My Rhapsody

My room was lavishly decorated with stolen goods from all sorts of brands, the floor littered with dollar bills from the profits I had managed to collect despite being only sixteen years old. That was high school age, and already I had made enough to make the high achieving and part timely working students look like fools throwing their lives away for the good of a world that only paid them in grades and minimum wages.

I worked in a company of sorts, except we didn't sell lousy computers or overly expensive cell phones. We sold what the public REALLY wanted, something they had to go through us to barter for.

It was our services. We offer many, my self-proclaimed brothers and I. My boss-Marl, he's more than just our leader. He's been like a father figure to me, after mine had drowned out his sorrows with booze and slowly filling his body with nicotine. That was before my mother's death, but it had only gotten worse when she had joined God. 

I believe in God, but only ironically-I tell myself. When I load the exposed cylinder of my pistol-and when I press it against the temple of my victim-I believe there is a god. Maybe deep down, it helps keep me from backing out altogether. Because I knew if I did-Marl..

"Hey, Luke! You got some mail, says it's from a-Mr. Jones?" Brother Pat handed me a thin white envelope. Mr. Jones could be two people. A client, or..

My god-forsaken father.

I audibly tsked, and Pat looked over my shoulder. You wouldn't expect a guy like him, baby face and all, to be a ruthless murderer. We had our stories on how we turned out this way, but he was the most mysterious of all. Rumor said, Pat had a wife and kid at home. He lived in a white-collar neighborhood-and even had a pool. 

Must be nice.

I shoved the envelope into my pocket. 

"Hey man, Marl want's ta see you."

"Of course he does" I mumble, clutching the white envelope in my pocket. It didn't matter to me if it became unreadable, indistinguishable from English. I wanted it that way. Screw the man who still called himself my father. 

And yet. 

Pat dipped his head, closing the door behind him. I opened the letter, my hands trembling in pent up rage as I bit the sensitive skin of my lip til it bled. 

Dear Luke,

'I know I don't deserve to be reaching out to you now. I know how much your mother's death has hurt you, and I understand needing to distance yourself from me-a foolish man who couldn't even protect his only son."

"I want to start over. I know you've been wrapped up in some dangerous things, but you are only a child. I've seen the evidence, Luke. The two of us will move, far away. It is the only way I can protect you. Please, come home.'

Love, Dad.

Love Dad? I swallowed, feeling warm tears drip down my cheeks, stopping at my chin. I had hated him for so long, despised him. I had gone out to provide for my infantile father and I, our supply of cash had gone down significantly once the price for mom's casket and subsequent funeral added up. Father was unemployed, and I had to make ends meet. Marl had met me, black mask up to my ears and hood over my hair-as I tried escaping with stolen meat from an angry butcher like a stray mutt in the rain.

He had pulled me into an alley, as my heart raced in my chest. At that moment, I knew I was going to die. Not around the people I loved, but in the arms of a stranger.

I pled my case.

Marl was an older man, but you couldn't tell that at first glance. He wore a tight white tank top that accented his muscular figure. His chin protruded from his face, and he wore gold earring studs and a necklace with an obnoxious diamond studded cross. Marl didn't believe in a god, clearly it was just for show.

"Calm down kid. Why don't I make you a proposal you can't refuse." 

His hand hand left my mouth, allowing me to speak. I didn't call for help, I knew I would be thrown in the slammer if I did. Marl was smart, he knew that too.

I remember the reluctancy in my voice as I agreed to join his group. He didn't give me much to go off of, and when I arrived at the base, hidden behind a bar that I was clearly not of age to drink at-I had felt fear. But then, I was taught to control my fear, to squash it under my foot and let the priority of the job come first.

Marl had taught me those things, like a father teaches his son how to cast a line into the water and wait patiently for a fish to bite. Or like, how a father teaches his gullible and trusting son how to load a gun when pursuing a hunt. He pat my head and said "You did good" when I stood wide eyed, shocked and trembling-beside the body of my first victim.

He was not my last.

And now, after all that-father was offering me an escape? After all I had done?

My thoughts raced, as I dug my hands into my hoodie-my footsteps felt like lead as I stopped short at Marl's desk. He tapped his fingers on the wooden surface, the drumming making me wince. 

"Luke, are you content with your share?" Marl smiled, showing off his solid gold tooth tucked away in the back of his mouth.

"Yes, of course sir."

"You remember what I've told you Luke. We're family."

"A crime family."

"Naturally. Are you.. having doubts?"

I lowered my gaze, thinking back to my father's letter. Of course not, I deserved to be here-with the other brothers. We were outcasted and looked down upon by society, so we took our share of the upper class's wealth. It was only fair. 

Besides, I had killed people. Father was probably waiting at home with the police as we speak. 

I knew that wasn't true, but it would have made things so much easier. 

"Marl. I've killed people. There is no going back from that. I'm no longer fit to be..normal. Nor do I deserve to be free after all the sins I've committed"

Marl let out a sigh, placing his foot on the desk. 

"Hm? I never thought of you as a religious lad."

"It's how I sleep at night, sir."

Marl shook his head. 

"Formality, Luke. You and me, we're partners. Don't tell your brothers." 

Marl spoke quietly, as if he were hiding a deep secret. 

I had always known what I had to do. Now, it was clearer than ever.

I dug into my pocket, pulling out the letter. Slowly, I walked to the trash can near Marl's feet. He didn't say a word as I ripped the thing in two-watching further as tiny pieces drifted into the bin.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, now."

I turned my back on Marl, who had lit a cigar with a hum of approval. 

I heard a click of a gun being loaded. 

And a shot-echoing through my ears. 

I stood, straight-faced, emotionless-as Marl choked on his own blood-struggling to survive the bullet lodged in his shoulder. My pistol, aimed for him-turned to press into my own temple. My conscious, in a flurry of panic; reciting my memories like a slideshow-let me see my mother one last time. 

My lips curved into a gentle smile.

"God, forgive me."