The tip of the Navy Seal assault knife penetrated the wood of the tabletop with such force a six-inch split spread across its wood finish, the blade now resting between two of my fingers. Jerking my hand away, I watched as dark red droplets of blood formed, slid down my hand and dripped onto the soiled, gold carpet at my feet. Grabbing a T-shirt from the back of a nearby chair, I wiped at the wound. Blood immediately started to swell again, but not before I noticed a small flap of flesh torn away from the inside of my index finger just below the first knuckle. The finger was already starting to throb.

Placing the T-shirt against the wound I said, “You bastard.”

“Next time, I’ll cut one or more off,” Frank said, now struggling to withdraw the blade from the tabletop.

“Now, do we understand each other?” he asked, as he put the knife back into its sheath.

“How many times have I told you? I refuse to be a part of these crazy ideas of yours,” I said as I headed for a nearby closet with a first aid kit on its shelf.

“Okay, well, let’s put it like this,” said Frank. “If you don’t work with me, it’ll be your fiancée’s hand next time.”

“You twisted son-of-a-bitch,” I yelled, as I threw the T-shirt to one side and started to wrap a gauze bandage around the affected finger. The thick-rolled gauze stemmed the flow of blood, and I fastened it into place with surgical adhesive tape. I tried to think of a way to stop this madness, but I knew it was useless. Frank was ruthless and bloodthirsty. Now he had me. I had to protect Sarah. “Okay,” I said, resignation in my voice. “That’s better,” said Frank. “Besides, we tried your way and it’s gotten us nowhere. I’m tired of living like this–broke all the time. I’m sick of driving a piece of shit, eating shit and living in shit. Starting today, that’s all gonna change.” The next night Frank and I cruised the city streets. I tried to talk him out of his insane notion, but the more I talked, the more agitated he became. We drove past a couple of all-night convenience stores, all having two or three vehicles parked at their curbs or gas pumps. Customers were either traveling through, or locals stopping for gas, cigarettes, and snacks. I swerved, narrowly missing a drunk who’d wandered off the sidewalk.

“Missed three points there,” Frank said, laughing, and then taking a long drink from the beer he held.

A short time later, Frank and I walked into a Quick Mart. It was three in the morning, and the store was empty, except for the clerk, a tall skinny kid of about twenty. Frank pulled a blue steel semi-auto from his waistband.

The clerk’s eyes widened, and he stammered, “Oh please, don’t kill me. I just started this job yesterday.” Tears welled into his eyes.

“Shut up, and empty your cash drawer in a bag,” Frank said.

The clerk started to shake uncontrollably, dropping three one-dollar bills, as he placed the money in a brown paper bag. He bent to pick them up.

“Never mind that,” said Frank, grabbing the bag from the clerk’s hands.

Looking up at the camera positioned behind the clerk, Frank said, “Now get me the tape for that camera.”

We followed the young man into a backroom, and watched as his shaking hands fumbled to recover the tape from the recording machine. The clerk handed Frank the tape, tears now coursing down his cheeks; snot starting to run from his nose and onto his thin upper lip.

“Please, I won’t say anything, just don’t kill me.”

“Lie down on the floor on your stomach,” Frank commanded, as he waved the barrel of the pistol toward the man’s face.

The clerk did as directed, his body now convulsing with heavy sobs. Frank smiled, took aim and shot, once, twice. Bone, blood, and gray matter flew outward and across the freshly mopped tile floor. The young man’s body slowly relaxed and lay still, a pool of blood now forming and spreading outward. We ran from the store and drove into the hot summer night, the shrill drone of cicadas radiating from the trees. As I drove, tears formed rivulets and dropped from my cheeks and onto the car’s torn upholstery.

“Why did you kill the guy? He did as you said,” I asked, mucus running down the back of my throat.

“Right! He would have been on the horn to the police so fast, it’d make your head swim,” Frank shouted.

“Frank, you’re a miserable son-of-a-bitch,” I replied, my temples throbbing. “Don’t you have any feelings? Are you that cold hearted? That poor kid hadn’t even got past the acne stage.”

“Feelings are for sissies, like you,” Frank said, spitting the words out. A week later the money from the robbery was gone. I awoke to Frank’s voice. “Get your lazy ass up, we got work to do.”

“I’m not gonna listen to you anymore, so just go back to the slime pit you crawled out of,” I replied, jumping from the bed. I fled to the kitchen and started some coffee. Once it brewed, I took a steaming cup and went to the living room. Frank followed me there. When I refused to listen to him, he grabbed at the cup, spilling its hot contents onto my lap. I jumped from the couch, cursing Frank and pulling my sweat pants, now with steam rising from them, away from my body. Shedding my soaked clothing, I could see the lower part of my abdomen, genital area and upper thighs were already turning pink. The burn was starting to intensify. Frank was suddenly gone.

I ran a tub of cold water and immersed myself into it, driving back the heat. An hour later Frank returned. “You know, this doesn’t have to be so painful, literally or otherwise,” he said.

“Frank, one of these days you’re gonna push me too far and…”

“And you’ll do what? You have the backbone of a jellyfish. You need me. Don’t you get it?!”

Frank was right, and I knew it. He was strong, and I wasn’t. I felt I couldn’t survive in this hostile world alone, so he became my strength. He had come to my aid more than once–like the time two thugs accosted me after I left the bar on Dixon Street. Frank arrived, and although the two men were twice his size, he had beaten them badly, leaving them lying one atop the other. Then there was the time a group of gang bangers nearly beat the shit out of me. I had gotten careless and accidentally impinged on their turf. Again, Frank came to my rescue. Appearing to have the strength of ten men, he broke the wrist of one and the jaw of a second. The rest fled, swearing revenge as they ran away.

“Okay, Frank,” I said, giving in. “So what are your plans this time?”

A few days later, Frank and I watched from a darkened doorway, as a jeweler closed his business for the night. As the man reached for the handle on his car door, Frank came from behind, striking him in the head with a lead sap. The jeweler started to sink to the sidewalk, as Frank grasped a hold of him and his brief case. Frank supported his weight, dragging him to our car. The man’s brief case, handcuffed to his left wrist, dragged alongside his limp body. I drove to a nearby abandoned building where we could open the attached case. Once inside the building, Frank laid the jeweler on the floor, face down. Frank used a pry bar to snap the three brass locking hasps. In his rush to open the case’s cover, Frank tipped it to one side. Numerous fine-cut gemstones fell to the rough cement floor.

“What a haul,” Frank said, scooping the stones up and placing them loosely into his shirt and pant’s pockets. The jeweler’s right arm moved slightly. Frank made a lunge and was suddenly on top of the man, the assault knife in hand. Grabbing the man’s sparse salt and pepper hair with his left hand, he pulled the man’s head from the floor. Sliding the blade of the knife under the jeweler’s throat, he slashed from left to right. Blood jettisoned across the cement. Frank jumped backward. The man’s body rolled over, his hands now grasping at the large opening in his throat. The body slowly relaxed, more with each spray of red froth. At last, all movement stopped. I stared in horrid disbelief. “Frank, you bastard, why did you do that?” I screamed.

“Because I felt like it, asshole,” Frank replied, smiling.

“I’m outta here,” I said, running for a nearby entrance. I stopped long enough to vomit a torrent of bile and bits of my last meal. The foul mix hit the asphalt and splashed onto my shoes and lower pant legs. Jumping behind the steering wheel, I wiped vomit from my face onto the sleeve of my shirt. I swallowed a second wave of nausea. Starting the car, I drove from the nightmarish scene, gravel and dust spraying from the car’s spinning wheels. Turning onto a nearby street, I veered across the centerline, nearly striking an oncoming semi.

The first thing I did when I got home was run to the bathroom, remove my shirt, then splash cold water over my face. Suddenly, thinking of the man’s slashed throat and the forceful blood spray, another spasm struck my stomach. I leaned over the stool and let out a stream of partially digested food and liquid. Then a second eruption brought up clear liquid. A third and fourth struck, but my stomach was dry. “I hate you, Frank,” I yelled between spasms.

“Ah, shut up, you little worm,” said Frank, “We made a haul here. Didn’t I tell ya my way would make us rich?”

“That’s the last time, Frank. I’ve had enough of your hate and violence. No more. I’m done,” I said, rinsing my mouth out with cold tap water.

“You’ll be done when I say,” replied Frank. I felt cold steel pressed against my right temple. “Go ahead and shoot, I don’t care anymore,” I said. “I’m not following orders from you anymore. I don’t care what you do. You’re a sick son-of-a-bitch, and because of you, two people died needlessly. You’re not human–you’re a demon, someone that has to be stopped.”

“You’re a pathetic piece of shit,” Frank said, “I come to your rescue, and what do I get in return? Whimpering and bitching, that’s what.” The barrel of the semi-auto slowly fell away from my head. “Get out, Frank, now! Sarah will be coming over soon. I don’t want you anywhere around when she arrives.”

“Ah, yes… Sarah,” said Frank. “She needs a real man, like me. What she ever saw in you, I have no idea. Maybe it’s time I showed her what a real man is like. Then, when I’m through with her, I’ll give her the same as I did the jeweler. How’s that grab ya?” The barrel of the pistol came back up and pressed against the side of my head. This time I had control of it. “You’ll never get your hands on her Frank,” I said as I looked into the bathroom mirror. It was my reflection, but Frank’s cold eyes staring back. There was something demonic about that look. Then, I pulled the trigger.

Voices, a man and then a woman’s: “He’s coming around doctor.”

“I’m amazed. Mr. Jacobs, can you hear me? If you can, blink once.”

“He blinked, doctor.”

“Yes, yes, I saw that. Mr. Jacobs, you’ve experienced some serious trauma to your brain. You’ve been in a coma for two weeks. I’m afraid I must tell you that while we did what we could, the damage from that bullet was so extensive, you’ve lost the ability to control certain motor movements, as well as your speech.”

Through the opened door to the hospital room, two uniformed police officers entered. “Hi, doc. How’s our boy today?” One of the cops asked.

The doctor walked across the room, taking the officers out into the hallway. “He’s a vegetable, that’s what it amounts to. While I’m sure he has some basic brain function, he’ll never be able to care for himself.”

“Well, all right, doc. But if you see any signs that he will pull through this and be ‘normal’ again, you let us know. The prosecutor wants this case monitored until the day he dies. He’s killed two people that we know of.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know officer, if there are any changes in his condition.”

Inside the room the patient’s eyes followed the nurse’s movement. The start of a sinister smile crossed his lips.