by Jon Sauve
This was getting hairy. I knew I was fucked if my next move didn't work. Problem was, I had very little time to strategize. Oogie was coming at me like a goddamn juggernaut, fast and pretty close to unstoppable.
There was a flash of moonlight on the machete blade as he raised it. It was still stained dark with Jacob's blood.
Thinking back on it, it's hard to really remember what happened next. I've struggled to piece it together, and I think I pretty much have the gist of it.
I took a risk. A gamble. It was a split-second decision. Oogie was too fast for me. No way I could take him out before the Machete was already on its course. The only choice I had, as far as I could tell, was to make sure the killing blow missed, or at least hit me somewhere non-critical.
That's what I did, without thinking or even being aware of what I was doing. I twisted down and to my left, tensed my legs, and launched myself to the side. I felt something slam me hard in the side, with enough force to throw me off my lateral course and shove me to the floor.
I didn't know whether I'd been gutted, and didn't have time to check. I had another chance now, though a slim one, and I took it.
Oogie's legs were right there. I am right handed, and I was on my left side. You can probably see where this is going.
I swung the ax at Oogie's ankle. In retrospect, I should have yelled "timber!" for the cool points. Maybe when I tell this story to my grand-kids I will add that detail in.
Oogie didn't expect it, or maybe he just didn't feel it, as out-of-his-mind as he was. It was a pretty nasty impact, taking half of his ankle away. I felt flesh and ligaments and muscles splitting. Blood came out, a lot of it.
Reality caught up and Oogie fell over. With the sudden shift in weight, his weakened ankle bone snapped with a noise loud enough to sting my ears. His cleaved leg folded around the ax head as he went down; I pulled it free quickly, before it could be pinched into place. My uncle used to do tree removals. I know just how stuck a chainsaw can get under the weight of a tree.
I sprang to my feet, using my new found advantage of having two functional feet, and removed myself from Oogie's machete range. It turned out to be a wise move. Almost as soon as he hit the floor he was sitting up again, tossing the machete around like a blindfolded fat kid trying to hit a piñata.
"Put it down!" I yelled at him.
The response was heartfelt and immediate. "Fuck you!"
I looked at the door. No one there. I was certain the whole hotel had heard all the screaming, but apparently no one had chosen to respond. If I had been wise, I would have ended Oogie right there. But I couldn't do it. Instead, I bounded over the bed and ran back into the hall. I slammed the door shut. Oogie's shouting followed me. The door was too decayed to block the noise. If anything, it amplified it.
My lantern was still there where I had left it, shining on, a buoy of light in a dismal black ocean. I stepped toward it, stumbling and weak. My little battle with Oogie had stolen much of my final reserve of strength. Adrenaline, or its after effect, was causing me to shake like a chihuahua. And Oogie was still screaming, more in anger than pain still, but thankfully no closer. I guess a severed foot was enough to take the edge off his insanity.
I told myself then, and tell myself now, that Oogie had been out of his mind for a long time before that night, that I had done the whole world a service by taking him out. When we do things we regret, I guess it's natural to come up with excuses. But I have a pretty legitimate one, here. One less murderer in the world. Furthermore, one less murderer in the hotel. Good deal.
Now to get Mary. Mary, Mary, Mary. I did my best to picture her in my head, but I guess I hadn't known her long enough because the image kept slipping and bubbling away, replaced by the terribly acute memory of Oogie's ankle splintering under the ax.
I still held the weapon in my quivering right hand. There was a surprisingly small amount of gore on it. A piece of white bone was stuck on the handle, pasted there in a fat bead of blood that was already clotting.
Without thinking, without even being able to think really, I wiped the ax off on my pant leg. The blood didn't smear. It was too thick for that. It just rolled and curdled up like scrambled eggs. Gross.
I scooped up the lantern in my left hand and continued down the hall.
As I came around the corner, I perceived that I was not alone, but the knowledge didn't instill a single lick of fear in me, because I already knew who it was.
"Woah!" Ben said, hands up, his eyelids fluttering. He was flat against the wall, about six feet away, waiting with his own lantern dark at his feet. Apparently, I looked scary enough to startle him, what with my bloody pants and the grim expression that was frozen on my face.
"Okay," I said. Just that one word. Don't know why I said it or what I thought I meant by it. It just came out, like a breath I had been holding in.
"Dude!" Ben said, blinking and staring at me. "You look bad! Who the hell is screaming?"
I looked back. Oogie was still in the room, of course, but I almost expected to see him shuffling down the hall on his ass, screaming bloody murder at me with his machete twirling around. Something you would see in a crappy horror movie, scary if it wasn't so ridiculous.
I looked back at Ben, shook my head, and suddenly lost all strength.
When I regained awareness - not consciousness; I don't think I passed out - Ben was holding me by the arms, keeping me from falling. He lowered me slowly and carefully, looking around, the lantern light gleaming in his black eyes.
"We gotta go," he said. "Too much noise."
I felt pretty lame for giving out the way I did. I was still feeling weak, but I guess the shame of having your face stuffed into another guy's basketball shorts is a good motivator; I forced myself back to my feet, dusted myself off. Crumbs of dried blood flaked off and fell to the floor. They were invisible there, among all the dust of years. Decades, probably.
"Beth?" I asked.
Ben shrugged. "I saw her a couple times. All by herself. Damn, dude, you look like you've been through hell. What's been going on?"
"Where were you?" I asked, surprised by own audacity.
I guess Ben wasn't immune to a little shame. He didn't meet my eyes.
"Downstairs, man. Close to Beth. I guess I picked a good spot to ride out the storm. No one ever came looking for me." He looked up at me then. "But I heard a lot shit going on above me, and I figured it was time to join the game. See if I could help anyone out. Looks like I'm not too late, yeah?"
I nodded. "No. Not too late. We need to find Mary. We were together, and someone took her."
Paraphrasing here. I remember what everyone else said pretty well, so there are probably only very minor differences, but as far as what I said... It's harder to recall, for some reason.
"Hold up," Ben said, looking over his shoulder. "Let's go in one of these rooms and talk. I feel exposed as hell out here."
Ben went through the door to his left. I followed, he shut the door, and used a random pillowcase on the floor to block up the crack so no light escaped. A technique we had all come up with independently.
"Okay," Ben said, sagging against the wall. "Damn, I'm thirsty. I had to shit a while ago, but I repressed it. Don't think there's working plumbing here." He looked at the floor and kicked some crumbs and mouse shit around. "Don't think dropping a deuce on the floor would stink it up anymore, though." He looked up at me. "So, let's talk about Mary. Who took her?"
The tables turned, and it was now I who could not meet Ben's gaze. I saw something in them, a will and an anger, that made me look away. Most troubling was the idea that my own eyes had probably held that same look, that I was not merely a socially awkward geek anymore. I could no longer rely on that as a means of drifting sad and alone through life. I had been made aware of all the things I was capable of, of the animal side of me. Not a good feeling at all. I guess I had a sense that things would be different, now that there was a halfway decent chance at survival.
"Don't
know," I said. No time to tell the whole story. "Jeremy, probably."
Ben nodded. "Okay. God, I wish that guy would shut up."
Oogie was still screaming. I barely noticed it. The sounds didn't possess their original force. They were sadder now, and the pauses between them were growing longer.
"Jeremy's still alive, huh?" Ben asked. "Too goddamn bad. Who else is up?"
"Me," I said. "You. Mary, hopefully. Beth, Jeremy, Elden."
"That's it?" Ben looked like I just told him his mom died. "What about that old dude?"
I shook my head.
"Man. I really thought he would... Well, shit. What about the long haired dude?"
"No."
Ben let himself slide down the wall, until the backside of his basketball shorts went crunch in the waste of the carpet. "Damn, man. And what about this guy yelling up a storm?"
"One of the brothers. Or cousins, or whatever."
Ben made a sour face. "No tragedy there. I got bad vibes off those dudes. Let's just hope he cries himself to sleep instead of coming after us. How bad did you hurt him?"
I tried to say it, but couldn't. All I could do was give a feeble, imaginary swing of the ax. I didn't even have the thing in my hands; it was lying on the floor next to me.
"I see," Ben said. "I guess we need a plan."
He looked at me, realized that I wasn't going to go spouting off ideas anytime soon, and nodded resolutely to himself.
"Okay, Orin," he said, saying my name funny, like... well, like a black guy saying a white guy's name. "Here's what we do. We gotta get Beth. I bet she's good in a fight. Then we find whoever took Mary and bust 'em up. Then we get the hell out of here." He frowned. "But something tells me it ain't gonna be that easy."
I shook my head.
"Didn't think so," Ben said. "I heard a gunshot at one point."
"Snipers outside. Six at least."
Ben shrugged, head hanging to one side, looking as bored and dejected as someone waiting at the DMV.
"Cool," he said. "Snipers, huh? Tom Berenger and Barry Pepper and shit."
"Jude Law," I said.
Ben cracked a one-sided smile. "Right. And Jude Law. Man, at least we'll get killed by famous people." He put his head straight. "Alright, let's not get ourselves down, here. Gotta be a way past it, right? Game wouldn't make sense, otherwise. We just gotta get Jeremy."
I nodded. There was really nothing else we could do. After the threats inside the hotel were dealt with, we could worry about the ones out there.
"Ready?" Ben asked.
I was still nodding from the last thing he said, and shaking it "no" was an effort. It brought a twinge of pain, right there between the vertebrae. Word from the wise here; if you're going through Hell, keep going. Winston Churchill, right? Well, it's goddamn true. As soon as you stop, all the pain starts coming. All the doubt. All the demons.
"Yeah, me neither," Ben said. He stood up and shook the dirt off his shorts. "But probably more ready than you are. Maybe I should have the ax?"
I handed it over very willingly. As soon as it was out of my grip, though, I felt naked. I had no weapon. Then I remembered the lantern. It was something.
"Any idea where we should go?" Ben asked.
I shook my head again. "No idea. Hiding somewhere. Not in this wing, I don't think."
"Alright, so one place is good as any other. I guess we'll head downstairs. Maybe check those side doors."
I barely heard him. When he started moving, I followed, so close we were just about touching. Ben walked tall and strong, the ax hefted high against his chest. He was fresh; he hadn't been through any of the shit that I had. But he probably would, and very soon.
I vaguely realized we were going down the stairs, and I didn't fully come back to my senses until Ben was leading me into the empty ballroom. There were the chairs, stacked along the wall. And up ahead, barely visible, was the door to the closet where Jacob, Mary and I had laid our fruitless plan. A little walk down memory lane. Just give me a goddamn madeleine. Although my involuntary memory trigger would more likely be the smell of stale rodent shit.
As far as I knew, from what Jacob had said, the kitchen was empty. But there had been plenty of time for someone to take up residence inside.
We reached the double doors. There was a window on each side, made not of glass but some hard plastic. The material was all scratched and fogged up, impossible to see through.
"Don’t think she’s here," I said.
"Me neither," Ben said. "Just scoping shit out."
He stared at the window for a moment, turning the ax around in his hands. Then he used the butt of the handle to shove the right door inward. It moved an inch and stopped.
"Can't push it anymore," he said. "Shine your light in there, see if something is blocking it."
I crouched down and aimed the lantern into the crack. There was something there. I got my head closer and studied it for a second.
"Upside down table," I said. "Someone stacked a bunch of crap on top."
The closest item of crap was an old sink, made of stainless steel. Bit of a misnomer there. This sink sure as hell wasn't stainless.
Ben let up with the ax handle. The door remained stuck in place on its corroded hinges, and Ben had to grab the handle and yank it back.
"Don't think it's Beth," he said. "Someone else is in there."
"See someone?" I asked.
"Nah. But they have to be in there. No way they could block it like that and then get out, unless they're T-1000."
Or there was another way out. I almost said it, but didn't. Ben was probably right, either way. Why go through the trouble of barricading the door if you weren't going to stay inside?
I guess for a moment I forgot we were dealing with psychopaths.
"Let's find Beth," Ben said, sounding a little like the newest member of Club Doubtful. Welcome, brethren.
Ben seemed to know where to go, so I followed. He took us out into the common area, toward the front hall, and then hooked a right. We were now in territory that was, at least for me, uncharted. Terra incognita; a gloomy, shitty hallway with probably nothing good at the end of it.
We went all the way to the end, where a window stood boarded and dark. Ben gestured at the door to his right.
"That's where I started," he said, turning away, sweeping his gaze across the hall. "I heard shit nearby. Someone moving around. I looked out in the hall once, and she was looking out too." He pointed down the hall. "About halfway up, I think. But she isn't there anymore. I looked on my way up to you."
I stared forward, unable to think of anything to say.
Ben shrugged and shook his head. "I heard her leave, but didn't see where she went. Didn't sound like she went far, but who knows? Could be anywhere."
Not anywhere. We could probably rule out the places we had recently been.
"When did she go?" I asked. "Maybe it's her in the kitchen."
"This was a while ago. An hour or more. Fuck, man, I should have gone with her. I was... scared, I guess." He looked at me. "Yeah, I’ll admit it. I was scared shitless, starting right around the time I realized what this game was really about." He waved a hand. "Whatever. Let's look around. Maybe we'll get lucky."
We started at the room where Beth had began the night. Inside, we found no evidence of Beth other than a crumpled receipt on the floor at the foot of the bed. It was from a gas station, the same place I had stopped at to buy a bottle of water. Beth had purchased a box of cereal bars and an iced tea. Just a useless fact I remember for no reason.
"Let's think like Beth," Ben said. "If you were Beth, where would you go?"
"Home," I said.
Ben laughed. "Let's hope not, or Tom Berenger would have got her." He stared up at the ceiling, frowning. "Well, at least we aren't in a horror movie. The black dude's always to first to bite it in those."
First to bite what, the fried chicken?
That's what popped into my head. I was all giddy, but not quite loopy
enough to say it aloud. I did smile to myself though, and Ben apparently thought it was because of his own joke, and he favored me with a big grin. The stereotype about black people and white teeth, it's not always true. But for Ben it definitely was. His teeth stood out in the dark like a lighthouse beam.
"Fuck, dude," he said. "How the hell did we get into this?" He shook his head, then fixed me with his eyes. "What do you do, man? You in school?"
I shrugged. "Don't do anything, really. I've been trying to write a book."
It was true. I had been trying for years, had made roughly four dozen attempts, but had never gotten very far.
"Cool," Ben said. "Now you really got something to write about, huh? Tell you what, man, if you survive this shit, you'll get the book deal, the movie rights, the women, all that. Everyone in the world will want to read about this."
I shrugged again.
"Believe it," Ben added. "Just try and make me look good, alright?"
"I will," I said, but it was a lie, unlike everything I have already written. All of it is a true representation of events and people as I experienced them.
"What do you do?" I asked.
Ben sighed. "I dunno, man. I really don't. I'm in school, but I still don't know what I want to do with myself. I mean, I like basketball, but I'm no good at it. Surprise, surprise. I dunno, maybe I'll be an engineer or a doctor. I got steady hands, and I like all that technical stuff. Assuming I survive the night, huh? Whatever, let's get this over with. You ready?"
I was. Ready as I ever could be.
Ben led us out. We both had a sense that we were on our way to the final confrontation, the climax of the whole night. We had given up on finding Beth. We had to get Mary before shit went south.
We headed for the kitchen doors again. If Beth wasn’t inside, maybe Jeremy and Elden and Mary were. When we got there, Ben looked back at me.
"Leave that light on," he said. "No sense pussyfooting it. They'll know we're here, anyway. We just gotta hope we outfight them. Here..."
He used the ax handle to shove the door again. And again, I squatted and shined my light through. The same sink, covered in calcium and dust. Nothing had been moved, and there was no visible sign of anyone.