Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  DEATH

  Sucks

  Andrew Mallen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to anyone, alive or dead, incidents or locations, past or present, is entirely coincidental.

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2019 by Andrew Mallen

  ISBN - 9781712081112

  For Renee,

  My best friend, my wife, my hero and my heart.

  Thank you.

  X

  PART I

  Darkness

  1.

  Seven pairs of strangers, naked and bound only by their sins, stood ready to kill for the privilege of serving an unnamed master.

  “One pair at a time, I don’t want to miss a moment of it. This is to the death ladies and gentlemen…”

  A hand shot up. Jones groaned, “Mr. Shu?”

  “Aren’t we already dead?” Shu asked, beaming with pride at being the first to notice the instructor’s error.

  “Thank you for paying attention Mr. Shu, and for volunteering to take part in our first fight of the evening.”

  Shu turned to his opponent. Haneef closed her eyes, as if the lids could hide her.

  “Come on down!” Jones cried and the two fighters floated up to meet him on stage. “As Mr. Shu pointed out, you are all dead so in order to claim victory you must behead your opponent. Nothing else will suffice I’m afraid. Hack, slash and disembowel all you wish but to win you must remove their head.”

  Lowering Shu and Haneef about ten paces apart, smiling from ear to ear, his black eyes as hungry as a spoiled child’s on Christmas morning, he roared, “For the eternal glory of the Master!”

  2.

  Darkness, thick and heavy, flooded his world and mind. Stinking and coarse, the pad beneath his naked ass prodded and itched. Tracing its rough edges with trembling fingers, along one side then down its meager depth, he found only the floor beneath it. Like the wall behind him, it was stone, warm and damp from the cloying heat.

  Crawling, Bobby felt his way along the wall on hands and knees. Nothing impeded his tense exploration and he quickly reached a corner. Following the adjacent wall he found nothing but its end, then another, and then he was back where he started. The room was empty except for the darkness and the wannabe mattress.

  “What the Hell is going on?”

  The darkness didn’t answer.

  Shivering despite the heat, unable to see his hand when he held it just beyond his nose, panic’s powerful tentacles curled around his guts.

  Fight it Bobby, he thought. Don’t let it have you.

  “Maybe it’s a blackout?” he said out loud, trying to find sense where there was none.

  A blackout that dropped you in a stone room with no doors, no lights and no furniture? Don’t think so Einstein. Maybe it’s an attic and there’s a trapdoor or something?

  Back on his hands and knees, scurrying like a tailless dog chasing its phantom appendage, desperation drove him to check and recheck every inch of the floor until no doubt could stand against his discovery. There was no trapdoor, and no escape.

  Know many people with stone attics? Dumbass.

  Frightened and confused, Bobby curled up with his back against the wall, his mind awash in the multitude of dark possibilities that could have brought him to where he cowered.

  Kidnapped maybe? For what? I’m not rich… am I? Wait! Am I? Who am I? Who the fuck am I?

  Bobby searched his mind for an answer. Fleeting images danced and disappeared. He was a kid, riding a new bike as fast as he could, daring gravity to catch him. It wasn’t his bike, he knew that somehow. He didn’t care, whooping and laughing as he raced down the neat, suburban street. Another memory overcame the first, he was standing over a boy with a bloody nose. He bloodied it and he was laughing, cruelty danced behind his eyes. In the next a young girl was crying. She turned away from him, buried her face in her hands, and ran. In another, a middle-aged man sat looking up at him with sad, pleading eyes. “Bobby, please buddy?” he begged.

  I stole that bike just for a laugh. I beat that kid because he was…he was from somewhere else, a new kid. And the girl…the old guy, I hurt them too somehow. So my name is Bobby and I’m an asshole. Great.

  More broken memories surfaced. Bobby struggled to piece them together. Snarling faces cursed him, angry voices threatened him, and an endless array of eyes accused him through tears. The common thread was pain, pain he caused. He seemed to have a knack for hurting people.

  Maybe I hurt more than someone’s feelings and I’m in prison or something, like solitary confinement?

  A fresh memory surfaced. In a small cell on a metal bunk, he sat waiting for someone to post his bail. He couldn’t remember who but knew they wouldn’t be happy, like he knew he didn’t care. Another image of yet another cell, dark and dirty, crowded and ripe, replaced the first. He sat watching flies swarm a wooden bucket filled with a pungent blend of piss and shit.

  That was Cancun, spring break! I remember getting a nasty splinter in my taint from that bucket. This is some fucked up trek down memory lane. So I’ve been locked up… but this… this doesn’t feel like that.

  Exhilarated by his progress but dismayed by what it revealed, Bobby resumed his internal search. More faces appeared, the people changed but their reactions remained the same. The people and places were darker and more dangerous, their threats more sincere. Hard men vowed to hurt him and raging women swore to do a lot more. Drinking and drugging was the norm, as was the chaos they brought.

  “Who the fuck am I?” he shouted and regretted it at once as the cry echoed, assaulting his ears and piercing his brain, over and over until it faded to silence.

  Bobby steeped in his fear. Days, moments, years passed, he couldn’t tell, it felt like the latter. He wanted to scream and pound on the walls but knew a headache, raw throat and sore hands would be his only reward. The silence was awesome. The beat of his own heart rendered mute, the blood it pumped unheard. Searching under his jaw for the vital cadence, he found none. His wrist produced the same unsettling result. He prayed but it offered no comfort.

  This has gotta be like some kind of super high definition nightmare or a bad trip or something. It has to be, nothing else makes sense.

  *

  A chorus of screams banished the silence, filling Bobby’s world with the unmistakable sounds of suffering. He added to the chaos with a cry of his own. In the opposite wall a doorway appeared, a hallway lit with red flickering light waited beyond it. The light did not cross the threshold, the darkness held it at bay. Bobby didn’t care, not then, not with a way out right in front of him.

  Hauling himself to his feet, lurching across the room, he was about to step through the doorway when a large figure filled it, blocking his escape. “Slow down boy, you ain’t going nowhere.”

  “What? Wait…what’s going on here bro?”

  The figure in the doorway didn’t respond.

  “You gotta help me dude. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I don’t think I belong here.”

  “Real original,” the looming figure groaned as if he’d heard it a million times.

  “What? Hey, listen, you don’t know me and…”

  “Robert Grant.”

  “Huh?” Bobby asked, as confused as a virgin in a brothel. “Who?”

  The big guy checked the clipboard in his hand and nodded. “Robert Grant, that’s you.”

  Sounds right. Robert Grant, my name is Robert Grant.

  Bobby nodded.

  “Yep, right place,” the tall figure replied. “And you’re kind of a big deal.”

  “What? Wait… listen.”

  “You’re going to Recruiting so you’ll just have to s
tay put. The new class doesn’t start for a while yet so keep your panties on and I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

  A burst of light bloomed somewhere outside painting the figure’s face in glaring detail. He was a man unlike any Bobby had ever seen or remembered. Skin as white as new porcelain stretched tight across his wide brow and prominent cheek bones. Studying Bobby’s nakedness through black lifeless eyes, his cracked and seeping lips curled into a wicked grin.

  Whoa! Dude, what’s up with that face? Maybe if you got some sun and a stick of Chapstick or something, you wouldn’t be so fucking ugly.

  The figure growled as if he'd heard the thought.

  “Please dude, at least tell me where I am,” Bobby begged, hating himself as he did.

  “Smart boy like you should be able to figure it out,” he chuckled, backing into the corridor. “You’ve got plenty of time to try.”

  The door disappeared. The silence and the darkness returned.

  “No! Please!”

  Bobby ran to where the door had been and pounded his fists on the unforgiving stone. Panic took the wheel, fear stomped on the gas driving rational thought from existence, leaving only the terrified delusions of a fractured mind in its wake.

  *

  Time resumed its eternal march. Endless moments stretched out into the void of nothingness. He screamed and he prayed, he mourned and he begged. The uncaring stone gave it all back a thousand-fold, mocking his misery.

  Thirst burned his throat; his mouth was paper dry and not a drop of saliva could be coaxed from the glands within it. Pain swelled in his head. His stomach convulsed in constant spasm. Swimming in a sea of agony, he questioned everything to keep from drowning. Thinking was a balm for the spreading rash of madness but a catalyst as well. Unearthing the memories revealed more of who he was but the revelations only added to his misery.

  I’m not that guy. I can’t be. I know I…I think I’m a good guy.

  He tried to breathe deep to calm himself but felt none of the relief it usually produced. His chest felt heavy and uninviting, the air so dense it felt like suck ing thick soup through a cracked straw.

  “Come on Bobby, you’re okay dude. Relax, think. What happened?”

  Failed deep breath.

  “Think Bobby.”

  Another.

  It was useless.

  *

  “Robert Grant,” a deep voice called his name.

  Unaware he had closed them, Bobby opened his eyes to find the tall figure had returned.

  “Water please?” was all he could manage, his throat felt like it housed a thousand festering splinters.

  Shroud in the shadow cast by his deep hood, the guard smiled an unseen smile.

  What’s he wearing a bathrobe? Bad choice. He’s gotta be sweating his balls off in that thing.

  “Haven’t figured it out yet, huh boy?”

  “Figured what out?” Bobby croaked, the words scraped the walls of his throat like jagged fingernails.

  “One, one eighty-five, large or extra-large?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about dude?”

  “Large or extra-large? Naked ain’t gonna work boy.”

  There was a slight twang to his words. Bobby figured he was from down south, Kentucky or Tennessee, maybe Louisiana. “Please dude, just tell me what’s going on?”

  “Large it is, don’t go anywhere.”

  And then he was gone. There, then not there.

  What the fuck? I’m losing it, I really am.

  Curling up on the filthy mat, he cried. Pain and fear, confusion and frustration, had him on the brink of complete breakdown. He wiped at his eyes but found himself denied even a few salted drops of his own creation.

  This is serious dude, I think I’m dead.

  *

  The stifling black silence of his cell overwhelmed his reality once again. Irrational thought and unparalleled fear frolicked within his mind. Madness offered the only escape. He’d fended it off, hoping an alternative would present itself but that hope was gone. What he once feared now tantalized. He couldn’t escape his prison; he could escape sanity. Anything would be better than the blinding darkness and relentless silence. Letting the mental fortress he’d built to keep insanity at bay crumble, he waited for it to claim him. He didn’t wait long.

  The doorway blinked into existence. No guard appeared to fill the void, the light danced unmolested outside. Bobby sprung but his legs were not ready. However long he’d been in the cell was long enough to cripple him and he sprawled face-first onto the hot floor. Cramps balled his muscles into vicious knots of agony, his arms and legs fought to obey his desperate commands but failed.

  “Sleeping on the job is no way to start your first day boy,” the guard’s voice cut through Bobby’s unconscious wailing.

  As if the creep’s words were magic, the pain disappeared. Dumbfounded, Bobby climbed shakily to his feet. “I’m not moving until someone tells me what the fuck is going on!” he cried but his voice held none of the confidence such a command required.

  “Oh, okay.”

  The pain switched back on, this time it was cranked up even higher. If it was one of those cards the doctors gave out in the ER with the not-so-smiley faces depicting the different levels of discomfort on a scale of 1 to 10, Bobby would need to draw a new one. His emoji would have X’s for eyes, a wide mouth screaming in agony, its head engulfed in flames, and the number ten million printed boldly beneath it. He knew the guard was doing it. The how and the why was a mystery, a mystery he could not give a single shit about as he writhed on the floor. He just needed it to stop. “Okay!”

  “Okay,” the guard echoed and the pain disappeared.

  Bobby stood once again, taking longer this time. He looked at the guard who nodded his approval, the gesture exaggerated by his hood. “Your robe is there, put it on.”

  Bobby looked down. A thick, black, folded square sat at his feet. It hadn’t been there a moment earlier, he’d been flopping around like a fish out of water on that very spot. He didn’t care, getting dressed meant he’d be leaving, it was all the motivation he needed.

  Picking up the cloth, Bobby was astounded by its weight. He was either weaker than he imagined or the robe was heavier than it should be. Sharp threads sprouted from every stitch of the coarse weave, needling his hands as he shook it from its fold. It had no opening in the front so Bobby shrugged into the wide sleeves, hoisted the heavy garment over his head and let if cascade down around him. Hundreds of tiny points assaulted his skin, probing his pores. Panicked, he fought to escape the dense fabric but it clung as if alive, resisting his futile attempt. Burning his back, stinging his arms and tearing at his ass cheeks, it cinched tighter as he struggled.

  “Oh fuck! What is this thing? I think I’m allergic! Something’s wrong dude!”

  “Allergic, good one boy. Fighting it only makes it worse but don’t worry, you only have to wear it for a few million years,” the guard howled with blatant delight. “I’d tell you you’ll get used to it but you won’t.”

  “What?” Bobby yanked at the sleeves, trying to pull at least one arm free of the spiny cloth. “This isn’t funny dude! Get me out of this fucking thing!”

  The guard struggled to speak through his laughter, his words catching as he tried. Bobby’s rage erupted, smothering his fear and his short supply of common sense. “Fuck you! Fuck this! Get me out of this thing!”

  “That’s it boy! Let it out! Let’s see what a little pussy like you is made of!” the guard goaded, feeding the fire of Bobby’s rage.

  Succumbing to hatred, Bobby pounced, meaning to beat the guards face to a pulp so he’d never smile again. But once his feet left the floor he halted in midair like a dog who’d come to the end of an invisible leash at full speed. The guard howled even louder.

  You fucking dick, when I get my hands on that giraffe neck of yours I’m going to squeeze that stupid laugh right out of you.

  “Good boy! Come on!” the guard hissed, spreading h
is hands wide and twisting his head to expose his throat.

  What the fuck? He heard me but…but I didn’t say anything. Did I? I didn’t. He’s in my head…has to be. Hey asshole, you in here?

  “I sure am boy,” the guard responded to Bobby’s thoughts. “I’m in your head. I’m in your belly, your balls, I’m everywhere. You’re mine boy and you’d better get that rebel bullshit out of your system before it’s too late because, believe it or not, I’m one of the nice guys. You keep it up and you’ll end up downstairs with the regular sinners but believe you me, it makes this place look like…like Heaven, no pun intended.”

  No way! Oh God please tell me this isn’t real. Please?

  Stepping towards Bobby until his hood framed Bobby’s face, the putrid scent of fire and rot hung like overused cologne, he whispered, “Ain’t no god here boy.”

  Expecting his breath to carry even fouler odors, Bobby cringed but the creep had no breath at all.

  No God? No breath? This can’t be real.

  “Please?” Bobby whined.

  “Please what?” No remorse lived in the guard’s eyes, no pity, nothing but the promise of misery.

  “Please just tell me where I am?”

  “Boy, you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh, now you want to get all friendly?” the guard sighed. “First insults, then you attack me and now you want introductions. A little ass backwards, don’t you think boy?”

  “Please?”

  “Shit, what kind of pussy did they send me this time?” the guard huffed and shook his head.

  Bobby fell from the air without warning. Just as abruptly, a giant hand clamped the scruff of his neck and wrenched him to his feet. Bobby wobbled and wept. Madness pushed against the frayed edges of his sanity, tempting him once again with its freedom.

  “It won’t save you boy…madness,” the guard spoke as if explaining a simple fact to a simple child. “It might make your existence less… hmmm… less genuine, but genuine it is. You are here and there’s no place else for you to go.”