In horror, I watched as Tommy slowly raised his head to stare back up at my father.
“What the hell,” one of the women breathed, her voice shaking.
There was no blood, no shatter of bone…nothing. Just a dark circle in Tommy’s forehead where the bullet had passed.
“What the fuck are you?” Someone whispered.
Tommy’s eyes spun to the man who had spoken, “I’m Tommy Taffy. And I’m not going anywhere.”
My mother suddenly pointed to the corner of the room, her hand trembling, “Gas…get the gas…”
Megan’s mother went to the far corner of the room and picked up a small red can. I could hear the slosh of gasoline and I smelled it in the air.
My father grabbed the can from her hand, his eyes wide and never leaving Tommy. Without a word, his upended it over the bound man, soaking him.
Tommy kept smiling, “Hehehehehe.”
Another father passed my dad a box of matches.
My father struck one, his hand hovering in the air, “Go back to hell, leave us alone.”
Tommy grinned wider, “Hell is going to seem like a fantasy when I come back for you.”
My father dropped the match and Tommy burst into flame. He didn’t scream, he didn’t thrash …he simply burned.
As his face began to melt, his eyes shifted and suddenly he saw me.
“Hehehehehehehe.”
Heart exploding in my throat, I fled back to my room, tears streaming down my face. From the safety of my bed, I eventually heard the neighbors leaving, relief in their voices.
Two weeks later, Tommy came back.
