A Simple Choice
by G. Durant Haire

The moon hung in the sky like the bloated belly of a corpse. Under its sickly light, I paddled a stolen canoe across the dark waters of Lake Norman, on my way to commit murder.
As I paddled, the September air felt cool, but something else chilled me to the bone. I couldn't believe what I’d gotten myself into. It all seemed surreal. The simple act of stealing the canoe broke principals I’d stood for my entire life; yet, I paddled on. I felt sick. But I’d made a choice, and what was life but a series of choices, and bad ones always had consequences.
Crickets and cicadas screamed, and the black water seemed like molasses as I forced myself onward. The lake was nearly deserted. I saw the green running lights of a few fishing boats trolling quietly near the shore, the sound of muted voices fading as I passed. The scent of burning wood permeated the breeze, a fire danced from across the river, laughter and life crowding around its warmth. I remembered times like those, times taken for granted, times that I may never again know.
I passed Wilkinson's point, a small peninsula that marked the beginning of the wealthier section of the lake. As I neared my destination, I thought of Powers and couldn't help but replay the events that led to my current sacrilege.
I never realized how fast addiction could capture you, especially a non-substance addiction like gambling. Gambling was illegal in North Carolina, except at the Harrod's casino owned by the Cherokee Indians. I’d played there many times. I thought nothing of it, never realizing I was nurturing an addiction. I was just having fun.
But I knew the real fun was in Vegas. I had been there only once, and unfortunately, fate would see that I returned. The insurance company I worked for was opening a new office in Vegas. Of course, I jumped at the chance to go.
I soon found myself in the casinos, and in three weeks, out of luck and money. I’d won just enough to convince myself that my luck would change, that I was on the verge of the motherload. Of course, I knew that I had to have money to make money. So, a colleague of mine, a man well known in the area and familiar with "alternative" loan options, introduced me to Anthony Powers. My colleague explained that Mr. Powers would gladly loan me the money; however, repayment had to be prompt and certain. He assured me that Powers was fair but not to be crossed. He had the reputation of being creative in matters of debt collection. Addiction impaired my judgment. It didn’t matter to me. I’d never see that side of Powers. I knew lady luck personally, and could feel her arms around me.
We met with Powers. Unlike me, Powers was thin and tall. He was neat in a greasy sort of way, and chewed wooden matches like gum. Powers acted polite and personable, but his eyes told another story. They were close, deep set, and as he spelled out the tough terms, full of malign pleasure. My intuition alarmed. I didn’t listen. I borrowed twenty grand and ignored the fine print. It wouldn’t be a problem. My luck was about to turn.
And it did.
In one week I’d lost every penny of the money, and now, a month later, I owed almost one hundred thousand.
I panicked and ran. The glitter of Vegas seemed a universe away from North Carolina. Dumb and desperate, I hoped the distance would shield me from Powers. Of course, that was nonsense, and I soon found myself pinioned against a bathroom stall at a local restaurant. A couple of Powers' thugs dispelled any doubts about repayment, and rewarded me with an increased interest rate and several broken ribs. I was to repay the money within 48 hours, or Mr. Powers would resort to his creative side.
I scrapped together what funds I could. How I would explain the empty savings account to my wife, Carol, was a minor concern at the time. I met with one of Powers' top thugs. I gave him what money I had and begged for leniency. Power’s associate made a phone call, took the money and left.
I was terrified. My mind ran wild with scenarios of what Powers might do to me, and, God forbid, my family. I considered calling the police, but realized I had no proof of my allegations. They wouldn’t protect my family or me. The only real option was to pack up everyone and try to disappear. I’d have to explain everything to them, tell them the truth. I didn’t know if I could. I didn’t even know how to begin. It had been three days since my last meeting. I was at the end of my rope, on the verge of panic, when I got a call.
Powers had a proposition for me, a way to have my debt forgiven. My gut told me it was too good to be true, that Powers was up to something. But, I was out of options.
I met Powers at Cappy’s Marina, and we took a boat out. It seemed that an associate of Mr. Powers, who happened to live on Lake Norman, had a problem with a cheating wife, who'd also been running her mouth about her husband's "business" practices. Powers wanted me to kill the woman. He spoke about it as calmly as one would talk about work or a movie they’d seen. Commit murder and my debt would be wiped away. My family and I would be out of danger. It didn’t take me long to decide. It was a simple choice.
Powers had shown me the house during our meeting. I recognized its two level pier. The lights on the pier glowed pale in the surrounding gloom. I guided the canoe up to the shore, my heart galloping, my mouth dry. The thought of what I was about to do revolted me, but what choice did I have? It was survival at any cost: kill or be killed, a sin for a sin.
I beached the canoe and jumped onto the wet sand. The night suddenly became colder, and shadows reached for me from trees and shrubs. The house glared at me with pale stucco walls and black windows. I tried to swallow, but couldn't. I managed a couple of deep breaths. My heart jumped so violently that I feared I might black out. My gut was trying to tell my something, but it no longer mattered. I steadied myself, and crept up to the rear of the house.
A neighbor’s dog barked. I froze and waited for lights to pop on but none did. I slipped into the house. I paused just inside the door and listened. Nothing, even the barking dog had quieted. The door had been unlocked as planned, and I saw the folded newspaper lying on the kitchen table. Stepping as if in a mind field, I moved to the table. I picked up the paper. As promised, a pistol lay beneath it. The pistol, an old Colt .45 auto, felt heavy and cold. I wondered how many people the gun had left in that same condition. A pain stabbed me. My stomach knotted over and over again, in an effort, it seemed, to rip itself free of its damned host. This had been easy, perhaps too easy, but even if it were some kind of trap or game, I had to proceed.
I continued through the kitchen and into the den, pausing at the foot of the stairs. Silence. I began to climb. Each step was a battle. The bedroom door came into view. My legs were rubber. I took several deep breaths, which did nothing but make me dizzy. All I had to do was walk to the bed and put two bullets in the back of the woman’s head. I didn't even have to get rid of the gun. I was to leave it on the nightstand.
I slipped into the room and saw a form under the sheets. I didn't know her name, and didn't want to. She was a means to an end, nothing more, at least that’s what I wanted to believe. Life was hard; I was only doing what had to be done. I wondered what I’d do if she rose up and looked at me. I wondered if I’d be able to kill her then. I nearly gagged at the thought. I shook badly, and feared, even at point blank range, I’d miss.
I walked up to the edge of the bed and raised the pistol. It might have weighed a hundred pounds. Sweat snaked down my forehead. I put my finger on the trigger, then the lights snapped on.
My heart literally stopped for a couple of seconds. I fought for breath. I turned and my pistol fell to the floor.
"Glad you could join us, Charlie," Mr. Powers said, as he stepped into the room.
I looked back at the form under the covers.
"Dead for hours," Powers said, a match hanging in the corner of his mouth. "I decided that would've been too easy. You needed something a little more challenging."
A couple of his men stepped into the room leading my wife and daughter, hands tied, mouths gagged. I nearly vomited right then. I felt like I’d been hit by a train. I struggled to stand. The looks on the faces of my wife and daughter were terrible. It didn't seem that they'd been beaten, but the fear, anger, and betrayal they wore like masks made me look away.
"Charlie, it didn't have to come to this, but you've given me no choice. I’m a businessman. And business demands that I be repaid. I can’t have people thinking they can take advantage of me now can I? You’re old enough to know that nothing in life is free, Charlie. Nothing."
Carol struggled against her captor only to be jerked back violently. Ana just stood, staring at nothing.
It hurt me to speak; I was ashamed. I wished I could just disappear, that God would strike me dead. But it wasn't going to be that easy.
"Please, let them go, they've got nothing to do with this. They—"
"Spare me the bullshit, Charlie. The time for talk is over. You’ve got a choice to make."
Powers stood between Carol and Ana.
"Your wife or your daughter, one lives; one dies. It’s up to you."
Terror ripped into Carol’s face, she struggled against the statue that held her, only to have a cold pistol barrel burrow into the side of her head. Her screams forced back into her throat by the gag in her mouth. Ana simply stared, emotionless, a single tear escaping from her right eye, running down her cheek.
It was too much. I collapsed, and vomited onto the plush carpet. I saw the gun lying to my left. A thought popped into my mind.
"I know what you're thinking, Charlie. You could take your chances, try and kill us, or maybe yourself. Just remember, you hold the key to one of these ladies’ lives. If you try anything stupid, everyone dies. Your life may be worthless to you, but surely their lives are worth something?
"So who'll it be, Charlie?"
I looked up slowly. Carol was alive with terror, but Ana continued to stare at nothing, like a soldier who’d finally cracked from the madness of war. The choice was terribly simple.
"Pick up the pistol, Charlie. And remember, if I so much as think you're going to try something stupid, everyone dies."
I shook so violently that I could hardly hold the pistol. I stood, head down, tears streaming down my face, and walked to Carol. I looked into her eyes once, but quickly lowered my head. I saw anger, hate, love, and a wild, worthless hope in those eyes. The eyes of the woman I’d shared fifteen years with. The woman I shared my dreams with, picnicked in the mountains with, made love on the beach with, shared a child with. The woman who had dreams of her own, who loved to paint, to eat candy apples, to curl up in front of the fire with her favorite book. I was responsible for this, for ending her life, but I had to make a choice. At least she had 44 good years. Ana hadn’t begun to live.
Carol screamed against her gag as she was forced her to her knees. She tried to fight, but was week from struggling and overcome with terror.
Somehow, I managed to kiss her on the forehead. I looked at Powers. His pistol looked back. He had a look of grim satisfaction, and nodded at me to proceed. I looked at Ana, she still stared straight ahead, only now steady streams of tears poured down both cheeks, and her face began to betray her emotions.
I could barely see through my own tears. I raised the pistol to my wife's head, and hesitated.
"Please, I can't do this."
"You can and you will, if you want your daughter to live."
Ana let out a muffled shriek as her captor grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, running the barrel of his gun across her breasts. Still, she didn’t resist, just stared ahead and cried.
I felt helpless, a child again desperately wanting my mother's embrace. Wanting to feel her weight on the bed, her arms around me, gently waking me from this nightmare. But those days of innocence were gone, and I feared my soul would soon be also.
I again put the pistol to Carol's head. My hands shook terribly, as I fought to hold the pistol. She looked up at me. I could barely force myself to meet her stare. A calm resignation shone in her eyes. But behind that was the look of one forsaken. No tears came from her eyes, and although I searched for it, hoped for it, I saw no forgiveness there either.
I looked at my daughter, fighting so bravely to maintain her dignity. Mascara ran down her beautiful face making my little girl look far older than she should. I remembered kissing those tender cheeks when she was younger. Ana was maturing into a woman now, a woman who would wear the scar of this night forever. Everyone, in some way, would die tonight.
My hands shook violently as I pressed the cold barrel to Carol's head. Just as I forced my finger around the trigger, something happened. Suddenly, as if someone switched her on, Ana reacted. Her captor let his grip relax. It was all she needed. She kicked back and up with all her might, driving her heel into the man's groin with insane force. The man crumpled like his skeleton had disintegrated. And before anyone knew what had happened, she was free and running toward Mr. Powers.
Powers and the other man heard their comrade cry out in pain, and turned toward him. Ana charged into Powers like an mad bull, but not before Powers got off a shot. The bullet hit Ana in her left arm, but she barely flinched. Her rage carried her on, blocking the pain. Powers began to back away, but it was too late. Ana threw all her weight onto the side of his right leg, just below his knee. Before Powers could pull the trigger again, he screamed at the sickening wet snap of his leg. He crumpled to the floor, the jagged edge of his tibia jutting through his pants.
Spurred into action by Ana, Carol, hinged opened her tied hands, simultaneously jerking the pistol form my hand, and forcing herself backward into her captor just as he fired. His shot went wide and tore into the bed. Carol spun as the man tumbled back, and without hesitation she put two bullets into his chest. He flopped against the wall, blood streaming from his wounds.
Another shot screamed through the room. Carol jerked her head around as the bullet removed a small piece of her left ear. She quickly recovered, and saw the man with the smashed groin preparing to fire again. She dropped to her right and fired three times. The first shot went high and shattered the dresser mirror, the second flew over the man’s right shoulder and into the wall, but the third caught him in the neck. He screamed and grabbed at the ragged hole in a vain attempt to quell the spurting blood.
I stood, inert, emasculated, staring. Everything was a blur of screams, barrel flame and blood. My wife and daughter doing what I thought couldn’t be done, doing what I should have done.
Although Power's leg was bleeding badly, he continued to struggle with Ana. She finally clawed at his face, and forced her way free. She grabbed his pistol as she scurried away from him.
Carol now stood over Powers. He looked up at her with a bloody, arrogant smile. Carol raised her pistol, pointed it at his face, and—
Two shots rang out from across the room. Power's body jumped as the first ripped into his abdomen, the second into his jaw and out through the top of his head. His smile died as his blood poured onto the gory carpet.
My ears rang terribly. The room was cloudy with gun smoke, the scent of cordite mingling with that of blood. Ana sat against the wall, still pulling the trigger of an empty revolver.
Carol looked at me, the gun held tightly in her hand, her forearms tensed, and for a moment, I thought she was going to shoot me. And I wouldn't have blamed her if she had. It would’ve been easier than having to live with myself.
Carol lowered the pistol, and went to Ana. Her shoulder bled steadily.
"We've got to get Ana to the hospital," Carol said, helping our daughter up.
I stared at the bodies strewn around the room. I looked at Carol and Ana, bleeding, crying. The guilt finally consumed me. I picked up a pistol that lay on the blood-smeared carpet. Now its weight felt reassuring in my hand. I held the way out, maybe not to salvation or redemption, but at least escape. I couldn't believe what I’d almost done; it was too much to bear. I turned the pistol toward my head and—
Carol pulled the trigger.
The burning slug slammed into my body, the force of the bullet carrying me back and into the wall. The pain felt good. I deserved it, needed it. I didn’t blame Carol. I’d put her and Ana through more pain and terror than anyone should have to endure in a lifetime. As the wave of black infinity threatened to engulf me, I heard Ana’s crying intensify. I knew she was near. I felt teardrops on my cheek. And that was my greatest regret: to have let her down, to have forsaken her love, to be the cause of a scar that would never heal. Then the sounds faded away, and the wave engulfed me.
***
I woke to muted voices and the ticking of an IV pump. But, I didn’t want to wake up, not back into this life. That all changed, however, when I forced my eyes open and focused on two forms at my bedside. Ana’s face beamed down at me, her cheeks now smiling, streaked with tears of joy. Above her, Carol came into view, and instead of terror and anger, her eyes shimmered with love and forgiveness. I realized that she’d saved my life. We’d made it through; we’d survived. Suddenly, I was glad to be alive. It seemed Lady luck had indeed dealt me a winning hand. 

G. Durant Haire lives in North Carolina with his wife and daughter. He's been published throughout the small press in the horror genre. His credits include Darkness Rising, Redsine, Horrorfind.com, Burning Sky, and Black Petals, to name a few. He's also an associate editor for Twilight Showcase Visit his web site at www.gduranthaire.com