Have you ever hit your ankle on something before? Like the legs of a chair, or the couch? Yeah, we all have. But not intentionally, you know? See, peroneal tendons are the culprit. When they get hit, it causes them to become inflamed, leading to long-lasting pain. Think of how much it hurts when it happens on ACCIDENT, now think of what it would feel like to get hit with a large thick rock right on that tendon with the strength of a strong 17-year-old boy.
"AHH! FUCK!" Montgomery screamed as the rock crushed his ankle bone, and the peroneal tendons near it. The skin was immediately red, I had intentionally not used my full power. He held his foot while still screaming. "Jesus Christ! What the fuck is wrong with you, Vince?"
"Tell me what happened," I said. "With Regan."
"I don't know what you mean," He said in a little voice. "What are you. Talking. About?"
"You know. What we came here to discuss. You know. Don't act stupid." I raised the rock again. "You were there when he raped her. You helped. I'm disgusted at you." He smiled a wicked smile.
"You should have heard the way she cried. Asking for help. Hell, she even said your name." He said but couldn't finish because I brought the rock down hard on his already inflamed ankle. He wouldn't be jumping anytime soon. "Fuck! Please stop!"
"Shut the fuck up!" I yelled, my hair falling into my face. "Just shut up! I'm done with your lies and manipulation. I cannot believe you would help him do that and lie about it. Pathetic." He was crying now. Monty had a tough, outer shell, but once broken, he was just a pussy crybaby. He smiled again, looking like he was going insane.
"Oh, Vincent. You could have helped her."
"SHUT UP!"
"YOU COULD HAVE HELPED HER WHEN I WAS PUTTING THAT PIPE-" I smashed his ankle. I did it twice. Three times. The skin was completely torn away. The broken and cracked bone was protruding from the site. Yet I didn't stop. He was yelling and hitting me, which did nothing to stop what I had to do. I was over this. I threw the rock into the pond. I bent down next to his face, smiling myself.
"I am going to kill you. Sooner or later. And Monty," I said. "If you tell anyone what happened here, everything is getting out. And I will come for you with better tools to make you scream, okay?"
"F-fuck you. Fuck you." He passed out. I called an ambulance to come pick him up. But not before I moved him closer to the road. When they got here, I had my story ready.
"Please, my friend is hurt. He ran out into the road and a car crushed his ankle." A likely cause, the ankle could easily have been crushed by a car, what they didn't know couldn't hurt me. They bought my story, surprisingly. Easy. Everyone thought Montgomery Dean Montross was the master manipulator, but no. No, no. I was. And no one knew it.
I walked home, through the woods, through the shortcut, past Angie's house, and not quite to my own house. I was going somewhere else.
Regan Vantse came from a poor household, just like I did. Like mine, his mother had died years ago, and his father, Derek Vantse, had a low-paying job at Smithstead Auto, unlike mine. They lived in a house similar to ours, with a small mortgage and bill costs. I liked his father and I liked him. But now I had reasons to think otherwise. I moved slowly through the backyard, not thinking of what I had just done to one of my best friends. I had my hood up and was stalking my way to the window. I peered through the blackout curtains and saw his father sitting at the kitchen table. I had been to dinner at this house numerous times, I knew it like I knew my own. Seven bottles of beer sat at the table, some half full, some empty. A coping method. He held his bald head in his hands and looked to be asleep, or passed out drunk. He was neither. He looked up at the ceiling, almost to admire the design. He was crying and looked as broken as I was. But he was nowhere near me. I thought of checking in, but no. Would draw attention.
"Worthless." He yelled suddenly, throwing and shattering a bottle against the wall. "Fucking worthless!" He threw another. He pounded the table. And did something heartbreaking. I noticed a box of pictures on the table, which I recognized immediately. It was a box of very old pictures, that we had looked through countless times. Dating back to Regan's infant years, and when his mother was still alive. Derek brought his bottle of beer up high and poured it into the box. He produced his lighter and proceeded to light the pictures aflame. This broke my heart. I hated Regan for this, but I sympathized with his father. They were always close, and he had now ruined the rest of their lives. Derek left the room, with the fire still burning bright. I gave him his privacy. He needed it.
I spent an hour just aimlessly walking the town, with my headphones quietly playing instrumentals. This town was nice, it was the people who weren't. I didn't get as many stares and wasn't being talked about. Although it was still in everyone's mind. I walked to the river right outside the county police station and sat on the small bridge edge. I took my headphones off to listen to the water and felt like jumping in and never coming back. But I didn't. I must've stayed sitting there for a while because when I started home the sun was slowly dimming in the distance. I walked my route, no shortcut this time, and came up my street. I paused and looked at my house from the half-mile distance. I turned my head. There was a car parked in our driveway.
A police car.