Sylvr's Story - Ch. 6
Sylvr's Story â€" Ch. 6
A Means to an End
No need for a disclaimer, no yiff, but, I must warn you, if you get over emotional about what you read, this may be hard to read, but read it anyway, I went to the effort of writing it.
From under the table we were under in the galley, we could hear the pirate's voices getting nearer.
"Uh, there's nothing of value down here, it's just the galley" said one of the goons in a slightly angry voice.
"You head down there then and raid for food, we're running short, I'm going back to the hold to secure the valuables" was the response from the other pirate.
We were located as far back in the galley as possible, he was getting closer, finally I got a clear view of him, a human and from what I could tell, a skinhead, he had a swastika tattooed on the back of his head. People like him were well known for terrorizing furs, mutilation and even killing, usually over cargo onboard a ship or money. To say we all were scared was a massive understatement, we were all a few seconds away from shitting sideways bricks. The table we were under had two floor length tablecloths, keeping us concealed, one on each end, I was positioned in the middle, that's how I was able to get a view of the bastard. I saw as he turned around, he was armed, heavily, a high powered phaser. Knowing if he heard us, we'd be dead, these guys didn't fool around, I very carefully and slowly, brought my Mosin to my right shoulder. The slit between the covers on the table were just wide enough for me to get a bead on his head, between the eyes. Slowing my breathing as much as possible, I waited for the exact moment and slowly squeezed the trigger. With an incredibly loud hollow thump, common of Russian arms, his head was sprayed across a nearby wall as he dropped to the floor in a growing pool of blood, dead before he even hit the ground. "Good god Sylvr, that thing's so damn loud, the other one had to have heard us, we better go" was the response from my dad.
"Yea, lets head to the bridge, if the other guy is in the hold it will take him a few minutes" I said.
We jumped up and ran across the galley, as I was running, I cycled the bolt on my rifle, ejecting the spent shell and loading a new one. The next part, is...is very hard to talk about (starting to stutter a little). The lift could only hold two people at a time, my parents and Krystal's made it just fine. But, oh god, this is hard to talk about, even now, Krystal and I went up last and ran towards the bridge lift, I grabbed her arm and we ran like hell. As we were running, the pirate rounded a corner and spotted us, we were nearly to the lift, I squeezed off a shot at him, catching his left arm, but not slowing him down much. Just as I squeezed off that round, he pulled his phaser and fired back, and...and hit Krystal square in the chest, just as we were diving into the lift, he squeezed off another shot, deflected by the closing lift door, that one was aimed at me. The worst sound I have ever heard, even to this day, was the scream she let out, as...as the life slowly left her body (breaks down crying by now). She died in my arms and there was nothing I could do, I could already feel the bile rising, but managed to not puke my guts out, not wanting to soil her body. The lift stopped a few seconds later, up in the bridge, by now I was reduced to tears, I walked out of the lift carrying Krystal's body. My dad cut power to the lift before anyone even noticed what had happened and when they did, panic spread over all of them, I was already there. We were all reduced to tears as we realized what had just happened. Nothing was even said, no one was able to even speak, we were all still too shocked. Hearing a loud, heavy thud, I watched helpless as the bastard took off. My dad, through crying eyes managed to set course for Earth as fast as the ship would possibly go, it would be a two day trip. I didn't even take my seat at engineering, I stayed in the same place next to her, bawling my eyes out, not knowing why her and not me. An empty, hollow feeling started creeping over me, I felt as if there was nothing left worth being alive for, my mate, the only one I would ever love was gone. Through my weeping and sorrow, came a feral rage, from the deepest pits of hell, to kill, to take the life of the son of a bitch who took Krystal's. I made a vow to kill him, whatever I had to do, he would die. We had to take Krystal's body out of the bridge and put her in a static chamber, for the final trip we would take onboard the Bandit, that was one of the hardest things I have ever done, was close that door, her lifeless face staring back at me, I reached out and closed her eyes, as I broke down crying again. If it wasn't for our parents, I surely would have killed myself to end the pain, the hollow, empty feeling that filled my shattered heart. The next two days were some of the hardest days of my life. We contacted everyone we knew, friends who helped us get started hauling freight, Dan Martin and his family, Bob Miller and his family and extended family members of our family. I spent most of my time locked in my room, crying, looking at pictures of Krystal and me, playing guitar and researching, researching the skinhead group that had murdered my mate. Switching off my computer on the second day, I heard a knock on my door. "Come in" I said in a dull, lifeless tone.
"How you holding up?" asked Krystal's father.
"Like shit, I feel like there's nothing left worth living for, why, why her, why not me?"
"We will never know, I know it is hard for all of us, but you need to be thankful that you're alive."
"Only physically am I alive, emotionally, I have died, I have nothing to be thankful for, the one who meant the world to me is forever gone" I said as I started crying again, my ears pinned flat against my head.
Three days later, we were at the funeral home in Howard, Kansas, our old hometown before we started our freight business. I took to my knees in front of her and prayed, that someday we would be together again and then I placed the scarab beetle necklace given to her as a gift by me, in the casket with her, she would have wanted that. The casket was loaded onto the hearse and the short procession from the funeral home to the cemetery began, our families and I rode in Bob's truck, I was up in the front seat. The polished, black headstone at the cemetery had Krystal's name engraved upon it, along with her date of birth, July 3, 1992 and date of death, July 6, 2009. The other end of the stone has my name and date of birth, July 4, 1991, upon it. That's the hardest thing I have ever had to see, was her name on that headstone, mine was on there by my request, I demanded when I breathed my last, to be buried alongside her. After her casket was lowered into the grave and covered, I broke down once again and cried harder than I had ever before, knowing that until the day I died, I would never see her again. My parents and Krystal's wrapped me in a hug, we were all crying equally hard. That night, just as the nights since her death, I got almost no sleep, the nightmare of her death running through my mind, to this day it still does on occasion. We had put the Bandit up for sale, none of us ever wanting to return to it. I had cleared my quarters and Krystal's, that was tough, seeing that picture of us that I had found weeks before, taped to my desk, that picture is now in my wallet, always will be. As I entered the lounge to remove the jukebox, I had to turn around, I couldn't stand to be there, where we had first declared our love, I had my dad go get it, the lounge held little emotional value to him, it nearly killed me to be there. Before the ship was sold, we removed the handlers and had them stripped of the names under the cockpits and any non-factory equipment, mine lost the flat black paintjob, then they were also sold, we had no use for them anymore. Using some of the money from the sale of the Bandit, we bought a small ranch house on the outskirts of town. I spent most of my time in my room, studying, planning, going over schematics, getting ready to strike back at the bastard, playing guitar, beating the hell out of the punching bag I set up and lifting weight, anything to keep busy. When I was not inside, I was working on the old dodge truck I had bought, getting it into running shape and road worthy for the trip I knew I had to take, or at the shooting range, taking out a tiny fraction of my rage on human sillouet targets, I knew the only way to end it was to end his life. Three weeks later.
I was waiting in the old Dodge ramcharger I bought, I was 500 miles from home, waiting for her killer to come out of his trailer in Texas, my truck was hidden behind a brush pile. Seeing movement towards the door, I slowed my breathing and leveled the dart gun with the door of the trailer, and waited. The door opened and the bastard walked out, I could feel my blood start boiling at the sight of him. Looking through the scope and taking aim for his neck, I squeezed the trigger, planting the tranquilizer dart on the side of his neck, he tensed up for just a second, then dropped down, unconscious. Luckily, no one had seen him, or me. I stowed the gun and fired up the truck. Pulling up to the trailer, I grabbed his limp form, hog tied him, duct taped his mouth and threw him in the back. Pulling onto a dirt back road, I punched the throttle and headed out to the spot, miles from any town or farm, I had preselected to finish him off. Stopping the truck in front of an A-frame I had built out of 4x4 wood posts, I pulled his still unconscious body out of the truck and lashed him to the wood frame by his upper legs, torso and pulled his arms around back and lashed his wrists together. Heading back to the truck, I opened the case that my Mosin sniper rifle was stored in. After pulling the rifle out of the case, I grabbed 4 of the 7.62x54R rounds in the ammo box and loaded the magazine and bolted it. Then I waited until he would wake up, I wanted him to know he was about to be put through hell, then killed, if I was feeling nice enough to actually kill him, if not I was going to leave him to die a very painful death. Several minutes later, he was waking up, struggling against the lashings, to no use. When he noticed my rifle, I just grinned, his eyes showed fear, he was a real bastard, a killer who feared when a gun was pointed at him. "It's no use struggling, you're not going anywhere" Leveling the rifle with his left kneecap, I smiled and said, "This is for every day I must wake up alone, knowing I will never see her again because of you, you son of a bitch!"
I pulled the trigger, with a deafening roar, his kneecap shattered, leaving his lower leg hanging by a few tendons, exactly why I had lashed his upper legs and not the lower portion. Bolting the rifle, a new round was chambered as I turned towards his right kneecap.
"This one's for every time a memory of her crosses my mind, all I have are memories now, because of you, and believe me the pain you will feel today is nothing compared to what I must cope with every single day of my life, you should feel lucky, you sick bastard."
Pulling the trigger, his right knee exploded in a spray of blood, leaving his right lower leg dangling, I could see the pain and fear in his eyes and something else, pleading, most likely to kill him to end it.
"You know, I should just let you bleed out, a very, very slow and painful death, I'm sure you know that, but I'm feeling nice today, so I'll just kill you...after this." After operating the bolt, I leveled the rifle with his genitals and pulled the trigger, instantly stripping him of his manhood. With an evil grin, I said, "That's how my heart feels, shattered, torn, destroyed, take your pick, better make it quick though, this is where you die mother fucker".
Leveling the rifle with his head, I stopped to say the last words he would ever hear, "This final shot is not for me, it's for Krystal Ray, my mate, lover and best friend, you took her life, now I take yours, say hi to Satan for me" I said with an evil grin.
Squeezing the trigger, his head exploded in a mass of skull, blood and brain matter. I cycled the bolt, ejecting the shell. After putting the rifle back in its case and in the truck, I unlashed the remains of his body and threw them in the pit I had dug next to the frame, then tossed the frame in as well, it wasn't buried in the ground, but rather held up by 5 gallon buckets of concrete. Dumping a 10 gallon can of gas on his remains and the frame he was murdered on, I lit a match and let him burn, much as he is still burning in the deepest pits in hell. I stayed and watched him burn, once he was reduced to ashes, I started shoveling the dirt back into the pit, burying what was left. Jumping back in the truck, I headed to the nearest town and stayed the night at a cheap motel, leaving early the next morning, making it back to Kansas 10 hours later. On the way home, I heard No Remorse, ironic, because I had just brutally murdered her killer and felt no remorse what so ever, actually I felt as if a huge weight was off his shoulders, the rage was gone from my system, his days of killing were over but little did I know, mine had just began.
Epilogue, One year after Krystal's funeral.
I drove out to the cemetery, dressed all in black, with my guitar and a single blood red rose, only one song would be played today. Kneeling down in front of her headstone, I prayed, as I had many times before and would many, many more times, to one day be reunited with my love, in heaven, where we would spend all of eternity, together, I would never be truly happy until then. After laying the rose down on her headstone, I started strumming the guitar, playing Lights, it was her favorite song, it would never mean the same thing to me again. Finishing the song with tears in my eyes, I laid the guitar down on the grass and let out a long, lone howl, yearning for the love of my life, the only one I could ever love. I stayed all night, looking at the starry sky, wondering which one was her, looking down upon me. END?