I’m stepping out of the doorway. That’s enough. “You boys get out of here and don’t come back. Next time I’ll call the police.”
John and Donnie are stumbling out with their brother in tow. “Come on, Billy,” Donnie says to the youngest one. “We’ll see you later, faggot,” Donnie shouts back at David.
“They won’t be any more trouble,” David says to me. He’s heading back to the basement.
“Hold on a second,” I say. “Go ahead and go home for the day. I have a few things to think about.”
He turned and is standing right in front of me. I’m staring at him and refusing to back down. “You know what I can do,” he says.
I’m standing still as he brushes past me. I probably only know half of what he can do. And I still don’t have any answers about last night. Firing him may be a huge mistake. I’m going to have a talk with him tomorrow morning to get some answers.
THE STORE closed 10 minutes ago and it’s getting dark outside. I’ve called Myra’s number three times but she isn’t answering. I keep turning my hand over to make sure the numbers are right. I guess she couldn’t go through with it after all. I’m disappointed.
I’m stepping into the back office to turn the TV off and shut the door. The 6 o’clock news is on. A reporter wearing a red dress is standing in a gas station parking lot.
“Three teenagers were abducted from this parking lot hours ago,” she says. Shaky video is being shown from the outside gas station camera. It’s impossible to see the faces. But I don’t have to — I can tell by their body sizes who they are. The Wilson boys are throwing eggs at the gas station display window and screaming threats at the cashier inside.
A van just raced up beside them. A man in a hoodie jumped out of the driver’s seat and threw open the sliding door on the side. The Wilson boys turned to face him right as he clubbed one of the teenagers on the side of the head. I know it had to be Donnie.
The second teenager tried to help Donnie up. The attacker kicked him in the jaw. That had to be John.
The third teenager is just standing there, pounding his fists. Run, Billy! The man in the hood stepped up to him and sucker punched him. Billy collapsed, just like his brothers.
The hooded man picked them up, one after the other, and heaved them into his van like bags of trash. He pulled the door closed and drove off. It doesn’t look there’s a tag on the back of the van.
I turned the TV off and I’m sitting on my desk, trying to breathe. I feel dizzy. David has done this. He has taken them to the children to be tortured just like I was. But I’m not so sure David is going to bring them back.
I’m stepping out of the office. I’ve got to tell someone about this, but I can’t prove anything. I can’t even prove it to myself. I have no idea what to do.
The basement door is still open. There’s got to be some kind of evidence below I can use. David practically lives down there. This is my store — I can go anywhere I damn well please.
I’m pushing the door all the way open and staring at the steps in front of me. The room is still warm and well lighted. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Below is just a world of soap. I’ve already locked the front door. There won’t be any surprises.
I closed my eyes and somehow reached the bottom. I can’t help but laugh. This space is a replica of how the store looked on the first day I came here to get flowers for Samantha’s grave. It’s just rows and rows of soap bars. They’re all handmade and smell like cinnamon, lavender, and an array of sweetness. It’s heaven for the senses.
The rows are perfectly stacked and aligned. There’s a sink at the end with towels draped over it. There are large canisters of soap chemicals next to it and a large metal table. There are shaping devices for the soap on the table. There’s nothing else. Damn it.
I’m heading back to the stairs. There’s nothing here I can use for evidence. God I hope those boys are okay.
I’m walking back up the stairs when a door I never noticed catches my eye. It’s right beneath the stairs. I didn’t see it while I was down here, but I can see it clearly between the spaces in the stairs. It’s probably a utility closet but I’ve got to see what’s in it.
I’m back at the bottom of the stairs but there’s no door here. It’s just a wall. There’s got to be an open space between the wall and the door. Someone has closed it in.
There’s a hollow sound when I tap on the wall. I’m heading back to the metal table and grabbing a mallet off of it. That wall is coming down. I’m banging on it as hard as I can but the mallet is too soft. It’s just putting dents in the wall. Damn it!
I’m punching the wall. My hand has gone right through it. Now I’m punching and kicking it like a crazy man. I’ve created a space wide enough for me to squeeze through. I’m muscling my way through the hole and coming out with only a few scratches. The door is in front of me now. I’m turning it.
It’s locked.
Are you frickin serious? This cannot be happening! I’m yanking on the doorknob but it isn’t doing any good. But what about the basement door key? I still have it in my pocket from earlier. It should work. It has to work. I know David’s hiding something back there. Please let this work!
I’m reaching into my pocket and pulling the key out. I’m staring at it like it’s supposed to be a magic bean. I’m taking a deep breath and slipping it into the keyhole.
It fits.
I’m twisting the knob and pulling the door open. There’s a horrible smell that’s flooding my senses and making me want to vomit. It smells like dead fish inside an untreated water facility.
I’m covering my nose with my shirt sleeve and walking into the room. There’s a pillar in each corner. The same kinds of shelves that are in the main basement are in here, lined up the same way. But there aren’t bars of soap on these shelves. They’re holding glass jars full of a thick red liquid that looks like a mixture of blood and mucus. There’s a label on each jar.
I feel like I’m choking on the odor but I’m looking closer at one of the labels and wiping the dust off it. It has the name Mark Walton on it. All at once I know the contents of this bottle are all that’s left of Mark Walton. David must have decimated this man and everyone else in here.
I’m walking down the aisles and reading the names. No one I know. Some of the bottles are pristine — I can tell they’ve only been here for a few weeks. Others are covered in so much dust it looks like they’ve been here for decades.
The next bottle on the top shelf stops me cold. I know the name on the label. It’s Donnie Wilson. Next to that are John Wilson and Billy Wilson. But how is this possible? David hasn’t been down here since I kicked him out this afternoon. The Wilson boys have only been missing for a few hours.
I’m stepping back and grabbing my chest. My heart is trying to burst out of it. This can’t be what I think it is. Could these be the remains of people David has killed? Is he a killer?
I just bumped into the aisle behind me and one of the jars crashed to the floor. The jar shattered and the red liquid is splattered all over the floor. But what the hell? There’s smoke coming from it and it’s evaporating! It’s gone! It’s all gone! There’s nothing but broken glass on the floor.
I’ve got to get out of here. It’s time to call the cops. David is a killer and I can prove it now. I’m heading back to the hole in the wall.
“Where are you going?” a voice says from behind me. It sounds like David’s voice. It came from the end of the aisle I’m on. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me.
I’m staring down the aisle. It’s roughly 25 feet long. I see something at the end in a wide open space.
“Hello?” I say. No one answers. I’m looking back at the exit and sighing. What if someone is in danger in here? I can’t let David hurt them.
I’M WALKING back down the aisle, staring at the object at the end. It’s growing bigger as I get closer. I can see it’s a woman sitting in a chair.
Now I’m standing in the wide open space. I can’t breathe. I know th
e woman in the chair. It’s Myra!
“What has he done to you?” I ask her. She won’t move. Her arms seem to be tied behind her back. Her eyes are wide open and staring ahead. Oh, no. I’ve seen this before. I’ve experienced this before. Are the children here? Are they going to hurt her? And where is Little Joe? Has David done something to him? I’ll kill David!
I see TV screens on a desk in the back. The screens show live feeds of the store upstairs and the parking lot. David’s been watching me with security cameras. That psycho has been spying on me.
I’ve got to untie Myra and get her out of here before David comes back. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” I’m stepping toward her. We’re getting out of here.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I hear David’s voice say. “Someone could get hurt.” He just appeared from behind one of the pillars. He’s got Little Joe in his arms.
I’m frozen. I know what David is capable of now. “I don’t know what any of this is and I don’t care. I’m going to walk out of this room with Myra and her son.” I hope he can’t see how nervous I am.
David is smiling and setting Little Joe on the floor with his pacifier. Behind them I see another door. It must lead to a side street and it’s how they got in. “Now that you’ve seen everything, I can tell you the truth.” He’s standing behind Myra with his hands on her shoulders. “Unless you’d like a demonstration.”
I’m shaking my head. I can’t stop thinking about what Myra’s experiencing. I know she can sense everything that’s happening but can’t respond to it. I’ll rip David to pieces if he hurts her.
“80 years ago there was a man named Jonathan Walker,” David is saying, combing Myra’s hair with his fingers. “He had a plan to rid the world of scum.” Now he’s looking at Little Joe. “Child molesters.”
I’m trying to process what he’s saying. I can’t make any sense of it or what it has to do with us.
“Johnson decided to carry on his work.” David’s pointing at one of the shelves behind him. There aren’t any jars on it — just a few rows of soap. “Soap that heals,” he says, pointing to one row. “Soap that kills,” he says, pointing to another.
I’ve decided David is crazy. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We kill child molesters. We’re protectors. Guardians.”
I can see in his eyes that he believes this. He thinks he is a hero. But now I know for sure he is a killer. “I think they should die as much as you do but we have courts for that. It’s not up to us.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” David’s face is burning red. “So we’re supposed to send them to jail for a few years so they can get out and do it over and over again? You know nothing!”
I can tell he’s angry. I have to tame the beast. “Calm down. I agree they’re scum, but there has to be a better way.”
“Walker and Johnson wanted the people to suffer. To know the kind of pain we felt. They created soap that would eat the flesh off a man.” He’s shaking his head. “My first kill was the postman who molested me.”
A small part of me wants to feel sorry for David. He was brought into a world where killing bad people seemed normal. He was just a child when someone took away his right to be himself. He was just a child.
“The children,” I say. I remember the kids who tortured me. “You’re protecting them.”
David nods.
“You’re teaching them how to kill and how to heal.” I get it now. He’s creating an army of kids like himself. “Why not teach them just how to heal and make the world better?”
David’s laughing. “You never had to go through what those kids did. Or what I did. You’ll never understand.”
“And the Wilson boys? Was that justice?”
He’s rubbing his neck. “They got what they deserved.”
I wanted to believe in David. That he stands for something and is trying to make this a better world. Maybe that’s where he started. But now he’s just a stone cold killer. The Wilson boys didn’t deserve to die. Myra doesn’t either. Who else has he killed? “And Little Joe?”
David’s looking back down at the baby. “I’ve got big plans for him.”
I’m shaking my head. My hands are sweating. He can’t have Little Joe. I’ll be damned if I let that happen. “And Myra?”
There’s a smile on his face. “I want to show you something. It’s beautiful.” He’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bar of soap still wrapped in its packaging. It’s the same kind as the ones on the shelf he pointed to earlier and said, “Soap that kills.”
“Please don’t,” I whisper. “This is sick.”
He stretching behind him and dragging an empty glass jar by his side. “I have to show you how it works if we’re going to be partners. Why do you think I took you the first time?”
I can’t move. David thinks I’m going to join him in killing people. I could never kill another person. It takes a special kind of monster to do something like that.
David is putting gloves on his hands. Little Joe is reaching for the soap. David turned and is facing him. “You can’t touch this. No Sir. It’s too dangerous.”
I’ve got to save Myra. She doesn’t have anything to do with this. David is going to kill her right in front of me and Little Joe just to show me how demented he is. It can’t happen. How can I stop this? David is faster and stronger. I can’t fight him.
I’m looking into Myra’s eyes, mouthing her name, begging her to give me a sign that she can move. There it is! I saw it! Her eyes blinked twice. I have to believe she’s able to move. We can make this work. I hope she can read my mind.
“Let me do it,” I tell David. I’m holding my hands out for the soap.
David’s smiling. “Really? I knew you’d come around!” He’s pointing to a sink in the corner. “Fill that bucket up with water and bring it here.” He’s nodding at a bucket beneath the sink. “There should be another pair of gloves in it.”
I’m nodding and walking over to the sink. Now I’m filling up the bucket and putting the gloves on. There’s a putty knife in the sink. I’m grabbing it and slipping it into my back pocket as I turn to face David.
“This is gonna be awesome!” David says. He’s making baby sounds for Little Joe. The baby is smiling at him.
I’m dragging the 10 gallon bucket over to his side. He doesn’t seem threatened by me at all. He believes I’m his friend and am going to help him kill Myra.
I’m reaching into my pocket and pulling out the putty knife when he turns and laughs at Little Joe. I’m jabbing a corner of the blade toward his gut.
He turned and caught me by the wrist. “You shouldn’t have done that.” He’s head butting me and kicking me in the stomach. I’m sliding across the floor.
He’s dunking the unwrapped soap into the bucket and lathering it. Somehow I know he’s going to dump the soapy water over Myra’s body, the same way he did with me. Only this time it isn’t going to heal someone — it’s going to kill Myra.
I’ve got to get to that bucket. It can’t touch Myra. I’ve got to divert David’s attention from Myra to give her a chance to grab Little Joe and run. But I’m in so much pain I can barely move. What was it that the Wilson boys had said to him? “You’re a faggot.”
David stops the lathering. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Faggot.”
His chest is heaving. He’s taking the gloves off and twisting his neck from side to side. Now he’s marching toward me.
I can see from the corner of my eye that Myra’s standing. She’s racing to Little Joe to grab him. They’ve got a chance. I’ve got to keep David from turning around and noticing them.
I’m scooting back with my arms. David will be ripping my throat out any second. I’ve got to keep moving. Myra needs more time.
“Gaaaa!” Oh, no! Little Joe just screamed in excitement when Myra picked him up.
David is turning around. He’s shaking his head at Myra and
marching back toward her. This can’t be happening! I’ve got to do something!
I’m jumping up from the floor, ignoring the pain. This has to end right now! I’m running to David as fast as I can. I’ve got to tackle him. It’ll buy Myra and Little Joe more time.
He’s back by the chair and bucket. Myra is less than 2 feet from him. I’m right behind him. This is my moment.
I’m pouncing on David’s back like an angry cat. I’m pounding my elbow into his clavicle to chop him down. Now I’m collapsing with the monster. It’s working!
I hear a splash. His head fell right into the bucket.
“Nooooo!” David is shouting. “What have you done?” I’m still on the floor but he has jumped right back up. His hair, head, neck, and shoulders are dripping wet. His face is turning bright red. He’s scratching at it, trying to wipe the soapy water off.
Now he’s falling beside me on the floor. Blisters are puffing out of his face like popcorn. “No, no, no,” he keeps saying. “It can’t end like this!”
I’m standing over him now. This is the most horrid thing I’ve ever seen. Worse than the day Samantha died. I want to help him. No one should ever experience this. This is what he and Johnson have been doing to people? It’s not right.
Wait. Where’s Myra and Little Joe? I don’t see them anywhere. Somehow I know they’ve raced out the back door. I can’t help but smile, knowing they’re safe now. After what they witnessed, I also know I’ll never see them again.
“The children,” David is saying. He’s coughing and his voice is weak. His hair is gone. He’s grabbing my pant leg and pulling on it. “You have to help the children.”
I know who he’s talking about but I don’t want anything to do with them. Those little bastards tortured and almost killed me! I’m shaking my head at David.
“You’re a good man.” Blood is seeping from his eyes, nose, and mouth. “You have to help them. They need a leader.” His face is bloated and unrecognizable now. He’s staring at me, pleading with what’s left of his eyes.
I’m taking a deep breath and nodding. He’ll never know one way or the other. I don’t have any idea where the children are.
Twisted Endings 3: Children of Blood Page 2