Bradley Denton - Blackburn

BLACKBURN

Bradley Denton

For B.C.

CONTENT

Victim Number Two

1 - Blackburn and the Blind Man

Victim Number Four

2 - Blackburn Flies a Kite

Victim Number Five

3 - Blackburn and the Chicken-Killer

Victim Number Seven

4 - Blackburn Pulls the Trigger

Victim Number Eight

5 - Blackburn the Breadwinner

Victim Number Ten

6 - Blackburn Chooses Sterility

Victims Number Fourteen and Fifteen

7 - Blackburn Kisses the Old Man

Victim Number Seventeen

8 - Blackburn Sins

Victim Number Nineteen

9 - Blackburn and the Lamb of God

Victim Number Twenty-One

VICTIM NUMBER TWO

Blackburn was surprised that it was so easy. He hadn't thought he would be able to shoot another man.

But here was Number Two trying to pull on his pants. The man was big, and his footfalls shook the

telephone on the nightstand. A hole in his stomach pumped dark blood. The blood glistened on the man's

skin, on the bedsheets, on the floor.

The woman on the bed was screaming. She scooted back against the headboard and stuffed part of the

top sheet into her mouth. She screamed louder.

"Don't do that," Blackburn said. His ears were buzzing from the gunshot.

Number Two pulled his pants up as far as his knees, then fell. The telephone jumped. The man grunted.

He lay on his side, and the blood ran down his belly to the floor. The woman continued to scream. Her

screams were why Blackburn had come into the room. But there was no need for them now.

"It's all right," Blackburn said.

The woman screamed and screamed.

"What else could I do?" Blackburn asked.

Number Two began twitching. After a moment Blackburn realized the man was sobbing. He was in

pain. Blackburn was sorry for that. He wasn't used to the pistol. Until today, he had never fired a real

gun. He hadn't meant to hit Number Two in the stomach.

Blackburn stepped closer to the man. "Don't look," he said to the woman. The woman pulled the sheet

over her head. Her screaming was becoming hoarse.

Blackburn pulled back the pistol's hammer to cock it. Then he pointed the muzzle at the side of Number

Two's head.

The man was sweating. His twitching had become a steady tremble. His eyes rolled up to stare at

Blackburn. He moaned.

Blackburn hesitated. It had been easy to shoot when he had seen the man beating the woman. It was not

so easy now.

He turned to leave. This man wasn't Number Two after all. Wounding didn't count.

The woman's screams stopped as Blackburn started for the door. She was probably already reaching

for the phone. He would have to get down the road in a hurry. He hoped that the junk Ford pickup he

had stolen would start.

He heard the woman say, "Oh my God should I call an ambulance?"

He heard the man say, "Get you for this, bitch."

The pistol was still cocked. Gripping it with both hands, Blackburn went back to the man and fired into

his head.

It was spectacular. Blackburn was shocked. He'd had no idea. The walls, the bed, the woman, his

clothes. He'd had no idea at all.

The woman was screaming again. "I'm sorry," Blackburn said. He gestured at the walls with the gun.

"About all this."

The woman's nightgown was hanging askew, making her body look twisted. Her hands covered her

face. She was trying to say something through her own screams. Blackburn couldn't understand the

words.

"Hey," Blackburn said. When she didn't respond, he yelled. "Hey!"

The woman stopped screaming. She uncovered her face and stared at him. Her hair was tangled, her

face streaked. The flesh around her eyes was puffy and bruised. She was trembling just as Number Two

had.

"He was hurting you," Blackburn said.

The woman rose to her knees. She clenched her fists beside her face and shrieked, "He was my

husband!"

Blackburn was confused. "Did that make it okay?" he asked.

The woman crumpled into a ball and wouldn't say anything more.

Blackburn went out. Some people.

The lights were on in the motel office. The county sheriff's patrol must be on its way. Blackburn sprinted

for the Ford and jumped in. It started on the first try, and he tore out of the gravel lot onto the blacktop.

Six hours remained before sunrise. He would have plenty of time to lose himself in the Ozarks.

He had learned a lot since leaving Kansas that afternoon. He had learned that improving his aim was

essential. He had learned that a .357 Colt Python packed a bigger punch than he had realized. And he

had learned that when a man deserved to die, killing him was not hard.

Only two cartridges remained in the Python. He would need more. His seventeenth birthday had been

eventful, and he expected more of the same in the days ahead.

ONE

BLACKBURN AND THE BLIND MAN

The day before the blind man came to school, Jimmy Blackburn's father made his mother bleed. It

wasn't much blood, but Jimmy's mother cried. His sister Jasmine screamed. Jimmy wanted to hit Jasmine

in the mouth the way Dad had hit Mom. Jasmine's screaming was what had started the fight in the first

place.

Dad went outside and drove off in his pickup truck. Jimmy would have gone outside too, but Mom said

he couldn't leave the table until he had cleaned his plate. He didn't want to eat. His round steak and

mashed potatoes were cold. But the longer he waited, the worse they would get. So he tried. Maybe if

Mom saw that he was trying, she would excuse him anyway. Maybe she would even let him have some

ice milk later on.

Mom dabbed at her mouth with a dishrag. She was still crying a little. Jimmy was afraid she was a sissy.

He had been hit harder than that before and hadn't cried. Jasmine started pounding on her high chair tray,

squashing her food, and Mom didn't seem to care.

"May I be excused yet?" Jimmy asked. Jasmine was making him sick.

"Five more bites," Mom said.

Jimmy forced down five bites of meat, then left the table. Jasmine threw a blob of potatoes at him as he

went by. It stuck to his shirt. He threw it back, hitting her in the face. She screamed louder than ever, and

Jimmy was sure that he would get in trouble. But Mom only reached over with the dishrag and wiped

Jasmine's face. The blob of potatoes smeared and turned pink on the cloth.

He went outside and sat on one of the tires behind the garage. The sun was setting, turning the western

sky gold, red, and purple. Mom said that Kansas had the most beautiful sunsets on earth. Jimmy

wondered how she knew, since she had never been anywhere else.

The windbreak of evergreens murmured. Winter was coming. Jimmy couldn't wait for snow, because

snow would mean canceled school days. He hated third grade. Mrs. Porter was fat, and her breath

smelled like burnt newspaper.

A meteor streaked southward, its white trail pointing at the town of Wantoda. Jimmy hoped it would hit

the grade school. He listened for an explosion, but didn't hear one.

After a while he got chilly and went back inside to watch TV. Mom gave him a bowl of ice milk, then

made him go to bed at eight-thirty. She stood in his bedroom doorway and listened while he knelt and

said his prayer: "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I

wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. God bless Mom and Dad and Jasmine, in Jesus' name, Amen."

Jimmy got into bed and under the covers. Usually Mom said good night and closed the door as soon as

he did that, but tonight she just stood there, centered in the rectangle of kitchen light. Jimmy's bedroom

had once been a pantry, and it had no windows to let in light from outside. He couldn't see Mom's face.

Only her shape against the yellow.

"Remember, Jimmy," she said. "A prayer isn't just something you say. It isn't like a poem you memorize

for school. It's what you use to talk to Jesus."

"Yes, ma'am," Jimmy said. "I know."

"I'm sure you do. But sometimes we forget that we know something. So be certain to remember what

Jesus said about praying: Anything you ask in His name will be granted."

"I know," Jimmy said again. "They told us that in church. On Easter." Easter was months in the past, but

he still longed for the taste of malted-milk-ball Easter eggs.

"Yes," Jimmy's mother said. "Yes, they did." She started to close the door. "Sleep tight, honey."

" 'Night, Mom."

"Good night." The door closed. The room was black except for yellow lines marking the door.

As Jimmy lay waiting for sleep, he heard Dad come home and say he was sorry. Jimmy listened hard,

holding his breath, but didn't hear Mom answer. That made him mad. She should say something. Dad

didn't like it when she didn't say anything.

Jasmine started crying then, and Jimmy heard Mom hurry to Jasmine's bedroom. But Jasmine only

screamed. She was probably seeing monsters again. Stupid three-year-old brat. She would make Mom

and Dad start fighting again.

And she did. It was worse than before. There was yelling and crying. Then something made of glass

broke.

Jimmy put his head under the covers and started praying. He didn't pray in a poem this time. He prayed

straight to Jesus and asked Him to make Mom and Dad stop fighting.

The yelling became louder. Mom was almost screaming like Jasmine. Jimmy realized that he wasn't

praying properly. He got out of bed and knelt again, putting his hands together with the fingers pointing

upward. That must turn them into an antenna, he thought. Beaming prayers to Heaven. He imagined his

body as a radio transmitter. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed the same prayer over again. Please

make Mom and Dad stop fighting. Please make them be happy.

There was a smack, flesh on flesh, and a thump. Then the front door slammed and the pickup truck

started. Its tires spun on the gravel, throwing some against the house. It sounded like BBs hitting a

sidewalk. The pickup roared away, the sound fading fast, leaving Jasmine's screams. Then those faded

too, leaving Mom's sobs. Bawling, Dad would call it.

Jimmy stopped praying without saying amen. Something had gone wrong with his transmission.

He got back into bed. He was mad, but he wasn't sure at whom. Everybody, he decided. Every stupid

body.

The first, second, third, and fourth graders filed into the auditorium, their teachers leading them to their

seats. There were rustling and squeaking sounds as they sat. The teachers took the aisle seats.

Somebody laughed, and a teacher gave a warning. Then, except for coughs and sniffles, there was

silence. The principal, Mr. Sturner, climbed the steps to the wooden stage and stood in front of the

curtain. He announced that the school had a special guest who would present a special program. It was

important, he said, that the children be quiet during the program, because the special guest relied upon his

sense of hearing. Any chatter could result in serious consequences. Mr. Sturner left the stage. The brown

velvet curtain opened, revealing the blind man standing at the rear of the stage. He was wearing a blue

suit and black-framed sunglasses. Sunglasses indoors looked pretty strange, Jimmy thought. The blind

man put down his long white cane, then walked toward the front of the stage. He raised a hand in

greeting.

He walked steadily. His head was tilted upward. He didn't slow as he approached the edge. It was four

or five feet to the concrete floor. He couldn't see that he would fall.

Jimmy wanted to yell "Stop!" The girl beside him gasped, and so did others. Then they held their breath.

They were afraid for the blind man. But no one said anything, because no one wanted serious

consequences.

Somebody had to tell him, Jimmy thought. Somebody had to warn him that in two more steps he would

drop off the stage. Why didn't one of the teachers do it? Why were they sitting with their hands folded,

waiting for him to fall?

The blind man stopped with his toes at the edge of the stage. He smiled. The children let out their breath

and murmured to each other. The teachers glared at them, and there was silence again.

The blind man spoke. His voice was loud and rhythmic, like an auctioneer's.

"I just heard a voice," the blind man said. "A soft yet commanding whisper in my ear. Do you know who

it was?"

The children, fearful of the teachers, said nothing.

"It was the Lord Jesus, children," the blind man said. "I cannot see with my own eyes, so I rely on Him

to guide me. And He never fails me, so I never fear. Just now He warned me to stop lest I fall and do

myself injury. So tell me, children: Where on the stage have I stopped?"

"Right at the edge!" Jimmy shouted. Mrs. Porter glanced at him, but her expression was only the usual

frown.

The blind man turned toward Jimmy. "Thank you, young man. I didn't doubt it. Jesus let me get as close

to you as I could without falling."

Jimmy was amazed. He'd had no idea that Jesus spoke to anyone who wasn't in the Bible. He had seen

blind people on TV, so that was no big deal—but not even on TV had he ever seen anyone that Jesus

had whispered to.

"And I'm glad to be as close to you as I can," the blind man continued, "because I'm here to show you

that you can succeed in this world no matter what your human limitations may be. I, for example, cannot

see; and yet I live a full and productive life. Some of you may have your own handicaps as well. Some of

you boys may not be as strong or as smart as others, and some of you girls may not be as pretty as your

friends. But with hard work and faith, those limitations don't matter.

"I lost my sight when I was in the second grade, and the years that followed were difficult. I remember

one time that some boys spun me until I was dizzy, and I walked into the girls' rest room by mistake..."

Some of the children gasped, and others laughed. Some of the teachers laughed too. No one got in

trouble. The blind man went on with his story.

Jimmy was impressed. Here was a man who was brave and funny, who made teachers forget that they

were supposed to make kids shut up, and to whom Jesus talked directly. Here was a man who knew

some things, a man to be listened to. When the girl next to Jimmy started whispering to the girl next to

her, Jimmy punched her arm to make her shut up. Mrs. Porter didn't see him do it.

The girl rubbed her arm and glared at him. "I'm telling," she whispered.

Jimmy knew she was lying. If she told, she would have to admit that she had been talking. He punched

her again. She yelped.

Mrs. Porter glared down the row of seats. "Cynthia," she said, "hush."

The girl's eyes welled up. Jimmy was disgusted. What a sissy.

The blind man retrieved his cane and demonstrated how he used it to avoid running into streetlights and

mailboxes. Its metal tip scratched back and forth across the stage. "And if I become bored," the blind

man said, "I can always pretend I'm Zorro." He raised the cane and slashed an invisible Z in the air.

Everyone laughed.

When the blind man finished his talk, he asked if the children had any questions. After some hesitation,

quite a few raised their hands. Principal Sturner called on the ones he wanted to, since the blind man

couldn't call on them himself. Jimmy noticed that Mr. Sturner only called on the teachers' pets.

The first question was "How do you eat without missing your mouth?" and the second was "How do you

drive a car?" Jimmy was peeved. It was obvious that the teachers' pets were all going to ask really stupid

questions.

He had a question of his own, and it wasn't stupid. It was, he thought, the only important question

anyone could ask the blind man. But he didn't raise his hand. He was afraid to ask the question in front of

everyone else. Mr. Sturner wouldn't call on him anyway.

The last question asked was "Do you have a job?"

The blind man smiled. "Yes. I am an evangelist. That means that I spread the good news of Jesus and

His love to everyone I meet. You see, despite all that I've had to learn in order to live without eyes, the

fact is that none of it is worth a plugged nickel without the help of Jesus. His voice guides my life, and I

assure you that I listen."

He pointed his cane at the children. "As should you all. Thank you for your kind attention."

The curtain closed as the lunch bell rang. The children and teachers applauded. Jimmy watched the

curtain sway as he waited for Mrs. Porter to herd them out of the auditorium. His question would have to

remain unasked.

It was a miracle. It was as if Jesus had known what Jimmy wanted, and had given it to him. But Jimmy

hadn't prayed for this. So how had Jesus known?

The blind man had come to eat lunch with the children, and he was sitting right next to Jimmy. His white

cane was propped against the bench between them. Its handle was wrapped in red tape, darkened

where the blind man's hand had gripped it.

Everyone watched the blind man eat. He opened his mouth wide and brought a spoonful of macaroni to

it as if his arm were a machine. He chewed with his mouth closed.

Jimmy could see behind the left lens of the sunglasses. The blind man's eyelids were closed, the skin

around them dark and puckered. Jimmy wondered if there was any eye in there at all, or just an empty

hole. And if it was a hole, would the brain be exposed if the eyelids opened?

Mrs. Porter sat at the end of the table. She was watching the blind man too. She was also watching

Jimmy, and scowling. She didn't want him to say anything to the blind man.

He would do it anyway, but he was scared. It would have been easier in the auditorium after all. Up

close, the blind man was big, bigger even than Jimmy's father. And he had an odd smell. Jimmy thought it

might be soap, but he wasn't sure.

The blind man swallowed and turned toward Jimmy. Jimmy saw his own face in each lens of the

sunglasses. "And what's your name, youngster?" the blind man asked.

Jimmy was surprised. He had to think for a minute. "Jimmy Blackburn, sir," he said at last.

"That's a nice name," the blind man said. "Have you been saved?" He asked this question in the same

tone as Mr. Sturner asking who had flushed the wad of paper towels in the boys' rest room.

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said. "Last Easter." Every child in the Fairview Baptist Church had been saved that

day. The pastor had made them come up to the altar and accept Jesus Christ as their personal Savior in

unison. Jimmy hadn't felt any different afterward, but now he was glad it had happened. He would have

hated to tell the blind man that he was one of the unsaved.

The blind man smiled. "That's wonderful. What better time to be saved than on the day the Lord arose.

You'll remember it for the rest of your life."

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said.

"And He'll never leave you now, Jimmy. He'll live in your heart forever, and if you need help, he'll tell

you what to do. He's the one friend you can always count on."

Jimmy glanced at Mrs. Porter. She seemed to be concentrating on her food now. He leaned closer to

the blind man and spoke in a quiet voice.

"Did Jesus really talk to you?" he asked.

The blind man's smile faded a little. "He talks to me all the time, Jimmy." His voice boomed.

Mrs. Porter looked up from her food and gave Jimmy a warning look. He pretended not to see her.

"I mean when you were on the stage," he said, still keeping his voice quiet. Maybe Mrs. Porter wouldn't

hear him over the lunchroom babble. She wouldn't like what he was saying. It was almost as if he were

calling the blind man a liar. "Did Jesus really whisper in your ear to warn you? So you wouldn't walk off

the edge?"

The blind man's smile came back full and strong. "Oh, that." He picked up his napkin and rubbed it

around his mouth. "Yes, He did, Jimmy. He saw that I was about to do myself harm, and He stopped

me. He'll do that for you too, if you keep Him in your heart and study His Word."

Mrs. Porter's look had become fiercer. It was telling Jimmy to shut up and behave himself. But he

couldn't stop now. This was too important.

"You mean Jesus was right there on the stage with you?" he asked. "Invisible?"

The blind man chuckled. He tapped a finger against his sunglasses. "Everything is invisible to me, so I

must rely on what I can hear and feel. And I tell you truly, I heard the Lord's voice, and I felt His

presence, just as I hear your voice and feel your presence right now. So don't be fooled by what your

eyes tell you, Jimmy. The Lord may be invisible to your eyes, but not to your heart."

Jimmy was excited. "Is it true that anything you ask in His name, He'll give to you?"

"Why, of course," the blind man said. He seemed surprised that Jimmy would ask such a question.

"That's promised in the Bible, in the Lord's own words. If you open your heart to Him, there's nothing He

won't do for you."

Mrs. Porter cleared her throat. "Jimmy, you had better finish your meal now. Lunch period is almost

over, and I'm sure you've pestered our guest quite enough."

The blind man chuckled again. "Ma'am, I only wish more youngsters would pester me as this boy has."

He smiled down at Jimmy. "I'm going to be talking to the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth graders this

afternoon, Jimmy. I hope that they can still believe in the invisible too. Sometimes older children can't,

you know. The world has poisoned them. That's why it's good that you're already saved. For some

people, it's too late. They've become too scarred to feel, too deafened to hear."

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said. He wasn't listening hard now. His question had been answered. He took a few

more bites of macaroni, then drank some milk. The blind man was still talking, but not to Jimmy. He was

addressing the children across the table, repeating some of what he'd already said.

Mrs. Porter's lips were twitching. She kept looking up at the clock on the lunchroom wall. "Finish your

meals, people. Lunch is over in six minutes."

Jimmy raised his hand. Mrs. Porter stared at him as if he had just pulled a booger from his nose. He kept

his hand up until she asked what he wanted.

"May I go to the rest room, please?" he asked.

Mrs. Porter pressed her lips into a line and looked up at the clock again. "Have you finished your meal?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Very well, then. You may throw away your trash and go to the rest room. You have five minutes."

"Yes, ma'am." Jimmy stood.

The blind man touched his shoulder. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Jimmy," he said. He held out his

hand.

Jimmy put his right hand into the blind man's grip. The blind man's hand was big and soft. It was as if

Jimmy's own hand had been swallowed.

"Remember to listen and feel, Jimmy," the blind man said. "With your heart."

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said. He was anxious to leave. He didn't have much time. The blind man seemed to

want to hang on to his hand forever. Jimmy pulled free, picked up his tray, and hurried to the garbage

can. He dumped his trash and leftovers, put the dirty tray on the counter, and walked out of the

lunchroom as fast as he could.

He would have started running as soon as he was in the hall, but Mr. Sturner was standing beside the

lunchroom's double doorway. Jimmy could feel the principal's eyes on his back. The blind man was right.

You didn't always have to be looking at people to know they were there.

He turned the corner and stopped at the door to the boys' rest room, his fingertips touching the wood.

He looked behind him. Mr. Stumer had not followed. The glass wall of the school office was right across

the hall, but the secretary had her back to him. She was eating a sandwich. There was no one else in

sight. The only sound was the murmur from the lunchroom.

Jimmy took his hand away from the rest room door and ran down the hall to talk to Jesus.

The auditorium seemed deserted. Only the stage lights were on. The door swung shut behind Jimmy with

a reverberatingkachunk. He waited a few seconds for the voice of a teacher to ask him what he was

doing there.

"Hello?" he called. His voice was too loud in the big, empty space.

He walked down the sloping center aisle past the curved rows of metal-and-wood chairs. His shoes

squeaked. The wooden seats were all standing up against the metal backs. They had made a lot of noise

when everyone had stood to go to lunch. Jimmy had enjoyed it. He wished that he could hold down

twenty or thirty at once so that he could listen to the clatter when he released them.

When he reached the gray-enameled cement apron between the front row and the stage, he paused to

gaze at the spot where the blind man would have landed. It would have hurt a lot. He might have broken

his arms or legs. He might even have been killed. Jimmy was amazed all over again at the blind man's

bravery and faith. So what if his hands were like dough? Jesus didn't care.

Jimmy crossed the apron to the right side of the stage and climbed the steps that Mr. Sturner had

climbed. His shoes were as loud as hammers. He stopped halfway up and looked out across the rows of

seats. No one was there. The doors remained closed. He continued upward.

His footsteps were loud on the stage too. He started walking in a shuffle, and the noise was like the sand

blocks in music class. He headed for the split in the middle of the brown velvet. When he reached it, he

stuck his head through. Behind the curtain, the light was orange.

"Jesus?" he whispered.

Bradley Denton - Blackburn

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: