The email surprised Sam.
+++++Sam, we need to talk
+++++Dave
+++++Sam paced the room. Should he reply? He and Dave were best friends since high school quarterback and top receiver until Sam stole Dave’s fiancé. Two years had passed, and Mary was dead. Dave had a temper and a long memory, but they had been closer than brothers. If there were even an outside chance of rekindling their friendship, Sam would go for it. He typed,
+++++Sure, when? Where?
+++++Friday night, The farmhouse. I’ll bring the booze. I look forward to seeing you again.
+++++Sam smiled, remembering the time they tried to steal a milk truck, but he could not figure out the gears.
+++++Sam drove to the abandoned farmhouse where he and Dave had wasted a good part of their teens learning how to be men. They smoked their first cigarette here and lost their virginity on the old mattress in the parlor. Different girls, different times, but they got drunk as hell on whisky stolen from Dave’s parents to celebrate their manhood. Sam arrived and wondered why the old place hadn’t burned down. He didn’t see Dave’s car.
+++++Sam walked up to the creaky steps onto the sagging porch. He inhaled the odors of rotting wood, moldy furniture, and stale sex. The front door hung open, and a flickering light threw shadows into the entranceway.
+++++“That you, Dave?”
+++++“In the front room, Sam. Booze in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
+++++The sound of Dave’s baritone voice brought back good memories. In the kitchen, an open bottle of Jim Beam sat on the moldy counter beside a crystal whiskey glass. He poured a healthy slug.
+++++Dave stood in the middle of the parlor, backlit by a camp lantern and staring at the mattress, his flickering shadow thrown onto the wall. He turned when Sam entered the room. “It’s good to see your ugly face again.” He smiled and cradled a whisky glass in both hands.
+++++Sam thrust his hand towards Dave. “You too.” They used to hug, but that time was behind them. Dave took the hand and gave it a quick shake. Dave nodded towards the mattress and raised his glass towards his lips. “Here is to old times and past transgressions.”
+++++“To old times and old sins.” Sam took a big swallow from his glass. “I was surprised to hear from you. It’s been two years. I assumed you were pissed at me.”
+++++Dave flashed his award-winning smile. “Over a woman? I was on a contract in Brazil for two years. Out of touch with everyone.”
+++++Sam cleared his throat. “I thought you might have attended Mary’s memorial service.”
+++++“By the time I learned of her death, the service was long over. I imagine it was terrible for you to find her hanging in the garage.”
+++++“The shock of my life.” Sam took a deep drink. “The cops said suicide although she didn’t leave a note. I thought we were happy.” He took another long sip, then staggered against the moldy wall. “I’d better slow down if I’m going to last the night. I haven’t eaten since lunch. “I don’t feel good.”
+++++“Have another swallow. It’ll get you over the hump and straighten you out.”
+++++Typical Dave advice thought Sam, but he took another long drink anyway. He lost control of his muscles and slumped.
+++++Dave caught him and eased Sam onto the mattress.
+++++Sam tried to speak, but his lips were numb and tingling. Dave smiled.
+++++Dave put his untouched drink on the floor. “The natives in the jungle smear poison on their arrows to knock monkeys out of the trees, a tasteless potion that mixes well with most liquids. I didn’t give you enough to kill you because I want you to experience what comes next. It was fun with Mary. She never locked the doors. I snuck into the kitchen and injected her orange juice with the drug. She felt everything that was happening to her. First, we had a tumble for old time’s sake, then I carried her into the garage and put the noose around her neck. I’d let her choke for a while then lifted her so she could breathe. When I tired of this, I let her dangle, watched her tongue turn black, and her feet kick, as she choked to death. I wanted you to know this.”
+++++Dave went into the kitchen and returned wearing gloves carrying the whisky bottle. He poured the contents over Sam and dropped the empty bottles on his face. Dave squatted beside Sam, “Good-Bye Sam.” Then Sam listened to Dave’s steps leave the room, followed by the screech of the front door.
+++++Sam fought panic. He tried to roll over. He was paralyzed, laying on his back, staring up at the yellow plaster hanging from the ceiling. He felt nothing when the whisky bottles smashed into his face, and he didn’t blink. Sam tried to slow his breathing. He remembered the yoga breathing techniques Mary taught him. Sam focused on each breath, in and out. It worked. His mind calmed, and he started to think.
+++++He would go to the police and tell them what happened. Maybe there was residue in the empty bottle. Big mistake, Dave, leaving the empty bottle behind. If he had to, he could have Mary’s body exhumed and tested for drugs. He only had to wait until the drug wore off to exact his revenge.
+++++Then he smelled smoke.

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Richard Bishop

Richard Bishop is a Calgary writer whose non-fiction has appeared in the major US and Canadian outdoor magazines. His short story and flash fiction have been published by Close To the Bone, The Scarlet Leaf Review, and in the anthology Blood on the Holly. He is a member of the Alexandra Writer’s Society and frequently critiques on Scribophile.

Latest posts by Richard Bishop (see all)

• The Knights of Riverfront Avenue - October 15, 2021
• To My Cheating Wife - March 12, 2021
• Brothers Again - July 28, 2020