Evil Eye

James could feel the shove of a rough hand on his back as he stumbled forward; gravel kicked up and sprinkled over his boots. There was laughter surrounding him, occasionally the chink of glass and the puff of smoke. He smelled steak and sweat on his escort, who continued to propel James forward. James’s ears and nose had gotten finely acute since he wore a blindfold most of the time. The hot pot scents of body odor, alcohol, and decay clouded his nostrils, and he grabbed his nose to staunch the smell. 
The rough hand pushed again, and he tripped over a step. He instinctively pulled at his blindfold, but someone slapped his hands away. James noticed the noise level increased and knew he had entered an establishment, most likely a bar. Ragtime played in a corner while people laughed and talked raucously. A hand on each shoulder steers him around people and what he believed were tables and chairs. He places his hands on each item he passed, memorizing the trail. 
His body swung as he was lifted into the air; he was being held like a baby as the person carried him up a staircase, their feet thumping. He realized that being held almost felt comforting if only one of his parents held him. James searched his memories and couldn’t remember his parents’ touch. They were taken from him so long ago.
James was placed down, and he could hear rapping on a door. The door swung open with a swosh of air against his cheek. Rough hands on his back guided him inside; then the door closed. James felt his heartbeat increase; he knew what was coming next. He hated what he was and how he was used. At twelve years old, he had killed so many people that he had lost count. 
James was the bringer of death. At a young age, he learned of his curse; it wasn’t until he had fully developed his eyesight that he began killing. At first, it was insects, then a few cats and dogs. When it dawned on him that it was his eyes, James kept them closed. His parents took him to the doctor, where he accidentally killed one of the nurses.
The doctor advised them to keep James under a blindfold and not to have him consult with another doctor. Instead, his parents reached out to a local shaman who told them that he was cursed with the Evil Eye. James and his parents adapted to the curse by keeping James away from school and other places. It wasn’t until the day thugs showed up to shake his father down that his life changed for the worse. James had managed to kill one of the thugs with his stare, but he was knocked unconscious before he could get to the other.
“Look, I told Tommy that I was coming over to pay him,” a man said in a high-pitched voice.
It always started this way: the begging and the sobbing. James was sick of the people trying to convince Tommy’s thugs that they were good for the money, that the majority of the time he wanted to skip to the part were he kills them. 
“Oh, yeah. When was that?” Rough hands, also known as Brutus, asked. Unlike James, he enjoyed this part; he got off on how weak the debtors would get. 
“Last week! I’m pretty sure last week!” The man said.
James recognized the shift in the man’s tone; it was hopeful. He could imagine the man shaking his head.
“If that’s so, then why am I here?” Brutus said 
James could sense his large frame shifting, he was getting closer. 
“I don’t know, I don’t know! I swear I did!” The panic was back in the man’s voice.
There were staggering footsteps, a fist making contact with skin, and then stumbling back onto a table. James deduced that Brutus had punched the man. 
“Please don’t kill me. I have the money!” 
“I’m not going to kill you,” Brutus said and James could feel his callused fingers on his temple, ritualistically preparing to remove the blindfold.
“Oh, thank God!” The man said.
“James here, is going to kill you.”
“What? Your son?”
James felt a pang of surprise and anger. Brutus was nothing like his father. He knew nothing of kindness and love. He was the one who had snuffed all that away. 
“He’s not my son! He’s Tommy’s errand boy, but not the usual kind,” Brutus said and he ripped off the blindfold.
James blinked as he took in his surroundings. He was standing in the middle of a small room, with a metal framed bed and side table with a kerosene lamp on the side and an open door leading into a bathroom on the other side. In front of him was the knocked-over table and a small man. The man’s eyes were glazed, and he peered at James, the corner of his lip quivering. Sighing, James stared at the man.
The man’s body stiffened violently as if he was stabbed in the back. His pupils rolled up, disappearing, leaving only the whites of his eyes. Raising his arm, his fingers curled past their limits, the knuckles cracking under the strain. Blood streamed out of every orifice, eyes, nose, mouth, ears, and even his backside, the blood pooling between his legs. The man collapsed to the floor, he spasmed like a fish out of water.
Brutus walked past James, dropping the blindfold, and bent down to his one knee to check on the man. As James picked up the blindfold, he watched Brutus examine the body for a pulse. His fingers barely touched the man’s neck when an arm reached out and took hold of Brutus’s wrist. James saw a chance and took it.
James bounded through the door of the room and clattered down the staircase. He remembered to place the blindfold back on as he felt his way past tables, chairs, and people. He heard the ladies gasping and the men grunting as he pushed through into the graveled path outside. Swinging his head from side to side, James wondered how far back Brutus was. 
Running down the path, he barely missed a horse-drawn carriage; the horse whinied in protest. James’s breath burst out of him with each pounding step. The noise from the town faded as he caught the scent of pine and mud. His boots plunged into the softened Earth. He leaned forward, pulling his feet out gradually; he feared that it was costing him time. 
A blast from a car horn sounded in the distance. James froze. He recognized it as Tommy’s Ford Model T. It was the only Model T in town. James scrambled, using his hands and fingers to get through the mud. James tripped as he heard the car doors slam, scraping his knee on the surface. He realized he had never entered the woods before and had no idea of the layout. It occurred to him that he could remove his blindfold, he was so used to wearing it that it was part of his body.     
James ripped the blindfold off and peered back. Brutus and Tommy’s men were at the head of the path. They gazed at the woods but couldn’t see James because he was still lying on the ground, and twilight was nearing. He crawled forward, making his way deeper into the woods. Once on the other side of a vast bush, James stood and jogged over fallen branches and stones. He came across a clearing.
As his body shook, James tried to come up with a plan. He could kill one, maybe two of the men, yet he has never been put in a situation where he killed a group of people. He doubted it could be done since he had to focus on one person at a time, and it varied how long each individual took to die.     Crunching footsteps behind him alerted James that his time was up. He turned to face Brutus and the other men. Brutus had a piece of rope in his hand, dropping it, he grabbed the nearest person and shoved them before him. The man convulsed and fell to the ground. The other men staggered back as they watched the man continue to convulse. 
James saw the gleam of a gun hanging off the hem of his pants. Brutus had turned his back to him and was slowly approaching, the other men followed. Without hesitation, James ran and skidded along the ground, bumping into the dead man. He took hold of the gun and aimed. Four men fell, and another two, along with Brutus, remained.
Brutus was stomping towards him like an unmanned steam train. James rolled to the side and fired. It landed on the face of another man as Brutus plowed past James. The last man standing stumbled out of the woods. James saw Brutus turn back; his eyes closed. He pulled the trigger, but it bucked; no bullets were left.
James crab crawled away from Brutus as he gained momentum, his arms swinging in front of him. James thought to throw the gun at Brutus. The gun smacked into Brutus’s groin area, and he jerked, shoving his hand down between his legs. As Brutus bent over in pain, James staggered to his feet and took Brutus’s face between his hands.
Pushing Brutus’s eyelids up, James stared into his eyes. The memory of the day his parents were killed came back to him, along with rage and hate. It seemed to pour through him and out of his eyes like a snake slithering into Brutus’s skull. Brutus’s pupils disappeared into his head, and he shook violently. James had trouble holding onto his head, and he let Brutus’s body fall, keeping his grip on his eyelids. 
Blood poured out of Brutus’s eyes, nose, and ears; his mouth opened and a gush of blood tumbled out. James stumbled back and watched as the last remaining convulses shook Brutus.
“That’s for my parents, you son of a bitch,” James said, wiping his hands on his pants. 
Before leaving the woods, James grabbed a gun from one of the dead men. James still had to go after Tommy before he got to him first. Making his way out of the woods, James found Tommy beside Model T. He had a cane and wore shaded lenses. James saw he was smirking at him; he knew that James couldn’t hurt him while he wore the lenses. 
As James approached Tommy, he tucked the gun in the curve of his back. 
“James,” Tommy said and he pointed his cane at James. “You’ve been a bad child. Why did you run away? Don’t I give you everything you need?”
“I want to be free!” James said, his chest heaving with emotion.
“Come now. You know you can’t be free. No one out there would accept you. You’re a freak.”
‘My parents did! You killed them!”
“To be precise, Brutus did. I took you in because I felt bad for what he did.”
“No, you didn’t. You wanted me for your shakedowns! You made me kill people!” James felt himself losing control; his fingers itched to take hold of the gun.
“You are getting too emotional, my boy. Come, we will have dinner and talk some more,” Tommy said, and he reached for James.
“I’m not your boy!” James said as he pulled out the gun. Taking aim, he pulled the trigger. Tommy jerked back; his cane dropped to the ground. On his back, blood began to spread on his shirt and vest. Tommy sputtered, and his eyes fluttered shut. James bent down and picked up the cane and shaded lenses. Placing the lenses on, he entered the Model T. James returned to his childhood home for the first time in years.