by Wilson, Jay
That face, he thought, so gorgeous and familiar.
He looked back at the beautiful blond standing before him, put his hand on her shoulder, and said, "No, thanks."
Before he had to deal with a sad little rejected woman, he turned and began following the brown-eyed lady.
She navigated through the crowd with skill, and walked with purpose. Her brunette hair shimmered and softly danced back and forth in the cold florescent lights, and her high and tight ass softly jiggled under the dark-grey slacks. Her heels clacked with each step, and she only gently swung her arms. She was magnificent.
They passed several stores, and she soon stopped at an ATM. He moved left against the wall, and watched her through the leaves of a tall cylindrically cut tree. She withdrew some money, and she sat there and counted. Her soft lips slowly moved as she numbered the bills, and finally his heart skipped a beat.
"No." He softly said aloud, and he felt his body go weak.
Melissa Rose. It had to be her. It was those high cheekbones and those perfectly pouty lips; the very gentle but noticeable dimples below each corner of her mouth. Then there was the missing finger, the one he removed. There was no doubt it was little Mel, the one that got away.
Colby gathered himself, and when she started walking, he continued to trail her. His palms became sweaty just thinking about her. He remembered the way she looked naked on his table. The way she cried as he tortured her. He thought about the scars she must be hiding under her clothes and the deeper scars she hid within her soul. He thought about how soft she felt, and about her beautiful scream as he removed her middle digit.
He followed her for a good long time. From store to store, she purchased different things with the cash she withdrew. She had good taste, and even better taste in lingerie. He imagined how the black lace would look on her. He wanted to approach her, talk her into a date and finish where they left off, but he could not risk it. It happened seven years ago in a city a thousand miles away, but he knew she might still recognize him. Who wouldn’t?
After a short trip back through the mall and a little window-shopping, he followed her to the elevators. He watched her press the down button, which led to underground parking, and she stepped inside. When the doors closed, he ran to the emergency stairs and skipped three steps at a time. When he reached the bottom floor out of breath, he eased the door open and looked out into the garage.
Colby made his breathing shallow so he could hear the clacking of her heels, but there was no sound. He opened the door a little more, and when he glanced out to get a better view, something struck him from behind. A crack of white lightning blurred his vision and then blackness.
~
He woke tied to a pole somewhere with tape pressed over his mouth. He looked around and none of it was familiar. Well, nothing but the woman standing in front of him.
"Serendipity." She said, and looked at a knife in her hand. The gleam from the blade cast a bar of light onto her face, making her look more menacing than she ever had previously. "I bet that's what you think this was. Really, though, it's a bitter cup of vicissitude for you, Colby Masters."
He shook his head, disbelieving his situation.
"It took me a long time to find you. Five and a half years to be exact. I probably never would’ve found you, but you know what your problem is? You know what helped me find you? You always come back to the same places on the same days each year. Follow the trail, and you’ll find your pot of gold." She said, poking the knife into the tip of her index finger. “Bet you’re wondering how I found you before the police? I had to kill a few women, mostly whores, to throw them off your trail. You’re pretty shitty at hiding your obsession, but I covered your ass.”
She smiled and walked across the large room. Her heels knocked against the cement floor, and echoed through the room. She leaned near him and whispered into his ear, “I have you all to myself, now, you piece of shit."
Then, he felt his hand burn with pain as she sawed through his finger with her knife. Each cut hurt more than the previous. The pain felt white, somehow. When she moved away from him with a bloody knife and his finger in her hand, he continued to feel the phantom pain of her cutting through it.
Her now cold voice said, "This is only the beginning."
Monsters Beget Monsters
The summer melted the day into a warm malleable evening, which bled into Harvey's den making it sticky and humid. The stench of the amalgam he created from the recipe he found on the darkest edge of the internet was sour, not quite rotten eggs and not quite rotten onions but a not-so-lovely mix of the two.
A cup, three-quarters full of a nasty brew, stood upon the wood table in front of him. The black liquid had a slight purple tint and a thick head of yellow foam. It could've been the bastard of a failed Kool-Aid experiment, only it smelled too horrible and probably tasted just as awful.
He took a deep breath and thought about all the reasons he had gone sour. Two weeks prior, a drunk driver ran down his wife and son as they walked home from the nearby fair. Heather died on impact when the vehicle crushed the upper part of her body against a tree. Charlie, however, had been thrown twenty-seven feet from the accident. He fought long and hard in the hospital, barely waking long enough to ask for his mother's comforting embrace, which the driver denied until the boy’s final breath.
It was obvious the killer drank far too much, but in an odd act of disservice to the community—one judges swore to protect without bias—the courts freed the man with only a warning and an exorbitant fine. Apparently, the judge felt that because the driver had grown up in a rich family and therefore didn't have the same street education as someone who might otherwise be somehow more exposed to wrongdoings, he wasn't technically at fault for the things he'd done. Three days after his son died, the murderer walked.
That's what they all are when they drink, drive, and kill someone, he thought. The rich, the poor, the weak, the strong, and anyone else. The monster comes in all shapes, sizes, and religious beliefs. What do they get for their crimes? To walk? Prison for a couple years? No!
“No!” He screamed through clenched teeth, spit shooting between them.
Harvey's hands gripped the side of the table, his arms flexed and thick veins slithered just below his tight skin. Anger seethed from his eyes, raining his madness upon the surface below. He couldn't let them get away with murder. He just couldn't.
He snatched up the glass, and some of the contents spilled over onto his hand and the table. The fluid stung his skin as he placed the cup against his lips. From there, he chugged. Three large gulps and the brew disappeared with a searing burn down his throat. Deep inside it went to ferment and create the thing he could use to make them pay. Whatever the result might be, he was ready.
A deep piercing pain grew in his stomach, and trailed back up his esophagus. He retched once, twice, and then vomited the brew onto the table. Some of it managed to catch in the cup. He retched and heaved until nothing but traces of yellow acid stringed from his lips.
Suddenly, the skin at his side near his abdomen and just below his ribs began to hurt. He quickly reached back, and felt something wet. When he looked down at his shirtless body, a claw pushed its way through his skin. He threw his hand over it, and could feel himself clawing out as if whatever grew inside him was now a part of his consciousness.
As the razor-sharp claw escaped his body, another began at the other side. He fell to the ground, writhing and screaming in pain.
From his back, black slick flaps of skin shot out and a spray of fluid speckled the hardwood floor. Bones snaked through them until the flaps formed bloody wings, and when the bone reached the end, they pierced through the skin resulting in sharp, wicked points. He turned over and coughed, and several of his teeth blasted out of his mouth and spun across the floor. Blood pooled next to the teeth, and his hands trembled as he reached up to touch his gums, which now had sharp jagged fangs protruding from them. He flipped over once more, and clawed at his chest. H
is skin burned, as if someone had doused him with fuel and lit him ablaze. He scratched and clawed, and finally dug his fingers under his skin and ripped away his flesh, which revealed a scale-like armor.
All he could do was utter a soft cry as he continued to transform, and when the pain stopped, he used the table to climb back to his feet. He lumbered to a mirror and looked upon a monster. From the inky-black wings and the sharp teeth to the extra arms and the new exoskeleton, he was not himself. Yet, he was himself. Nothing had changed between his mind and soul. He felt stronger and moved faster, sure, but he hungered for the same thing long before he ever transformed. The blood of those that wronged the world.
Drowning in the Past
"What's the last thing you remember?"
I fidgeted for a moment, bit my lips, and furrowed my brow. "I remember Kellen pushing me through the door, and him telling me not to forget the parachute. When I was in the street, I felt a vacuum drawing me up into the sky, like reverse gravity."
"Then what happened?"
"I felt like I couldn't breathe, like I was running out of air." I said, and ran my hands through my greasy hair.
"Okay." The man said, and lead back against the chair, which emitted the soft groan of stressed metal. "What happened next?"
"I—I really don't know."
6 Hours Earlier
Loud hip-hop music boomed in the background of the small dive bar. Even though years had passed since anyone was able to smoke in a building, the stench of stale cigarettes remained strong. Some people sat at the dimly lit bar while others played pool at the cheap tables spread throughout the place. Kellen and his friends were among them.
Burke left the bathroom, feeling a bit fuzzy from the three drinks he had. L.A. Water, as they called it, was a hell of a strong cocktail. When his lips felt numb and he had a noticeable slur, he knew he should've stopped drinking. Instead, he ordered one more on his way back to the pool table.
When he rejoined Kellen, Marco, and Sal, they raised their glasses and howled. Burke was, after all, the man of the hour. Having just passed the bar exam and ready to make his mark on the legal world, he needed one good romp before hitting the straight and narrow path to success.
After about an hour of pool and bit more booze, the boys decided to call it a night. Kellen climbed into the back of a cab, which wasn't his but the people that ordered it realized he needed it more than they did and let him leave with it. Marco had his arm around Burke’s neck, and Sal walked backward toward the parking lot with his arms waving in the cool night air.
Marco said, "Dude, I can't believe you're gonna be a goodie-two-shoes now."
"I'm... I'm not going to be doogie... goodie-two-feet!"
"Shoes!" Marco slurred, and laughed. He dug his hand into his pocket and fished out a small square of folded aluminum. "Here, unwrap this shit, and suck on it."
"Dude, I ain't gay!" Burke said, and pushed him off. Marco laughed hard, and Sal did, too, falling against a black Chevrolet in the process.
"Nah, man, get your mind out'tha gutter. This!" He said, and placed it in Burke’s hand.
"What it is?"
"You'll see."
Burke stood for a moment, leaning left and right and forward and backward as if he was holding steady on a boat weathering a heavy storm. He looked up, both eyes alert yet about as focused as the heavy Gaussian blur of thick circular glass. Then, he put the aluminum in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed it.
4 Hours Earlier
The room was unfamiliar to Burke, and so were the people. Sitting on the couch was a teenage girl with her hands tied together on her lap. She wore a pair of small shorts and a yellow top. Her blonde hair hung over her shoulders, and a thick strip of duct tape gagged her. Next to her was a little boy, bound just the same, wearing a superman jumpsuit with padded feet. Then there was a man wearing a pair of boxers and a stained white t-shirt with his wife next to him wearing a light-blue Chantilly lace nighty.
The boy whimpered, and Marco paced back and forth while scratching his temple with a gun. He pointed the barrel at the father and screamed, "I want the fucking money!"
The man shook his head, and Sal appeared from the right. He planted his fist in the father's cheek, and the man sneezed up some blood. The man's wife began to cry, and Sal grabbed a handful of her hair. He pulled her head back and kissed the tape covering her lips.
Sal slurred, "If you don't give it to us, we might just take something else from you."
Burke could barely stand, and the excitement caused a slithering sickness in his stomach. He threw his hand against the wall, supported himself, and vomited on the small table next to the couch. The man's daughter leaned away from Burke and whined as specks of his ejection spackled her skin. The room wobbled and warped, and he dropped the gun he had no idea he was holding.
2 Hours Earlier
Kellen slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a stop in the dirt. Rocks ticked against the undercarriage, and Sal rolled out of the front passenger seat. Burke remained in the back seat staring up at the soft glow of the map light until Kellen threw the door open and pulled him from his comforting rest. They moved to the back of the car as Marco opened the trunk.
Sal first pulled the girl out, who was limp and bled from a wound on her head. Marco fished the young boy out, who didn't put up much of a fight and whose jumpsuit was now soiled with piss. Sal threw the girl to the ground, and used the gun to force the mother and father to get themselves out of the trunk.
"Come on, come on. We don't have all night." He slurred, though it was much less prevalent than before.
Burke rolled his eyes, nearly lost his balance, and Kellen caught him. "Woah, dude. You don't want to miss this."
A sharp pain traveled from between his eyes to the back of his head as Kellen flashed a light in his face. Kellen said, “You alright?”
Burke was about to answer him, but immediately jumped when he heard a loud sound boom from behind him. He rolled his head back, and glanced over just in time to see the man's wife drop to the ground dead and a gun in Sal's hand. Three more shots disturbed the night. Burke felt the fuzzy loss of time approach again, and when it arrived, he rode the waves of darkness to a not-so-distant future.
2 Hours Later
My head pounded hard, and I pressed my palms to my temples with the hope it might abate the pain. It didn't. I felt every swell and pulse as my brain seemed to make every effort to break free from my skull.
I took a deep breath, and looked down at my shoeless feet. I wasn't wearing my socks. I wasn't wearing my pants nor my shirt but rather grey and blue sweats. They'd taken everything away for evidence. The cot I sat on was incredibly uncomfortable, and there was an odd rubbery smell accenting the stink of aged sweat. I heard a buzzer sound and a heavy metal door open. I stood, and shuffled toward the pale green painted iron bars that locked me in.
Footsteps grew closer and closer, and finally Kellen appeared with a chubby officer at his side. Kellen wore a nice suit, and held a black leather briefcase. I recognized it as one of mine. Confusion swallowed me whole as the officer looked at Kellen and said, "You got five minutes. Don't try nothin' funny."
Kellen nodded, and the officer waddled back down the corridor. I said, "What the hell is going on? They’ve been questioning me for a couple hours, but they won't tell me why."
"You don't remember?"
"God, I barely remember my own name. What the hell did we do last night?"
"We?" He said, and laughed. "You mean you. What the hell did you do last night."
"What?" I said, and walked looked down. "Why are you wearing my clothes? And that's mine too."
"Not anymore." He said.
"Stop fucking around, what the hell is going on?"
Kellen leaned close, and I could smell the sour stink of gum that had long ago lost its flavor. He said, "You killed a whole family last night. You took their money. Well, at least that's what it looks like."
I didn't remember any of that,
let alone anything from that night. My head began to pound again, and I slammed my eyes shut.
I said, "I don't understand."
Kellen took a deep breath and said, "It's been a good ten years, but I thought you'd remember me. Remember what you did to my sister. You know, she was only 13, you sonofabitch."
My legs immediately felt weak, and I grabbed onto the bars to steady myself. As shock raised my hairs and turned my skin ashen white, I said, "Lincoln? Kellen Lincoln? Your sister? All I did was break up with her."
“Yeah, and then she killed herself.”
I placed my hands on my head in disbelief and said, “But that’s not my fault.”
“Sure it is. You just never cared enough to notice the kind of damage you did to her.”
“She couldn’t—no, that couldn’t have been my fault.”
"It was all your goddamn fault." He said, and leaned closer, "And guess what? Payback's a bitch. Enjoy spending the rest of your life in this icy hell."
The Nightmare on Christmas Eve
Jimmy had always been a curious boy. Since he could remember, which wasn’t that far back because he was only ten, he always needed to answer questions. Discovery through adventure was his game, and he loved it.
That Christmas eve, he walked down the stairs toward the living room. The strong scent of pine and peppermint elated him, reminding him that Christmas was only fifteen minutes away. Each step he took down that wooden staircase drew him closer to his destination. Presents.
Last Christmas, he’d gotten in trouble for opening the presents early. He didn’t know any better, but that didn’t stop his parents from returning all his gifts. They even took away the prank lump of coal his father put into his stocking. This year, however, he would be more careful. He needed to satiate his desire to find out what lied within those green, gold, and silver wrapped packages.
