Tales From the Gas Station 2

by Jack Townsend

  The ambulance ride was extra confusing for the EMT’s. I listened to their conversation, wondering just how elaborate this trick was going to get.

  “Is he asleep?”

  “No, he just refuses to open his eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I think he’s crazy.”

  I chimed in, “Can’t open them until the shapeshifter gives me the all-clear, otherwise the demon will eat my flesh.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Doctor V was kind enough to schedule an appointment on short notice. We talked about everything that had happened since our last visit. We even talked about Doctor Weaver. I let him know everything she had said because doctor/patient confidentiality didn’t seem to apply, and I didn’t trust her. Doctor V apologized on her behalf.

  “She’s an associate who doesn’t understand the finer intricacies of your treatment plan. It would be wise to completely forget everything she said to you.”

  “The thing about my memory is that I can’t control what I forget.”

  He laughed. “Let’s explore this newest symptom.”

  “Symptom?”

  “That’s what it is. Isn’t it? You are incapable of believing reality is reality, despite objective proof and evidence. You refuse to accept that you are, in fact, safe. Is this a fair assessment?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Please, tell me where I’m misunderstanding.”

  “I am safe. Just as long as I keep my eyes shut. That’s what the shapeshifter told me. If I open them, Sagoth will rip the flesh from my body and feast upon my pain.”

  There was a long pause. I knew he hadn’t left me alone. I could still hear him breathing. When he finally spoke again, he didn’t bother to mask the demeaning tone. “And you’re telling me that you believe the demon has gone to such elaborate lengths that it’s following you around, hoping to catch you opening your eyes?”

  “Can we talk about something else now, please?”

  ***

  For the next two months, my health continued its downward trajectory. Eventually, the owners had no other choice but to let me go. I wasn’t upset. In a small way, I was actually relieved. I was unburdened from what little responsibility I had left, and my remaining days would be spent in a hospital room, waiting.

  O’Brien and Jerry both came out to visit me a few times early on, but it was a hell of a drive just for a short visit, and I was way less entertaining than anything else they could do with their precious time off, so when the visits turned into phone calls, I understood. And when the phone calls became less frequent, I understood. And when the phone stopped ringing altogether, I understood.

  I could only hope that they were safe and happy. Other than that, I tried not to think about them at all.

  There was no meridian between day or night. I neither slept nor saw the cycle of daylight and darkness. Time passed as a pulse of waves. Long periods of busy activity. The sounds all around me of a busy hospital, people talking, laughing, screaming, followed by even longer periods of silence. Occasionally, there would be a pearl in the mix, a day out of the ordinary. A doctor would bring his medical students to observe the genetic rarity. He would explain to the class how I was unable to sleep, a byproduct of a fascinating brain defect. That same defect manifested in other interesting side effects, too. For example, this poor idiot sincerely believed that he could not open his eyes, otherwise the demon Sagoth would rip the flesh from his body. While there was nothing physically wrong with his vision, his mental state would not allow him to believe it true. For all intents and purposes, he had self-blinded. The students oohed and aahed and wondered if they could ask me a few questions, and one even tried to get a selfie with me. All I could say was, “Nice try, Sagoth. You’re really going all out on this one, aren’t you?”

  Aren’t you???

  Some volunteers brought me a pair of headphones and an mp3 player with a few podcasts loaded onto it about movies I’d never seen. I listened to them over and over until I had every syllable memorized. Books and movies and video games were a tragic sacrifice, and without them I sometimes felt like a Betta fish, existing in a tiny cage for others’ entertainment. Food became my only source of reprieve from the boredom, but when my sense of smell left, taste wasn’t far behind. At that point, eating became another chore.

  Many days my mind would cycle through an endless loop, wondering how long I’d been here, and how long I had before the disease ran its course, or before some crazy nurse took pity and angel-of-mercied me to death.

  One day, a medical student brought me an unexpected gift. She wrapped a piece of fabric around my head and said, “Alright Jack, this ought to make life a little easier. It’s a blindfold to black out all the light. Now you don’t have to keep your eyelids shut tight all the time because this will do the job for you.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Give it a shot and see if it works.”

  “How?”

  “Open your eyes and tell me if you see anything.”

  “Okay…” I stopped.

  ...Wait...

  ...Wait a fucking second…

  “NONE OF THIS IS REAL, IS IT?”

  She didn’t answer me right away, and as the seconds ticked past, I started to realize something was wrong.

  The months that had passed—all the time I’d experienced since that night behind the gas station—detached from their place in my memory like fattened leeches that had drunk their fill. As each memory disconnected, I could feel the ingredients spilling out, pouring all over the place in a hurry to evacuate my mind. An entire week vanished. Then another. And another. Capturing the substance was like collecting the rats as they scurried off the sinking ship. Some emotions remained, bereft of context. Some facts remained, without any explanation. And when the invading thoughts were completely expelled, all I was left with was a vague impressionistic picture of the whole thing. It was exactly like trying to remember an elaborate dream, only it was somebody else’s, playing in my head without permission.

  “Quit trying to Inception me, you big douche!”

  The sensation of passing time was last to leave, and then I realized where I was. It had only been a matter of minutes since I closed my eyes. And I was sitting against the back wall of the gas station, freezing to death.

  The air suddenly reeked of boiled eggs, and a girl’s voice said into my ear, “You can open your eyes Jack. Sagoth is back where he belongs. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

  “I’m not supposed to open my eyes until you say, ‘Salutem.’”

  I felt a tiny foot kick me in the side as she screamed in exasperation, “You’re not supposed to say the secret word out loud, Jack! You stupid little-What if I was really Sagoth, pretending?! I thought you were supposed to be one of the smarter ones! How are you still alive?!”

  “I don’t know how it works! I’ve never done this before! And I’m still not hearing—”

  “Salutem, you stupid dolt!”

  I cautiously cracked one eyelid and looked at the gorgeous young woman standing in front of me with her arms folded over her chest. She had tanned skin, curly black hair partially covered by the hood of a long, white robe, and strange symbols tattooed under her eyes. My first impression was that she wasn’t taking this opportunity to rip off my eyelids, which is always a good sign. “So,” I asked, “he’s gone?”

  “For now. It’s interesting. Most people break when the spiders start crawling on their skin. But you outlasted everything Sagoth threw your way. I don’t expect this to mean much to you, but I’m actually impressed.”

  A metal pole erupted out of the center of her chest, and she fell to her knees, coughing up mouthfuls of dark blood. She looked down at the thing with a bewildered expression, then fell over onto her side.

  It was thin like an arrow, covered in serrated hooks, and once she hit the ground I could see that it was part of a long spear, running right through her. A black cord connected to the base went all the way
across the yard, up to the feet of Spencer Middleton.

  He dropped the harpoon gun and whistled to himself as he walked the distance to where the shapeshifter was still gagging, twitching, and clutching onto the pole that had impaled her, turning the white robe into a bloodied mess. As he came closer, she started changing right before my eyes, form after form. A giant bodybuilder, an Olympic wrestler, a morbidly-obese man, a young child, Jerry, O’Brien, Me, Spencer. The desperation became apparent as the switching transformations went faster and faster. Ten different people each second, all of them holding onto the spear and bleeding out into the snow. It went through a hundred of them before it finally stopped and settled on that of a frail, old Asian woman. Tiny and wrinkled, with more white hair than black. Huddled in a fetal position as tears rolled down the side of her nose and into the snow. Something told me that if the shapeshifter had a “true” form, I was looking at it.

  “Struggle all you like,” Spencer said to her. “That spear is a tungsten silver alloy. You can’t pull it out or break it. Dead or alive, I own you, bitch.”

  He put his arm around her neck, hoisted her up, and dragged her away. I wanted to fight back. I wanted to help her. But I couldn’t even move anymore. All I could do was watch them go. She connected eyes with me until Spencer had pulled her around the side of the gas station, and then I was alone.

  I was done. Even breathing had become a nearly impossible task. I thought about how strange this was going to look. To Jerry, or O’Brien, or whoever was unlucky enough to find me out here. Clutching my four-fingered hand under my armpit and staring out at the forest. The blood in the snow was already being erased below the snowflakes, and after an hour or less, it would look like none of this had ever even happened. People knew I had mental issues, so this wouldn’t even be front page news. The only mystery will be “I wonder what happened to his finger?”

  Oh well. I told myself. There are certainly worse ways to go. Especially in a world with monsters like Sagoth and Spencer.

  Time passed as it ever did. A series of indistinguishable moments wandered by in no hurry. I watched the snow fall and focused all of my effort on the labor of drawing in just one more breath. It hurt. And then one more. It hurt even worse. And then one more after that. It might be pointless, but I’m going to get my last few seconds, dammit!

  And then, the back door opened. I couldn’t turn my head to see who it was, but somebody walked over to my side, grabbed me by my shirt collar, and started dragging. He dragged me inside, down the back hall, and with the relative heat of the gas station shelter, I could instantly feel the blood rushing through my veins all over again. He took me past the cooler where my friends had fallen asleep, past the supply closet where we had first locked away our prisoner, all the way into the front of the store, and dropped me onto my back before crouching down next to me and smiling.

  “I told you I’d let you live if I caught what I wanted. And a deal is a deal, right? Don’t worry about the shapeshifter. I handed her off to my new boss, so she won’t be bothering you anymore.”

  I took a deep breath of warm air and tried to find the right words to tell Spencer just how much I hated him, but I couldn’t. He didn’t seem to need me to anyway.

  He chuckled under his breath.

  “I get it. You think I’m the bad guy. In your mind, I’m some kind of monster, but that couldn’t be any further from the truth. You just don’t see the big picture like I do. The reality is that this place has a power to draw out the monsters people have hidden inside, and I might be the only one in this God-forsaken town it doesn’t work on. I confronted my demons a long time ago. But you’re so broken you can’t even see what’s happening. You think you’re some kind of good guy, but you’re the worst of them all. Do you understand what I’m saying? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

  God, I hated him.

  He stared out the front door at something I couldn’t see and smiled a big, smug, self-satisfied smile. The feeling in my arms and fingers had started to return. I could move again. And I wasn’t going to waste any time.

  “You know, Jack,” he said almost wistfully, “some things never change. Maybe they aren’t meant to. Maybe they are the way they are for a reason. I mean, it’s been up and down for both of us, huh? We run away. We fight and struggle so hard just to end up right back where we started. We lost so many people along the way. Kieffer, Tony, Tom, Vanessa. The extra characters come and go, but at the end of the day, only two things are constant. You and me.”

  You’re right. I thought. Some things never change. Like how you can never remember how good I am at picking your pockets.

  “Hey Spencer,” I said as soon as my voice had come back to me.

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  “I’m right-handed.”

  I stuck the tip of the revolver into his stomach and pulled the trigger. The look on his face was one of “I cannot believe this shit just happened!”

  He fell onto his ass and looked at the gun in my hand, then at the rapidly growing circle of blood turning his shirt dark red. “You little piece of shit!”

  O’Brien final-fucking-ly woke up and raced out of the cooler into the front room, yelling, “What was that noise? Jack, are you okay?”

  Spencer grabbed his bleeding stomach and bolted out the front door. I tried to tell O’Brien to go after him, but the surge of adrenaline had run its course. I lost the ability to talk again, and instead I just closed my eyes and waited.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The doctor in charge of stitching up my hand wound assured me that they had done everything within their power to reattach my pinky. It was the sort of claim that fell in the Goldilocks-zone of “technically the truth” and “unnecessarily deceptive,” considering the fact that my severed digit was never recovered, and in all likelihood Spencer was keeping it as some kind of twisted souvenir.

  Now that I was down to only three whole limbs and nine fingers, I was feeling more asymmetric than ever. But I tried to look at it optimistically. At least it was only the left pinky. In all seriousness, that had to be the best choice for finger to lose. Trying my damnedest, I couldn’t conjure a single memory of any time that particular body part was absolutely necessary. I could still play video games, read books, feed myself, and do every conceivable aspect of my job. (Of course, I would have a slightly harder time turning on caps lock, but I’m neither elderly nor criminally insane, so I don’t think that button was meant for me anyway.)

  Several times, I caught myself wondering why Spencer spared my life. Was he just prolonging my suffering? Could he really be that simple?

  Other, bigger questions lingered. Why did he hate me so much? What made me special? What was he talking about that night he almost buried me alive? He was so shocked, so furious that I didn’t remember some major sin I committed against him. What could I have possibly done to warrant this attention?

  I got my answer the day we reopened the gas station.

  I had just clocked in and turned around when I saw the manila envelope sitting on the front counter. Strange. It definitely wasn’t there when I first walked in.

  I left it alone while I got everything ready. Refilled the ice bins. Made a pot of coffee. Changed the garbage bags. Took down the “Closed forever, bitches!” sign that Jerry had made and stuck to the front door with chewing gum. When I returned to the envelope, I found that it hadn’t moved at all.

  Not sure what I was expecting.

  After a cup of stronger-than-average coffee, I decided to see what exactly I was up against. I took my usual seat, checked the envelope for any obvious explosives or booby traps, then carefully opened it.

  Inside, I found two things: A DVD with a blank surface, and a sheet of paper with a handwritten message in red ink.

  I wasn’t curious enough to read it right away. Instead, I focused on finishing my coffee. I took my time and considered my options. I could call the new deputy they put in charge of gas station duty, but he told when he dropped me of
f that I wasn’t supposed to bother him unless it was a life-or-death situation. I could throw it away and pretend I never saw it. That usually works out just fine. Or, I could act like I’ve learned nothing from my experiences and take a peek.

  Come on, coaxed that voice in the back of my head. What’s the harm in looking?

  My coffee cup was empty and we still hadn’t had a single customer. I picked up the note and told myself I’d just read a few words to see who it was from.

  ***

  Hi Jack,

  What a wild ride it has been! Glad to see you haven’t lost your edge. But before you go and get comfortable again, I think somebody needs to remind you that the real fight isn’t over yet.

  There’s another player in town. One smart enough to find a way to collect gods, and something tells me the shapeshifter wasn’t his first.

  Things have been fun so far, but it seems to me that a war is brewing. Make sure you’re on the right side.

  I like to think you’re on my side.

  Maybe you haven’t picked a side yet.

  Maybe you need some convincing.

  Maybe this is the gift that will finally motivate you.

  I hope you know you can always trust me.

  I’ll see you soon,

  -Your Biggest Fan

  ***

  I fired up the laptop, popped in the DVD, and opened the only file on there. It was appropriately titled “WhySpencerHatesMe.MOV.”

  I shouldn’t have been so surprised to find that, despite our efforts to rid my workplace of all secret cameras, I was looking at footage of the gas station clearly taken by a secret camera. The scene playing back on my computer screen was from a night I could never forget.

  Benjamin stood in front of the register, a gun in his hand, pointing it at me.

  Tony came into view with a sack of deer corn over his shoulder.