Something Wicked this Way Comes Chapter 4: Preparation

The sounds of scrubbing and of metal sliding against itself were the first thing Jolene, called Joel by her friends, heard as she returned from the land of sleep. Ever so slowly she rose into a sitting position holding her pounding head. “You fainted. Hit your head pretty good when you fell.” A familiar voice said from inside the kitchen. Her eyes widened as she remembered the voice. Slowly she picked herself up to her feet and walked around the corner to see a figure in a long black coat sitting at the kitchen counter cleaning a shotgun diligently.
“Michael?” she asked her voice shaking slightly. The figure continued cleaning the weapon, removing the barrel and cleaning the chamber with an oiled rag. “Michael is that you?” she asked again taking a step towards him. She reached out to grab his shoulder.
“I’m fine Joel. Just busy.” He finally replied not taking his attention away from the gun in his hand. She jumped at the sudden appearance of his deep, masculine voice. She dropped her hand back to her side before stepping around the counter to get a better look at him. His face was the same as the last time she saw it, other than being a little redder like he had gotten a sun burn. His face was handsome and kind while still holding a dangerous light about it. He was cleanly shaven other than his mustache and goatee that were perfectly trimmed and kept.
“Are you going to say something or just stare at me?” Michael asked his voice sharp with annoyance. He never liked being stared at, even if it was for his good looks.
“Michael what happened to you? I-I mean you’re supposed to be dead.” She said to him nervously. For the first time that night Michael looked into her eyes, a hellish flame burning bright within them. In them she saw hundreds of screaming men and women in fields of fire and violence beyond decryption; she swore she could even smell the burning flesh. It scared her more than anything she could remember.
“I am dead Joel. I’m just a dead man on leave.” He stated as he was talking to a child. Something about those words sent a bitter chill down her spine; it was as if someone had stepped over her grave. “I died and was judged for every deed, good or bad, I’ve ever done.” He said to her as if he was speaking of the weather.
“Where’d you go? Where were you sent?” Joel asked fearing the answer.
He looked at her the fire in his eyes seemed to grow brighter and more intense. “Guess.” He said venomously with a hiss. He returned to cleaning the shotgun that was still in his hands, working more furiously on removing a small bit of rust. The house was unnaturally quiet for a long time, the only noise coming for Michaels cleaning.
Joel looked down at the arsenal he had gathered from the many hidden gun lockers hidden around his home. There was his AR-15 along with his S&W 500 and two Peacemakers. Then there was the Remington 870 he was currently working on.
“What are doing with all these guns Michael?” she asked him, getting no response in return. “Michael what are you planning to do with all these guns?” she asked more firmly, again getting no response. “Michael!” she yelled at him.
He was out of his chair over the counter and on top of her his left hand gripping her throat tightly before she could even blink. His grip was strong as steel but also burned like an intense fire. His eyes seemed to glow with a hellish light in glee of seeing slowly turn blue. “Michael. . .” she choked out as she felt her brain begin to become oxygen starved.
Just before the darkness of unconsciousness overtook her his grip disappeared as quickly it had begun. She sputtered and coughed as she crawled away from him. She looked up as saw he was still seated in his seat hold the shotgun in one hand and the oil rag in the other.
“What the fuck was that?!” she shouted at him, her voice filled with anger and hidden fear.
“I intend to go hunting.” He said ignoring the question.
“Hunting for what?” Joel replied still angry.
“A back stabbing bitch.” He replied sharply while he reassembled the shotgun, punctuating his sentence with the sound of pumping the large firearm.
Her eyes widened in terror at his words. ‘He was going to go after Sara?’ She sat on the grime and dry blood covered floor looking up at him in surprise. “You’re gonna go after her?” she asked him soberly. He gave an almost overjoyed ‘yep’ to answer her. “Michael you can’t do that, you’ll be thrown in prison.”
“You can’t imprison a dead man.” He stated manner-of –factly as he gathered the many guns on the counter. He put the handguns in their appropriate holsters, the peacemakers on both sides of his hips while the 500 went in a right pit holster. He then hung the AR behind his back from his shoulder and carried the shotgun, heading towards the front door.
“Michael stop!” Joel shouted running after him. She reached for her service pistol to find its holster empty. With no other choose she stepped in front of him blocking his path with her body. “Michael I can’t let you do that!” she told him firmly. “If you want to leave this house you’re going to have to go through m…” she began. As she was talking Michael had open his left hand and turned it so his palm was facing her. There was a strange glow coming from it.
She looked down at his hand and saw a symbol that seemed to be tattooed into his palm, glowing in a strange upsetting red glow. She looked closer at it and saw that it was swirling strangely as it glowed making it hard to make out. Her eyes widened in terror as it solidified. Her body shook in fear as she crumbled to her knees, tears rolling down her face as she wet herself all the while muttering ‘Stop please stop’ over and over again just above a whisper.
He closed his hand into a fist. Joel fell into a crying ball hugging her legs tight against her chest. “I’m sorry Joel but I can’t let you stand in my way.” He said as he stepped up to the door opening it to discover several police cars parked in front of his house. He looked back down at her and said, “Guess you remembered to call for backup this time sis.” With that he stepped out of the building into the sights of the police standing in cover behind their cars and driver doors.
“Attention gunman! Throw down your weapons or we will open fire!” one of them said through a blow horn.
Michael smiled at the threat with a disturbing, maniacal smile. “For wicked deeds meet wicked ends, no mercy for the damned.” He said quietly with a strange laugh, just loud enough for the few closer policemen to hear. He raised his left hand toward the group of armed officers his palm open completely. Streaks of red light flew towards the group of vehicles and men. For a while nothing happened they all sat quietly looking around themselves to try and find what had happened.