People were losing their lives tonight all because he failed to handle his finances properly. Andrew. Murph. Rachel. And probably himself and Derrick before the night was over. He almost laughed out loud when he suddenly thought that his financial woes were mere child’s play compared to all the death and destruction. But he stifled the laugh as quickly as it arose. He knew he had to remain quiet if he had any chance of getting out of this alive. Michael knew he had to get free if he had any hope of surviving. No matter who won the battle that was currently ensuing, Michael was a dead man. If Derrick survived, which he thought was highly unlikely, then he knew Derrick had plans to take out his family members one by one. He couldn’t be sure the large man wouldn’t do the same, but he had a gut feeling that the guy was only interested in killing Derrick and him. Or at least he tried to convince himself of that notion.

  The tides had turned as Derrick kicked the huge man hard in the throat.

  Michael wriggled his position an inch closer to the toolbox, which was still several feet away from him. He managed to maneuver himself so slowly while keeping his eyes shut to avoid detection. He wriggled again and his foot tapped an object. Opening his right eye, he strained to tilt his head down to the item that had brushed his foot. He saw that it was a knife. He didn’t understand why it was sitting out in the open but he brushed the puzzle aside to focus on getting the knife. Michael carefully glanced to the left and saw the men struggling over the gazebo railing. He took the opportunity to scooch down so that the knife was closer to his waist. Michael kept an eye on the action above while he rolled quietly to the left so his hands could access the knife. He grabbed it between his fingers so quickly that the blade sliced across his middle finger. He winced in pain as it bit his skin. Michael repositioned his hands to clasp the knife by the handle. His hands were wrapped too tight by the
duct tape to slide the knife up and down. So he rested his weight on top of the knife to try to get his body to handle the motion. He rocked himself up and down slowly so as not to attract attention but he had some leeway as both men were fighting outside the gazebo at the moment.

  Just when he felt some fibers of tape rip the knife would tilt over on its side. Michael had to re-work the knife to a position where the blade was angled upward, and start the motion all over again. This went on for another minute until Michael felt a bigger section of the tape come free. It was enough for him to wiggle his hands back and forth to stretch the last bit of tape. He felt his right hand come free but he kept both of his arms beneath him as the battle moved back into the gazebo. The large man actually dragged Derrick by his hair right over Michael’s feet. He continued to play dead and bit his tongue down to avoid letting out a scream when they went over his bruised ankle.

  Michael’s thoughts returned to getting away. He really wanted to kill Derrick with his own bare hands after what had happened to Andrew and Murph. But rationality told him he should try to escape and get the police involved. Now that his hands were free, he thought he might be able to make a run for it. The two men were fighting to the death and might not notice him running across the field to the truck. And if they did notice, he figured he might have enough of a head start to jump in and drive away before they can catch him. Of course, he realized that plan would only work if the keys were still in the ignition. And he had no idea if they were or weren’t. The thought of getting that close to safety only to be killed because of a half-baked plan ate away at his confidence. He would have to stay and fight. But he was going to fight only one man. So he needed to let these two try to kill each other. Whoever was left standing would hopefully have very little energy left to fight again. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to survive this atrocity.

  Michael tore the remaining duct tape off his wrists and let the pieces fall to the cement floor. He readied himself for the fight of his life. He knew it was time to fight or die.

  Chapter 45

  Derrick slowly got to his feet. He was spent. It had been a long day and an even longer night so far. His legs were rubbery and his hands were beyond sore. Derrick wiped the blood away from his eyes, which continued to flow from the cuts on his forehead. He turned to Michael but was shocked at what he found.

  The spot on the gazebo floor where Michael lay was empty. All that remained were some tattered pieces of duct tape.

  Derrick was in a panic. He didn’t think the night could get any worse. Yet here he was with two dead bodies and a missing witness. He combed the grounds adjacent to the gazebo but didn’t find Michael. He decided to head back to the truck to see if Michael was attempting to escape.

  As he walked out of the gazebo, Derrick heard a gravelly, scraping noise behind him. He spun to see what the sound could be when he was struck hard in the chest by Michael, who dove from behind a large shrub. Both men tumbled to the grass with Derrick bearing the brunt of the fall. They lie dazed in the grass for a few seconds, neither man moving.

  Michael crawled over to Derrick and tried to mount him like a wrestler. Derrick reacted just quickly enough to get his back turned. Michael took the opportunity to choke Derrick from behind. But Derrick kept his chin pinned to his chest, just enough that Michael’s clutch couldn’t get tighter. Derrick reached behind to try to gouge Michael’s eyes but he turned his head toward the ground to protect his face. Derrick threw a balled fist backwards into Michael’s groin. The choke hold instantly released.

  Derrick rolled over and pounced on the defenseless man. He threw several punches to Michael’s head before he was kicked off. As he stumbled backwards, Michael scrambled to his feet. They squared off, several feet apart.

  “You killed my son.”

  “You killed my wife.”

  “It went too far, Derrick. Your ego got the better of you and now people are dead.”

  “Ego had nothing to do with it, Michael. I wanted to give my family the best in life and that requires difficult choices. But you wouldn’t know about difficult choices. You just piss money away and then expect everyone to bail you out. How do you think that is going to work out for Allison?”

  Michael rushed at Derrick and threw several punches. Most of them missed the mark. They circled each other, trading blows and grappling for control. Derrick caught Michael with a jab to his jaw. Michael crumpled to the ground in a fog. Derrick stood over him.

  “You know what I despise the most about you, Michael? I despise that you didn’t do everything in your power to provide for your family. You did the bare minimum. Not me. I do whatever it takes to provide for my wife and kids.”

  Michael gained his wits and kicked upwards into Derrick’s groin. Derrick flopped to the grass in agony. Both men, completely spent, lying in the dew-covered grass. Michael blinked his eyes up at the night sky, the stars providing a delicate canopy above. Derrick cursed into the earth as he rolled back and forth.

  Michael got wearily to his feet and approached Derrick. Without saying a word, he kicked Derrick in the side of the head, returning the favor from earlier. Derrick stopped rolling. Michael rested on his knees, hunched over, gasping for air. He tried to drag Derrick back to the gazebo but his body couldn’t comply. So he limped over to the toolbox to look for the knife or some other weapon to kill Derrick.

  As he went through the box, he cried to himself. The nightmare seemed to creep in whenever he had a brief moment to think. He knew life would never be the same. But he was committed to going all the way now. His life was a complete tragedy so he might as well get his money’s worth and kill the man responsible for all his pain. He found a hacksaw and decided he would cut off Derrick’s hands like they had done to Andrew.

  Michael staggered back to Derrick, who still appeared to be out cold. He plopped down to his knees alongside Derrick. Michael stretched out his right arm, holding it down at the elbow with his left hand while sawing with his right hand. As soon as the sharp teeth bit into Derrick’s flesh, he awoke with a scream and fought to pull his arm away. Michael used all his weight to hold Derrick’s arm so he was halfway through the wrist bones before Derrick wrestled himself free. Blood dripped from the saw and Michael swung it at Derrick as he backed away.

  Derrick moaned as he clutched his mangled appendage against his chest. He kept backing away and circling to avoid Michael’s swings. Derrick maneuvered back toward the gazebo, putting more distance between him and Michael. As he took another step backwards, he tripped over one of the small shrubs and landed with a resounding thump. Michael took advantage of the misstep and dove upon Derrick with the saw raised above his head. He let out a primal scream as he tried to saw at Derrick’s flailing arms. The blade bit into Derrick’s forearms several times, his gnarled hand flapping at monstrous angles as he attempted to fend off the attack.

  Michael lunged at Derrick’s face but the saw missed. It sprung loose from his hands when the nose punched the ground. He reached for it but it was just out of range. Derrick wrapped his severed arm around Michael’s neck and pulled his head down. He bit into Michael’s scalp, gnashing skin and hair while blood flooded his mouth. Michael screamed and smashed his head forward. It knocked Derrick’s teeth free and crushed his nose. Derrick dropped limp against the grass and mulch. Michael sat up clutching his head, feeling a patch of hair and skin missing. His hands were wet with a new flow of blood.

  He rolled off Derrick and sank to the ground. The smell of blood hung in the crisp night air like a fog. Michael stood and grabbed Derrick’s feet. He dragged Derrick to the water’s edge, spinning his body around so that the top of his head sat on the cusp of the pond. Michael worked to roll Derrick over onto his stomach. He climbed on Derrick’s back and gasped desperately for more oxygen. His lungs burned, straining to recover from the physicality of the battle. Then he dunked Derrick’s head into the pond and leaned all his weight forward. After a few seconds, Derrick’s body responded in a last ditch effort
for survival. His arms reached and pushed to lift his head from the water. Both legs kicked up and down in a sympathetic display of rebellion. Michael applied more pressure to Derrick’s head, sinking it further below the shallow surface. Bubbles popped all around as the remaining pockets of oxygen escaped the dying man.

  The struggle continued for over a minute before the bubbles ceased and the body succumbed to the drowned lungs. Michael collapsed atop the lifeless body and broke down. His tears were hot and mixed with soil and blood, stinging his eyes. He felt his own body give in to the exhaustion and he no longer fought it. Michael dropped to the small shoreline, his feet landing in the water, and his head slumped down to the earth. The crying lasted for several minutes. Then he had no more fluids left to lose. He sat up and unsuccessfully wiped his face to clean it.

  Michael collected what little sanity he had left and prepared himself for the most difficult job ahead. He had to take his son down and bring him home where he belonged. Michael felt strongly that he needed Andrew to cross the threshold, if nothing else, to symbolically know that he brought his son home. He walked slowly up the small incline to the gazebo. The toolbox sat alone, its lid tilted back like a darkened maw. Michael knelt down and fished out a pair of pliers. And then he went to work, releasing his son from his prison. One nail at a time.

  Chapter 46

  The next morning, Michael awoke in a sterile, pale room. A monitor to his left kept tabs on his heart rate and blood pressure. Above the monitor was an IV drip with a clear hose that snaked down to his forearm. A large gauze bandage covered his scalp where a chunk of meat was torn away.