A Grim Reunion
It was a lovely spring day outside, and somewhere a chorus of birds sang sweetly, but Greg Rizzo did not hear them. He was much too preoccupied to notice.
Greg stared up at the familiar house. The house was exactly where the master had said it would be. Every direction Greg had been given had been exact, down to the number of steps leading up to the door-13. Greg let out a grim laugh, that was appropriate. Before he had arrived here, at 156 Superior Ave, Atlanta Georgia, 30030, he had half hoped that the directions the master had given to him would prove incorrect, that which he already knew. But the master was never incorrect, and now here stood Greg, in a scene from his past, about to kill his best friend. He thought back to the master’s orders.
“This one’s at 156 Superior Ave, a Barry Tanner…A friend of yours?.... Perfect….Looks like his heart is about to give out…. He doesn’t bother to lock the door…. Do not let past friendships deter you…. Your compassion must stay quenched….If you still desire life there is but one way to complete your mission…. Destroy him.
Destroy him. Those were the words the master had used. Every other time he’d said kill, but this time Master said, destroy. What a day this was for fitting, albeit inconsequential details. Greg was doubtful that the master had intentionally changed his vocabulary today, but the discrepancy in word choice was oh so suitable. Those “other times”, many of them as it were, Greg had obeyed the master without a second thought. Now he was unsure; could he destroy someone he knew? No- more than that; could he destroy his best friend? Greg had thought little of this at first, but now he was nervous; the emotion filled his body for the first time in forty years. Now that Greg was at the doorstep, he felt his hands tremble as moisture streamed between them and the “accursed good-for-nothing apparatus” he now carried- six feet of oak and a crescent of steel. A one-way ticket to the master....