Damaged

by McCombs, Troy

Adam interrupted: "It's not what you want anymore. It's what I want. Now just give me some space. Please?"

  David stood up and hobbled away on his cane. He almost fell four times.

  Adam looked around the graveyard... at the miniature stone plaques with crosses on them... at the hundreds of marble tombstones with unfamiliar names written on them... at the concrete-angels with their hands folded together, praying to the absent God from above. His stomach churned. He wanted to live forever; never buried six feet below ground and rot and be eaten away by dirty maggots. Even if he could make a legacy, he would still, in some way, pass this place by, transcend it.

  God will never destroy me. I will punish him, instead.

  Many of the people got quiet, broke apart, sat down. The priest, dressed for business and bible in hand, approached the casket. Adam's gaze went from looking at the brightly-colored flowers to looking at the old man with the white collar.

  "Before I start reading some passages from the bible, I want to tell you about Angela, the person I knew," the man of faith began. "She hasn't been to church in a while, and we've missed her dearly. All of us. She was a person who would do anything for anybody, no matter what. When there was a problem in her life, instead of her fixing it, she would help somebody else first. These are the things I most remember. Debra, I know she visited you while you were in the hospital. She leaves behind a son, Adam McNicols, for whom I can only express my deepest sympathies. I am sorry for your loss."

  Adam said and did nothing.

  The priest licked his lips and opened the Big Black Book. "Lord, in Your hands we commend the spirit of Angela Beth McNicols. We ask that You take care of her, bless her, and welcome her into Your precious kingdom. May You, Lord, guide her and grant her peace. In these things we ask You through Your son, Christ Jesus, our Savior.

  The priest shut his book and walked away. The casket was lowered slowly into the rectangular tunnel. Adam watched the remnants of his 44-year-old mother leaving the surface of the living world. He wanted to cry but wouldn't. He looked crazed while everyone around him looked desperate and broken. The sun blazed down through the cloudless sky. This is not the end, Adam thought.

  Chapter 9

  Adam’s First Victim

  "Adam, please help me! I don't want to die!" his mother screamed. She was sitting in the window seat of the plane as it was going down. Erin was sitting right beside her, so tense she couldn't move. Flames suddenly engulfed the cabin. People screamed. Some threw up. The noise was louder than a war zone.

  "Adam," his mother said, looking at him, "you're my son! I love you."

  "I love you, too," Erin told him.

  The plane exploded. His mother and Erin blew apart; their meat and blood and bodily goo flew right into his face.

  Adam woke up.

  This was the first time he entered into consciousness with this amount of hatred. Today he wanted to destroy the earth.

  He urinated, brushed his teeth, showered, and ate breakfast, more like a cyborg than a human being. He watched television without laughing once, without breaking a smile. Everything was a far suppressed memory to him—even his mother and his ex-girlfriend.

  After watching Full House, Adam prepared the Chloroform, a dish rag, cable-ties, and a Radio-Flyer wagon. He had some doubts about what he was planning to do, but he easily fought them away. Every piece of reason or logic was unavailable. He had had these kinds of thoughts before, of course, but never to this degree.

  "I'll leave at two in the morning. She should be asleep by then. I hope. I hope." He did not even realize he'd said it twice as he sat there on the couch with his dog.

  "Plan is simple, Muffy. Good thing about all those years of observing all the demons in this small town is this: I know where most of them live, and I have a way to get to and escape from the scene with my enemy and bring them back here. For instance, I know that Erica sleeps in a small, pretty little room in the garage apartment apart from her parents’ house so that she feels more independent and on her own. And I know from school yesterday that she'll be alone, because her parents grounded her. Besides that, she's got some prep-fuck-thing happening—happening early tomorrow." Adam grinned and looked down at Muffy. Muffy growled and darted out of the room.

  "Yes, it's easy to get information on everybody at school. Only in school am I the one treated wrong. It's time for Adam McNicols to strike back... in a big way."

  ***

  The moments leading up to 2:00 A.M. felt like an excruciating eternity. He counted down from six hours to the deed he was about to commit. He had everything ready in a plain black duffle-bag sitting on his lap. Inside was: the Chloroform, a rag, gloves, and a horror Halloween mask to cover his face with so that nobody could identify him if he was spotted by some nocturnal dog-walker or some old hag who looked out her window every five minutes. He also had a small knife in his pocket and a pillow already wedged up inside his shirt to make himself look fat. He was nervous, and for good reason. He was about to carry out an inexcusable crime that, to him, was vigilant justice. Now, more than writing dumb stories that got him into trouble at school, he was going to write his own horror story in reality, not fiction.

  "Shit, I don't know if I can do this," he said, standing up, pacing. "What if I can't—"

  He realized he'd said that word—can’t—and realized it was people like Erica who made him believe he never could.

  "What if I get—"

  Stop it! Your conscience is trying to stop you.

  "But—" he started to say; then he heard his mother telling him in the back of his mind that she loved him (she's dead), and Erin saying “good-bye” (she lied).

  All was in place.

  Adam took four deep breaths, grabbed his duffle bag and buggy, walked into the basement, and entered the underground sewer system. He made sure the door was sealed as uniformly as possible with the wall—this way, if someone happened to follow him back, they'd never know it led back to his very own basement.

  Adam felt like a lion hunting a buffalo. He poked his flashlight through the passages, hoping to God he would not run into someone: a cop, a sanitation worker, anybody who would turn him in. He half expected a devil with the head of a rat and the body of a bull to pop up in places where even the flashlight wasn't very bright. And he expected that devil to either take him to hell or show him the way.

  But no devil came, and no rats occupied any space he traveled. The sewer was incredibly quiet. The only sound Adam could hear was the tinking of the nearby pipes behind some of the thick concrete walls.

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, Adam finally came into some overhead moonlight. It was shining dimly through the ring around a manhole cover, which obviously hadn't been designed wide enough to cover the whole opening. Adam knew where he was. He didn't know how he did; his direction was normally terrible. The ladder was there, twenty feet away, his way right up to the alley beside Erica's little apartment dwelling.

  "Passed the point of no return," he said to himself. Adam unzipped his duffle bag, took out the mask and gloves, and put them on, tense but ready. He heard his mother's voice in the back of his mind say she loved him, that she was proud of him, and that he was a good person.

  Then he reminded himself that she was a corpse, blown into bits and pieces.

  Forget mom, Adam! This is your time!

  He scurried up the ladder with the duffle bag draped over his shoulder.

  Adam lifted the sewer lid, pushed it aside, and peeked out like a CIA agent spying on an informant. There, the building stood: Erica's place. Lights off, no activity within or anywhere around the stone-dark alley. The steam from his mouth gave some life to the area. Nowhere in sight was there movement—just the sound of eighteen wheelers flying by in the distance.

  Adam quietly moved the lid aside and climbed out. He quickly and even more quietly put it back into place. The young assailant looked pretty strange standing in the back alley with that goofy mask on and that pillow stuffed up his shir
t.

  Adam crunched across the gravel and to one of the three windows, where he peeked in and saw everything he needed to, for the very bright night-light lit up her delicate face. She was lying in bed, alone and unconscious.

  You can turn back, Adam. It's not too late.

  Yes. It is!

  Adam examined the window frame, its structure, and its weaknesses to invaders. All this planning, and he forgot to include a method for breaking in.

  Maybe I'll do it next time—

  No, NOW!

  Adam was usually terrible with thinking under pressure, but this was somehow different. Easier, even, just because he felt dominate. The only weak thing here was the window seal. Old, dirty, and could be easily opened with a simple knife—one that he did not forget—his Swiss Army Knife.

  He took it out of his pocket and opened it up. Quietly, he eased the blade between the window and the seal. It gave. The window was not even locked.

  Looks like Little Miss Erica thinks her mommy and daddy are close enough to protect her if anything goes wrong...

  He slowly pulled open the window. Fortunately for him, it was not one of those tight-fitters that made a racket. This lifted noiselessly. There she was, Erica the prep, who could do no wrong, sleeping four feet away from an exploded human bomb—Adam.

  He removed the Chloroform from the duffle bag. His trembling fingers worked to open the lid. And it was those trembling fingers that came very close to dropping the bottle to the floor.

  The stage was set. Access: check; Chloroform: check; justified motive: check.

  As slowly as he could, Adam stepped inside, legs trembling. He got his whole figure inside without a problem. She continued sleeping, snoring quietly. To Adam, she didn't even look pretty anymore, not without any makeup on, not with that mouth opened farther than the Fort Pitt Tunnel. Erica looked so at peace. Adam looked like a twisted, mutated freak with the mask he was wearing.

  He tip-toed over to her, over to that idiotic face, ready to pounce.

  The fucking floor!—Adam thought. It creaked rather loudly. Erica stopped snoring suddenly. He froze.

  Oh, shit, she knows!

  He waited, but she didn't wake up. She rolled over on her side, away from him.

  Back out now, Adam.

  Get out before it's too late—

  But it was already too late when he lunged at her, hitting her pretty hard in the face with the Chloroform-soaked rag. A thruster of adrenaline burst inside him. He lost all sense of self. He was not completely aware of Erica clawing at his mask with her long, fake fingernails, which broke apart easier than cheap glass. Adam was outside himself, watching the drama unfold like a spectator at baseball game.

  The rush did not pull him back but pushed him forward. He blocked her slaps with one hand while shoving that stinging Chloroform odor into her nostrils with the other. Erica thought she was being attacked by a beast from hell who wanted to poison her to death. She was so scared, she shat her pajama bottoms. Adam didn't know that yet, but her struggle to ward him off was slacking. Her thin, hairless arms slapped at the mask with little force. Her eyes were starting to roll back. Her little yelps became silent gasps. The chemical was obviously working. Erica was definitely going back to sleep for the second time tonight. Nobody broke in, not even her tough boyfriend.

  As soon as she passed out, Adam smiled thoughtfully. Here was the highest-classed girl in the tristate area, now vulnerable to his command.

  She appeared dead. Her eyes were open, with only the whites visible. He didn't want this—death... he wanted compensation. Interest.

  Adam, the only person in Blake High who'd never used drugs, was now as high as a kite on endorphins. He did not remember his dead mother or his ex-girlfriend. They were nowhere in his mind. Finally, it was he who would be remembered.

  It was when he picked her up off the bed that he smelled her fecal matter. He wanted to laugh but was too disgusted to. This was the princess of all creation … whose shit smelled just as bad as everyone else's after all.

  Adam carried her out the window like the monster from the black lagoon, and went quickly to the manhole, where he set her down and opened the lid. He threw her limp frame over his shoulder and carried her down into the darkness. Now he knew he was safe from all crime-watchers. Sewer rats told no tales.

  After he set her in the wagon, Adam closed the manhole.

  Abduction: complete. Now time for the real fun.

  ***

  Thirty-seven minutes later, Erica opened her eyes, first drowsy, then wide awake. She thought she'd dreamt about the demonic entity, until she found herself standing straight up in a bath tub, stark naked, hands tied tightly together to the ceiling above.

  The shower curtain flew open. She yelped. To her shock, it was not a monster but the outsider from school. He looked unhappier than ever before, his eyes filled with wrath.

  "You know why you're here?" he asked.

  She looked around, too terrified to respond.

  "You're here because of your crimes against me. What you did to me, what you've done to me, what you would've done on Monday at school."

  She blinked her eyes. Tears fell. Adam's brows slanted.

  "Do you know what's going to happen to you, Erica?"

  She went to say something; instead, she vomited on her triangular-shaped breasts. Adam laughed.

  A very eerie presence filled the room when they looked at each other. Adam knew what she wanted.

  "You want to go back home, don't you?"

  She nodded, but Adam shook his head. "No. You will never see your home again, or your boyfriend, or your parents. You won't even see tomorrow. Your world ends tonight."

  More tears fell.

  "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to do to you what you've done to me. Plain and simple."

  "Please!"

  "I've said that word a thousand times before. Doesn't get me anywhere."

  "I won't—"

  "What?" Adam interrupted.

  "I won't tell anybody. I promise."

  “Lie."

  "No, really. If—"

  "Lie! Your kind doesn't fuck with me anymore."

  "Why are you doing this to me?"

  "I just told you."

  "I'm sorry. I won't ever do it ever again—"

  "Lie! Stop fucking lying to me. That's all you preppy whores do is lie to get your own way. Well, I'm not going to lie to you. You're going to die tonight."

  She cried and pulled at the twine that bound her thin hands. Adam didn't see a sad, scared young girl, he saw a great enemy who wanted to torture him. A demon incarnate, void of truth and spirit.

  "I'll give you anything. Pussy? Money?"

  "You can't give what you've taken away, Erica."

  "I'm sorry. I am sooo sorry. Please. I'll do anything for you. I swear to fucking God, just please don't hurt me, okay?"

  "And I just—" Adam started.

  "I will do anything you want," she interrupted.

  "Shut up! I'm the popular one here now, not you. You know what? You're perfect. Little Miss Fucking Perfect who can do no wrong, who gets by in life and do anything and get away with it scot-free because you're rich—"

  "—that's not—"

  "Shut up! You got everything. I got nothing. You got everything you could ever ask for, and what do you do? You take away from me. You make me feel like shit because I don't fit in, because I'm different, because I ain't a fucking idiot like you. You should be helping me, not tearing me apart and ignoring me."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm not! I'm not the least bit sorry for what I'm about to do to you. It's not revenge, it's setting life fair." Adam reached over and took a roll of Duct Tape and three razor blades off the sink. When he turned back to Erica, she screamed.

  "Shut up!" he yelled.

  It didn't work. She screamed so loudly she injured her voice-box. Adam punched her across the jaw, dazing her and finally silencing her. He then opened her mouth, stuck the three razor blades in
side, and wrapped the Duct tape around her mouth and head. "We'll see how long you can tolerate the pain of scalding hot water before swallowing the razors. Either way, you lose."

  By the time the stars stopped circling around her head, Adam was sitting calmly on the lip of the tub by the faucet.

  Erica lost control when she felt the razors in her mouth. She didn't know what they were, but they were so sharp she could barely swallow without cutting her tongue or her cheeks. She even pushed the blade of one of the razors against the Duct tape to try and cut through it, but ended up cutting her lips, instead.

  Her hands were bleeding from the tightly-wrapped twine. Sore red rings encircled her wrists. All she could do was cry, yelp, and plead non-verbally for Adam to let her live.

  He grabbed the hot water knob. Before he turned it, he said, "I wish things could have been different, but you couldn't change. It's by your own actions that you're here, and it's by my actions that you're about to go."

  He turned the knob all the way. The pipes made noise, and Erica's eyes widened. She kicked at the shower head, trying to knock it aside, but it was too high and too far away. Adam watched, enthralled. The water spurted, then flew out. It was extremely cold at first when it slammed against her face, throat, breasts, and stomach. She initially thought she was going to be frozen to death. But as it started heating up, little by little, she knew that this was going to really suck.

  Erica had been burned once as a child on her aunt's stove. Ever since, she'd made it a priority to never be burned again. She feared fire more than she did Adam. This was the last way she wanted to die.

  "Rrrrr! Rrrr!" she screamed, jarring her body savagely to escape. Adam just sat there with a silly smile on his face, watching as this opponent of his was getting what she deserved. He had never felt so free, except maybe for his brief experience with Erin. And hearing Erica's potent screams was somewhat similar to hearing Erin tell him she loved him.

  He just giggled at Erica like a schoolboy.

  The temperature of the water continued to rise. Her entire front was quickly reddening to the tone of a tomato, and the skin around her bound wrists was tearing off because she kept pulling at the twine with all her might. Adam giggled louder and louder the more she fought to escape. Blood began to run out from between her chin and where the Duct tape stuck to her flesh. The razors in her mouth cut her cheeks, tongue and teeth. Despite the tape and a destroyed voice-box, she carried on, her cries for help still devouring the room. She did everything she could think of, but nothing was doing any good. She knew she either had to shut off the water or break the twine.