Free Confluence Point by Mark G Brewer

eliminating the carrion of society before they rob the innocent of precious life.
    She pulled her chair around to face him, taking both his hands in hers.
    [It can't be easy facing the things you do. You shouldn't have to face that burden alone, certainly not feel guilt; would it help to share some of it with me?]
    He looked at her in surprise. [Oh - no, no, no, you misunderstand me; I don't feel any sadness or guilt about it, that's what I've been wondering about.]
    [Sorry?] She sat up, surprised.
    [Well, do you think I should . . . you know, feel bad about it, because truly I don't. I feel nothing.] He sat back suddenly. [You don't think I'm a psychopath do you?]
    She pulled back now, smiling. [I don't think so - and anyway, you do feel something about it; I've heard you singing happily while you work.]
    [Hmm,] He looked off again, thinking about what she'd said, [You're right, I'm not without emotion . . .] and at the thought he perked up considerably. [This is why I talk to you Regan; you make me feel so much better about things, I'm almost eager to get back into it.] He did seem much happier.
    Sitting where she was, her back to the window now, she caught sight of movement over Ham's shoulder and shifted slightly to better see what caught her eye. Goosebumps broke out on her arms and a flash of chill alarm shot down her spine.
     
    Leaning, one shoulder against the wall and just inside the door, was a rather dapper man with mustard stove pipe trousers and winkle picker shoes. He seemed posed there, one hand to the chin; thumb propping the jaw and forefinger resting up over his lips. His weight was on one foot, with the other leg bent and crossed at the ankle, resting on the winkle picker toe. He was looking at her intently.
    She couldn't help herself, Regan's eyes gaped and her eyebrows rose in astonishment. They made eye contact and he pushed off the wall to stand tall, preparing to come over. Ham, with his back to the man still seemed oblivious to the drama unfolding behind him.
    It was at that point Regan noticed the tip of what looked like a blue aluminum bat waggling, only just in sight in the hallway, as if someone was testing its weight. As the strange visitor tentatively stepped forward the familiar tall gracious woman, hair in a bun with long white dress trailing, stepped out behind him and filled the doorway. It took only a second; from behind her back the woman drew the blue baseball bat, raising it in one motion above her head to grasp it with both hands. At the top of its travel she grimaced, tensing, summoning the strength for what clearly was going to be a powerful downward swing.
    Regan saw the man was smiling at her warmly in greeting and desperately she pushed up from the table, one hand on the surface, the other rising in protest as she screamed with all her might " Hilaryyyyyyy! "
     
    Startled, Hilary hesitated in mid swing; bat still high, her eyes now locked on Regan. The visitor turned, spied her and crouched in horror, then in one fluid movement darted in to punch the gracious lady hard in the stomach. In a pixilated blur Hilary seemed to dissolve for a moment then reappeared on the floor by the door.
    In a flash Ham was on him, forcing the man to the floor, and wrestling him onto his back. They struggled together as Regan pushed out from behind the table, wincing as she saw Ham using his elbows to pin the man's arms and scrambling to dig his thumbs into his eyes.
    She grimaced, "Ham, stop, he wasn't trying to hurt us."
    "Like fuck," Ham yelled as he dug his thumbs in harder, the man squealing in pain and clawing at his hands, "He . . . hit . . . Hilary!"
    Regan hauled at Ham's shoulders toppling him off the man who rolled into a ball rubbing at his eyes with blood appearing to dribble out from between his fingers.
    This is too weird for words!
    The dapper man pushed himself back across the floor, shuffling on his backside, putting distance between himself and Ham until he was brought to a stop by