Flypaper Con: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 4

by C. K. Vile

  The Hell-bitch covered her mouth. “Poor choice of words. Sorry.”

  Corpse smiled to herself. Hellen’s minor embarrassment at putting her foot in her mouth was a succulent nectar she would have to find time to enjoy in greater doses down the road.

  Her left eye twitched. She rubbed it. Little bastard, get it together.

  Hellen must have noticed. She leaned down with a dumb look of concern on her face. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Give me a second.” Corpse closed her eyes and inhaled. Ten seconds of rest, that’s all she needed. Ten seconds of meditation. Aside, of course, from the sixteen calculations she did in her head simultaneously.

  Fifteen floors. An average of forty rooms per floor. Roughly twenty-three rooms cleared per floor so far.

  It wasn’t fast enough.

  Given what she knew from months of monitoring the Myiasis community she could envision eight different scenarios in which Nick was already dead. Another fourteen in which he would be dead within the hour. Only four scenarios allowed for a safe return past that point, and one of those didn’t account for how many pieces he’d be in.

  It wasn’t nearly fast enough.

  The allotted ten seconds of rest Corpse allowed herself came to an end. It was time wasted. She’d kick herself over it later.

  It was too much information. Not enough sleep. Too much caffeine and sugar in the tank. Not enough… whatever else it was the human body needed to function. Cereal or something.

  Think think think think think.

  Jane tapped Corpse on the shoulder. “Is there anything I can do to—”

  Corpse flinched. Her fingers stiffened into claws. “Stop. Talking.”

  Jane backed away. She said nothing.

  “Wait.” Corpse lifted a finger. A focal point. That’s what she needed. Something to center her. “Headphones. I need headphones. Like thirty seconds ago. Noise-cancelling ones if possible.” She grinned. “And weed.”

  Hellen screamed down the hallway. “Corpse needs headphones. Noise-cancelling. And—” She stopped herself and bent down. “Seriously?”

  Corpse bared her teeth. “Did I fucking stutter?”

  Hellen shrugged and called down the hallway. “And weed. Please.”

  Twelve seconds later, headphones dropped into Corpse’s lap. Nice ones. Six seconds after that, a hand stuck a joint in her mouth while another flicked a lighter. Corpse looked up and saw Starla wink at her.

  Note to self: Reconsider the whole conquering the world with Maggots thing. Definite benefits.

  Corpse plugged the headphones into her laptop and clicked autoplay on her go-to music app while she inhaled.

  Deep bass, drums and profane lyrics washed over her. The torrent of information pouring out of her screen condensed into a beam of laser-like focus. Maggots all over the building communicated their locations, observations, thoughts, theories and it poured over like a gentle rain.

  She extended her arms, palms out and took it all in.

  I am God here.

  To everyone else in the hallway, it looked like she’d lost her mind. That was okay. Everything children didn’t understand looked bonkers to them.

  So many pieces of information. I saw a guy. I heard a thing. She had to look at it all at once and find the patterns. Find the places they intersected.

  Corpse inhaled sharply.

  There.

  A cluster of reports from the eighth and ninth floors. Someone on the eighth said an awful ruckus was happening overhead. People on the ninth said similar things. All localized around a couple of rooms with no visual Maggot confirmation. It was a noisy black hole of information.

  She tossed off the headphones. “Got it. Maybe.”

  Hellen the Doubter looked at Corpse quizzically. “You think you found him?”

  “Again. Maybe.” Corpse closed her laptop, shoved it into her shoulder bag and stood up. “At the very least my mad genius brain says it’s as good a place as any to start.” She handed what was left of the joint to Starla and extended a hand. “My bat, Hell-bitch.”

  Hellen handed Corpse thirty-four inches of sweet aluminum smack down. “Lead the way, Spartacus.”

  Corpse tossed her bag over one shoulder and her bat over the other. “Ninth floor, motherfuckers. We haven’t one moment to lose.”

  Chapter 20

  “I’d hoped to have more time with you, really, but we need to move this along now because I made quite the mess next door and more than a little noise.” Delbert’s dog mask had dark spots spattered across it. His chat with their neighbor had not ended well.

  Nick tapped lightly at the pillow covering his left hand. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. They wanted to go for the vise on his right-sided opposite—unbind it, then go for the straps on his legs.

  Of course, the instant he did any of that, Delbert would beat him to death or carve him into meaty chunks or whatever it was the red haze between his ears told him to do. Best to wait a minute. The fact that he had a free hand was the only element of surprise he had.

  Brundlefly was transfixed again. He stood across the bed from Delbert like he was under hypnosis. The kid was a shitty escape accomplice.

  Come on, Brundle, get the fuck out. Go get help.

  “What happened?” Brundle asked the question as though he didn’t already know the answer.

  The man in the dog mask barked. “What do you think happened?”

  Brundle spasmed with fear.

  Delbert noticed. He reached out to the kid with a friendly hand. “Hey, sorry. I just—I just killed a guy. With my bare hands and the corner of a desk.” He laughed the way someone might if they wanted to break the tension at a party.

  Bail, you dumbass. Go, just go, what are you doing?

  The kid scratched at the back of his neck. “Okay… none of this is what I signed on for. So.” It wasn’t the most convincing performance, but it was a step in the right direction—toward that door. Toward any number of people who would come to the rescue.

  Delbert talked quietly, but beneath his thread-bare composure boiled a volcano of pure ire. “It is, actually, it really, really is.” He lifted a finger, wobbling it in the air. “See, I need you. I need you to kill Nick Dawkins for me. Then you can be… whatever you want to call it. King of the Maggots. His Royal… I don’t care. But you—you’re the one who has to do the deed.”

  The smart thing for Brundlefly to do was bolt; elbow-check the dog-masked maniac covered in a stranger’s blood and tear down the hallway screaming his head off. Delbert’s legs were in okay shape considering they had crabs sewn into them a few months back, but a spry kid like Brundle could surely outrun him.

  Do it, kid. Blast past this psycho and break for freedom or we’ll probably both die.

  Brundle tensed. His shoulders broadened. In his mind, he was the smartest guy in the room again. “Are you really the Administrator?”

  No, no, no, what are you doing?

  Nick felt his hand loosen under the pillow to the left of his head. Using it was an option, but he couldn’t reach Delbert from there if he wanted to. The best he could hope for was a shot at freeing his right hand from the vise. That would be a few seconds, minimum. The strap holding it in place would be a few more.

  Plenty of time for Delbert to strangle him, stab him, bludgeon him or dispatch him in any number of ways.

  All Nick could do was watch and hope the scene in front of him didn’t play out the way he feared it would.

  Delbert was on the verge of a total mental breakdown. His hands were all over the place, but his voice was a chasm. “I ask you to do one thing. Kill Nick Dawkins. Kill him and the stupid site is yours, I said.”

  “If it’s yours to give.” Brundle grinned. A moronic curve of the lips that screamed ‘I’m smarter than you’. “You’re not the Administrator.”

  Stupid fucking kid, you’ve killed us both.

  Delbert grabbed the lip of his mask and pulled. “I asked you to do one simple fucking thing.
” His rubber dogface stretched and stretched until it popped free with a snap.

  Sweat ran down Delbert’s face and dripped from his quivering lip. “Never mind. Fuck it. I’ll do it myself.”

  Recognition crept across Brundle’s face and sparked behind his glasses. “Holy shit. Youare Delbert Williams. The Cancer Man.”

  Delbert convulsed and his head cocked to one side. Then to the other. His processer seemed to be on the fritz. “What the fuck did you call me?” The words were low. Deep. Like lava spilling out.

  Nick yelled through the rubber ball in his mouth. What are you doing? Run. Run, you plebe.

  Brundle glanced at Nick out of the corner of his eye.

  The split-second that glance required was all Delbert needed.

  “Don’t you call me that. Don’t you ever call me that!” Delbert threw himself across the bed, clambering over Nick. His mass pressed down on Nick’s freshly healed leg. It had been weeks since he’d felt anything like it. The ball gag was the only thing that kept every guest in the building from hearing about it.

  Fresh blood from the guy next door smeared along the white linens as Delbert clawed at the boy. Brundle stumbled backward and collided with the room’s air unit. He hit hard. Nick grimaced for him.

  Delbert had every advantage in the world over Brundle. Size. Ferocity. A well of hatred for Nick and his fans that ran deeper than the Mariana.

  Brundle never had a chance.

  “You hear me, you little shit?” Delbert repeatedly plowed the kid’s head into the air unit like candy would come out of it. Every blow was loud enough to wake the dead—or hopefully—to get the attention of someone else on the floor.

  Nick seized the opportunity Delbert’s preoccupation with Brundle afforded him. He threw the pillow covering his left hand and grabbed the vise on his right. He gripped the handle and turned.

  Leftie loosey, leftie loosey, come on, come on.

  The vise loosened and the circulation returned to his hand. It didn’t help the pain. If anything, the returning blood flow woke it up.

  Brundlefly had some fight in him. He scratched at Delbert’s face and kicked his way out from under the brute.

  Nick yanked the ball gag down his face. “Brundle, run, fucking go.”

  Brundle tried. He pulled at the side of the air unit with one hand and pushed at Delbert’s face with the other.

  Then Delbert realized Nick was half free. He spun around, his eyes wide as saucers. “Dawkins.”

  It was Brundle’s chance. He scrambled to his feet and made it all of three steps before Delbert grabbed his ankle. Brundle went face down. Nick didn’t see the impact, but it sounded brutal. The kid might be less some teeth should he survive this.

  Nick fumbled at the strap holding his right hand in place. “Fuck, Delbert, you crazy asshole, what’d the kid ever do to you?”

  Delbert stood up and put a hand to his face. He pulled away fingers bathed in red. Brundle had nicked him good. “He’s a Maggot, Dawkins. One of your children. His only purpose in life is to inflict pain and suffering on people in your name. But not anymore.”

  At the end of the bed, a scrawny hand reached up and onto the sheets. Brundle pulled himself up and onto the space between Nick’s legs. Blood trickled out of his dark curly hair and down his forehead. “Nick…”

  “Run, kid.” Nick pulled at the strap holding his hand in place. Holy hell, it was tight.

  Delbert reached for the table behind him and picked up a massive steak knife. “Today he ends. And you end. And that’ll be that. No more Maggots. No more flies. Forest Down will be saved.”

  Nick ignored Delbert’s batshit rambling. “Brundle, behind you.”

  The kid flipped over on his back and reached up just in time to stop Delbert from bringing the knife all the way down.

  “Murder-suicide.” Delbert growled. “That’s what it’ll look like to everyone in the world. You spent all day giving Dawkins shit. You’re perfect.”

  Nick got his finger into the strap around his right hand. It was almost free. “Delbert, you dumb fuck. People don’t stab themselves to death. There is no way on Earth you get away with this.”

  “Nick…” Brundle was in a bad way. He had his hands wrapped around Delbert’s arm, but that damn blade was inches from the kid’s face.

  Nick kicked at the straps holding his feet. They didn’t give an inch.

  “I don’t care anymore.” Delbert’s face was a deep shade of red. “If it doesn’t work, fuck it. I’ll do anything to stop the cycle. To save anyone else who might wander into your insane games. I’ll kill you both. I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way.”

  Nick finally slipped the strap on his right hand. He sat up in bed and grabbed Delbert’s hand. He and Brundle’s combined strength was enough to move the knife away from the kid’s head a few inches. Brundle pushed himself up the bed. He was practically in Nick’s lap. An elbow jammed into Nick’s leg.

  “Ow, shit!” Nick lashed out and thrust his right fist into Delbert’s face. Lightning coursed through his hand.

  Voices in the hallway outside.

  Any and all help was welcome. Nick called out. “Help! If you can hear us, fucking help, kick the door down.” His voice was gravel, not nearly as loud as it needed to be.

  More voices. They weren’t moving fast enough.

  Delbert joined Nick and Brundle on the bed. He put in knee in Brundle’s crotch. Brundle’s arms went slack.

  Nick tried to hold Delbert’s arm in place. A hundred things fought against him. The angle was bad. His right hand was screaming from the vise. Brundle himself was in the way.

  A perfect storm of failure.

  The knife in Delbert’s hand plunged into Brundle’s throat. Blood spurted into Delbert’s face. The monster didn’t even blink. He grinned as his white teeth shone from behind a mask of crimson.

  Brundle gurgled something—words so garbled they could have been an ancient language. Nick pulled at the kid, but it was way, way too late for that. Brundle’s hand covered his throat for a few seconds, but then fell to his side as Delbert pulled the knife out and then immediately put it back.

  Nick’s throat got his attention. It was a bundle of raw nerves. He realized it was because he was screaming again. It was involuntary.

  Pounding at the door. Or was it the pounding in his chest?

  Delbert didn’t seem to notice. He stood up and pulled the knife out of Brundle’s jugular like he’d been cutting birthday cake, the red-velvet kind.

  “Too late.” Delbert walked around to the side of the bed. He looked at the knife in his hands. Even covered in Brundle’s blood, light bounced off of it and across Delbert’s crazy, slapdash eyes. “They’ll understand. Holly and the kids. They’ll understand what I had to do. I’m doing it for them. Them and the Littleberrys and everyone else in the quiet community you’ve shat in the heart of.”

  Nick swung wildly at Delbert, shouting and cursing all the while. He used words he didn’t know he knew. In his lap, Brundlefly stared up the ceiling with cold, lifeless eyes.

  Delbert reached into Nick’s flying fists and put his hand on the writer’s forehead. He pushed him back onto the bed and kept right on pushing until Nick’s neck was fully exposed. “You can’t be allowed to keep breathing. Not after all the damage you’ve caused.”

  His head pushed back on the bed, Nick had a poor view of Delbert, but he could see enough. The blood-drenched knife hung over his head. Beyond that, Delbert’s mad face, covered in gore and savoring what had become his life’s goal.

  Crash

  The room shook. A picture on the wall above the bed rattled.

  Red mist popped off the top of Delbert’s head with a clink and painted the wall.

  Delbert’s massive hairy hand pulled away from Nick’s forehead and jittered up to the top of his head. It was almost there when another clink brought him crashing to the floor.

  Nick raised his head. CorpseFlower stood where Delbert had seconds before, her blood-spatte
red aluminum bat in hand. She was ready for swing number three.

  Delbert wasn’t. He moaned out loud and reached upward from the floor.

  “Oh no you don’t, you…” Corpse brought the bat down with another skull-splitting thunk… “whoever you are.”

  Nick sat up and raised his hands over Brundle. He didn’t know where to start.

  Hellen was at Corpse’s back. “Jesus fuck.” She called out into the hallway. “Someone call a fucking ambulance.”

  She looked the kid over then put her fingers on his neck. In his neck, really. “God, I think he’s done.”

  Jane and Starla ran into the room. Jane screeched. “Is he okay? Is Nick okay?”

  Nick pulled at the straps on his feet. “I’m fine.”

  Jane ran to the far side of the bed and threw her arms around Nick. “Oh, thank god.”

  Corpse pushed her off him. “Will you give him some room, you—” She stopped mid-sentence and then continued through clenched teeth. “I mean… please, give the man some air. He’s clearly been through a lot.”

  It was the shock of it all. That was it. Nick was hallucinating. Corpse was being willfully nice to a Maggot. His webmaster and friend read his face. “She was… helpful. A lot of people were.”

  Jane got up and ran for the door. “He’s okay!” No small amount of commotion erupted from the hallway.

  Nick pulled himself out from under the poor dead kid sprawled across the bed. “What the hell is going on out there?”

  “I’ll explain in a few. “ Corpse nudged the Delbert-shaped lump on the floor with her foot. “Seriously, I don’t even know who this is.”

  Hellen tilted her head and studied the unconscious man. “Oh my god, is that—? I don’t even remember his name.”

  Nick pointed at his cane on the floor of the room near the television stand. “Could you—?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Hellen grabbed it and handed it to him.

  Nick pulled himself out of bed. He fished a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his pocket. He put a stick in his mouth and lit it. “Delbert Williams. Yeah, the guy Clark stuck crabs in.” He exhaled. “He didn’t recover well. You know…” He twirled his finger around the side of his head. “...up here.”