Deter

Bill Porter sat in the darkened solitude of his house contemplating the portending heartache that was about to transpire. Such a sad simple story. Two men in love with the same woman. And now a choice was going to have to be made and for one, there would be loss. Then again, it perhaps would be more truthful to say there would be no winners in the small little drama unfolding.

The early morning shadows lightened the ambiance of the house, but not the mood as Bill continued to run scenarios on how to solve the perplexing situation. Despite the permutations, the result was always the same, he would have a life with the woman of his dreams or not.

As he continued to study the shot glass of bourbon he had poured earlier, but, had not touched, he accepted that his voice would not be the decisive one. The decision would be Janet's. It would always be Janet's. He felt a sense of frustration knowing his fate would be in the hands of another.

He aimlessly rotated the shot glass in the dexterity of his right hand. A pointless exercise to while away the time. Time continued to march away and he vaguely became aware that hours had passed and from the harsh flat light of the room that the noon hour approached in the silent den.

Would it continue to be like this? Suffering while the sword of fate played out this drama? Each second ticking away toward the ultimate decision. A sense of weariness came over him as he shifted his gaze to look out into his backyard. The change of view gave momentary relief as his thoughts would be interrupted by the flight of an occasional cardinal or mockingbird landing in the yard seeking a meal.

Incongruously, he dozed off only to be awakened by the sound of a key unlatching the lock of his front door. The only people that had such a key were he and Janet. Did her appearance signal that she had chosen him? He realized he could not face her. Could not bear to gaze upon her as he heard the sound of the door closed and footsteps echoed toward him from the hallway. So he still stared into the backyard.

His thoughts were racing along with his pulse. It had to be a good sign, didn't it? She was here instead of being with him. That had to be good news! Unless, she felt obligated to be the bearer of bad news. Some moral obligation to confront him with her choice and explain why he had lost. The mixed emotions of hope and fear tormented him.

He sensed a presence close to him.

Then a white flash of light blinded his vision accompanied by excruciating pain reverberating in his skull. His muscle control failed as he slumped deep in the lounge chair. Then another blow struck that caused similar effect. The shot glass fell out of his hand and struck the den floor spilling the content of the drink across the floor.

His head swivelled from side to side reacting from each corresponding blow. An overwhelming nausea flooded him as he sunk into unconsciousness.

As he drifted awake, he felt the awful vertigo that gave the effect of the room spinning him. He slowly moved and each effort brought shooting pain in his body. The acrid iron taste of blood was in his mouth. He sensed the swelling of his head despite not being able to see. His sight was blurred and he tried to focus on commanding his facial muscles to open his sight lines, so that he could clear his view. This was met with limited success.

He vaguely heard the soft moans and as he continued to regain his sentience, it was apparent that the moans were emanating from him. A sharp pain dug into his side and he reacted by moving away.

He then became aware he was on the den floor and somehow he had landed atop of the shot glass he had previously held. His motions caused the glass to skitter across the floor. The relief barely justified the effort to alleviate the discomfort.

He continued to rack in each painful breath as his thought process cleared. Why did this happen? How did this happen? What possible transgression had he committed against Janet that would make her react to such violence? So many questions to understand what had happened.

As he struggled to lift his head some answers presented themselves. At first, all he could see were the shoes. Then as his gaze allowed, he viewed the trouser legs, up to the torso, until finally, towering above him, his angry face framed against the den ceiling was Frank Merriman.

Bill Porter lapsed back into a state of unconsciousness.

As he once again regained consciousness, he was aware his assailant was sitting in the chair he had previously been sitting in. In one hand was an identical shot glass full of the expensive small batch bourbon that Bill Porter had contemplated drinking. In the other, was a Model 1911 Colt Automatic pistol indifferently aimed toward Bill.

Frank Merriman, his neighbor of ten years, his friend; and now, his rival for Janet's heart.

How did it transpire? First, an instant attraction, then an innocuous flirtation, followed by a dalliance. Then clandestine luncheons, followed by secretive dinners. Each meeting drawing them into an inescapable vortex.

There led the successful culmination of the affair, which blossomed into romance, which blossomed into love. And then came the discovery of the situation. And now Bill Porter realized that Frank Merriman had also been weighing on how to handle the situation. Unfortunate for Bill, it called for a more proactive approach.

"Its about time you woke up, you sorry cocksucker! As you can tell, I borrowed Janet's key to your little loveshack." growled Frank. "I hope you don't mind me having a drink of your precious booze. It's the very least you could do for me since I've had to share Janet with you, you motherfucking son of a bitch!"

Frank took a small sip and he relished it almost as much as he did the sight of a beaten down Bill Porter prostrate on the floor.

"All you had to do was to go away and leave us in peace! But no, Bill. You couldn't do that! You kept twisting and twisting at Janet filling her head with nonsense. Did you really think I would let you get away with that?" Frank ominously asked.

"Ten years, Bill! For ten long years you've been coming between Janet and me and it ends today, Bill!" Frank shouted.

Bill tried desperately to think of something that would calm Frank down but nothing came to mind as Frank continued his tirade.

"Do you have any idea of the revulsion I felt knowing you had touched her, held her in your arms, kissed her, fucked her?" The anguish in Frank voice caused him to choke from the image of Janet's betrayal. Frank took aim at Bill's body contemplating where to fire the first shot.

"Where do I shoot you first, Bill? The obvious answer is to shoot you in the balls, but, I might save that for last. I just haven't decided yet."

Bill Porter began working his mouth. The first sound was a croak as he tried to get his vocal cords to work. "Frank," he gasped, "You don't want to do this. If you kill me, you will go to jail, Frank. You don't want that. Right now, we can both walk away from this. But, if you pull that trigger then there will be consequences. Consequences beyond our control."

In some portion of Frank's brain the information was received and digested and the gun slowly lowered down. Frank took another sip of bourbon as he balefully kept his eyes on Bill.

"You think that you're so damn smart!" Frank hissed, "I'm not afraid of going to jail, just as long as you are dead and buried!"

"Frank, for ten years we lived across the street from each other. You mean to say that you hate me so much that you want to spend the rest of your life in prison?" Bill pled.

Frank responded, "For what you did to Janet. For what you did to me. For what you did to my family. Yeah, I'll take my chances with a trial."

Exasperated, Bill blurted out, "Look Frank, Janet has—"

With the mention of Janet's name, Frank exploded out of the chair and began kicking Bill's defenseless body.

"DON'T! YOU! EVER! MENTION! HER! NAME! AGAIN!" Frank screamed and each word was empathized with a vicious kick.

Each kick caused Bill's body to recoil from the pain and once again he passed out from the injuries he was sustaining. How late he was out he had no idea but eventually he began groaning again which signaled to Frank that Bill was coming to.

Bill was crying from the pain. The kicks had bruised his entire torso. He was sure that several of his ribs were broken. His arms were aching and numb from the pommeling. Somehow, during the event he had rolled into a fetal position which prevented Frank from having access to his groin area. But, Bill could tell several kicks had landed on his buttocks, thighs and hips in an effort to get at his most vulnerable spot.

Frank was back in the chair. In the interim, he had taken the time to replenish his drink. Studying his victim he said, "That's right. Cry like the little bitch you are."

Bill's body rebelled and he suddenly vomited. As he continued to heave while lying in the muck he heard Frank laughing. Then the spasms were over and he settled into the stench of the vomit as Frank continued to enjoy the scenario.

"Oh Billy Boy, what surprises you have had today." Frank mockingly taunted, "Not the least being something that concerns Karen and Jimmy. Yeah, MY children, Karen and Jimmy!" Frank empathized. "I know Janet lied to you and told you they were yours. You liked thinking that, didn't you?" Frank chortled. "Well guess what, Mr. High and Mighty Motherfucker? I had paternity tests run on both of them and they are both mine. Thank God, Janet was honest all along about that with me. The very thought of you having a child with Janet..."

Bill could see the murderous intent playing across Frank's face. Before he could gather a defense, he saw Frank level the pistol once again. The cavernous barrel was pointed right at him and Frank's visage was that as Death itself as he pulled the trigger.

Bill saw the flame from the shot and the impact of the bullet into his body. It was only afterwards that he realized he never heard the gun's retort. The trauma of shock passed through Bill as blood spurted from his body.

Bill knew at that point that he would die today. Frank had crossed over and nothing would prevent him from slaying the person he held responsible for his torment. Oddly enough, another bullet was not forthcoming.

"I want you to suffer, you motherfucker!" Frank screamed. "I won't see you burning in Hell, so, you'll stay alive as long as I can keep you!" Frank began a nonstop rant against all the transgressions he had suffered from Bill.

After an infinity, distant sirens were sounding in the neighborhood. The Doppler effect of the sirens rose in pitch and volume as they continued coming closer. Then suddenly as the cacophony reached a climax they were eerily silenced.

Strange and muted conversations were overheard from loudspeakers insisting on being informed on what had transpired.

"You think they are going to save you, Billy Boy? Nothing on God's green Earth is going to do that!" Frank declared waving the pistol around. He continued his rant.

Bill settled back in despair and looked out into his backyard at what probably would be the last thing he ever saw. Then there was a furtive movement coming over his back fence. Puzzled he watched as an object was being lowered to the ground.

Bill had attended enough Chicago Bears football games to recognize the object as a parabolic microphone. Finally, the police would be able to hear and assess and determine a course of action. All Bill had to do was to hang on and maybe he could survive.

The phone began to ring and Bill knew it was a police negotiator trying to establish contact to talk the situation out. Bill was growing weak from the loss of blood and he wasn't sure to the extent of the bullet wound. Perhaps, it would prove to be a fatal shot. Bill's only chance would be for the police to force the issue and rescue him.

Now he noticed several individuals lying prone on his neighbor's roof. That had to be a SWAT team awaiting orders. He noticed little red points playing against the wall of the den now settling in the dusk of the day. Some of the lights began transfixing themselves on him and others were transfixing on Frank. In the fog of little information, the police did not know who the bad guy was.

Frank had gotten up and knocked the phone off the hook. Now he was pacing the floor, still ranting, but his attitude was becoming more manic. The red dots tried desperately to remain on his body. Due to his concentration on the task at hand, Frank had never noticed the laser beams which sighted in sniper rifles.

Then Frank stopped, his decision had been made and Bill watched again as the weapon was pointed at him.

Frank gritted his teeth and said "Rot in Hell, Bill."

Then an explosive spray of blood haloed atop Frank's head. The pistol fell away and Frank fell to the ground as though he had been a tree cut down by a lumberjack.

With the echo of the shot came a flood of SWAT officers breaching into every entryway into the house. The priority was to clear the scene before any assistance would be performed. That was quickly done as police continued coming into the house,

Bill noticed that after kicking away the weapon from Frank, scant attention was given to his body. That let Bill know that Frank had suffered a mortal wound. Meanwhile in the din of conversation, Bill heard an order for the EMTs to enter the house and treat the wounded.

At that point amongst the din and chaos, somehow Janet appeared. As she searched across the room, her eyes briefly viewed Bill as he waited on the EMTs and a gurney to transport him to the emergency room. She barely registered him as she continued to sweep across the room. Then she spotted Frank.

"OH MY GOD, NO!" she wailed in a heartfelt screech. "NO, FRANK, DON'T LEAVE ME!" With that she flung herself down on the bloody corpse and held it close to her. The discombobulated police force was frozen, not knowing how to proceed. One or two officers tried to assist getting her to release the body, but, Janet held on tighter.

Then the officer apparently in charge roared, "Get this man and his wife to the hospital ASAP, you hear me!" With that the EMTs and the gurney that had been headed toward Bill were diverted over to Frank. Then began the pretense that Frank was alive so Janet would let go of him. As they transported him out, Janet asked if she could ride to the hospital with him. They gently assured her that she could.

As Bill watched her disappear from his house, he knew that when they got there, Frank's body would go into the emergency room only to be declared dead on arrival. By then, the hospital grief counselors would be tending to the grieving Janet and her friends and family would be notified to her loss.

Bill sensed a subtle shift in the room after Janet left. He was having to wait for another ambulance to be dispatched to his house after the first left with Janet and Frank. He was coolly informed that the estimated time of arrival was fifteen minutes. Despite all his injuries, including his gunshot wound, he was in no pressing danger.

At that point he only received the bare minimum treatment necessary as a result of the entire room sympathy toward Janet and Frank. He caught several officers looking at him in disgust or open contempt, even though they maintained their professional approach to performing their duties at the scene.

Bill began to second guess himself. Should he have given Frank a warning? Had he done so, then maybe Frank would still be alive and Janet would not be troubled by her loss. The shock was beginning to wear off and now Bill was in excruciating torment as he continued to wait for the ambulance. No one seemed overly concerned with his plight.

Blissfully, the second ambulance arrived and the EMTs began prepping him for the journey. After they placed him on the gurney the officer in charge finally approached him.

"I'm Inspector O'Henry. This is SWAT Lieutenant Mallory." He pointed to an officer that had steadily stared a hole through Bill the entire time. Inspector O'Henry continued, "I wanted you to meet the officer that had to kill the husband of that poor woman today. All because you decided that you would seduce his wife. Well, I hope you are happy with the way everything turned out and you can live with the guilt of making that lady a widow."

Bill was weary and could tell he was fading fast as the EMTs put a breathing mask on him. Still, he was able to obstruct them from placing the mask. He muttered something to the Inspector.

"What did you say?" Inspector O'Henry demanded in open scorn.

With his last reserve of energy Bill pointed to the wall above and with all the anguish be could muster said, "She's not a widow."

Bill noticed the look of surprise on Inspector O'Henry's face as he stared at the large wedding picture of Mr. And Mrs. Bill and Janet Porter framed over the mantel. Surrounding it were all the atypical family pictures of Bill and Janet and the children, Karen and Jimmy in various poses. Portraits of a happy family.

The last vision Bill had before he slipped into the land of Morphia was the sad apologetic look of regret on Inspector O'Henry.