Remember Marcus

Jonathan Veyne was washing the blood off his hands in the restroom sink when he became fixated on his tattoo. He had gotten it a year earlier on the back of his left hand, just above his thumb, and it read, “Remember Marcus.” Jonathan looked in the mirror and realized how blood-stained his entire suit had gotten, and he noticed that he was smiling. He lost his smile, dried his hands, and walked out of the restroom into the penthouse. It had floor-to-ceiling windows that displayed the beautiful lights of the city night, but Jonathan couldn’t enjoy it past all the still fresh bodies and the blood. He looked down at his hand. “Remember Marcus.” He had, and now it was all over.

Jonathan pulled his car into the driveway of his home. He looked up at the second floor and saw that the light in his bedroom was still on. He thought to himself, “I knew she’d forgive me. It’s all over now.”

Jonathan entered his home and headed up the stairs without turning on any lights. With each step he took, every joint of his complained, but he loved each ache as it was proof he had done something significant. Jonathan reached his bedroom door, which spilled a sliver of light into the hallway from its cracked opening. He pushed the door all the way open, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of what waited for him inside.

On the bed lie Jonathan’s wife, Catherine; his sixteen-year-old daughter, Amelia; his twelve-year-old daughter, Sophie; and his eight-year-old son, Tommy. Jonathan recognized them more by their pajamas, since all their heads were so beaten and bloody that they were hardly recognizable.

Jonathan didn’t call the police; he didn’t even allow himself to cry. He went into his garage, got his shovel, and spent all night digging four graves in his backyard. By dawn, Jonathan was covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, but he had his family buried.

Jonathan walked into his house and washed himself off in the kitchen sink. While rinsing his hands, he looked down at his tattoo that read “Remember Marcus,” viciously rubbing it under the piping hot water pouring out of the faucet. Jonathan sat down at the kitchen table, picked up his cell phone, and made a call.

After one ring, a man answered with, “Jonny, oh my God. I can’t believe you made it through the night. I’m getting calls about bodies all over the city. If I had known you were going to go this far, I… Well, there’s no point thinking about that now. It's all over. You can finally find some peace.”

“It’s not over,” grunted Jonathan into the phone.

“What?” said the man on the phone.

“I said, it’s not over,” replied Jonathan. “Someone came to my house, Rourke. My family…” Jonathan put his hand over his eyes, doing his best to hold back the tears.

“What happened?” asked Rourke over the phone. Jonathan took his hand away from his eyes. There were no tears left, only rage.

“I just finished burying four bodies,” said Jonathan, “and I’m looking to bury a hell of a lot more.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Rourke. “I’m sorry, Jonny. I’m sorry this happened to you. You messed with the bull, and you got the hurricane. You’ve already done too much. I can’t help you anymore.”

“So this is how you treat your friends?” asked Jonathan. “Friends who pulled your sorry ass out of that house in Iraq and carried you all the way to the exfil site, under fire.”

“You can’t keep holding that over me,” said Rourke. “I’ve paid that debt and more. I’m done. I’m sorry.”

“I know you’re sorry, but you’re not done,” replied Jonathan. “Here’s the stick for you, old buddy. If you don’t help me out here, I’m going to go to your house. I’m sure Maggie and Miky are just waking up, and from the sound of it, you’re still downtown. By the time you make it home, you’ll have to start digging some graves of your own.”

“What are you saying?” asked Rourke.

“You know what I’m saying,” replied Jonathan.

“You son of a bitch,” said Rourke. “You wouldn’t do it. You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would, but I won’t have to,” said Jonathan, “because you’re going to call me back in 30 minutes to point me in the direction I need to go. Understood?”

There was silence over the phone for a moment. “I’ll call you back,” said Rourke. “Don’t do anything stupid,” and Jonathan hung up on him.

Jonathan went to his room and put on a fresh suit. He grabbed a large duffel bag from his closet and walked into the garage to get a hammer. He went out of the house to his car, and after 20 minutes of driving, he parked in the driveway of a lovely suburban home. Jonathan got out of the car, slinging his duffel bag across his back, and climbed on top of his car. He leapt from his car to the porch roof and pulled himself up. Jonathan scurried to one of the second-story windows, pulled the hammer out of the duffel bag, and smashed through the window.

“Stop!” screamed the woman standing pressed up against one of the walls of the room, clutching her young son with one arm and pointing a trembling gun at Jonathan with the other. Jonathan didn’t stop and rushed towards her like a freight train. He grabbed her trembling arm as she pulled the trigger of the gun, shooting the dresser mirror behind Jonathan. “No, please,” screamed the woman as Jonathan disarmed her.

Jonathan grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall. He pressed his forefinger into her forehead and said, “The code to the gun safe. What is it?”

“Mike just called. He’s going to be home any minute,” said the woman, frantically. “You should just leave. Please. You know us, Jonny. Please, just leave.”

Jonathan removed his finger from the woman’s forehead, slid the barrel of the gun to her temple, and said calmly, “The code, Maggie.” Tears started to roll down Maggie’s face, and she closed her eyes. Jonathan took the gun away from her head, leaned over, and grabbed the boy. “Come here, Miky,” said Jonathan.

“No!” said Maggie. “One one zero one one. One one zero one one. Please, let him go, Jonny. Please!”

Jonathan let Miky go and rushed out of the room. He went down into the basement of the house where a large safe stood. He entered one one zero one one into the number pad, heard a beep, and pulled the door open. Jonathan emptied the contents into his duffel bag: handguns, a shotgun, a rifle, a suppressor, bullets, weapon lights, a thermal night-vision monocular, and body armor plates. Jonathan zipped up the bag and headed up from the basement. As he headed up, he could hear Maggie and Miky's footsteps beating down the steps from the second floor. They were making their way to the front door as Jonathan entered the hallway behind them. Before Maggie and Miky reached the door, it flung open, and there stood Rourke with a panic on his face and his gun out and ready. Jonathan and Rourke pointed their weapons at each other, as Maggie and Miky crouched holding each other between them.

“Goddamnit, Veyne. Let them go,” said Rourke.

“Do you have a name for me?” said Jonathan.

“Let them go!” said Rourke.

“You have a lot more to lose than I do,” said Jonathan, “so you'd better give me a name.”

“You killed Mykola Chernenko,” said Rourke. “He’s a street-level kid–goes by the name Niko. Black hair. Dice tattoo on his neck. Remember him?”

“I killed a lot of people in the last 24 hours,” replied Jonathan. “I kind of lost track.”

“Oh my God,” whimpered Maggie.

“It’s going to be alright, baby,” said Rourke.

“What does this dead Niko have to do with my family?” said Jonathan.

“His uncle is Mikhailo Chermenko, you idiot,” said Rourke. “Main Street Misha.”

Jonathan was a bit stunned by the realization and uttered, “Shit.”

“Yeah,” said Rourke. “So you gonna drop the gun and let my family go, you fucking maniac?”

“I’m not dropping this gun,” said Jonathan, “and you need to let me leave.”

“Maggie,” said Rourke. “You and Miky get up and walk towards me.” Maggie and Miky did as they were told, and the Rourke family walked out of the house, followed by Jonathan. Jonathan and Rourke kept their guns pointed at each other until Jonathan reached his car, and the Rourke family entered their home and shut the door.

That night, Jonathan returned home, once again covered in blood, and exhausted beyond what he thought were his limits. He entered his home and turned the light on in the kitchen. He walked over to the sink and washed his hands. As he rinsed them under the faucet, he rubbed the tattoo on his left hand that read, “Remember Marcus.” Jonathan quickly dried his hands and sat down at the kitchen table. He pulled out his cell phone and called Rourke. As the phone rang, he began to hear a vibrating sound coming from the other room. He remembered seeing a flash of light and hearing a loud bang. He remembered Marcus one last time, and then he didn’t remember anything at all.