This Item of Power
Ezekiel groaned. He looked at the front door of the shop. He looked at the garbled shapes of letters painted on the glass. “Welcome,” the door read, but Ezekiel only knew what it said because of the countless times he had pulled open the door himself. Ezekiel’s eyes wandered from the painted letters to the bell just above the door, and he wished it would ring. He wished the bell would clang out. If only the bell would ring. If only a customer would walk through the door, and then he would have a distraction from everything else that was in his mind.
He wanted to leave the place. He wanted to be anywhere else than this store. Ezekiel felt sadness pull him down. He thought he would find life in his place. He thought he would find comfort. But it was cold.
Ezekiel stared at the bell. The bell remained still. The door did not open, and he sighed again. His eyes wandered across the shelves. Everything was empty. Empty. Deflated. Some good had been in this place. There was a warmth before. He had always felt the place had life all by itself, but now he knew the store was just a room stacked full of worthless stuff. He did not know if his father was coming back to the store, but he knew he had to keep it running just in case. Just in case.
Ezekiel swore. Was his father coming home? Would he be getting out of bed? Would he make it through the day? Ezekiel swore again. If it were not for duty, he would have left the store already. He would have flipped the open sign closed. He would have gone home and back to bed.
Ezekiel let out another long sigh. He thought it would allow some of this emptiness to leave him, but the sigh did not do a thing. He hated it. He hated everything, and he wanted something to distract him, anything.
“Briiiing!”
Ezekiel jumped. The phone shook on its receiver as it rang again. As it rang a third time, he picked it up. He stared at the telephone in his hand. He heard a voice coming through the phone. He knew he had gotten what he wanted, but he regretted his wishes already. The voice came from the phone again. Ezekiel brought the phone up to his ear.
“Hi, Claire,” he said. He winced as her voice chattered back at him.
“Ezekiel, are you at the store? I haven’t heard from you all day. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
Ezekiel pulled the phone away from his ear. He could still hear every word she said. More words of concern fled from her mouth.
“Ezekiel, Ezekiel, are you there?” she asked after she had said a few more words without him responding.
Ezekiel did not answer. He stared back at the bell.
“Ezekiel,” she said again.
Ezekiel nodded. “Yeah, Claire,” he said. His voice felt weak. He wondered if she had even heard him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” He took a deep breath in. He was sure she had heard it.
“You are at the store?” she asked. “I went to your apartment. It was so cold outside this morning. Did you wear a jacket? And when I got to your apartment, you weren’t there. You left the lights on, I think. And I thought you had gone to the store, but I was worried.”
Ezekiel shook his head. He tried not to make a sound. He did not know why she had asked the question since he was answering the telephone at the store. Of course, he was at the store.
“I’m at the store,” he said. He tried not to affect any emotion.
“Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was soft, sweet. Ezekiel expected her to continue speaking, but she did not.
“I am as good as I can be,” he answered. “I know the store needs to stay open. I thought I should do something to keep my mind off of everything.”
He heard a noise from the other end of the line, a small squeak. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Claire answered.
“I’ll be fine,” he sighed the words out.
Claire grunted. “I can come over,” she said. “I know it can get lonely over there, and if you need any help around the store, you’ll have another set of hands.”
Ezekiel smiled. Her words and the sound of her voice almost made him feel better. “That’s alright,” he answered. “I’ve got Jeremiah coming soon to do some work for me.”
Ezekiel heard a disappointed noise from Claire. He barely heard it, so he knew she had not meant for him to hear. “When is he coming?” she asked.
Ezekiel heard a knock on the glass window. He looked up. He saw the dour face of Jeremiah. Jeremiah nodded to him. Ezekiel nodded back. The bell above the door rang as he entered.
“Actually,” Ezekiel answered, “give me a second. He just got here. One second.”
Claire answered, but Ezekiel had already put the phone down and directed his attention to his youngest brother.
“It’s a slow day,” he said to Jeremiah.
Jeremiah answered with a closed-mouth grimace, but he nodded again.
“The office is a mess. I’ve got some accounting I started. You can start on that. And I’ve got a list of other things I wanted to get done before the end of the day. Thanks for coming out.”
Jeremiah nodded again. He did not say a word as he walked across the room and disappeared into the office.
Ezekiel shook his head and brought the phone back up to his ear. The voice of Claire came through the phone as if she had not stopped talking.
“I am going to need to get back to work soon, Claire,” he said as soon as the phone was back up to his ear.
“Oh,” she answered. He heard disappointment in her voice. “Well,” the word came out slowly. “When do you think you’ll be done?”
“Shop closes at nine.” His words were terse. Claire almost made him feel better, but he did not want to talk on the phone. He did not want to talk at all. Claire was not a distraction. She was only a finger jabbing into this throbbing wound.
“Nine?” Claire’s voice bit into his ear. He heard a quick breath huff out of her mouth. “Really? But I thought we would be spending time together this weekend.”
“Everything with Dad—” he started.
“But you promised,” she answered before he could continue. “You said more than once that we’d be going out for our three-year anniversary. You promised me dancing.”
Ezekiel wanted to explain to Claire that schedules needed to change. He knew the store had the stay open. His mind was cluttered with worry. His chest, full of stress. He wanted sleep. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he had to keep moving forward. Besides, if they went out, only Claire would enjoy it. It would be a memorable night for her, but he would be distracted. Every second of the night, he would be waiting to leave, and he would only be waiting to leave to be somewhere else. He did not know where else he would rather be, but he would not want to be with Claire. He knew he would be poor company. He wanted to explain how deeply he was suffering, but she continued before he was able.
“Ezekiel.” Ezekiel grimaced. He had never hated the sound of his own name more. “Why do you do this to me all the time?” she continued. Her voice was more forceful. Ezekiel had no idea what he had done in the past. He had no idea what this was. “Every single time.” Venom filled her voice.
“I just—”
“Why do you always make excuses?” Her voice came out in a whine. “It’s always excuses. Always. Do you even want to be with me?”
Ezekiel grimaced. He heard a sob fill her voice. He tried to answer her again, but she continued before he could get a sound out.
“How are we going to last?” He heard tears. She took a ragged breath in. The sobbing had taken over. “I just,” she could barely get the words through her tears. “I want to be with you, Ezekiel.” Her heavy breathing filled the telephone. “I love being with you. And you,” she swallowed, “and you don’t even want to be with me.” The words came out as a loud bawl. Isaiah pulled the phone away from his ear and clamped his mouth shut. He knew he was past the point of no return. Nothing he could say would do any good, so he just sat with the phone in his ear and listened.
She sobbed. He could hear her tears. Her voice whined. Her breath was still ragged. “Ezekiel…” Oh, how much he hated his own name. “Ezekiel…” His name was a screeching melody.
Sadness washed over him, a deep sadness, a heavy sadness. He felt pulled to the floor. This place felt even more empty. His father was not here. This place was now a tomb.
And that made something like anger bubble within him. But he was not sure if it was anger.
“Ezekiel…” He heard his name again. “Ezekiel.” He did not respond. His eyes went back up to the bell. He pulled the phone away from his ear. He heard his name several more times. Angry, tear-filled words shouted at him through the phone. His mouth pursed. Ezekiel extended his arm. He held the phone above the receiver and then hung up.
The shop slipped into silence, as close to silence as could be managed within this shop on this busy street. He had hoped with silence that peace would come, but his own whining thoughts returned. The place was still empty. The store was still stripped of its life. The skeleton place crowded in on him, and Claire’s voice was still a claustrophobic echo.
“God, I hate this place.” Though he whispered to himself, the words filled the whole room like a shout.
“God.” The word came out as half a prayer. Everything empty. Everything. This place was empty. It was dead, and everything along with it.
The image of legs flashed through his mind. He saw the bottom of the counter. The candy bar wrapper crinkled. The man’s mouth smacked as he chewed.
Ezekiel grimaced. “Damnit!” His teeth bit together, and his lips curled up. “Damnit. Damnit.” He heard the gunfire again. A hand went up to his face. The gunfire again. The chaos of fear welled up. He heard the slapping feet. He heard a yell. His own? A woman’s voice on the phone. The wailing of an ambulance.
Ezekiel wished he could close the shop, go home, and sleep. But he could not. He knew he could not. This was his duty. He would do his duty.
But hell, that man with his gun came back again and again. And with his image and the clap of his pistol firing came an overpowering feeling of powerlessness.
When Ezekiel finally arrived home after his father was shot, it had been late afternoon, and he had immediately fallen into bed. He had slipped into sleep, a sick sleep, and he would have slept an entire week if it were not for this store, if not for this damn place. No. He did not stay in bed. He had a duty, so he did what his duty required. He went to the store. He woke up before the sun rose. He tried to eat, but he ended up throwing his breakfast away. He tried to sit outside and enjoy the early summer day, but his mind kept pulling himself back to his father and this damn store.
On that first day back, every time the door opened, a shudder of fear filled him. He heard the man’s voice. The gun. The wailing ambulance. Every time he heard the bell, he jumped. More than twice he almost ended up screaming at customers.
“But duty,” he told himself now. He nodded. He was angry, frustrated, in a vice. This damn place was a damn place because every moment he was here he wanted to run. Every time the door opened he barely held himself together. He nodded as he spoke of duty because that was the thing he needed to do. He needed to be at the store. He needed to keep it running.
But Ezekiel was afraid. Fear had imprinted on him, and after those first long days of almost falling apart in panic, he knew he had to do something.
The phone rang again. Claire, he was sure it was Claire. Ezekiel picked up the phone and hung it up. Ezekiel started to reach under the counter, but phone rang and interrupted his movement. Ezekiel grunted. He reached out an arm and pulled the phone cord out of the wall. The phone went silent. Claire would try to call again, but the phone would not ring any more.
Ezekiel reached back under the counter, and his hand wrapped around a smooth handle. He felt the weight of the thing. He felt the cool of the metal. Ezekiel studied the weapon as he pulled it out. It had been the cheapest pistol he could find, but he loved it. Ezekiel heard the gunshot from the week ago, but he did not shudder anymore. The man laughed again. The siren. But here was a solution. A tool. Some sought out women for comfort. Others indulged in booze. This weapon was the softness that was allowing him to sleep at night. This weapon was the numbing of fear that was getting him through his days.
Ezekiel cocked the gun. He held it out in front of him. He stared down the sights and mimed the gun bucking in his hand.
“Boom,” he said.
The gunshot echoed through his mind again. If only he had this weapon a week ago.
“Boom,” Ezekiel said again. He mimed recoil and then brought the weapon down. He set it on the counter in front of him. Safety. This would keep him safe. But even more than safety. This would not leave him powerless.
The door squeaked open. The bell clanged. Ezekiel jumped, grabbed the weapon, and shoved it back under the counter. Ezekiel’s eyes moved to the door. The door swung shut and two young men still in their teens walked into the shop. One walked toward the coolers at the back. The other walked into a far aisle full of warm soda-pop. The first muttered something to the second. The second muttered back. Both spoke too quietly for Ezekiel to understand.
He sighed. They were harmless. Two young men. That was all they were. They had come to find a pack of gum or a can of soda-pop. They were, what? They must have both been around the age of his brother Jeremiah. They would be gone in less than five minutes without any problem.
The door swung open again. The bell rang again. Ezekiel looked to the door. Another two boys stepped into the store and stopped. The one who came in first scanned the room. His eyes looked over to the other two boys who were looking through the aisles. One of these other boys looked up and nodded. This new boy nodded back and let his eyes move over the store. He looked at the counter. He met Ezekiel’s eyes. The man, the boy, Ezekiel was not sure what to call him, furrowed his brow at Ezekiel. He was young, maybe under twenty, and his eyes were the eyes of a boy trying to look tough. His eyes were cold and hard on the surface, but Ezekiel sensed something underneath.
This cold-eyed boy looked back at the boy who entered after him. The cold-eyed boy mumbled to the second.
“I guess,” this second young man said.
The first laughed. He shrugged and turned back to the shop. He took a few steps forward, stopped, glanced around the shop, and then they started to walk toward Ezekiel.
“Hey,” the young man said. The façade of his hard eyes softened. The stony gaze from before was certainly a mask.
“Yes,” Ezekiel answered. This was a stupid kid, only a stupid kid.
“You have Big Jim’s?” the boy asked.
“We do,” Ezekiel responded. He nodded down. “They’re right there on the counter.”
The boy looked down. A stupid teenage grin spread on his face. Ezekiel noted his soft face, and his cocky grin paired with this soft face made Ezekiel dislike him even more.
The boy grabbed the candy bar. He looked down at the candy. He turned it over in his hand. “I need some cigarettes,” the boy said. He still looked down at the candy bar.
“What kind?” Ezekiel asked.
The boy looked up. He looked past Ezekiel to the wall of cigarettes. “I…” His eyes reached out to the little packs on the wall. Ezekiel heard the wrapper of the candy bar as the boy shifted it in his hands. “Ah…” The boy’s mouth hung open as he continued to look across the packs. The smile was still on his face. “What’s the one with the Indian on it?” the boy asked.
“Big Chief,” Ezekiel answered. He almost felt bad for the boy, but he did not. He did not want to have patience for the stupid actions of some teenagers. This boy and his friends were wandering the city streets for the day. Each was trying to gain prestige. Each hoped to be considered the coolest friend. And now they had come into this store because they wanted cigarettes. But this stupid kid had never bought a pack of cigarettes. The only cigarettes he had ever smoked were ones he had stolen from his father.
“How about the cowboy?” the boy continued.
“Elmer Hands,” Ezekiel answered.
“The Christmas tree ones?” The boy’s hand went up, and he pointed toward the edge of the cigarettes.
“Jolly Nick’s,” Ezekiel answered, almost cutting off the boy as he spoke.
The boy’s hand moved to point at the other side. “And what about th—”
“Come on kid,” Ezekiel interrupted. “Just pick a brand, and I’ll get you the brand. If you have to ask me what they’re called, you aren’t going to be able to tell the difference anyway.”
The boy looked at him. His mouth still hung open. “What do you smoke?” he asked.
Ezekiel sighed. He looked past the boy. He looked at the door and its backwards “Welcome,” back to the bell above the door. “Kid,” he sighed out. He looked to the shelves. He watched one of the boys looking for something in the cooler. He wondered what was taking them so long. “If you want cigarettes,” he continued, “then just get the cheapest ones.”
“What are the cheapest ones?” the boy asked.
Ezekiel looked back at the boy. The boy glanced back toward the other two boys looking through the shelves. The smile was gone from the boy’s face. Worry. Ezekiel saw hidden worry.
Ezekiel’s eyes darted to the other boys. One set of eyes moved away from him as if the boy was watching him. Out of the corner of his eye, Ezekiel saw a quick movement. Ezekiel’s eyes met the eyes of the other boy. This second boy did not move at all.
“Come on, kids,” Ezekiel’s voice was filled with weariness. “Put whatever you took back.”
The boy in front of Ezekiel shook his head. “They didn’t take anything,” he said. Ezekiel did not look back at this boy. He kept his eyes on the boys in the aisles.
“You do not want to do that today,” Ezekiel spoke to the boys in the aisle. He ignored the boys in front of him. “Out of any week, you do not want to do that.”
The boys asking for cigarettes laughed. “Even if we were going to steal, what could you do about it?” the boy asked.
“Oh, my God,” Ezekiel looked at the boy in front of him. “I thought you were a little stupid. But you might be the biggest idiot I have ever met,” he said.
The boy laughed again. Ezekiel wanted to reach out and slap the boy in the face, but he did not. He saw a quick movement. It was a blur of dark. He heard a thud and then a crash. Ezekiel heard a yell. He heard two yells. He heard a yell from one of the boys. He heard a yell from himself. He tried to pull himself belly-first over the counter. The corner of the counter sliced into his waist.
“Don’t you dare, goddamnit!” he screamed. “Don’t you goddamn dare!” his voice roared and filled the little shop like the blast of the gun had only a week before. “You little sons of—don’t you dare go out that door!”
Before the first boy reached the door, he stopped. One foot braced in front of him, but his momentum sent him flying forward and thudding into the glass of the front window.
“Stop! Stop!” Fear filled up the boy’s voice as he screamed to his friends. “A gun, you idiots!” the boy screamed. “He’s got a gun!”
The final word turned the heads of the other boys and stopped their feet so quickly they fell into one another.
“Stand up!” Ezekiel waved the gun at the three boys who had fallen into one another. “Stand up!” His voice was close to breaking. “You little sons of—” Ezekiel snarled at them. His teeth gritted together. He felt blood rush up through his face. “Stand up and get back over here.” Ezekiel’s throat hurt as he spoke in a growl, but he did not care about the pain. He was angry. His face burned. The hand that held the weapon shook, and he felt the tension build up at the base of his neck. Ezekiel watched as the four boys stood up. They looked at the gun and then at each other before finally walking toward the counter.
“Stop,” he commanded when they stood ten feet away. All four stared at the gun. Terror filled their eyes. They looked young, little boys, tiny little boys. They were tiny, little boys who had likely stolen little more than a pack of gum.
“S-s-sir,” one of the boys stuttered out. “I-I…” He reached into his coat pocket. “You can have it b—”
“Shut up!” Ezekiel’s words were sharp and short. “Did I tell you to talk?” he barked.
The boy shook his head.
Ezekiel grunted.
“Who the hell do you boys think you are?” The gun continued to move between the four boys. All four winced as it passed over them. “You think you’re cool, huh? That is what you call it, hmm? Gonna come in here and steal something. Really fun.” Ezekiel sighed out. “Real fun,” the last two words drawled out.
The boys did not answer. They did not look at him. They looked only at the weapon.
“Well, are you going to talk?” Spittle flew from Ezekiel’s mouth.
“I, um,” one of the boys who had not stolen anything started to speak. “We were just bored.” He swallowed. “And hungry. And we just wanted a little something, but we didn’t have enough money.”
A wild laugh broke out of Ezekiel’s throat.
“Sir, we’ll do whatever you want,” the boy continued.
“What are your names?” Ezekiel’s voice was still a growl.
The boys hesitated at first and then burst out with their names all at once. Ezekiel’s ears filled with a clatter of noise.
“Stop!” Ezekiel shouted above the noise. The boys’ voices fell to dead silence once again. “You first,” Ezekiel pointed the gun at the boy the farthest to the left.
A look of pain filled the boy’s face. “My name” — Ezekiel thought he heard the voice almost ready to break — “my name is Paul,” the boy breathed out. His body shook as he did.
“Last name,” Ezekiel commanded.
“Sterling,” the boy whined. “Paul Sterling.” The boy’s face twisted into pain and tears began to stream down his cheeks. A spot of wet bloomed on his pants and spread, and Ezekiel smelled the urine immediately.
“Are you going to kill us?” one of the other boys asked. This one’s voice did not tremble, but Ezekiel could still hear fear in his voice.
Ezekiel ignored the boy’s question. The gun shifted to the next boy.
“Isaac Weaver,” he answered quickly.
The gun moved to the next boy. Ezekiel nodded to him, but the boy stared back stoically.
“And you?” Ezekiel asked.
The boy did not answer. He only stared at Ezekiel blankly. Ezekiel was sure he felt fear. How could he not?
“Your name?” Ezekiel asked again.
One of the boys standing next to him nudged him. The silent boy glanced over and then looked back to Ezekiel. “George,” he said almost in a snarl.
“Last name?”
The boy continued to glare. “Anderson. My name is George Anderson.”
“Good, George Anderson,” Ezekiel answered. He continued to stare at the boy. The boy stared back in anger, and Ezekiel moved the gun to the next boy.
“Earnest Clyde,” the last boy said.
Ezekiel cleared his throat and nodded to the last boy. “You are going to do exactly what I tell you, everything. First, empty your pockets.”
The boys who had stolen from the store reached into their pockets and pulled out less than half a dozen items and tossed them onto the floor in front of them.
“Is that it?” Ezekiel growled out. “And what about you other two?” He made a glance across the four boys.
“That was it,” one of the thieves answered.
Ezekiel looked at the boy and raised his eyebrows. “Did I tell you I only wanted that back?” Ezekiel directed his eyes to the candy the boys had already thrown on the ground. “Empty your pockets.” He spoke the words slowly and emphasized each word. Anger was heavy in each syllable.
The sobbing boy continued to cry, and all four of them emptied everything out of their pockets. Ezekiel saw a few pieces of change. Another dropped an old, commemorative pendant. The final boy, the sobbing one, reached into his pockets slowly. More tears flowed down his face. The boy pulled a small piece of paper out of his pocket. He looked down in pain, and he dropped the little piece of paper and watched it flutter to the floor. Ezekiel watched as it rested on the floor: a photograph of a young woman.
As Ezekiel wondered who the girl was in the photograph, the bell above the door rang. Ezekiel jumped at the sound, and he felt his finger start to tense on the trigger.
“Hey, Ezekiel, I just need to—”
Ezekiel looked to the door. Daniel stared back at him. Daniel’s eyes were wide. They looked from Ezekiel to the weapon in Ezekiel’s hand. They looked from the weapon to the boys and then back to Ezekiel.
“Ezekiel,” Daniel’s voice was quiet as he stared at his brother. “Ezekiel, what is—” Daniel looked at the boys again. “What the hell is going on?”
Ezekiel glanced from Daniel to the boys. He glanced from the boys to the gun. “Daniel.” He looked back at his brother.
“Ezekiel, what the hell are you doing?” Daniel’s voice rose. “What is going on?” Daniel’s voice broke into a yell.
“Daniel, I…” He shook his head at his brother, and he felt numb. He could not feel his face or his hands or his legs. He felt like he was floating. A gun was in his hand. Why was a gun in his hand? For protection? Protection? Yes. That was the reason he had the gun. He had the gun, so the next time some thug came into the store looking to extort money he could pull it out. But it was for more, so that no one could take advantage of him or make him feel weak like the man had a week ago.
But now…
Now, he was angry.
He shook his head. He looked back at Daniel. “Dan, I don’t know. I’m sorry, Dan. I don’t know.”
“Goddamnit, Ezekiel,” Daniel answered him. “Put the gun down already. Put the gun down. And you boys get out of here. Take a few things for your trouble and go, boys. Take as much as you want.” Daniel took a few moments to help the boys gather their things and grab a few things from the shelves. After he had walked them to the door, he turned back to Ezekiel.
“Ezekiel, what the hell? What the hell?” Daniel shook his head. “What the hell were you thinking?” Daniel asked.
“I’m sorry, Dan,” Ezekiel dropped the gun to his side as he answered. It was heavy. It was so much heavier than he remembered. He took a breath in. He was tired, beyond tired. Ezekiel was exhausted. All he wanted to do was lay down and sleep. Lay down and do nothing.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t—” He shook his head as he met Ezekiel’s eyes. “You of all people.” He shook his head again. “Goddamn, this family is falling apart.”
Daniel turned from Ezekiel toward the front window and watched as the last glimpse of the four boys skittered out of view.
“Dad is going to die, isn’t he?” Ezekiel asked when Daniel did not turn back to look at him. But Daniel did not answer. He only continued to look out the window.
“Daniel,” Ezekiel continued.
“I think I’m going to need the gun, Ezekiel,” Daniel responded.
Ezekiel shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I don’t think you are going to need it.”
Daniel chuckled. “No, Zeke,” he said. “No, you’re going to have to give me the gun.”
Ezekiel laughed this time. He brought the weapon up and pointed it at his brother.
“Ezekiel, just give me the weapon, you idiot,” Daniel answered. He pushed the gun to the side.
“I’m keeping the weapon,” Ezekiel responded. He looked from Daniel to the gun and then let the gun fall to his side.
“And pull it out at another kid later today?” Daniel asked.
Ezekiel sighed. He shook his head at his brother as he felt another wave of exhaustion wash over him. “I’m going to keep it,” he said.
Daniel sighed back at him.
“I need to keep it,” Ezekiel continued.
Daniel turned from him. He leaned backward against the counter. He looked out the large front window of the shop. And he nodded. “Goddamnit,” he muttered. “God damn family falling apart.” He shook his head again.
“I need it,” Ezekiel continued.
Daniel looked back at him. He nodded, a slow nod.
Ezekiel nodded back. They both stared at each other silently.
“Why are you here?” Ezekiel finally asked. “Not to help with the store. I know that.”
“I’m taking Mom to the hospital,” Daniel answered.
“And you came to tell me that you were taking Mom to the hospital?” Ezekiel chuckled. He felt the weight of the gun pull his arm down to the floor.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Daniel asked.
Ezekiel laughed fully this time. Daniel just stared back at him in still seriousness. “Who told you to go to Hell, Dan?” he asked.
“I’m asking you as your brother,” Daniel answered. Ezekiel laughed again. “I would not be asking you this if it was not something I thought needed to be done.”
“But I already told you what I thought,” Ezekiel answered. “I already told you it was idiotic.”
“And for some reason you went out and bought a gun,” Daniel answered.
“But I’m not going out and hunting anyone down. This,” he grabbed the gun and held it out in front of Daniel, “this isn’t for vigilantism. It is for people who want to come in here and attack. For protection.”
“Yeah, for sixteen-year-old kids stealing candy bars,” Daniel shot back.
Ezekiel glared back at him. “Ah, go to Hell, Dan,” Ezekiel growled out.
“Can we really do nothing?” Daniel answered.
“I can. Why don’t you go take Mom to the hospital?” Ezekiel responded.
It looked like Daniel was about to say something. He looked at Ezekiel, but he only nodded. He turned around. He walked out the door. And the sound of the bell above the door rang out into the shop.
Ezekiel looked down at the gun. He was glad Daniel was gone. And he still felt that rage that had filled him when he held the weapon out to the boys.
He knew the rest of the day would be mundane. He had his list of stupid little things that needed to get done. He needed to get a few shelves stocked. He needed to clean the windows, to sweep and mop the floor. He needed to maintain the shop. Everything was falling apart and he needed to keep all that everything together.
“Jeremiah,” he muttered to himself. “I should probably check on Jeremiah.
Ezekiel sighed as he left the counter and moved to the back office. Another wave of exhaustion washed over him, and a thought crossed his mind. The rage was now gone, but he was still angry. He would have never shot the boys. Why would anyone ever think he would? But he was angry. He wanted something. Vengeance? He did not think it was vengeance. He was angry, but he was not sure he was angry at the man who has shot his father. He still remembered those moments in the shop. He still remembered the man. He remembered what he looked like. He remembered his voice. He remembered his words. But the man was not the center of that memory. His father was not the center of that memory. He, Ezekiel, was the center of that memory. He had tried to do something about the man. He had wanted to fight back, but what he had done was not enough.
Ezekiel was not angry at the man. He did not want to go out and hunt him like Daniel did. No. In some way, it was not the fault of this man that his father was dying in the hospital at this very moment. If it was anyone’s fault, he knew exactly who was to blame. Himself. It was his own fault. He had not done enough, and he had been incapable of doing enough.
And that was the crux of his anguish. That was the crux of his anger. Failure was a painful pustule in his soul. And he was stuck within that failure. And could he get out of it? His life had become fully centered upon his failure in a moment. In less than a moment. In the time it took for the man to pull the trigger. In the time it took for that gun blast to fill his ears, his life had been pulled into that black hole of failure.
Ezekiel pulled the door to the office open. “Jeremiah, how is it going in here—”
Ezekiel looked up to see an empty room. Papers were scattered about the little desk. Ezekiel swore slowly and laughed. “Of course,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head and swore again. He walked over to the desk. He looked down at the papers. Some of the accounting had been done, but it had not been finished. Jeremiah must have decided he was bored halfway through and left. Who knew why he was gone? He had a thousand reasons, and Ezekiel did not give a damn what those reasons were. He did not care much. He had enlisted Jeremiah because he wanted to take some of the weight off his own shoulders, but if Jeremiah was gone, he was only in the same position he was before.
Ezekiel turned back to the store. He felt the weight of the gun swinging at his side. That black hole. Failure. He needed to climb out of it. He needed to fix his mistake. He needed to go back in time and do something about his failure.
Ezekiel stepped behind the counter. Soon, more customers would come in. They would buy whatever they needed. They would come to the counter, pay. Some would engage in small talk. Others would not say a word.
Ezekiel sighed. But what if something happened? What if the day did not go how it was supposed to go? A man had walked into the shop with a gun only a week ago. What would be stopping the same man or another from doing the same thing? Even if Ezekiel had a gun himself, how would he know if he would not fail in the exact same way once again? Did he have the will to reach beyond his failure?
Ezekiel looked down at the pistol. It was not an extremely complex machine, but it was elegant. Was this the answer? He reached down a hand. He pulled back the slide partway. He looked at the chamber. It was empty. He pressed the button near the trigger. The magazine slid out, and he caught it with his other had. It was empty as well.