"Christ Binh, shut the door! My pecker's hanging out!" he said, a look of mild annoyance on his face.
Binh stumbled backward. He dropped his snacks and drink and continued to back away. His head began to swim. Paul emerged with a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Hey man. Come back inside. I'll explain everything to you."
Paul wasn't angry or crazed. He was patient and gentle.
Binh felt the tug of forced sleep. He couldn't afford it now, but it was coming.
"Hey!" Paul said, moving on him.
Everything blurred and dimmed.
"You're going under buddy! Your eyes are rolling away! Stop before you fall and break your neck."
Binh tripped and went to the hard gravel. Before the void swallowed him, Paul said, "You'll understand when you come back, Binh."
***
No dreams this time. Just thick, black sleep.
When his eyes opened, the world was fuzzy. An image sharpened in front of him. It wasn't one he wanted. Paul crouched over Tomás' mid-section. Tomás' head faced the wall and jerked as Paul pulled at his body. He was dead. That much was evident. His good eye was shut but his dead eye remained vigilant.
Binh tried to rise and realized he was tied to a chair. His arms were pulled and joined behind his back. His ankles were roped to the chair legs. He heard a whimper. He turned back and saw Martha, still strapped to the bed. She had her eyes closed. Tears and snot stained the gag in her mouth. Binh noted that he wasn't gagged.
He turned back and Paul was staring at him. He was sitting on his bare ass and his hand was stirring inside Tomás open stomach. Paul's face and chest painted with blood, he smiled. Flashing his red pearls.
"Annnnnnnd we're back. You weren't out long," he said, pulling something slick and purple from the hole in Tomás. He brought it to his mouth and bit it.
Binh had to fight the urge to vomit. "Paul, what the fuck are you doing? Jesus man," he muttered.
Paul shoved the rest of the organ into his jaws. He held up a finger and chewed fast and hard. "You were going to find out . It's better it happened now," he said, speaking from the side of his stuffed mouth.
He took a towel from the floor and mopped his face and chest. He walked over to Binh. He acknowledged Martha as he came. "I know sweetheart. It'll be over soon. I promise."
He kneeled and leveled his eyes at Binh. He looked oddly compassionate. "That stuff you thought you saw? Me getting my head caved in? Killing that gang with my bare hands? It happened. It wasn't a hallucination or dream. You saw it the way it went down."
"But how? What are you, Paul?" Binh pleaded.
Paul shifted his right shoulder toward Binh. A bandage rested on it. The dressing was soaked with blood. He peeled it away and a nasty, deep bite marked his skin. It was black and clear sickness oozed from it.
"It all started with this," Paul said.
"What? Do you have rabies or something?" Binh said.
Paul chuckled. "No man. The story is a bit of an omnibus, but I'll try to give you the cliff notes."
He grimaced and pressed the bandaging back into place. He sat cross-legged on the rug in front of Binh. He got comfortable for the story.
"Binh, I'm 652 years-old," Paul said. "I was born and reared in central Russia. In a city called Ryazan. My family were part of the Slavic settlers that founded the city. Ryazan was a battered and fractured principality. We were invaded all the time by the damned Cumans.
"I was a butcher. No surprise there, right? In 1360, there was a small recurrence of the black death in Ryazan. I caught it. I was a bachelor, so I wasted away alone on my small deathbed. I was feeling pretty fucking sorry for myself. I regretted not having a wife and children. But I also felt pretty blessed that I didn't have to watch my family die. That I was going to the pyre alone."
Paul paused and his face darkened. "I had a neighbor. He was a goat herder. Arkady Vasiliev. He was a loner too. Tall guy with blond hair. Tough to read. He never displayed an obvious emotion. He was friendly enough. But cut off. People thought him odd. I don't remember what my name was back then. But I haven't forgotten his."
The story was too deep and detailed to be mere fantasy. But Paul was a heavy reader.
"How did you get the bite?" Binh asked. He didn't believe the tale. But he was desperate to hear it.
"I was near the end. I snapped out of my delirium. Arkady stood over my bed. The only time I had anything to do with him was when he had an animal to slaughter and clean. I prayed he was there to put me out of my misery. But I was too weak to beg for release. He came over to me and knelt to my ear and spoke."
Paul recited something in Russian. Then he translated for Binh. "You will never die. And neither will the hunger. Then he ripped open my shirt and tasted my shoulder. I felt it, even in the throes of death. I still feel it. The wound that will never heal."
Paul stood and started to pace a bit. "I burned with fever. I prayed for death. And then the hunger came. I prayed harder. I needed meat. But not the meat I was accustomed to. I knew mutton or chicken wouldn't sate it. I fought it. But you can't defeat it. The hunger always wins. There was enough chaos and death in Ryazan to hide my first meal. Arkady had fled. I never saw him again. When I had the strength, I left that rotted city. I walked, never aging. Just going on. And on."
Paul paused. His eyes trailed off as he spoke again. "Nothing behind me. Lifetimes drowned, buried, and forgotten. Memories come to me on occasion. Like ghosts. But they're in jagged, broken pieces. They flip by, but I can't grab them. They play in my head like a slide carousel that's going too fast. There's nothing behind me. I wander. And I wander. I always move. Forward. Forever."
Behind Paul, Tomás' body quaked. His head stirred off the ground. His good eye popped open and he tried to stand. Binh saw into the black hole of his chest as Tomás rose. There was nothing there. No heart. No lungs. Just ribs. There wasn't anything capable of powering Tomás.
"Paul!" Binh said, looking past him.
Paul turned and saw Tomás. "Oh shit," he said. He ran over and grabbed the knife which rested next to the rising, eviscerated corpse. Paul grabbed the zombie's hair and stepped behind him. He sawed the head off in four motions. The body slumped back to the floor. Paul tossed the head, with Tomás' bewildered expression still locked on it, away.
He walked wide-eyed back to Binh. "Yeah, you have to make sure you take the head off or that there's nothing left but bone. Because they'll rise, and you can start an epidemic that way. And that wouldn't be good for anyone."
Binh's shocked eyes traveled back to Paul's face. "You're telling the truth."
Paul gave a grim nod. "I don't know how the hunger started. Where it came from. When it hits you, you have to feed it. It comes every couple of months. There are others out there. I've met two of my kind in my travels. Through dumb luck. A lot of us wander. We can't commit to an area or a persona for too long."
"What happened to them? Where are they?"
"I ate them," Paul confessed sheepishly. "We can kill our own kind. And we're compelled to. We don't co-exist. Everything is on the menu. Our only loyalty is to the hunger."
Paul turned Binh's chair in Martha's direction. She wasn't straining or crying anymore. Her eyes were vacant. No one was home.
"Martha there, she took the spot reserved for you."
Binh glanced at Paul's face, which rested on his shoulder. Paul's breath tickled Binh's neck. It was creepy.
"You were going to eat me, Paul?"
Paul walked around and sat on the edge of the bed so he faced Binh. He placed his knife on the bedspread. "It wasn't personal. It's all random. While I sat in that diner, I thought, the first one that walks through that door. That's who I'll eat. You pulled the short straw. It's the system I use that keeps things fair. The first one system. When Tyler started in on you, it sealed the deal. I had the perfect opportunity to gain your trust."
"Why did you change your mind?" Binh asked.
"It happened when Tomás and hi
s goons ran us off the road. You knew you had no chance. But you still tried to save my life. Now, I may seem calm and centered most of the time. Truth is, I don't feel much. Not anymore. It's part of the curse. And maybe the only consideration found in it. But you still touched me. I didn't have it in me to eat you after that. So I killed everyone but Tomás. I tied him and put him in my trunk while you were out. You're actually lucky it went down like it did."
"Why Martha?" Binh asked.
"I know what it takes to feed the monster inside. I realized Tomás wouldn't be enough. So I added her to the buffet."
Paul stood and climbed over Martha. She didn't acknowledge him. Martha lay there like the bedspread. He arched above her, like a lover that was about to descend and take this woman.
"Binh, you have to watch this. You need to see every ugly moment involved. This is going to be important for you to handle."
Martha stared far away. She didn't flinch when Paul lowered his face to her neck. He opened his mouth, wider than Binh would have thought possible, and bite into her throat. She jerked and her eyes widened. Paul bit deeper, squeezing her breast in the passion of the hunger. Quickly she died, and Binh was grateful for that.
Paul growled and bucked and burrowed his teeth further into her. He arched up, grunted ferally, and picked up his knife. Martha's head came off in one stroke. Paul threw it over Binh's head.
Paul's whole body shook and his face twisted. He looked possessed by an unholy spirit animal. He slammed the knife between Martha's breasts and cut down to the tip of her pubic hair. He ripped the skin back and dug in. Binh heard the sound of her breastplate crack open.
Paul's eyes widened as his hands unlocked her. He hauled her meat out, two handfuls at a time. He devoured it so quickly that Binh was sure he would choke himself. This crude excarnation should have made Binh too queasy to observe. But he couldn't turn away from it.
Paul scraped inside the chest cavity, but there was little left inside her. He gave up and started stripping the skin off of Martha with his teeth. Binh imagined the rhythm of a hot dog eating contest at the sight. Paul sucked her flesh off in a short time. He began to calm and settle, but he still licked at her bones.
He belched and rested his back against the wall. He looked dazed. "It gets you high, eating like this. The more you eat, the more buzzed you get."
He turned to the bones he had uncovered. "Martha, I thank you for the sacrifice you have made."
Paul stood. He was unsteady. "I'm going to shower. I need to get clean and sober up."
He walked beyond Binh.
"Paul, can you please untie me? I won't try to run."
Paul stopped his crooked plod and turned back.
"Sorry, but I don't believe that. Not yet. I'm doing this for you. If you run out of here and work yourself up into a fit, you might get run over."
"Can you at least face me toward the wall? I don’t want to look at Martha's bones."
Paul came back, lifted the chair, and pointed it at the wall.
"I won't be long," he promised, walking away.
Binh noticed a small painting over the light switch. It was of a small house on a hill. A family frolicked on the porch. They were small, indistinguishable shapes without faces. They were shadows- impressions of people. Binh didn't want to think of the nightmare on either side of him, so he lost himself in the painting. He wondered if the house existed in a real place, or if the image was a fanciful Shangri-La.
He heard Paul emerge from the bathroom. Paul untied him from the back, and then walked around and squatted in front of Binh. He wore jeans and his hair was wet. Paul spoke as he freed Binh's legs.
"Listen, I have a proposal. It's lonely out here. I could use someone who I can talk to. Someone I can be honest with. You've seen my real face. You're all alone. And you have a condition that makes you vulnerable. Come with me. I'll protect you. You know I can. I promise I won't eat you. Unless you die. If you die I'm going to eat you. I won’t lie about that."
Binh wasn't sure where he was on it. That he had to think about it scared the shit out of him. "You want a relationship with me?"
"A friendship. In the platonic sense. Road buddies. But I'm defintiely Crosby," Paul clarified. "It's not that you don't do it for me. I don't have a sex drive. It's part of the curse. The libido disappears."
"If they catch us, I'll get the needle, too," Binh argued.
Paul snickered and shook his head. "No. I can't be caught. Don’t ask me why. I can't explain it. It just doesn't happen. There's some kind of force that keeps us hidden. I'll give you a demonstration."
Binh heard a car pull into the motel lot. Paul grinned.
"Right on cue," he said.
He walked over to the night stand and reached into the top drawer. Where the bible was usually slept. He pulled out a gun he had lifted from the cartel. He snapped the safety off and shoved it into the back of his pants. He lifted Binh by his arm. "Come here."
Paul guided Binh to the window and pulled the corner of the curtain back. The sun had just risen. It was still pushing the night aside. A Highway Patrol car rested in the middle of the parking lot. Two officers stepped out of the vehicle and started walking toward the room.
Binh knew this was a nasty mix. The cops couldn't save him. And he didn't know that he needed saving. Even if he rebuked Paul's offer, he didn't think he'd die for that decision.
"Why are they here?" Binh asked anxiously
"I called them," Paul announced. "Bathroom phone! I dialed 911 and told them there was a domestic dispute going down. Now stay here and watch. Don't leave this room."
Paul walked to the front door, jerked it open, and marched toward the officers.
"Thank God! There was a bloodbath in there!" Paul cried."Some crazy Chinese guy was eating people! But I stopped the maniac!"
He reached behind and pulled the gun from his pants.
"With this!"
The officers pulled their guns.
"Whoa! Relax mister! Put that on the ground! Now!" one of them barked.
"Don't you tell me what to do, you fucking pig!" Paul screamed indignantly. He whipped the weapon in their direction.
They fired. Paul's body jerked and was hammered back. They unloaded on him. He fell to the ground and died.
Binh covered his mouth and choked. The crazy bastard had gotten himself slaughtered. He didn't know which scenario frightened him more. Paul staying dead. Or not.
The police studied the corpse and fed fresh clips to their weapons. Then they continued toward the open door, guns trained ahead. Binh watched in horror as Paul rose to a sitting position behind them.
Paul lifted himself off the ground and pivoted toward the Highwaymen. His chest and torso riddled with bullet wounds, he smiled deviously and crept up on them.
Binh couldn't watch it. He had to warn them. He moved to the door and raced outside.
"Behind you!" he screamed, pointing at Paul.
One of the cops fired on Binh. A slug entered his chest. The force drove him to the ground. He sucked in air and felt fire in his lungs. His eyes went to the landing above his head. He saw a wasp nest. It was pregnant with workers, waiting to hatch. The pain in his chest thickened and spread. He was having a hard time catching his breath.
He heard screams and gunfire. They sounded a million miles away. The chaos didn't last long.
Paul's worried face stared down at him. "Dammit Binh! I told you to stay put!"
Paul surveyed the wound and grimaced. "This is bad, Binh. Really bad."
"Don't you fucking eat me," Binh managed through the inferno in his chest.
He felt the darkness tug at his brain. Harder than it ever had before. Binh knew he wouldn't come back from this one. The world ended.
***
In the dream, Binh saw the house on the hill from the motel painting. The shadow family was gone. Sweet Daddy lingered by the door in their place. He opened his arms and beckoned Binh. He was only a large smear of paint on the canvas. An impression
of a person, made in three are four dabs of burnt sienna. Binh wanted to go to him, but didn't. He tried to remember what Sweet Daddy's face looked like. But he couldn't form the image in his mind.
Binh woke and sucked on air. He was in the woods, propped against a tree. He looked down at his chest. There was blood and a hole in his shirt that led to nothing. He ran his hand over the skin on his chest. The wound was gone.
Binh looked to his left and the highway patrolmen rested next to him. Broken and dead. He felt hot. His entire body was on fire. Binh's head thudded.
He looked up. Paul was there. He put a plastic gallon of water at Binh's feet. He bent up and looked at Binh. There was remorse on his face, but it was only an approximation.
"I'm sorry Binh. I almost got you killed, showing off like I did. I couldn't let you die. Not like that."
Paul pointed to Binh's right shoulder. Binh lifted his sleeve and saw a reddened bandage there. He gave a small grunt and pulled the shirt back down.
"I gave you the bite where I got mine. We share a birthmark. I could have been a dick and bit you on the ass. That would have sucked," Paul teased. "You don't have to worry anymore. Nothing is going to hurt you. And you aren't going to black out again. The narcolepsy died with your humanity."
Binh just stared at him, as a rising pain shook his guts. He couldn't talk. He was certain the act would contribute to the agony that rocked his body.
"You'll get used to the sting of the bite. You learn to live with it. Wash it and dress it every day, if you can. The dirtier it gets, the more painful it gets. As far as the hunger pains-"
Paul motioned to the dead cops. "You'll want to start on them before they get ripe. It's the best way for your first meal. They won’t fight back. And don't forget what to do when you're done."
Paul ran a line across his throat with his finger. "Don't leave anything that might get up again."
Paul tossed Binh's bag near him. "I scraped two grand from the pockets of Tomás and his crew. Half is in your bag. You should strip when you eat. You won't go through so many clothes that way. The water is to wash up when you're done."
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