In the Darkness

It was night-time in the streets of Chicago, USA. It was the 24^th of December, 1952. The world was in the midst of a virtual war between The United States of America and The Soviet Union – in short, a ‘Cold War.’

It was 11 p.m. The shopkeepers and the customers had been very tensed that evening. Rumors were circulating that there was Communism spreading around the city. The city police were keeping a sharp eye over everyone. Those who got caught were either jailed or sentenced to death. Should he/she get caught….

Peter shrugged this feeling aside. What was he thinking? He absolutely did not have time for such thoughts. A painter of modern art, Peter A. Caters was suspected of Communism, three days earlier, when a policeman suddenly searched his house for evidence of his relation with it, after apparently hearing from neighbors that some of his artwork was expressing the ‘C’ word – hope you know by now know what that means!

Since then, Peter – fearing his arrest on a rumor – had immediately fled on the dawn of the next morning. He had been on the streets, running away from the police. There was a clear reason for that – he had been blacklisted as a ‘Communist’, and the police will not rest until he has been caught.

Peter stepped onto the pavement. He was – devilishly – handsome, but four days of helter-skeltering about the city had reduced him to a dirty skeleton. However, he had his strength up to his extreme point. He silently chuckled to himself. Just five days ago, he was one of the top artists of America, and was getting ready for a Christmas exhibition, and now here he was, in the cold darkness, in a state of fear and exhaustion.

From his dusty maroon overcoat, he pulled out his derringer, and checked that it had four bullets left in its barrel. Unlike the ordinary, Peter’s derringer – a Philadelphian – literally killed people (self-protection). During his run, he had already killed off two policemen with the derringer, making the Chicago Police even more vigilant on his whereabouts.

He walked down the pavement. His destination was to reach the Port of Chicago. There – according to the timetable – at 12 midnight, a carrier ship containing 100 tonnes of Parmesan cheese would set sail for Italy. His plan was to get on the ship, and escape this country. He didn’t know when he would return…..  or would he ever…

A tear slid down Peter’s eyes. His brother, Benjamin, was also accused of Communism, 1 year ago. He also tried to escape, but the policemen caught him red-handed. Oh, how they beat him! Afterwards, he was shot down. That chilling sight was trapped in Peter’s mind. If he ever came across …

Peter’s thoughts got interrupted, for he suddenly halted.

Standing about 8 feet away from him, he could see the silhouette of a man. When it came out closer, Peter gasped. A policeman! Peter’s hands grew cold. He couldn’t figure out his position – the darkness was gathering fast on the Eve of the Birth of our Creator. Peter chuckled to himself again, thinking whether Christ himself would come down to save him from …

‘Who’s there?’, a sharp voice rang out in the silent darkness. The question was made by that policeman (Arthur Jones). Peter camouflaged himself with one of the cold, dead, and black buildings nearby Not now, please don’t come here, Peter begged. The man lighted his torch, and in the faint light of it, Peter suddenly gasped.

The policeman was the same man who had shot Benjamin the previous October!

And then, fear became replaced with anger. Peter thought that this was the moment. Finally Christ gave him a brilliant opportunity: Take revenge on the man who killed his brother! Peter took the opportunity. Such things don’t come twice!

The man came closer and closer, still shouting out questions. Peter took out his derringer, and stood quietly against the wall. Any minute now, he thought. The darkness had begun to grow, making the place looking spookier by the minute.

The two were now just an inch away. Any minute. Though it was flurrying, yet Peter felt his brow covered with sweat.

The man moved closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer…..  And then the incident took place!

The torchlight fell upon the figure of Peter, who – with a voice as terrible as an animal – shot at the glass protecting the torch bulb. The light went out, plunging the very near surroundings into darkness. Then, he attacked the man by pouncing upon him. The man was so shocked that he temporarily got paralyzed for a few seconds. When he got back his senses, he found himself wrestled down to the ground. With all his strength, he threw his attacker – Peter – away from him.

With his walkie-talkie in hand, he contacted Captain Rogers, the Chief in charge of the avenue he was in.

‘Hello, hello, Cap’n Rogers speaking. What’s the matter Arthur?’

‘Sir, there is a man – possibly a thief – who just attacked me. Anyway, I caught that man!’

‘Good, Jones. Do you recognize him?’

‘Sir, I think it’s him, sir. That man the Chicago police have been hunting down for days.’

‘Well, who is it?’

‘I think it’s that painter, Pete – ahhhhhhh!’

The walkie-talkie dropped from his hands, and he fell down to the ground, holding his stomach, and moaning in intense pain. After some time, he closed his eyes, never to open again.

Peter’s devilish smile spread upon his mouth. After being thrown, he was motionless for some moments. Then he got up very quietly – it was easier for him to do that, in the bleak darkness – and shot one bullet in the direction of his stomach. Finally, his brother’s death was finally –

‘Shhhhhh – !’

He felt something going past by him at lightning speed. He turned back, and saw two shadow-like beings running towards. In the dim light of the half-moon, Peter was horrified. The Chicago Police were coming after him!

Peter did not remain there any longer. He ran down the road, and skillfully dodging the bullets targeted at him from behind. He wouldn’t let them capture him. He wouldn’t let…

Peter saw an alley, just in the direction left to where he was running. It was bleakly dark. Without thinking, he dived into that alley, and once again, camouflaged with one of the black walls of a house. He then, waited patiently for them to come, with the derringer ready in his hand.

At the command of Captain Rogers – who realized something was wrong – they ran and were chasing down the latest person accused of ‘Communism’. However, after reaching the entrance of the alley, they looked baffled. Where did that man go? Just five seconds ago he was in plain sight of theirs. It looked as if he just disappeared into thin air.

‘Maybe he hid himself in this alley’, the first one commented.

‘Then let’s search it.’ said the second one. So, they slowly turned their feet towards the alley.

They began searching. After some time, they suddenly stopped. An area of a wall of a house appeared to be darker than the cold darkness present in the surrounding area. The half-moon casted a spookiness over the whole place. Anyway, they stepped towards the darkness, only to have that darkness disturbed by a scream and a gunshot.

Before he was a painter, Peter had given service to the military for three years, and he knew almost all techniques of tricking enemies. When the two policemen were just two meters away, he opened fire, spending two bullets on the first one, and punching hardb in the face of the second one. Then, he shoved them away, and again started running through that alley.

Wait; was that the loud whistle of a ship? Peter saw, in front of him, in a writing board – barely visible …

‘THE PORT OF CHICAGO!’, he cried. He now bolted towards the port. How many times he fell, and how many bullets he dodged from the policemen – joined by another two – he didn’t know. In that bleak and cold darkness, the only light of Hope he could see was the ship!

He had just reached the port gates – towards freedom – when suddenly he stopped. Two policemen – always stationed at the gates and vigilant about the vagrant ‘Communist’ – stood before him, holding their revolvers high in the air. Within seconds, joined by the three policemen chasing him from behind, Peter saw himself surrounded by five policemen from all sides. Peter wanted to die. After so much, he had to end up like this? He realized that it was a ‘now-or-never’ situation. Either he will get himself arrested, or else…

Yes. He had one last trick.

Gathering all his strength, Peter hit at the right leg of the officer standing in front of him. The victim sat down on the ground, groaning in agony. Peter then rushed towards the end of the border, with the four policemen following him in hot pursuit. They had just nearly got him, when,

‘D – U – M!’

A shot rang out. The men rushed towards the end, and stopped abruptly at the sight before them.

Near the end, where the land gave way to water, was the body of a man. His lips were cut, soaking blood over his mouth. His eyes looked as if they wanted to come out, and in his hand, he gripped a derringer, which had only one bullet left before his death.

Peter, seeing that nothing was left to be done, he shot himself. The men just stood there, speechless. Then, they slowly departed from there, and then, there was the body of a famed painter lying near the cold water, and the silent, bleak, cold darkness.

***

And the next morning, when a man among the five policemen of yesterday came back for taking the body to the authorities. ‘Washed away, I guess.’ The man said to himself. For indeed, later towards morning, the wind had swept the light body towards the sea, and the body was carried away by the sea…. A small symbol, reminiscent of the witch-hunt mentality of suspecting ‘Communists’ occurring during the early 1950s.

M. Macabre

11.06.2020

Dedicated to: Ray Douglas Bradbury

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Image courtesy: A Christmas Carol (2009)