JASON

Eight Years Ago

 

O’Malley’s stank of stale beer, fried food, and bad decisions. The kind of place where fights weren’t rare. They were nightly entertainment.

Jason’s pulse hammered in his ears, each beat feeding the fury coiled tight in his chest. He was tired of having the same arguments every day. The only difference was the face he was yelling into.

Today, the face was of someone he knew well, someone from his past.  

He spat as he straightened his back, wiping the blood from his lip. His jaw throbbing from the punch it just took. The metallic tang was already refilling his mouth.

The fucking monotony of it all.

The music from the overhead speakers blasted, while the crowd circled them like a pack of vultures.

Across from him, stood the asshole that busted his lip. He was a heaving, sweaty mess, his grip white-knuckled on a metal bat wrapped in decades of grime-stained tape. His dark eyes burned with hatred. A look Jason knew all too well.

Hell, he saw it every morning staring back at him in the mirror.

Marcus Parker, a kid from Sheepshead Bay. Poor, scrappy and mean as a cornered dog.

They’d been at each other’s throat since they were in high school. Two fucked-up kids trying to survive their own private wars.

Jason had been angry and reckless back then, swinging at anything that got too close. His father’s cruelty had to land somewhere, and Marcus had always been dumb or stubborn enough to be in the way.

But this? This wasn’t about old grudges. This was routine. And Jason wasn’t walking out of here without playing his part.

Marcus sneered, spit flying. “Should’ve stayed the fuck home Caruso!” He swung the bat, a brutal, whistling arc aimed at Jason’s head.

Jason dodged, rage spiking. He surged forward, his shoulder slamming into Marcus’s chest. “Fuck you bastard!” he snarled, breathing hard.

The crowd shifted, he could hear them murmuring to themselves. Some of them pleading for the fight to stop, while others jeered them on. But he didn’t give a fuck about them. All he saw was Marcus.

The pressure built inside him, all the years of anger and grief and failure inching to explode.

Marcus came at him again, the bat catching Jason’s forearm with a sickening crack. Hot pain shot up his arm, but he didn’t back down. He didn’t know how to.

“Fuck!” he hissed, his teeth bared as he charged at Marcus like a man possessed. Slamming into him, the bat clattered to the sticky floor as he tackled him around the waist. They hit the ground hard. Fists flying, boots scraping and elbows cutting in wherever they could land.

The bar shook with violence. People shouted for them to stop, trying to get out of the way. The mayhem of it all feeding Jason’s rage like gasoline.

He roared back, planting a punch so hard into Marcus’s jaw he felt the bone shift under his knuckles. The crunch feeling ugly and satisfying.

“I’mma fucking kill you!” Marcus spat, blood streaking his teeth.

“Nothing but opportunity,” Jason snarled, his eyes wild. And he meant it; he wanted Marcus to take his chance. He wanted him to be successful in his endeavor. He needed it to end.  

Marcus twisted, managing to get the upper hand, and rained blow after blow down on Jason’s face and chest. Jason’s vision blurred, the world tilted red. A numbness began to spread. Then somewhere in the chaos, a voice cut through.

“Marcus! Marcus, stop!”

As Jason laid there with Marcus pummeling him, the voice started to register through the fog.

Josh Parker. Marcus’s little brother. All of sixteen, standing frozen at the edge of the crowd. Skinny, terrified and too young to be there.

And just like that, Jason thought of his own little brother, Brandon. Same age. The one person he had fought to protect from the shitshow he called his life. And here was this piece of shit giving his brother a front row seat to the circus.

Jason bellowed. The sound ripped from somewhere deep within, a broken place. He shoved with everything he had and toppled Marcus backwards. Giving himself the room he needed to stagger to his feet.

It also gave Marcus a chance to get to his feet, panting like a wild animal, he lunged for the bat. Jason lunged for him.

They collided, grappling for control. Jason tried for the bat again, but then Marcus swung a fist into his ribs. The force made him stumble backwards into a hallway leading to the back entrance of the bar.

Jason snapped, ripping the bat violently from Marcus’s grip. “Let’s see what you can do without this, motherfucker!” He spat as he waved the bat at Marcus, stepping out the back door into the alley.

The night was humid. And the alley smelled like piss and rotting garbage.  

Marcus came at him again. Jason didn’t think. Didn’t plan. He just swung.

First to the ribs, then his back a few times. He didn’t stop. And then he heard it, the sickening hollow crack that echoed as the metal connected with Marcus’s temple.

It was quick. He staggered back. His eyes went wide and glassy, then nothing. His body crumpling to the pavement as if his strings were cut.  

“No!” Josh’s scream shattered the silence.

Jason froze. The bat clanged beside him, rolling into the dark on the grimy wet pavement. His chest heaved, as he stared down at what he did. His own heartbeat deafening, drowning out the shouts that started spilling out from inside the bar.

Josh fell to his knees, hands scrambling at his brother’s lifeless body. “Marcus! Get up! You gotta get up!” His voice cracked. “Please!”

Jason’s throat closed. His arm ached, his face throbbed, but none of it compared to the storm ripping through him.

Josh lifted his head, tears streaking his face, eyes blazing with grief and hate. “You fucking killed him!” he screamed, the words slicing clean through Jason’s chest. “You killed… my brother!”

Not knowing what to do, Jason turned and ran. He ran away from the body. Away from Josh’s screams. Away from the music. Away from the man he’d just proven himself to be.