Psycho Save Us

by Huskins, Chad

  Spencer tucked the Glock back in his waistband and held the shotgun firmly in his hands. He sidled between the Expedition and the porch, made it to the house, and pressed his back against the wall. He looked at the dead body at the foot of steps. It was a black man with cornrows wearing a black leather jacket and sagging jeans. They’d sagged enough upon his death to show the crack of his ass. Spencer smiled. Wonder if he knew how the sagging pants fad started. Wonder if he ever knew it was for fags advertising themselves for sex in prison.

  Still chewing, he peeked through a screen door into a living room with more dead bodies. The first he saw was another black man lying face-up on the floor near the door, his eyelids slightly parted, his head tilted unnaturally and in a way that allowed Spencer to see that his eyes had rolled back. “Fee-fi-fo-fum, how many motherfuckers tried to run?” he chuckled.

  This was probably one of the most exciting moments of his entire life, second only to the suspense he’d felt while walking out of Leavenworth, wondering if the guards would recognize him and send him back inside.

  He savored the spearmint a moment longer, then tentatively opened the screen door. Thankfully, the hinges didn’t squeak too much. He stepped inside and moved to a nearby TV stand to take cover.

  He waited.

  After ten seconds, he stood to move. He saw a dead man relaxing in a recliner and a sad-looking crumpled body lying dead on the other side of the TV stand, the man’s cornrows drenched in blood. He crept through the house, moving slowly at first, but then faster and with more recklessness. If anyone was here then they probably knew he was here, too. Better to move quickly and take them by surprise.

  Another dead body was in the kitchen, and another splattered all over the wall in the bedroom.

  “God damn,” he laughed, lowering his gun. “If I’d known you guys were gonna have this much fun tonight, I would’a followed you assholes.”

  At the very end of the hall, he found a room that was mostly empty except for a space heater and a scattering of small children’s toys tossed helter-skelter on the floor. A ceiling fan blew lonely for no one. A Marilyn Manson poster adorned one wall, but the rest of the walls were naked.

  Spencer walked back to the bedroom and approached the body of the man lying on the other side of the bed. Beside him was a paper bag. He guessed there was one of three things inside: booze, drugs, or money. It was the latter. Four grand in hundred-dollar bills.

  He shoved the money into his hoodie’s belly pocket and knelt by the body to check it, laying the shotgun across his knee. It looked like a twenty-year-old skinny gangsta wannabe. He wore gold chains and a long silver necklace with a dollar sign wreathed in diamonds. A single bullet had entered his chest. He wasn’t bleeding that much on the inside, which meant it was a very bad story for his insides. Or was it? Spencer reached out to check for a pulse. Just as he was realizing that he might be feeling a faint beat, the eyelids parted, and Spencer pressed the shotgun to the kid’s forehead.

  “Help…” the wannabe whimpered. His facial expression never changed. If he didn’t have enough energy to move his body or face, then he didn’t have long. “Help…help me…I…”

  One of the chains on the thug’s chest held a cross. Of course, because what sort o’ gangster would he be if he didn’t worship the Almighty? Spencer reached down and lifted the golden cross, held it up to his face so the thug could see. “Any sins to confess, my son?”

  The eyes were pleading. Drool fell from his lips, drool that was slightly red. In the faintest of whispers, he said, “Help me…just…please…”

  “Nuh-uh. Don’t work like that, son. I need me some sins confessed. Now, you’re shot pretty bad and you’re probably gonna be meeting Tupac pretty soon. You can confess your sins an’ meet him with a clear conscience. Or, you can take your chances and end up in hell with only Insane Clown Posse fans to keep ya company. An’ those are some dumbasses.”

  “Please,” the thug whimpered. His eyes glistened. There was perhaps enough moisture for tears. Perhaps.

  “The Bible says we’re all bound in error, homey,” Spencer said. “You won’t be the first fella to confess somethin’ he ain’t proud of.”

  “Please…just…”

  “What’s it gonna be, nigga?”

  The eyes closed for good. Yet still, the lips moved. “Rainbow…Rainbow Room…don’t know…talk…Yevgeny…Yevgeny…”

  “Yevgeny? I’m hearing Yevgeny?”

  “Yeah…yeahhhhh…”

  “Yevgeny who?”

  “Served time…with Yevgeny…my boy…he’s my boy…”

  “I’m sure you’re good friends,” Spencer said hastily. “What’s Yevgeny’s last name?”

  Nothing but a faint hiss came from the man’s teeth, but then the lips moved a little. Spencer leaned in, put his ear right next to the dying man’s lips. He heard something so low it could scarcely be called a whisper. Something like Tiddov or tits off. There was a last breath. Then a loud, low groan passed from the thug’s nether regions, and the room was filled with an acrid odor.

  There were three sharp, violent spasms from the thug’s body, and he went silent. Spencer held his nose and stood to leave, but paused to watch the body go through two more sharp spasms. Somebody taught him how to walk, how to talk, how to read and how to write. They taught him how to add, subtract, multiply and divide. Probably taught him how to apply for a job, too. And now he’s here. He gave his last words to me. I breathed in the last breath that he breathed out. An’ who the fuck am I?

  It was one of those thoughts that had Dr. McCulloch write down a word in his file that Spencer thought rather interesting: pensive. Dr. McCulloch might’ve been onto something there. At such moments when others would be shocked or sickened, Spencer was dreamy, wistfully thoughtful, and often found humor.

  Spencer broke the spell on himself and moved quickly through the rest of the house, checking cupboards for any extra cash or drugs that would be easy to sell later. He was constantly looking out the windows for the headlights he knew would be coming, and listened for the sirens he knew would be blaring. Or maybe not. Not if they come silently like they did at Hillside. Even knowing this might happen, he didn’t immediately leave.

  In the kitchen, Spencer removed a few suspicious-looking metal containers. He found a blue Folgers Coffee can containing five hundred dollars and a bag of what looked like the ol’ aurora borealis (PCP), if he was any judge, and he was. He dropped the cans on the floor after he’d gathered their contents and was headed for the back door.

  Then, he heard the front screen door open. Someone was stepping inside. “APD!” they shouted. A woman. “If anybody’s in here come out with your hands up!” A few seconds passed while Spencer waited beside the refrigerator in the kitchen. He knelt, shotgun at the ready. “Call an ambulance, I’ve got more bodies inside the house,” she called back to someone else, probably her partner.

  The distance between Spencer and the back door was maybe five steps when he’d first made out the woman’s voice. There was a straight line-of-sight through the living room to the kitchen, where the back door was. If he stood up right then and went for it, there was a better than excellent chance that the officer would see him, especially if she had already dared to step inside.

  “Anybody in here?”

  “ ‘Step into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly,” Spencer called out. “ ‘Tis the prettiest little parlor that you ever did spy.’ ” If they had him surrounded and he was going to die (and he would fight to the death to keep his promise of never returning to the pen), then he would at least have some fun with it.

  There was silence for a moment. Then Spencer heard the lady officer mutter the word shit. Then she mumbled something low, probably into her radio.

  “Come out of the house, walk backwards with your hands up where I can—”

  “No, no, silly! Why do you come in?”

  No response.

  “C’mon, live a little!”

  No respo
nse.

  “You know, they say a coward dies a thousand deaths!”

  No response.

  David knew they were supposed to wait for backup, but the body in the front yard had changed things. If the man lying facedown was still alive then he obviously needed medical attention very soon. There was no guarantee that he wasn’t an innocent.

  They approached after calling in the body and requesting an ambulance. David had paused at the sight of black Nissan sedan. He registered it mentally, realized it was Hulsey’s, but discounted that little weirdness right away as he took the lead, moving by cover around the Expedition until he and Beatrice came to the body. Beatrice had moved wordlessly up the porch and pressed up to the wall beside the door.

  David checked the man in the yard. No breathing, no pulse. David had just stood up when Beatrice had called out, identifying herself as APD. He winced when he heard her do that. He wished she hadn’t, but perhaps she had felt it necessary to keep the heads down of anyone who might be inside and thinking of taking a potshot.

  “Call an ambulance, I’ve got more bodies inside the house,” Beatrice hollered at him.

  David had his radio out and was doing just that when his partner hollered for anyone inside to identify themselves.

  That’s when he heard the challenge issued. “ ‘Step into my parlor,’ said the spider to the fly.” David’s blood went cold for a second. He looked up at Beatrice on the porch, and she looked at him with an “oh no” look on her face. A cowboy. They had a God damn cowboy on their hands and he was willing to die. “ ‘Tis the prettiest little parlor than you ever did spy.’ ” The voice was sweet and taunting, like a little girl teasing the person who was it in a game of hide-and-go-seak.

  “Shit,” Beatrice hissed.

  They waited a moment. David moved up slowly to the other side of the door, his pistol at ready-low. Beatrice called out another order, but halfway through it they received a fresh taunt from the maniac inside. “No, no, silly! Why don’t you come in?” David looked at his partner. Beatrice looked unnerved. They’d seen some shit in their time, but this scene, this taunt, the genuinely humored voice—even David had to admit it was a bit much. “C’mon, live a little!”

  With his right hand, David silently signaled for them to stay put. They were dealing with a volatile individual here. Beatrice nodded her agreement.

  Where’s that God damn backup?

  “You know, they say a coward dies a thousand deaths!”

  Where is it?

  David did exactly what he’d been trained to do at the academy, in all his pistol courses, and in all his stress courses. He breathed in for a count of four, held it for four seconds, and then exhaled for four seconds.

  The doorframe exploded a few inches above his head before he ever arrived at a completely calm state of mind. Splinters ripped into his face, causing him to fall back. The size of the explosion and the sound that came from the house left no doubt in David’s mind that it was a shotgun. A second shot ripped through the center of the screen door. Steel pellets slammed into the porch and sent more splinters at his face.

  David peeked his gun around the corner with one hand and fired blindly, hoping that if the maniac was charging then he’d either hit or stall him. He fired several times, never counting the rounds he let off. When he finished, he touched his face with his left hand, and it came away with blood on it. The pain was like intense wasp stings all over his left cheek, and he worried that bits of his face had been torn off. He wouldn’t know until he checked a mirror.

  “Beatrice!” he yelled. “You hit?” No response. “Bee?” Specks of wood had gone into his eyes, he couldn’t keep them open, and what he could see was blurry. “Bee, talk to me! Are you hit? You with me, Bee? Bee!”

  “Ffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” someone shrieked. He knew it had to be Beatrice, but the voice wasn’t familiar at all.

  David rubbed at his eyes profusely. His heart was hammering in his chest. “Beatrice! You hit?”

  “Shit yes!”

  “Where?”

  “My fucking hand! My fingers are gone, Dee!”

  In all the craziness, David had forgotten what ought to come next. He touched his radio and shouted into it. “Officers down! Repeat, officers down at 12 Townsley Drive! Send more ambulances!”

  David wanted to walk over to Beatrice, but if he crossed the doorway (what many LEOs called the “fatal funnel”) then he’d be exposing himself to any gunmen inside. Beatrice was moaning, but said nothing else. He told her to stay calm, to keep taking deep breaths, that it would all be all right soon.

  Then, from somewhere in the woods to his right, David caught words on the wind. They came from someone retreating. “Fast as fast can be, you’ll never catch me!”

  “Fuuuuuuuck you!” Beatrice screamed.

  When the vehicle stopped, Oni was the first one to get out. No one else moved. Kaley sat perfectly still with only a glance back at her sister, who still hadn’t opened her eyes. The last street sign she’d seen read Umway Street.

  We’re on Umway Street, she thought. Though again, she didn’t know of it, and what she would do with this information was quite beyond her.

  Directly ahead was a large brick house, one that looked like it had once been impressive but was now as run down as the rest of the neighborhood they had passed through. A number of deciduous trees just starting to lose some of their leaves were lined on each side of the street like sentries, all of them evenly spaced, watching to make sure Kaley and the other two girls did not escape. Probably once, there had been great order in this neighborhood. Those trees had been planted in just such a way. But the neighborhood was now likely leagues away from what it had been. Trash along the gutters told Kaley that it had been quite a while since this area had been on a city street sweeper’s regular route.

  The house that Oni had just stepped into had cracked windows. There was a second storey, but the windows there were all boarded up. On one side of the house, someone had spray-painted a large penis with testicles in white paint. Someone else had used black paint to send the message L-Ray runz this shit!!! but someone else had spray-painted a big red X over that.

  While they awaited Oni’s return (at least, Kaley assumed they were waiting for him), Kaley glanced up the street to the left. She spotted three other houses, only one of them with lights on and that was on the top floor of the farthest house. If that person in that upstairs room only knew that we were here, and that we needed help, we’d be all right.

  But Kaley checked herself. She didn’t know that for sure. Whoever these men were, they obviously had friends. It might be that this whole neighborhood was loyal to them.

  She swallowed. Her jaw was beginning to seriously hurt because the gag had been biting into it now for…well, what time was it?

  Kaley looked at the glowing clock on the dashboard. 2:13 AM.

  She heard snoring behind her. She looked back to see Shannon fast asleep. Good, let her sleep through it all. Kaley was still fooling herself into thinking that the vision she’d glimpsed tonight before stepping into Dodson’s Store would not come to pass. It’s important to hold out hope, and sometimes it’s important to lie to oneself. At least, this was wisdom she would stumble upon much later.

  The SUV remained dead silent.

  Umway Street. Remember Umway Street.

  Then, up front, a phone rang in the driver’s jacket pocket. He fetched it out and said, “Allo.” Someone said something on the other line. Somehow, Kaley sensed that it was Oni calling from inside. “Govori pazhaluista gromche,” he said. A few words from Oni. The driver glanced in the rearview mirror at Kaley, eyeing her. “Ya ne znayu,” he said. “Net. Net. Olga doma?” A few seconds went by with Oni talking a lot on the other end. “Da. Peredayte ey chto zvonil Mikhael.”

  In the silence of the car, Kaley could make out the silence on the phone. Oni wasn’t speaking anymore. When a voice did return to the phone, she could hear that it was distinctly female. “Allo.”

&
nbsp; The driver said something very rapidly. When he was finished, he said, “Ya bystro gavaryu?”

  He got an answer. It was short. Then, he started talking fast again. After a few seconds, he hung up and said to the men in the back, “Baz prablem.”

  One of the men, the jaundiced one, said, “Vsyo v poryadke?”

  “Net. Baz prablem.”

  Kaley thought that word prablem sounded an awful lot like problem. She wondered if there was an issue between all the involved parties here that she might exploit. After all, hadn’t Oni just killed half a dozen co-conspirators of his? Maybe there was something in this she could use.

  The doors opened, and Kaley was hauled out. The jaundiced man kept an iron grip on her elbow and had a pistol out, though so far he hadn’t pointed it at her.

  Immediately, Kaley’s attention was turned to the back of the SUV. Her heart ached as she saw her little sister and the other little girl lying there, both their eyes shut, being grabbed by their arms and pulled out of the rear. Shan barely stirred. Her eyelids barely parted as the bad men lifted her and put her on the ground, where her feet touched so lightly that surely she was still half asleep. Shannon let out a single, somnolent moan. She’s really exhausted to sleep through all this, Kaley thought. Exhausted because it’s way, way past her bedtime, or else emotionally exhausted by all the—

  That thought was dashed in an instant. Kaley felt what would happen next. She both saw it via the charm and felt it via the Anchor. She was close enough for the Anchor. Something swelled up inside her sister, something tiny that quickly became volcanic. It hit Kaley like a fist to her gut.

  It all happened so fast she barely registered it. One minute the driver was yelling something to Oni, who had stepped out of the house for a minute and was calling to him from the front door, and the next minute Shan suddenly punched one of the men in his balls with a viciousness she had never seen in her sister before. It was all so sudden that the man holding her elbow let go and she was off. He would’ve snatched Shan’s pigtails at once if Kaley hadn’t acted. Big Sister threw herself bodily onto the large man, who staggered backwards, trying to recover from the attack on his groin and Kaley’s dead weight.