by C. K. Vile
“Yeah. After I swing by Delbert Williams’ room.”
Nick sucked air in through his closed teeth. “How’s he doing?”
“Oh he’ll be fine, long-term.” Something about her tone sounded off.
Nick tapped his forefingers together. “Do you think I should go by and say hi to him or would that be weird?”
Reed stepped over to the door and pulled it closed. She whispered, “I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”
“No. No, I suppose not.” Nick frowned. “I don’t imagine I’m getting the key to the town or anything, am I?”
Reed took off her sunglasses and made that damn serious face. “Dawkins. You thought you were unpopular in Forest Down before.”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t blame them. Ironically, I’m gang-busters everywhere else in the world. I was trending for days. Book sales are through the roof. It’s absurd. People love a sideshow.” His face soured when he remembered how they got on that topic. “Delbert will be okay, though?”
“After some physical therapy, yeah.”
Nick nodded. “I can relate to that. I’ll start mine in about a month. Until then, lots of bed and writing and horror movies.”
Reed put her sunglasses back on. “You said you have someone coming to stay with you?”
“I do. One of the only people I’d trust to have around twenty-four seven. Never met her in person though, so that’ll be interesting.” He clapped his hands together. “I’m excited about it.”
The nurse walked into the room “Do you need a few more minutes, Officer?”
Reed stepped toward the door. “No ma’am, he’s all yours. Rest well, Mr. Dawkins. See you again soon.”
“Night, Sheriff.”
Reed disappeared through the door. The nurse went to a cabinet and pulled out a box of gauze and some tape.
Nick hit play on the movie. A classic. The character on screen fiddled with a box. He had to solve it, to know it. He had to be its master. It was the passion that drove him. Hooks attached to chains flew out of the box and dug into the character’s skin, his punishment for opening doors that should never have been opened. The character screamed.
Nick clicked pause.
The nurse moved to the left side of the bed and began opening her supplies. “Oh, you can keep playing that, I’ve seen that one. Love the guy with the pins in his face.” Nick picked up his phone. “Actually I’m gonna call someone if you don’t mind.”
The nurse tugged at a bandage on Nick’s arm. He gritted his teeth as she pulled up hair. He thumbed at his phone until he got to CorpseFlower’s icon. The skull with the petals around it.
More hair pulled up. The nurse lifted the gauze to reveal a small wound in his scarred up arm. He winced. He’d never write about rats again.
Corpse picked up her end of the line. “Yo yo yo. What it is, motherfucker?”
Nick snickered. “Yo yo yo, yourself. How’s the weather out there?”
“Real storm’s coming, Nick. Better batten down those hatches, dude.” Corpse breathed heavily. She grunted as though she were carrying something big. “Lotta new maggots out there. Not all of them gonna be a real problem, but you know how it is. Law of averages.”
“Yeah, I know. Ears to the ground, right?”
“Damn straight.” Corpse grunted again. “I’ve got eyes on the ones that matter. We’ll talk when I get there.”
Nick watched the nurse clean the wound on his arm. “You’re on your way already?”
“Just finished loading the car. I don’t have a lot of stuff.”
Nick laughed. “Good, because I don’t have a lot of guest room. The house isn’t huge, just… nice. You’ll like it. I appreciate what you’re doing.”
Corpse made an exaggerated ‘pssh’ sound. “Shit Brogart, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Someone’s gotta watch out for Humpty Dumpty while the King’s Horses put his shit back together.”
Nick hovered the mouse curser on his laptop over the play button. “Alright, I’ll let you get moving then. I’m about to watch Hellraiser.”
Corpse gasped. “Jealous. Very Pandora’s Box. Appropriate. Peace, Dawkins.”
“See you soon, Corpse.”
***
CorpseFlower closed the call on her phone and the door to her car, which she’d successfully filled with every last fucking thing she owned.
She skipped around to the driver’s side and climbed in. Her right elbow bumped into a box. She didn’t know if she needed a bigger car or less stuff. She adjusted her rearview. She could sort of see out the back windshield if she lifted up off her butt a bit. Good enough.
She flexed her fingers and grabbed her energy drink.
Dinner of champions.
She slurped a mouthful and belched like she wanted to rattle the windows. Which she kind of did, come to think about it. She set the drink down and plugged a cord into her phone.
Ears to the ground, motherfuckers. Let’s see what you’re up to today.
Corpse pushed an icon on the phone’s screen. A small, red fly.
An audio track began to play through the car’s speakers. ‘Nobody But Me’, overlapped by the voice of a young man.
“Hey maggots, Wormwood here. We’ve got a full show this week.”
The woman chimed in, as she always did. “Quite the week, as we all know. I’m Hellen.”
“And this is the number one Nick Dawkins fancast in the world, Flystrike.”
Corpse pulled a cigarette out of a pack on her dash and lit it. It annoyed the shit out of her when these assholes spoke in unison. She hit her car’s ignition and threw it into drive.
“Like we said, big week. Big and also sad.”
“Sad, devastating loss of a huge member of the community in MaggotMaestro.”
Corpse snorted. Good riddance.
“We’ll get into that, of course, as well as the twelve thousand new Myiasis members we’ve picked up in the last seven days. But first, let’s hear some of these audio messages we’ve been getting.”
Corpse drove onto the highway. A nasally voice played over the car’s speakers. “I didn’t think we’d see this kind of attention. Very cool. Very cool. Well played, Maestro. RIP.”
Another voice, a woman with a northern accent. “I’m not sure how I feel, I liked the community we had before, you know. Not sure how I feel about a bunch of new people. I’m on the fence, there.”
A loud, angry brodude. “How can you people be so obtuse? Two of us come in contact with Nick Dawkins and two of us are dead. Do I have to draw a diagram?”
The speakers hissed as a voice seethed into it. “This is a sign from God. Soon the Lizard shall molt and I shall wear his skin as I bathe in the sunlight.”
Corpse bit at the cigarette hanging out of her mouth, smashing the filter. Ugh. “Try it, fucker.” She rolled down the window and flicked out the butt as her violet pink hair whipped about in the wind.
She sped onward, the sounds of abject madness and obsession filling the car. Voice after unhinged voice.
“Nick Dawkins was ours. He belonged to us. I don’t want to share him.”
In the distance, lightning—a camera flash in the sky.
“He killed him. He killed the Maestro, and who knows which of us might be next. I fear for my life.”
CorpseFlower rolled up the window.
“I’m dying to know what he tastes like.”
She gripped the steering wheel tighter and drove straight into the oncoming storm.
Get book three, Flypaper: Cast now. CLICK HERE
Be the first to know when new books come out: CLICK HERE
If you enjoyed the book, please CLICK HERE to leave a review.
ebkit-filter: grayscale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share