We All Fall Down - Quills and Daggers Part Two: The Collective - Season 1, Episode 10

by Carver Pike

  Ring around the rosy. Pocket full of posies…

  Bruce froze in place and with his back to me I couldn’t tell if he was afraid or not. I imagined he was. He must have seen the news too and had heard about the whistler.

  Ashes…ashes…

  He turned around before I could finish. I met him with a swipe of the scalpel across his throat. Quickly, before he could bleed out all over the place, I grabbed him by his shirt and dragged him over to the table. He struggled, swatted at my hands, but his need for breath and his search for understanding was much stronger. He didn’t put up as much of a fight as I thought.

  To make sure he wouldn’t fight anymore, I pulled a rope out of my backpack and tied him to the table. He needed to stay still so he could bleed out all over the floor.

  Yes, Sally likes it clean in here. I’ll make sure to keep this as clean as possible.

  You know what’s my favorite part of the kill? When the body begins to convulse. I imagine it’s because of the choking, the need for oxygen, much the way a body twitches when someone’s drowning, or at least that’s what I’ve seen in movies. Bruce twitched on the table. His eyes watered and got really red.

  “You must be thinking about your family,” I taunted him.

  I’m not sure why I did it. It wasn’t my usual style, but he had ties to Sally, and thinking about her pissed me off. I wondered if he’d ever fucked her. She was so beautiful and Bruce wasn’t a bad looking guy. It was possible that they’d fucked sometime in the past. That pissed me off even more.

  “I’m sure you do have a family,” I added. “You must have. You look like an established guy. Your kids must be doing great in school. They must love seeing you at the end of a long work day. Your wife too. She’s probably pretty. Maybe not beautiful, but I bet she gives a mean blowjob. If she can do that and cook? Wow, that’s a keeper. But one question I have is why do you work so late, Bruce? What are you avoiding at home? Or are you here hoping to see Sally?”

  Bruce’s feet kicked on the table.

  “Yes, I know Sally. You see, I’ve always wanted to fuck pretty Sally. I bet you’ve fucked her. Stop moving so much, Bruce. Relax. It’ll be over soon.”

  Bruce twitched a few more times and then went still.

  “Wait, don’t fucking die on me yet, Bruce. By the way, when is Sally due to come in? Or when does she usually come in since it seems she’s busy fucking Mr. Smooth, whoever that is. Who is Mr. Smooth? Maybe I should pay him a visit too. You see, Sally doesn’t deserve to be happy. Because, Bruce, she shits on other people who aren’t as perfect as she is.”

  It was too late. The life had drained from his body. I slapped his arm.

  “You’re not even hearing my fucking story, Bruce.”

  He was gone. I could have left, but the job wasn’t completely done. I needed him to drain some more blood. I pushed down on his chest and watched more blood ooze from the slit in his neck. I was still holding the scalpel so I wiped it off on his shirt and placed it carefully inside my backpack. While Bruce took his sweet ass time drip drying, I used my latex glove covered right hand to catch some of the blood that was dripping down from the table. Then I walked over to the far wall and wiped some words on it. It was sloppy and it took a few trips back and forth between his body and the wall, but in the end I think I got my message across.

  It was magnificent and mimicked those words whispered to me so long ago by the Midnight Man.

  WE ALL FALL DOWN

  Beautiful.

  When Bruce’s wound seemed to be finished draining, I got my backpack and retrieved a couple of things that were important to the crime scene. The “food items” as those idiot reporters called them. My pumpkin pie ingredients. Bruce was special. He was getting a double dose of pie this morning. Into his wound I carefully slid a cinnamon stick. Then, as cautiously as possible, as I didn’t want to tear the wound open like some kind of animal, I packed the canned kind of pumpkin pie mix into his neck.

  Standing back from his body, I stopped to admire my work. I was getting rather good at this murder business.

  “What do you think?” I said out loud to nobody in particular.

  Nobody answered.

  “Hey, demons,” I said. “I’m talking to you. This is what you want, right? Well, what do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Hag said.

  “Thank you,” I replied. “Samuel? You always have something to say.”

  “COULD’VE DONE BETTER!” he yelled. “Could have at least finished your song.”

  “Shit, you’re right,” I said.

  So I went back to whistling.

  Ring around the rosy. Pocket full of posies. Ashes…ashes…we all fall down.

  As I finished the song, I looked back at the wall and loved the look of the words dripping down it.

  “We all fall down,” I repeated.

  I walked out of the building just as easy as I’d entered it. I didn’t pass a single person. The back door was free. I was invincible.

  I am invincible!

  My high wouldn’t come down as I reached my car and headed home. After some quick cleanup and a shower, I needed to find something that might ease my hard on. So I went back to the bar, in search of the prostitute I’d brought home before. She might not have liked it when I threw money in her face, but it was money, not rocks, so she should be happy to meet up again.

  She wasn’t there when I arrived, so I sat and drank a beer.

  “Lookin’ for Robin?” came a hoarse voice over my shoulder.

  “I don’t know any Robins,” I said.

  “The blonde you took home the other day,” he said.

  Someone here is too fucking observant.

  I looked over my shoulder to see an aging man, probably only in his mid-sixties, but years of dirt and grime built up on his skin made him look even older. His grey goatee and mustache were too close to my face for comfort and the cigarette dangling out from between his dry lips threatened to burn one of my eyes out.

  He had the look of a biker. He wore a blue bandana rolled up over his eyes and a black Harley Davidson T-shirt that hung loosely over ripped jeans with a long wallet clinging around with each step.

  “You her pimp?” I asked.

  “Ha!” he yelled and when he did, a blast of cigarette smoke blew at my face.

  That one bit of laughter turned into an all-out roar and then he fell back into a seat at the table behind me and downed a shot of tequila.

  “Not her pimp,” I said.

  I looked at the bartender and held up a finger.

  “Get me one of those shots of tequila, would you?” I said.

  The bartender nodded.

  “And one for my new friend,” I added.

  “Don’t kill him,” Samuel whispered in my ear. “He’s cool.”

  “Fuck off,” I said.

  “What?” the old biker said.

  “Not you,” I told him. “Voices.”

  I’d admitted it so freely that it shocked even me.

  “Shh,” Samuel reminded me.

  The bartender handed me both shots and I passed one along to the biker.

  “Voices of the past,” my new friend said as he lifted his glass in a toast.

  “And the present,” I added.

  We both downed our shots.

  Before long, we were both seated at his table, swapping stories. Mine were all made up since nothing really exciting had ever happened to me. Nothing except the fact that I was all over the news and had snuck into the medical examiner’s office earlier to slit the throat of her assistant. Her friend. Whoever the fuck Bruce had been. He wasn’t Sally, that’s all that mattered. But she’d get the message. She had already I was sure.

  “Mate!” my biker buddy said.

  I’d zoned out and missed the first part of the conversation so I had no idea what the word meant.

  “Huh?” I said. “I think that last shot got to me a bit.”

  The guy howled with more laughter. He was definite
ly a jovial fellow.

  “My name,” he said. “Mate!”

  “Oh,” I said. “I’m Neal.”

  “Neal,” he said. “Nah, you’re too cool for a name like Neal. We need to get you a tough name like mine.”

  “Like Mate?” I said, laughing. “Doesn’t that mean buddy or chap or pal?”

  “No,” he said, his face turning serious. “It’s short for Cremate. It’s what I was known for when I was still riding with the Iron Claw MC.”

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Everything is falling right into my lap today.

  “Yeah,” he kept going. “I did some real fucked up shit. Probably shouldn’t be talking about this but I get the feeling you’ve done some questionable things in your life too, Neal.”

  “Maybe some,” I agreed.

  “Well they called me Cremate because I was the guy. You know the guy?”

  “The guy?”

  “The guy.”

  “The guy,” I repeated, hoping he’d add more than that.

  “The guy you turn to when you need to get rid of bodies. I burned ‘em. Don’t get me wrong. None of ‘em were good people. They were all scum.”

  “Scum should be dealt with accordingly,” I said.

  You piece of shit scum.

  “Damn right,” he said. “Buy me another shot.”

  I held my hand up to signal the bartender I needed another shot. Just one this time. I didn’t want to be too wasted for what needed to happen next.

  The bartender handed him his shot and he drank it quickly.

  “Hey,” I said. “This place fucking blows. Where do girls like Robin hang out more often?”

  “Ha!” he howled again, slapping his knee. “You got a car?”

  “I do. Let’s go find some real fun. Just don’t fucking cremate me, alright?”

  He thought that was hilarious, much funnier than I’d expected him to, and he followed me out the door and to my car. It was late and the city was still quite busy but not traffic filled.

  “Point me in the right direction,” I said as I fastened my seatbelt.

  He did.

  “So you were a member of the Iron Claw?” I asked. “That’s pretty cool.”

  “Still am, technically,” he said. “Once a brother, always a brother. They just stop calling on you when you get older and less dependable.”

  As he said the word dependable, his voice lowered in volume and slobber dripped from his mouth. I hadn’t noticed inside the bar, but it was clear now that he was hurting. Not hurting as in physical pain, but he was bothered by the fact that he was hanging out solo now. Sure, he was part of the brotherhood still. He might show up at a loud annual party that everyone attended. Maybe a bonfire with a shit ton of bikers around, but he’d never attend the smaller, more intimate club hangouts. He wasn’t wanted in that capacity anymore. He was no longer a part of the inner circle.

  “I met some of the club members a while back,” I said.

  “Doesn’t surprise me. They’re everywhere.”

  “Yeah, they kicked my ass pretty good,” I said.

  He turned to look at me and then started laughing out loud again. Apparently he thought I was telling a joke. His face was a mixture of sadness and hysteria. For this brief moment, he was happy, but as soon as the laughter died down, he’d sulk again. He’d sit and dwell on a life he no longer lived. He was like a clown once the crowd leaves the circus. With no jokes left to keep the masses roaring, there was no other choice but to crawl into a bottle. I knew then that killing him would serve two purposes. It would allow me to fuck with the Iron Claw MC and it would put him out of his misery.

  “You’ve done some bad things in your life,” I told him.

  His laughter quieted and he once again looked sad. Or was it angry? I couldn’t tell. Street lamps flashed into the car as I passed them but the light was never strong enough for me to see his face clearly.

  “Fuck you,” he said. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I guarantee you’ve done some bad things too.”

  “Mate,” I said, “No judgement from me. I was going to say that I see some good in you too. You’ve got a lot of good in there.”

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you one of these religious zealots here to make me repent for my sins?”

  “Me?” I asked.

  You have no idea how wrong you are.

  “He thinks you’re a priest,” Rotten said.

  “You should suck his cock and show him you’re not one,” Hag suggested.

  “Kill him,” Samuel said.

  “Yes, kill him,” Putrid agreed.

  “You think I’m a priest or a traveling bible salesman or something?” I asked.

  “I don’t know what you are,” Mate said.

  “I’m nothing more than a friend,” I promised. “A friend who wants to help you solve your problems.”

  “Problems? What is this?” he asked. “Let me out of the fucking car you psycho.”

  “Calm down and show me where to find Robin,” I said. “I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll even pay for your pussy too.”

  That made him brighten up again. He laughed. I turned the car onto a darker side street, far away from the overhead lamps.

  “Where you goin?” he asked. “I said that way.”

  “I have to take a piss,” I said. “I’m not gonna do it out there with so many cars on the road. You want me to get arrested, Mate? We’ve both been drinking.”

  He agreed and I pulled the car over in a dark area near what appeared to be an old used car lot.

  “I gotta piss too,” he said.

  Side by side, in what might be considered an awkward position for two guys who hardly knew each other, my drunken friend whipped out his cock and started pissing on the sidewalk next to me. His legs wobbled drunkenly. If I pushed him sideways, he’d fall over. I considered it. I could easily push him down and hop back into the car real quick. He was a big guy and I wasn’t sure he was worth killing. This was one of those unplanned situations that could get me hurt. Then again, I had demons on my side and he was an old drunk.

  An old drunk who used to cremate people.

  “You wanna hear something really funny?” I asked him as I pretended to be pulling out my dick.

  “You know I do!” he said.

  “My real name is Neal,” I replied. “I’ve never told anyone that before. Yet, I told you that at the bar.”

  We stood in silence for a second and I knew he was trying to figure out why I’d consider that funny. It wasn’t. It was more amusing. Why had I chosen to tell him my real name?

  “Here,” I said. “Let me help you.”

  I leaned over and with the same scalpel I’d used on Bruce, I reached out my arm past his face. Then I pulled hard back in my direction, tearing through his throat. The sound of blood gurgling out was louder than it had been with Bruce. Mate was leaned forward, trying to hold his neck back together, which actually led to more blood spurting out. I kicked the back of one of his knees and his leg bent, sending him crashing to the ground.

  “Let go,” I told him. “Let go. Make peace with the situation. It’ll be over soon. You’re gonna send a message to the Iron Claw MC for me.”

  He fell to his knees and clawed at his throat. It was almost too much to watch, but I did. I watched him fight death until he had no choice but to give in and go with it. Then I realized I’d have to get his big ass into my car so I did something that I admit was really fucked up.

  “Shit,” I said. “I went too far. Let me help you. Come on. Get in the car. I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  I reached for his arm and he fought me but rose to his feet. I opened the back door and he collapsed in the back seat. I couldn’t believe it. He actually got up and put himself back inside my car after I’d slit his fucking throat.

  From the driver’s side seat, I waited until he could no longer move. He took longer to die than Bruce, but eventually he let go of life…and the demons cheered. Since nobody
was around, I went ahead and finished the job there on the street. I pulled off his blood stained t-shirt and threw it onto the seat next to him. Washing my car later would be a bitch, but I knew there’d be no moving his heavy body until I was ready to dump him.

  The Iron Claw MC tattoo on his chest only fueled my anger and reminded me of why I was doing this in the first place. I hated those lousy pieces of shit. I idolized them and what did I get for it? I got the shit kicked out of me. They made me feel a fool for wanting to be them. So now I’d give the cops another reason to come knocking on their door. Would it scare them? No. Would it bother them? Definitely.

  It would take too long and make too much of a mess to cut off his tattoo, so instead, I carved an “X” over it. Then, across his bare chest and stomach, I wrote the same words I’d written on the wall in Sally’s office.

  WE ALL FALL DOWN

  In front of one of the city’s smaller police stations, I pulled up out front, climbed quickly into the backseat, and dumped his body on the street. If the cops couldn’t figure out how to tie my murders together more quickly, maybe this would help them out.

  There you go. Tell the MC about me. They’ll spread the word for you.

  Chapter 18 – Kevin

  The charges were dropped. Nothing could actually be linked to me other than Nikki screaming out of her mind while on whatever drugs they’d given her. That, combined with the fact that I’d gotten attacked by hospital security for no reason at all, led to my release. I supposed the hospital didn’t want to end up in a lawsuit. I was released but with the warning that I shouldn’t go far because I’d be getting a call with more questions soon. At least the cops were nice enough to drop me off at my apartment, and they did it without harassing me the entire way.

  It was early afternoon when I entered my apartment. I hadn’t slept at all while in jail. The thoughts running through my mind were enough to drive a man crazy. Mrs. Rebecca wouldn’t leave me alone. All I could think about was what I’d lost with her. Then I thought about Jane. I know it sounds ridiculous since I hardly knew her, but she was the only thing pure in my life. She was good. All the way good. And I wanted to experience more of what she had to offer.