by Debra Jupe
****
Eric pressed on the bell again this time with extra force. The trill’s vibration pulsated down his arm as the buzzer disrupted the night’s stillness. He released the button and waited. Hands jammed into his pockets, he whirled around to survey his surroundings.
Dusk arrived quickly. The only light fell from a solitary streetlamp covered in grime, glowing through near-naked tree branches. The shaded beam cast lengthy shadows across the front of Finn’s clapboard home giving Eric a bit of the creeps.
He rotated and shook off an edge of wariness. This house with the paint peeling and weed infested flowerbeds had to be the result of Finn depleting his finances. He’d likely been forced him to move into this dilapidated residence. Something Eric hoped would never happen to him.
Although now he didn’t give a fuck where Finn lived. Irritated, he rang the bell one more time, and one more time he got the same results. Typical Finn. He’d stood Eric up. Finn probably headed over to the party early. Yeah, not a big surprise over his former friend’s irresponsibility, but where the hell was Blaine? He’d promised he cut his date with Sandy, no, Stephanie, short.
Eric checked his wristwatch. Fifteen minutes late. He’d give him a little longer. Then Blaine could expect calls in five minute intervals until he showed up. He dug into his pocket, removed his cigarette package, and shook one out. He grabbed the tip with his mouth and lit the point. He blew out a puff of smoke and stared at the front entrance.
Finn was notorious for pulling all-nighters and sleeping until early evening. Could he still be asleep? Possibly, he didn’t hear the bell. Maybe a different method would work. With a balled fist, Eric reared back and punched the door, prepared to keep pounding until Finn answered or the thing fell off the axes. The door swung open after the first strike. With the cigarette clenched between his lips, Eric peered inside. It was pitch black. Just like he figured. The son of a bitch already left.
He doused his smoke and called out, “Finn?”
He pushed the door open wider and sucked in a lungful of air as the hinges gave an eerie groan. Timidly, he took a step into the entryway. The air inside smelled stale. Lifeless. He walked in farther before he stopped to get his bearings. This place wasn’t familiar at all. He had no idea which way to move.
The surface beneath him appeared slick, almost as if a filmy vapor slithered across the floor. He staggered to stay balanced. The only sound was the light reverberation of his sneakers against the tiles. He did his best to ignore the strange quiet and concentrated on walking without busting his ass.
Another problem. He couldn’t see shit. Gliding a hand over the wall, he searched for a switch until he collided into something solid, probably some sort of partition. He gave up on finding a light and plowed into his pocket for his lighter. He flicked several times before producing a flame. He swung the flare from side to side. The beam displayed shadows of scattered containers and furniture. Outlines danced over the bare walls.
Jitters leaped deep inside his gut, the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. He should leave. Phone Finn. Find out where the hell he’d disappeared to and give him a piece of his mind for putting him through this crap. But he continued forward as if an unseen energy drew him further in.
“Finn?”
He wandered down a short hall, shining the small blaze in front of him. He made out a triangle of rooms at the end. These should be the bedrooms. He turned into the first room and stood in the doorway. It resembled a cave’s interior. He held the glow inside. A heavy, dark drape covered the lone window to block any light that may try to filter in. A shaded plank filled the area. Must be a bed. An uneven bulge lay on top.
A pile of laundry or a person? Whatever laid there didn’t move. His blood ran cold. He longed for laundry. Eric paced farther inward and immediately took a step back. An unfamiliar, rank odor saturated the room.
“Is that you, Finn?” He inhaled to hold his breath before he stepped inside and treaded carefully to the bed. He stretched to touch the stationary mound then snapped his hand back. Something most definitely was off. He walked toward the headboard and lowered the spark of fire.
“Shit.” He stumbled against the wall and smothered the flame. Eric took several deep inhalations through his mouth before he flicked the lighter on again to make sure shadows weren’t playing tricks on him. He held the light in front of him.
A dark stain sprayed over the pillow. Hair appeared matted and half the face looked to be missing. Eric quenched the flame, turned away, and swallowed hard to keep his dinner down. He shoved a hand into his back pocket yanking out his cellphone.
He’d worked to press the on button when a muffled whine made him glance up. He sensed the explosion a split second before he it penetrated his skin. A solid jolt tore into his arm. Odors of burned flesh covered the room. Eric collapsed to the floor and landed with a jarring thud. The impact sent him rolling until he crashed into something hard. A rough groan ripped from his throat.
His upper arm seared as if a sharp, scorching object had pierced him. He gritted his teeth and covered the wound with his hand. Warm, sticky, wetness squashed around his fingers. Okay. He may have been shot, but he was alive. He had to keep his wits about him. Decide what his next move should be. He needed to call someone for help. With a ragged wheeze, he struggled to a sitting position. He stretched his good hand and patted the floor, searching for his phone.
As he leaned forward, his head struck a long, cold, piece of metal. Then his world went dark.
Chapter 10
Eric lay crouched against a frozen, hard surface drifting in and out of consciousness. He shivered uncontrollably and tried to move, except his body refused to obey his mental commands. He crunched his limbs closer for warmth. A sudden spasm triggered a violent quiver and seemingly held him airborne, before he collapsed into the floor.
“Eric?” There was a pause. “Eric.”
Someone kept calling him. The realization he wasn’t alone left him with some comfort. Whoever spoke to him sounded familiar, and instinctively he realized this person didn’t mean him any harm. But why was he in such pain? Did someone intentionally hurt him? Was that the reason he ached from head to toe?
The voice spoke his name again. The vibration echoed as if the person stood inside a faraway tunnel. A part of him wanted help while the other half wished to be alone. His injuries combined with the powerlessness to do anything kept him in an obscured numbness. Darkness plagued his mind as the gloom threatened to take over.
“C’mon, Eric.”
He didn’t respond. His awareness floated upward and hovered into a content shade of gray. His company should go away. He wanted them to. The pain subsided and he was good here. Safe. If this is what death was like, he’d surrender without a fight. A hand clasped his arm and gave him a vigorous shake. He inhaled a quick gasp, stiffened, surfacing from his secured trance. Sharp, white-hot pain rushed through him. A hiss of air leaked between his teeth as if someone bludgeoned him with a hammer held over an open flame.
“Easy. Take it easy.”
The torment gradually lessened, his frame slackened. Somewhere deep within he’d returned to the real world for good and now he was forced to deal with the torture his body doled.
“Can you open your eyes?”
Eric licked his parched lips and worked to pry his lids up. He blinked, but the bright light singed his corneas. The shifting glare pierced his eyeballs. He snapped his eyelids shut.
“Almost. Try again.”
Though he was unable to hold his eyes open long, he couldn’t tolerate lying on the inflexible ground another second. The hardness against his aching body became unbearable. He forced his body upward.
“Wait.” Someone gripped him by his shoulders. “I’m all for you getting up, but don’t do this by yourself. Let me help you.”
His rescuer steered him onto his butt and guided him to lean against something hard, like a wall. Every movement invoked a loud moan. While Eric was dizzy,
he preferred this position to lying down. Problem was his head was too heavy and his neck wasn’t strong enough to keep him upright. He leaned back. His lashes fluttered until his lids finally lifted. He jerked a hand to his forehead, shielding his eyes from the brightness.
“Talk to me. Eric, say something.”
He inhaled. His lungs filled with oxygen and his chest constricted. He couldn’t release the air. He dropped his hand and broke into a violent cough. The aches throughout his body screamed foul. He managed to regain some control and hacked a “What the fuck happened?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
Eric concentrated on the outline standing in front of him. Blaine appeared fuzzy, but his shape was distinct. His voice sounded nearer, clearer too. Maybe he’d live after all.
“You don’t remember anything?”
“No.” Eric growled.
Blaine stood over him and bent down close meeting him eye to eye. “Well, someone knocked you around pretty good. You’ve got quite a bump on your forehead.”
Eric lifted a hand to press into the area where his initial pain came from. “Shit.” He jerked his hand down then inspected his damp fingertips covered in blood. He scraped the tips down the side of his jeans to brush away the wetness. “Feels like someone took an anvil to my head. My ears won’t quit ringing, and I can’t see worth a damn.”
“I’m betting you’ve got concussion.” Blaine stood upright to fumble inside his pocket to remove his cell phone. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Eric extended his arm out in protest. “Don’t. I’ll be fine.”
“No you won’t. You need a doctor.” Blaine rotated toward the bed. He stared at the motionless body for a long moment before he turned back to Eric, his expression grim. “Nothing here is fine. Even if you don’t want help, he needs it.”
Eric followed his friend’s gaze and almost heaved. He was at Finn’s. The beginnings of how he happened to be in this room and his gruesome discovery deluged his memory. He’d found Finn dead.
The sight of his lifeless body created a rush of regret and sadness. At that moment, Eric understood a bit of those feelings would follow him forever. He couldn’t honestly say he’d liked Finn. Or respected him. But they’d lived through an experience along with three others, most people could never understand. While the bond wouldn’t be broken in death, the end of his life, of Drake’s life, sealed Raging Impulse’s shattered fate forever. These men’s presence in the world would definitely be missed.
“I don’t mean to be an ass, but it doesn’t matter if we call for anyone now or later. He’s beyond help.”
“The police need to be notified. Besides, reporting a murder is the law.” Blaine glanced back to where Finn lay, then eyed Eric. “Was he like that when you got here?”
Eric groaned as he nodded and gave a sour grimace from the head jar.
“Did you get a good look at anything? As in who might have done this to him?”
Eric inhaled a painful gasp. “I knocked and no one answered. Tried the door. Found it unlocked, so I walked in. Discovered him, then everything from there goes blank.”
Eric strained his memory and stared across the room. He gazed through the window and out into the night. A sinister aura dangled heavily over the atmosphere. In the back of his mind he remembered something, but he couldn’t shake any of those recollections loose. Maybe things were better this way. Possibly he’d blocked everything because of the horridness, or it could be this damn headache causing his memory loss.
God, his head hurt.
Blaine nodded. “The door was open when I got here, too. The scene was kinda creepy to tell you the truth. I figured you and Finn left for a pint or something and forgot to close up. I was about to leave. Had my phone out to call you, then a moan came from inside. I followed the sound. I found you laying here bleeding and him”—he shot another glance to the bed—“like that.”
Eric refused to view Finn’s dead body again. “Bastard.”
“You think Dugan did this, don’t you?”
“Not personally. I’m guessing the son of a bitch hired someone and is paying ’em with our money to kill us off.”
“He might want to get a refund. The shooter’s missed his target as much as he’s hit, thank God.”
“He still managed to kill two of us.” Eric rested against the wall and stared through the open window. Something was wrong. The window. It’d been closed when he initially entered into the room. The drapes were drawn too. Someone had spread the curtains apart. He gaped at the hangings as they slightly lifted from a wisp of a breeze flowing inside.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Surreal images lapsed within his head as if he was screening a mental slideshow. Darkness plagued his memories, scents of blood, smoke, and death sprang to life in his mind. The crack of a gun, fiery metal, and the searing pain became real.
His eyes flew open. “I’ve been shot,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
Blain was looking down. His gaze snapped up to Eric. “What?”
“I’ve been shot.”
“Where?” Blaine’s tone sounded almost disbelieving.
“In my arm.” Eric dipped his head to his left side. “I think it’s only a flesh wound.”
Blaine gave a humorous laugh. “I’m not sure if I’m relieved or more worried. I’m certain of one thing. You’re fucked up. We need to get you some medical help, right away. And we really want the police here now.” He turned and punched in the numbers.
Eric preferred not to think about any of it. The realization he had a bullet lodged inside of him and worse, someone had tried to kill him, was more than he could psychologically deal with. He wanted out of this place. He wanted to forget this night ever happened.
Eric gave him a frustrated scowl. “I dropped my phone when the bullet went in me.”
Blaine pointed toward the room’s entrance. “I picked it up and put it on the dresser. Didn’t realize it was yours.”
“We’ll get it on the way out.” Eric held out his uninjured arm. “Help me up. I need to leave.”
Blaine stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “What you need is a doctor.”
“I’m fine.” He glanced at the open window again. “We should go. Now.” Sharp needles prickled down his spine. He took the chills as a sign of warning. He’d ignored his gut earlier and he ended up shot and bashed in the head. He wouldn’t make the mistake of not listening to his instincts again. “This place is giving me jitters. Like we’re being watched.”
Blaine didn’t move. “And how do you plan on getting home?”
“The same as I got here.”
“You came on foot, Eric. You’re in no shape to walk back.”
“You drove your car, didn’t you?”
“I’m not putting you inside my vehicle with the amount of blood you’re leaking,” Blaine told him indignantly. “Besides, you’re only speculating as to what’s wrong with you. Your injuries maybe a lot worse than you believe, and I refuse to have you bleed out and die en route to somewhere. I’ve already called in the police and the EMT’s. At least let them inspect those gashes.” He paused to survey Eric. “Let’s do the right thing and keep our asses out of trouble.”
“Under the circumstances, I think we’re in deep shit no matter what we do.”
“I hear voices coming from the front. I’m betting the authorities and the ambulance have arrived. I’m going to get them.”
“I wish we could avoid all of this. But we have no choice, I guess. There’s no way to turn back the clock.”
Blaine bent forward and inspected him again, then stood upright. “Nope. Right now we need to focus on your arm. It needs tended to and someone should put a Band-aid on that gigantic bump.” He took a step in the direction of the doorway. “Sit tight while I lead them inside.”
“Tell ’em to hurry.” He gave a small nod toward the body. “No offense to the dead, but I’m not comfortable staying in the same room with a bloodied corpse, even if I did know him. Be
sides, the smell is getting to me.”
“Yeah, the stink is bothering me too. Be right back with some help.”
Eric glimpsed down at the hole in his skin. Blood oozed like crazy though it wasn’t as traumatic as he’d thought it’d be. He didn’t understand much about bullet wounds, but he figured this must be a clean shot.
Blaine led the authorities inside. Medical personnel and police swarmed the area. An EMT attended to Eric’s head and worked on his arm, while homicide questioned him and Blaine. The detectives definitely believed a pattern was forming. The members of Raging Impulse were quickly dying out, and the cops warned them to pay attention to their surroundings and be extra careful. The medics rolled in a stretcher and stopped in front of him, but Eric waved them away. “I’m fine.”
“You should go to the hospital and get checked out,” Blaine reasoned.
“The EMT’s looked me over,” he argued and pointed at his bump. “This is probably a concussion and the bullet hole is most likely a flesh wound, just as I said.” He held out his good arm. “Get me up.”
Blaine stepped to where Eric sat and grasped the offered forearm. Balancing between the wall and Blaine, he hoisted to his feet. Blood rushed from his head, and his world faded in a hurry. He fell forward, conscious enough to catch a nightstand before he toppled onto the floor.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna rethink this decision?”
Eric forced his eyes shut, opened them, and blinked. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.” He took several deep breaths to make the fog clear. “You’re gonna have to help me, at least until I get my balance.”
“I’m helping you right over to that stretcher. You’re headin’ to the hospital.” Blaine put a shoulder under Eric’s undamaged arm to heave him the rest of the way to his feet. He remained immobile until Eric became stable.
“Ready?”
Realizing he was in no position to argue, Eric gave a slight nod. Blaine assisted him to the gurney and lowered him down onto the slender padded mattress. Eric groaned as he laid back. A female EMT picked up his legs and placed them on the top, then covered him to the neck with a light sheet, while the male busied himself sticking an IV into his hand.
