That was why he was stunned to see this chump standing right outside the doorway of the pawnshop.
“What the hell you doin’?” Brian asked very mater-of-fact.
The man turned to him. His eyes were lost, like he was confused. He seemed dazed and wondered why he was where he was. His hair was disheveled. The long coat that he wore was ragged and filthy. The gloves on his hands were unmistakable. Brian had seen countless fingerless gloves since he unwillingly joined the homeless community in Grayson. The gunk that was splashed across the man’s coat was the same gunk that Brian had on his shirt.
Brian laughed. “So, Elliott’s gotten to you with whatever the hell he’s been slippin’ me. Ain’t that some shit?”
“What?”
“Nothin’.” Brian shook his head. “What you doin’ back here this early anyhow? Don’t you normally collect cans or some shit?”
“Well, that’s what I…” the man said, clearly flustered. “I just can’t seem to remember why I came back, and without my cans. I could have sworn I had at least two bags full. I worked all morning for ’em.” He scanned the alley around them.
“Well ain’t that some shit,” Brian said again, laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’ll tell you what’s funny. Elliott Racca is what’s funny,” Brian insisted. “You know that prick?” He asked, reaching for his pack of chew in his back pocket. He felt the gun graze his arm. He had forgotten all about it. He stopped, forgetting the tobacco and smiled. “You know who I’m talkin’ about?”
“Yeah, I know Elliott,” the man said, pulling his coat back to reach in his pocket. He pulled a pack of smokes out and lit one up. Satisfied with the smoke leaving his lips, he stuffed the pack away. “Why do you ask? He’s a little off his rocker, but other than that he’s a nice guy. Could use a shower, but hell, we could all use a damn shower. Am I right or am I right?”
Brian’s stiff expression tensed as he glared at the man, knocking the smirk right off the man’s face. He just stood there awkwardly for a moment smoking his cigarette. Brian could tell that the man was nervous. He had that effect on people when he wanted to. It wasn’t the man’s sense of humor that had him suddenly gritting his teeth. It was the shirt. The man’s undershirt, the one under the gunk covered coat. It was clean and here he was shirtless. He looked out at the sky, then back at the man, the same firm grim expression across his face. The sun would be going down before too long and it got colder when the sun went down.
“You gonna wear that?” Brian grimaced.
“Excuse me?” The man asked, trying to steady his shaking hand, the smoke from the cigarette giving him away regardless.
“Your shirt,” Brian demanded. “Are you done wearing it?”
“What the hell kind of a question is that, man? Look, I’m not lookin’ for any trouble.”
“Well, that’s too fuckin’ bad, cause you found it.” With one fast fluid motion, the 9mm was in his grip and aimed straight at the shaking man. “Take off the damn jacket and give me that shirt!” He shouted, aggressively shoving the gun forward in the air.
“What the hell, man,” the guy whimpered, dropping his cigarette and stepping back a few paces.
“Where the hell do you think you’re goin’, pal?” Brian checked the safety. “Don’t even test me. Now quit stallin’ and give me your undershirt. You don’t seriously expect me to stand around out here without a shirt, now do you?”
The man back stepped again, getting ready to run for it.
“Lose the coat and give me the shirt!”
The man turned and ran. His heavy steps echoed off the buildings. The man didn’t even get twenty feet away before Brian fired. The gun kicked lightly in his grip, stinging his wrist as it went off. The loud report that bellowed forth from the pistol startled him. The man tried to get away. It was clean shot to the right leg. The denim tore and blood spurted from the jutting hole in his leg as he fell. Grabbing at the wound the man cried out in pain.
“Ahh! You shot me!”
Realizing that the gunshot was a lot louder than he anticipated, Brian scanned the alley in both directions, then jumped up to glance over the fence toward the playground and the houses beyond. There was no one around. Hell, a lot of shouting went on in this alley and no one ever came.
Feeling confident, Brian strolled up to the man still clutching the bleeding leg. The man looked up at him with fear in his eyes. Brian glared down at him, gripping the 9mm even tighter.
“Please,” the man whimpered, slightly in shock.
Brian’s laughter sent the man in a flustering motion as he hurried to remove his coat. Between the way he was sitting on the ground and the bullet wound, it wasn’t an easy task. Blood smeared the coat as he started pulling it off with the hand that had been holding his bleeding leg. Brian dashed forward and stepped on the man’s wounded leg with his right foot. He pressed down hard with most of his weight. The man cried out in pain. The pain was so great that he instantly stopped what he was doing to try pulling away from his attacker.
“Watch what the hell you’re doin’, pal.” Brian commanded, pointed the gun at the man’s head. “You’re lucky I don’t want the damn coat. You got blood on it. Watch what you’re doin’ and see to it that you don’t get any blood on that shirt of mine.”
“I…” the man started, and then Brian pressed down harder on his leg.
The man cried out, fighting against the pain, while rushing to remove the coat and shirt. With the pain and a man pointing a gun at him, it was no easy task to keep from getting blood on the shirt. He had to use just one hand to pull it free. Once he had it off, he tossed it at Brian. Brian lifted his foot off the man’s leg and started to put the shirt on. Between the moments that he had it over his head and down past his face, the man on the ground jumped up to make a run for it. Brian fired again. The stinging sensation that it sent down his arm as the gun went off aroused him. There was something about its power that made him feel alive. Made him finally feel in control again. It seemed like he hadn’t been in control of his own destiny ever since losing that stupid job. Well, he was done feeling that way. The bullet hit the man in the left shoulder sending him to the ground again. Red ran down his back making Brian smile. He was done not being in control. After he dealt with this prick, he was going to deal with Elliott for slipping him drugs that made him black out. He was in control of his destiny and no one was going to step in his way. He was tired of playing games.
“Please, I need a doctor,” the man pleaded, as Brian stepped over him.
Brian knelt down and got right in the man’s face. “You’re gonna need a hell of a lot more than a doctor where you’re goin’, pal.” He shoved the barrel into the man’s temple. “I’m gonna ask you this nicely. Where has Elliott been hangin’ out the last couple a days?”
“I…I d-d-don’t know.”
“Wrong answer!” Brian pulled the trigger.
Brian didn’t expect it to, but at point blank like that, the man’s head split wide on the other side. The bullet exited the brain sending chunks of pink meat and liquid into the air. Blood ran down the side of the temple where the bullet first entered and Brian watched the man fall limp to the ground in the alley. The man was dead. Brian had never killed a man before. He stood there for a moment looking at his handy work. He was proud. He was in control. And proudly, even after the gruesome splash of gore that had exited the man’s head, his new shirt was still clean.
He looked around. Even after all the shouting and several shots fired, Brian was surprised to see that the alley was still vacant. No one had come to check things out. He decided he couldn’t just leave the body lying there on the ground, so he grabbed the shirtless man by the legs and pulled him back into the pawn shop. He set the corpse at the furthest part of the store, went back outside to get the man’s coat and then covered him with it. He would figure out something better to do with the man later. For now, he had a score to settle with Elliott and the sooner he got aro
und to doing that, the better. He didn’t want to be sitting around if and when someone did decide to show up to inspect the area. Somebody had to of heard the gunshots. It would be best if he got out of there and now.
He closed the back door of the old pawn shop and started down the alley.
Then it hit him. He just killed a man. Dizziness overwhelmed him. His stomach twisted in knots and fear gripped at his chest.
Propping up against one of the garbage cans in the alley, Brian spewed out what was left of the lunch he had eaten at the diner. The warm wet stench of an acidic burger filled the air as it splashed across the gravel. Once he was done, he wiped his lips with his free hand. It was then that he realized he still had the gun out. Panicked, he scanned the alley and saw that it was still empty. He tucked the gun away at the back of his jeans again and left the scene of the crime. His stomach grumbled and churned in protest at what he had just done.
He was still in denial. Still in shock. When he finally got clear of the alley he felt a lot better. Now it was time to take care of Elliott. The only real question was, ‘where the hell was he hiding’?’
“Best place to start is gonna be that silly coffee shop you used to bum at most days. Just cause I took your spot in this shit whole town, don’t mean you can try gettin’ back at me,” Brian chuckled. “You better hope I don’t find you. Cause I got a bullet with your name on it.”
Chapter 10
Darkness fell on Grayson, Louisiana like a thick blanket of dreadful gloom. The night was alive. For the most part the small town streets were inactive. Most of the small mom and pop shops were closed or closing. Other than the business owners still tending to things before heading home for the night, there were two places in particular that were teaming with activity. With more of the shops closed for the day and it being too dark to hunt for cans in the street, the small alley behind the pawnshop and the old diner was just starting to move. Barrel fires were brewing, and the homeless just starting to settle in.
The other place teaming with activity was old man, Dr. Minders’ clinic. The lights were on inside and the Sheriff’s car was parked out front alongside Doc’s. Peggy Ann, Doc’s assistant and Doc all stood in the hallway talking with Peggy Ann’s dad, the Sheriff.
Greg Teeter on the other hand had just now slowly started flickering back to consciousness.
Have you ever awakened somewhere unfamiliar and even though it felt, looked, and smelled so real, it wasn’t until later you realized you were still dreaming? Well, that is what happened to Greg.
Opening his eyes sent splitting pains through his brain right between the eyes above the nose. His vision was blurred and as he lay on his back letting them adjust to the dim light, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the crash last night. His mind flashed to the moment that he snatched up the iPod from the floorboard, and the damn deer staring blindly into his headlights as he crashed head on with it. His totaled trucked and if that pain wasn’t enough, the meds from the last set of pills he had taken were starting to wear off. He breathed in deeply. The jolt of agony that his lungs sent through his side as his ribs expanded was almost overwhelming. He reached into his pocket with his left hand, pulled out the pills he had gotten from the pharmacy and swallowed one whole. For some reason, when he tried to move his right hand, the arm felt restricted. It was as if it were glued to his head. He wrestled with it for a moment then gave up.
Rubbing his eyes with his left hand to help them adjust to the light faster, Greg looked around. The room was still too dim to really see anything, but one thing was obvious. He was lying on a bed. There was a small blanket at the end of the bed and the pillow under his head was a dead giveaway.
He blinked twice, his vision fully returned.
He tried, but couldn’t move. It was as if he was welded to the bed. Hovering all around him were those things on top of people. People he had never met. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they encircled the bed. There had to be at least a dozen of them. Greg gasped, swallowing hard. He froze with his eyes wide. The things weren’t looking down at him. He wasn’t even sure they knew he was there. Each man and woman standing at the edge of the bed hovered over Greg with the same blank emptiness. Their eyes were rolled back in their sockets revealing nothing but white. Blood ran down their cheeks crying tears of red. As if that weren’t the strangest thing, each one had their mouths wide open. Black thick sludge the consistency of tar poured freely from their mouths like a rushing water faucet. The black tar-like substance ran down their chins and neck onto their clothing. It was then that Greg looked a little closer and realized that the creatures on their backs were controlling them like puppets or something similar. Perched on these people’s shoulders, the gray slime covered monsters all had one main thing in common. It was the left arm, if it could be considered an arm. It was more like a long dangling twig so fragile that it could snap at any moment. The worm-like thing on the end wiggled as if it had a mind all its own. Only the worm thing was doing something ungodly and unnatural to each person that they sat perched upon. Unlike the right arm, the left was lifted up and what Greg assumed was their hands were actually inside these people’s ears. From what he could tell, the creatures’ maggoty tips were at least wrist deep in the ear canal. More of that same black liquid seeped from the penetrated ear and down the side of their faces. All he could think was that this was how these people were being controlled. The creatures were somehow tapping into the cerebral cortex and somehow altering patterns in the brain to control them like rag dolls. He was no brain surgeon, but that was the only explanation that he could muster as he stared up at them in fear. His heart pounded in his chest. The feeling of being surrounded like this ate at every ounce of hope in his being. Greg wanted to move, but was too afraid.
Although he feared to take his eyes away from them, he looked away from the creatures. Soon as he looked away they might try something. It wouldn’t matter even if they did. He was outnumbered. He pulled again at his right arm. It still wouldn’t budge, lodged somehow in place over his head. His gaze went over his head to the restricted arm. What his eyes fell upon sent him into hysterical panic.
The black gunk that was seeping all over the people surrounding the bed was all over his right hand. The black thick goo covered his hand all the way down to the elbow. His hand was stuck to the wall by some kind of paste. He couldn’t move his hand no matter how hard he pulled.
The room grew cold, filling with the overwhelmingly unpleasant smell of sulfur. It was heavy like being doused with a full bottle of perfume. The odor seeped into his clothes and burned his nostrils and throat.
The smell…it was his right arm! He suddenly felt a warm burning sensation and when he looked up at it again the flesh was melting. The thick black slime was eating away at his skin and muscle. His eyes grew wide as the tendons in his forearm bled through the peeling skin. Bubbling with pus, the bone started to show. Smoke rose from the meaty mess as it turned to nothing more than a pile.
Greg screamed!
The sudden movement from all around him drew his attention away from his melting arm, which surprisingly didn’t hurt. What did hurt was his chest. He almost swallowed his entire throat with one harsh gulp when all at once each creature surrounding the bed looked down at him. All turned their eyes on him simultaneously. When he looked up at them he couldn’t look away. Their eyes were massive and lifeless, solid and void of hope. They were the birthing place of fear. The never-ending abyss of carnage and rage. He wanted to escape their gaze more than he wanted anything in his whole life. However, like the date that was supposed to go down the night before, it didn’t happen. Staring up at the dead eyes made him feel like that deer he had run into last night. Their death-stare had him paralyzed in the middle of the street so to speak. It was only a matter of time before they crashed into him, killing him instantly.
Then, their teeth started to move. First, it was just one of them and before long they were all joining in. Their teeth began to chatter violently. Greg’
s mind flashed to a woodpecker going berserk on a dead maple. The rotting wood split under the bird’s sharp piercing beak. The violence of it made Greg cringe. They were communicating as if by some sort of Morse code, and they were looking at one another and then down at Greg. Their teeth chattered with vigor. Their expressions indicated hunger, but rather than trying to figure out what they were saying, Greg did the only thing he knew to do.
He closed his eyes and screamed again.
He expected the pain to ensue, to feel the biting and gnashing of teeth. He’d seen his fair share of zombie movies. He half expected grabbing hands and clawing fingers, but they never came.
He opened his eyes. Surprise, relief, and confusion filled him with concern. The things were gone. He looked around, finding himself no longer lying in the bed. Now he was standing up all alone in a room that he didn’t recognize. He scanned the space around him trying to figure out what the hell was going on. He scratched his head in wonder, and then realized that he had just used his right hand to do so. He examined it in frantic exasperation. It was no longer covered. No longer a meaty pile of pulp and sludge. It was fine. The black slime was gone.
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