Jack Kursed (8 page)

There was a growling as Jack closed
the distance between them. It took a moment to realize it was
him.

"This suit is worth more than your
life."

Tom fired one more shot,
this time at Jack's head. The bullet struck him on the jaw, and
fell to the floor.

He head-butted Tom, sending him
sprawling across the bank. Closing the distance one more time, Jack
kicked Tom in the stomach, the head, the chest, anywhere he
could.

The hostages screamed and
shouted behind him. He heard them climbing to their feet,
stampeding for the front door. Jack paid them no mind.

He only stopped kicking Tom when he
felt a quick pain in his back.

Spinning around, Scar
stood there with the knife in his hand. He’d let Nikki go and tried
to stab Jack in the back. A look of shock crossed his eyes at the
fact the knife barely dug in to his flesh.

Jack pulled the gun from
Tom's hand and shot Scar in the head. Brain matter and blood flew
in all directions as his body collapsed to the floor.

Doofus was in shock, and only managed
to turn and take one step before Jack shot him in the back of the
neck.

Five seconds later,
everything was quiet. Jack heard the police outside, dealing with
the hostages. He only had a few seconds before police swarmed the
bank.

Scar was dead. Doofus wasn't far
behind. He moaned in pain as blood spilled from his neck to the
floor, and then stopped moving altogether.

Jack looked down at Tom.
His face was a bloody mess. A few broken teeth lay next to him. His
right cheek was crushed, his eye red.

Jack squatted next to him, trailing
the barrel of the gun across the floor.

"I told you I would kill you. Did you
think I was lying?"

Tom spit up blood.
"Please-"

Jack pressed the gun to his forehead
and pulled the trigger. He didn't care about Tom's last words. He
didn't care about why they wanted to rob a bank, or their poor
little life stories.

There wasn't much Jack did care
about.

He dropped the gun to the
floor. The last three hours, as fun as they were, would cost him a
small fortune. The police would need to be bribed, as well as the
bank and the media. The bank's cameras would have to be destroyed.
Witnesses would have to be taken care of.

He sighed. There
definitely wasn't a chance of him ending up in Nikki's bed. Of
course, not caring whether she lived or died probably didn't help
his case with her.

He wouldn't have to change
his identity, but a move from Chicago was definitely in order, as
well as a mini-retirement. Jack owned houses all over the country.
Maybe he'd move back east, close to the ocean.

He held up his hands as a swat team
stormed through the bank entrance.

"A little late, guys."

CHAPTER 4

Jack smiled as he inhaled
the scent of saltwater. A sign on the highway told him he had
entered Parkville, Delaware. Parkville was a small town on the
border of Delaware and Maryland, very close to the Atlantic Ocean.
Goosebumps danced across his bare arms as the excitement of moving
still held him.

He had moved many times
over his long life. Some moves were by choice, while others were
forced upon him. He learned over the years when it was time to
simply move on. A glance from that long-tenured store clerk. A
remark from an acquaintance of how he doesn't seem to get any
older.

Killing three people in a bank was
also a sure sign of having to move on.

It was difficult, but he
managed to shut down the circus that tried to consume him in
Chicago. Twenty years ago he could walk into a bar, kill anyone
with his bare hands, and disappear, never to be heard from again.
That wasn't an easy task now. Cameras on every corner and in every
phone, the Internet, a desire for news to be instant.

The incident at Chicago
cost him nearly a million dollars. It was a small amount, compared
to what he was worth, but still a headache. Nearly forty people had
to be bribed, along with the creation of fake hospital bills. A
doctor at the hospital decided to be difficult, and ask for more
money. Jack had to dig into the doctor's past and weed out every
little dirty secret. The doctor was much more cooperative after
that. Blackmail was a wonderful thing.

Even though he never saw
her again, Jack paid for Nikki's massage classes. He wasn't even
sure himself why. Maybe it was because she had nice
legs.

That was all behind him now. He hadn't
visited his house in Parkville in two years. A married couple
rented the house until six months ago, but it had been empty since
they moved to Florida.

A new house one block away
from the beach, a new town, new places to eat, a new atmosphere. It
was exactly what Jack needed.

He drove past the beach
before heading toward his new home. Kids played volleyball and
enjoyed themselves in the water. Women lay out under the sun. The
scent of pizza and hot dogs was in the air. Jack wasn't fond of
people, but it was certainly a nice sight.

He parked by the curb and
admired his house as he climbed out of his truck. It was a single
family home, with four bedrooms that he would never use, and a full
bathroom on each floor. The people he hired to clean up the house
did a great job. The lawn was freshly cut, the windows were clean,
the bushes near the house trimmed.

The inside was left
exactly as he'd instructed. He paid good money to have his house
fully furnished, but everything was still in boxes and plastic. The
furniture, dining set, kitchenware, entertainment, was all brand
new, still sealed up. There was no need to pay someone to unpack
his stuff when he didn't sleep, or even rest. It was a great joy to
set up a new home, and he wouldn't let movers ruin that.

Navigating around boxes
and furniture, he walked through the house to the back door in the
kitchen. He stepped on the deck and couldn't stop the smile from
spreading across his face. The backyard was perfect, with a privacy
fence, and enough room to engage in one of his favorite passions. A
vegetable garden.

He could see it in his
mind; beets, lettuce, squash, tomatoes, beans. Much of his life had
died after he was cursed, even if he himself would never know
death. No friends or family. No place to mourn his parents or old
mortal life.

His garden helped him. It was
something to take care of, nurture, and watch grow.

Jack took some trash to
the curb, and was halfway back to the house when he heard a
voice.

"Hello, there."

He cringed. There was no doubt he'd
love his new home. The beach, the sun, a movie theater down the
street, plenty of sights to see. But there was one bad thing about
his neighborhood.

Neighbors.

The man trotted across his
lawn, uninvited. Somewhere in his forties, blond hair, blue eyes,
khaki shorts, button-down collar shirt, sandals. Wedding ring.
Short little man, only coming up to Jack's jaw. His hands had small
green stains, most likely from gardening.

"Hi, I'm Larry," he said. "I'd shake
your hand, but they're a little dirty right now."

"That's fine. I'm not a big
handshaker."

"So, do you have a name?"

"Yes."

Larry waited patiently.
Jack said nothing, and enjoyed the moment of
awkwardness.

"Uh, what is it?"

"Jack."

"Nice to meet you, Jack. I take it
you're our new neighbor? I've seen people cleaning the place up for
the past few weeks, moving furniture in."

"Yeah. I'll be living right next to
you."

"The couple who was here before were
real sweet. It was sad to see them go. They told me the landlord
was a real dickhead. Very unfriendly."

"You don't say?"

"Yeah. I hope I never meet
the bastard. Listen, Jack, I was hoping I could ask a small favor
of you."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"My son, he just turned seventeen.
He's been driving all over the place. Well, since this house has
been empty, he's been parking where your truck is now. Would you
mind moving down just a bit?"

Jack nearly choked holding
in laughter.

"He can't park in front of your
house?"

"Uh, my wife has the Lexus. And I
drive the BMW. I really don't like it when he parks close to us.
And there's plenty of room in front of your house-"

"I don't care about your
son. I won't be moving my truck. Any other friendly
requests?"

Larry's face fell. It took him a
moment to slowly shake his head from side to side.

"Okay, then," Jack said. "You have a
good day there, neighbor."

He shoved his anger aside
as he turned around and headed back to his house. He could feel
Larry's beady little eyes on him. Hopefully the rest of the
neighbors weren't like him.

Jack scrolled
through his iPhone for some good
moving
in
music. He settled on Elvis as he worked
through the rest of the afternoon and well into the night. He
unpacked, pulled the plastic from the furniture, moved things
around. Physical work was easy when fatigue wasn't an
issue.

It was a shame his curse didn't come
with extra strength.

He spent most of his time
getting the kitchen in order. Cooking was another passion of his,
and he made sure every house he owned had a nice kitchen. His new
kitchen took up nearly the back half of the house, with an island
in the middle and a breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the
living room. There wasn't a dining room, as there wasn't really a
need for one, just as he had no use for a bed.

It was nearly two in the
morning when he finished. He stood on his front porch and watched
the neighborhood sleep, wishing he could sleep right along with it.
His brain told him this was the time he should be asleep. The world
slowed down and rested when it got dark. But he could never join
the world, and it drove him mad sometimes. He was truly apart from
it.

His mind raced for
something to do. The cable wouldn't be hooked up until tomorrow,
but he did have plenty of DVDs to watch. He could read his Kindle
Fire and listen to music.

He decided to go for a
walk. The heart of Parkville was only a few blocks away, with
shops, businesses, places to eat. They were all closed, but it
would be nice to acquaint himself with Parkville once
again.

*****

One month after Jack
Kursed moved into his new home, eight-year-old Tiffany March lay on
her bed. She wore headphones and the music was loud, but could
still hear the punishment being handed out in the kitchen below.
Sara, one of three foster children living in the home, had dropped
a dish, and needed to be disciplined.

Every few seconds the
house would seem to shake, followed by cries of pain and Miss
Simmons' shouts of rage.

Tiffany lost her parents
when she was four. Her mother died from cancer, and her father
abandoned her. He literally walked out the door, leaving Tiffany to
play in her room, and never returned. Police found her in their old
apartment, living off whatever food was left. She'd been moved from
foster home to foster home ever since.

Miss Simmons was, by far, the meanest
foster parent she ever had.

She looked over to Carrie,
the girl she shared the bedroom with. Tiffany tried to get her
attention, but Carrie ignored her as she read a book. Carrie was a
few years older. Tiffany didn't like her all that much. She had, on
more than one occasion, passed blame onto others in the house to
avoid the discipline.

Carrie still had a fresh
bruise on her shoulder from when she spoke out during home
schooling.

The music in Tiffany's
ears wasn't providing a good distraction. She grabbed a coloring
book from under the bed and began filling in the colors on a
princess. One day, she was going to be a princess, like in the
cartoons. She would have friends and animals and people that cared
about her. Adults like Miss Simmons would have to go to the
dungeon.

Tiffany and Carrie both
jumped when the door to the bedroom flew open. Miss Simmons led
Sara into the room by the arm and threw her to the floor. Tiffany's
first instinct was to run to the girl, give her a hug. She held her
ground. Sara was Carrie's age, but a lot nicer. They would play
dolls together when they could.

"Sara will be staying in
here from now on," Miss Simmons said. Tiffany couldn't remember a
time she didn't sound angry. "She's lost her bedroom
rights."

Tiffany looked at Sara.
The older girl didn't bother getting off the floor. She kept her
head low, so her hair covered her face and hid her tear-stained
cheeks.

"Sara," Tiffany said, her voice quiet
and soft. "You can sleep in my bed."

Miss Simmons stepped forward and
grabbed Tiffany by her chin. She stared into the child's terrified
eyes.