World Revolver

by Gina Ranalli

  Every time I tell anyone about that story, I crack up. I realize you had to be there, but damn, it was funny.

  This convention hall is crowded as all fuck, but, hey, guy in a wheelchair, mofos. Coming through.

  They make a path in the same way traffic pulls to the side of the road when a police cruiser with a wailing siren races by.

  Which is also kind of funny because the one cop I’ve ever known personally told me once that half the time they’re driving around like that, they’re speeding through town to go get a pizza or some shit. Apparently they think it’s funny to watch everyone nearly kill themselves to get to the right side of the road.

  When he told me that I was half, what a douche bag, and half, that is fucking awesome.

  I’m sometimes tempted to imitate a siren myself when I’m in a crowd like this but I refrain. Most people are nice enough and move without complaint. And even on the rare occasion when they don’t get out of the way, my wife has been known to give them hell on my behalf.

  Not that I’m incapable of giving someone hell—I’ve doled out more than my share—but when she does it…well, I have to admit it’s pretty hot.

  She’s twelve years my junior and has more moxie in her pinky finger than I have in my whole body. And I’m pretty spunky myself.

  -Look over there, Jeff!

  I follow her finger and see what’s excited her so much: a booth where a couple of the actors from one of her favorite horror movies, The Blood Room, are signing eight by ten glossies of themselves and, from the looks of it, maybe posing for pictures with fans as well.

  Her grin makes me grin.

  -Let’s do it. The line isn’t too long yet.

  She does a little excited hop and leads the way. I roll after her, checking out a few nicely rounded female butts along the way.

  This is the third or fourth horror convention we’ve been to and we’ve learned to get here early, but even so, tons of people have gotten here even earlier, so the rows between booths are still pretty crowded, but not as bad as they will be an hour or two from now.

  Once we’re in line to meet the actors from the movie, the couple in front of us turn around, smiling.

  -Isn’t this awesome?

  The woman, clearly in her forties but dressed like someone two decades younger, beams at me and my wife in turn. The hazel eyes behind her black-framed glasses look almost delirious with joy.

  In unison, my wife and I agree it is indeed awesome.

  The man, also in his forties, but maybe creeping towards the big five-oh, puts his arm around the woman and nods. He’s a big dude—over six feet by at least a few inches—and he looks like a musician in a heavy metal band with his long, dark hair, a bushy beard streaked with gray that almost reaches his chest and muscular arms with full tattoo sleeves. The tats, I notice, are mostly of colorful demons and other supposedly scary imagery.

  Looking down at me, he offers me his fist, which I bump without question. Horror fans are almost always instantaneous family.

  After the bump, he asks what so many always do.

  -You a vet?

  -Yep.

  -Thanks for everything you do, man. You’re a true American hero.

  The woman agrees heartily.

  -Yes! Thank you so much!

  She reaches down and squeezes my forearm with affection.

  -Is it okay to ask what happened?

  This is not my favorite subject by a long shot but I understand people are curious. Not a lot actually come out and ask but some do, so I have a well-rehearsed answer prepared.

  -Shrapnel in the back. Spine injury. But hey, honorably discharged and I was only over there for three months. Almost makes it worth it.

  This isn’t even close to true. It was most definitely not worth it, but people always dig a positive attitude so it’s my standard reply. No point in making people feel shitty.

  My wife, who knows all this, jumps in and saves the day, as she often does.

  -How many times have you guys seen The Blood Room? It’s a Halloween tradition in our house.

  The two give each other considering looks before the guy answers.

  -I’d say going on twenty. The special effects blow my fucking mind every time. I’m a special effects buff. Done a little myself.

  -No shit?

  I’m not just pretending to be impressed. I genuinely am, as I’ve had a few aspirations towards filmmaking myself.

  -Yeah, man. I worked on The Screamers. You ever heard of that one?

  -Sorry, no. Is it online?

  -Sure is. And DVD too, but you have to go to the website to order it. Blood Death Films. Local company. I’ve done a bunch of shit for them. Even acted in a few.

  -We both have.

  The guy’s wife—at least I assume they’re married—puts in.

  -I’ve done more acting than he has.

  -I’ve written a couple screenplays too.

  He keeps talking as if his wife hasn’t said a word.

  -Hoping to be a director.

  I bob my head.

  -That rocks. I wouldn’t mind doing that myself.

  The line moves forward and we’re closer to the table. It’s slow going though, because people want to linger with the actors, thinking the longer they chat, the more like friends they’ll become. The actors will remember them next time they meet. Hopefully. And you never know what an actor—even a ninth tier actor—can do for you somewhere down the line.

  The bearded man keeps talking.

  -I have a screenplay called The Haunting of Petunia Stewart that Ron Zuko—he’s the head of Blood Death—is reading now. Fingers crossed, you know?

  -Yeah? That’s fucking awesome, man. Congrats.

  We do the thumb-grab hand shake while both of our women look on, nodding and smiling.

  The line moves forward again and we’re that much closer to the actors. We can almost hear what they’re saying to the fans, but not quite.

  Suddenly, there’s a shout of alarm and one of the actors leaps up and away from the table, his arms pin-wheeling madly as he struggles to keep his balance, the chair he was seated in falling over and tripping him up from behind.

  The actor seated next to him also stands up, one hand placed against his throat and blood spurting out from between his fingers to spatter his white dress shirt and the table top in front of him.

  Another man leans over the front of the table holding what looks like a box-cutter, both it and his hand slicked red.

  The people closest to the table scatter every which way while those of us further back look on with something like fascination.

  The metal guy with the beard and tattoos barks a laugh.

  -Holy shit! Too fucking cool!

  People moving around block my view of the chaos unfolding in front of us and I, like many others, at first assume it’s a publicity stunt taken right out of the plot of The Blood Room, wherein the characters converge in a room where all their throats are sliced open by a demonic entity which grows stronger with each kill.

  Judging by some of the reactions from the people closer to the table than we are, I suspect them to be plants—other actors, playing along with this little bit of live theater.

  And I have to admit, they’re really good. Better than the actors who were signing the photos, that’s for sure. Some of the crowd run off screaming as if they’d witnessed an actual murder take place, passing security racing towards the signing booth.

  Also actors, of course. Either that or they were previously told about this stunt and they’re just being good sports and playing along.

  They’re not as talented as the fleeing ‘cast,’ though. They’re too grim, as if maybe they’re biting the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing.

  The ‘murderer’ flings himself over the top of the table and on top of the fallen actor, disappearing from my line of sight, which wasn’t too great to begin with.

  The other actor is already long gone. Probably in the damn parking lot by now, t
hankful he isn’t stuck inside anymore, maybe having a smoke while he chuckles at the stunt he and his comrades have just pulled, scaring people who should really know better.

  I laugh at the commotion and look at my wife.

  -You’d think these people had never seen Kiss of Blood, wouldn’t you?

  She turns away from the hysteria playing out in front of us.

  -Huh?

  -Well, obviously Steve Moody isn’t dead since he’s in the sequel to The Blood Room. I mean, I know it sucks but still…I don’t see how anyone is even falling for this.

  Her blank expression confuses me.

  -I know we only saw Kiss of Blood a couple times, babe, but you’re looking at me like…

  I stop, confused by what I’m saying. There’s an abrupt pain in my head, right behind my eyes and all at once, I’m not feeling so great. Like I might puke. I cough, covering my eyes with my hand.

  When I drop my hand I see that up ahead of us, people have started laughing, while one or two others are cursing, unamused by the little act just played out in front of them.

  The actor with the supposedly sliced throat stands up, his hand clasped with that of his potential murderer, both of them grinning from ear to ear, pleased with their own performances.

  The big tattooed guy turns to look at me again.

  -Did I hear you say there’s gonna be a sequel to The Blood Room?

  I open my mouth to tell him, no, there already is a sequel to it, but there isn’t, so my mouth closes again and I’m thinking back to the battlefield. The gunfire. The screaming. The blood and the death.

  I haven’t suffered a head injury, then or ever. So why…

  Still thinking about Kiss of Blood, a movie which doesn’t exist—at least not yet—I spin my wheelchair around and begin heading for the exit to this ridiculously large, loud, crowded room. I need to find a restroom, pronto, and I don’t stop for anything, not even the sound of my wife’s voice calling after me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN—The Junkie (10)

  I was pretty good at disregarding the spins before but I’m getting even better at it. I barely ponder the me in the wheelchair at all when I come out of it.

  Still in the parlor, still in the same chair, I look around and, though the light is slanted across the ceiling differently, it’s the only discernable variation in the room. The fire still burns bright in the fireplace and Atropos and Luna are still here, both seated on a sofa nearby.

  Luna raises an eyebrow at me.

  -Welcome back.

  I lean forward in my chair, rub at my eyes. Coming out of a spin is not unlike waking up from a deep sleep and carrying a very vivid dream out of it with you. There doesn’t seem to be any of the ugly side effects that often come with drug use and for this much, I’m grateful.

  -Were you close?

  I stop rubbing my eyes to see Atropos watching me placidly.

  -Huh?

  -Did the alternate you sense your presence?

  -I…maybe. He had a memory. A memory of mine. I guess the timeline is a little different where he’s from. I think he thought it was more of a premonition than anything else.

  -And his world? Was it intact?

  -I think so, yeah. But…I mean, he was inside a building, so I don’t know for sure. But it seemed fine. People were happy.

  -Your spins are more frequent than anyone else I’ve ever encountered. It’s going to make training you difficult.

  -Training me?

  Luna is equally baffled.

  -Training him? But he’s only been spinning for less than a week. I spun for—

  -Quiet.

  Atropos glares at Luna momentarily.

  -Now is not the time for pettiness, Luna. We need to find our revolver and Mr. Eon is the closest we’ve come to a contender.

  -That’s not true! I’m already trained!

  -You are.

  Atropos places a hand on Luna’s knee.

  -But Mr. Eon is the fastest I have ever seen. He’s barely back from one spin before he begins the next. It’s unprecedented.

  -Is he faster than me?

  All of our heads swivel to the doorway to see Hoop standing there, holding a gun to Circe’s head.

  Even though the sight of this doesn’t seem to overly alarm the women, I leap to my feet and scramble backwards, ready to dive behind furniture if the barrel even looks like it might swing towards me.

  Atropos rises, her head slightly tilted to one side.

  -Yes, even faster than you, Mr. Hooper.

  I didn’t think it would be possible, but it is. And the most amazing part of it is, Mr. Eon doesn’t even try. It’s as though his brain was malleable even before his first dose of Satellite.

  Hoop’s face darkens.

  -That’s because he’s a fucking junkie! What part of that do you not get? He’s not reliable! I was the one who was supposed to lead us out of here! You told me that!

  Despite Hoop screaming at her, Atropos doesn’t flinch.

  -I’m sorry, Mr. Hooper. I was mistaken. At the time, I never imagined someone could be faster, but here he is. And you’re the one responsible for him.

  -No, I’m not! It was that stupid fuck Dent! He’s the one to blame, not me!

  -And you took care of him, didn’t you?

  My face is beaded with sweat, as is Circe’s. In fact, the guy is struggling not to cry and I’d bet my last fix he’s gonna piss his pants any second.

  Even Luna, standing next to Atropos, appears a bit nervous. And if not nervous, then at least concerned.

  But Atropos takes another step towards Hoop and continues to talk calmly.

  -I think you should put the gun down, Mr. Hooper. We can talk this out.

  -No!

  Hoop shrieks, removing the muzzle of the gun from the back of Circe’s head and pointing it at Atropos.

  -We already fucking talked, Atropos! Or don’t you remember? You said I was too erratic. Remember that? Well, how’s this for fucking erratic? All the spins in the world and you didn’t see this coming, did you?

  Atropos regards Hoop the way an especially patient teacher would study a child throwing a tantrum.

  -Do you think you can shoot me, Mr. Hooper?

  Instantly, Atropos falls to the floor and my first thought was that, yes, Hoop did think he could shoot her and in fact, did.

  But then Hoop…changes. The fire goes out of his eyes and they adopt that same calm tranquility Atropos’s eyes possess. He steps forward and hands the gun to Luna, who puts it into the back of her waistband under her leather jacket.

  Circe falls to his knees, repeating the word

  -Fuck!

  over and over again.

  I’m inclined to agree with him.

  -What the fuck just happened?

  I look at Atropos, still unmoving on the floor.

  Hoop turns robot-like and leaves the room.

  -Holy shit! What the fuck?

  Yes, I’m repeating myself, but…

  Luna bends down to examine Atropos, pressing two fingers to her throat.

  I join her on the other side of the body.

  -Is she dead?

  Luna glances at me and I’m stunned to see her smiling. Not a lot. Just a corner of her mouth tugging upwards as if on a string. But a smile just the same.

  -No, she’s not dead. She’ll rejoin us in a minute.

  -What? Rejoin us? What in the holy shit does that mean?

  Atropos blinks, startling the crap out of me and making me fall back onto my ass.

  Luna’s smile grows.

  -This is ‘what in the holy shit’ that means.

  Sitting up, Atropos looks at me.

  -I’m sorry to have scared you, Mr. Eon. Sometimes a little leap is a necessary evil.

  -A little…leap? You mean, you…you…

  -I leaped into Mr. Hooper, yes.

  Luna helps her to her feet.

  -He is safely locked in the library down the hall. He’ll sleep for some time to come.

 
; -But…how? How did you do it?

  She offers me a hand and when she pulls me to my feet, I’m astounded by her strength. She is definitely not your average seventeen year old girl.

  -I just craft a mind bridge.

  She says this like it’s something I should know already. Like it’s something everyone knows already.

  Walking over to where Circe is still on the floor, she pulls him up with the same ease she did me before glancing at Luna.

  -How much time?

  Luna looks at me, then back to her and shakes her head.

  -Not much. It’s faster and faster now. Two minutes. Maybe.

  Atropos scowls, a barely detectable change in her brow.

  -That’s not enough time.

  -Not even close.

  Luna tells me to sit down.

  -Why?

  She sighs.

  -Why do you even question anymore? Haven’t you seen enough?

  She has a point. I sit.

  Atropos sits on the table again, just as she did earlier.

  -Déjà vu.

  -Indeed. Take my hands again, please, Mr. Eon.

  I do as I’m told.

  Her hands are warm and soft. She doesn’t have to tell me to close my eyes this time. I just do it, feeling more and more like a trained monkey.

  -I’m coming with you this time, Mr. Eon.

  My eyes fly open.

  -What? You can do that?

  -I can.

  -Then why didn’t you do it before?

  -Because it’s dangerous.

  -Dangerous? Am I going to get hurt?

  -No. Not dangerous for you. Dangerous for them.

  -Oh. Well…still. That seems bad.

  -And dangerous for me.

  Now I’m the one scowling.

  -That’s even worse!

  I yank my hands away.

  She reaches for them again.

  -It’s necessary.

  -Why?

  -You’ll see.

  Luna crosses the room to stand beside us.

  -I don’t think this is a good idea, Atropos.

  I nod.

  -It’s a terrible idea. And besides, hasn’t it already been two minutes? I think Luna called this one wrong. No offense, Luna. But I really feel fine. I don’t think I’ll be spinning anytime soon. I’m actually kind of hungry. When was the last time I ate?