Phobias

by Ryan Horvath

  “Retribution,” the other three repeated.

  The four of them nodded.

  ~~36~~

  Walt turned nineteen. The quartet had a quiet celebration. Chad even baked a cake. Technology bounced back. Internet 2.0 launched. Air traffic in the skies increased.

  Money returned, to a degree, anyway. Some people became wealthy again. Many people had to start over from scratch. But bartering remained popular.

  Population counts were being attempted but people had shifted around so much that it was a difficult process. On top of that, most communities had become extremely tight-lipped about their citizens. It would be some time before a determination could be made as to how many people died in the wake of the technological breakdown of the twenty-first century.

  Life crept forward as it does until the following spring. The middle of May to be exact.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  Miedo had his money back, and he wasted no time getting what he needed. Mercenaries and bad men were still happy to deal in cash, and Miedo had built a new command center.

  He sat at his command center looking at the various monitors and alternating between clicking a mouse and scratching at his wrist, which was now in a bandage because of his strange compulsion.

  Since his exploits in Grand Cayman, Miedo moved around a lot and tracked and killed eight more phobics. One was a man afraid of dogs. Miedo fed the man live to a pair of hungry stray dogs he acquired. He found a young girl afraid of clowns. He kidnapped her and donned the most devilish-looking clown’s outfit. When he tore off her blindfold and she saw Miedo, she lost it. She was thrown into a panic attack and then quickly expired. Miedo wasn’t a neuroscientist, but he suspected that she had an aneurysm which her panic attack caused to burst. He found an albino woman who was terrified of being outdoors and in the sun. Miedo snatched her, stripped her to her bare white skin and, on three very clear, hot days, bound her to a fence post in the blazing sun. Her unprotected, hypersensitive skin did not react well to the solar exposure. She basically cooked at a low temperature. When she was still hanging to life at the end of three days, Miedo turned up the temperature and set the woman on fire. The remainder of the eight each suffered a gruesome and fear-filled death. Each of their demises satisfied Miedo’s need to scratch at his wrist, but only for a little while. The itch always came back a little stronger than before. It had been two weeks since he disposed of his eighth victim, and the scratching was so bad that he was forced to bandage the wrist. As it was, underneath the bandage, the wound was raw, bloody, and laced with pus.

  So he sat at his monitors. Looking. Seeking. Searching for any sign of the four of them.

  And one day a sign came. It was so bright, it was more of a beacon.

  It came from Holly.

  Holly with the oh-so-fragrant-panties. Miedo thought back to that evening long ago when he took the olfactory indulgence of her undergarments, and his mouth started to water. Shivers raced up and down his spine. His stiffened behind the fly of his jeans, and for the first time in a long time, the itching on his wrist ceased. While he stared at her image on one of the monitors and read the associated text, he licked his lips continuously and recalled the way her femininity smelled against that soft fabric.

  Miedo found Holly in a simple photograph from a small publication’s website. Even though she had styled her hair differently, he could still recognize her face. And if that wasn’t enough, her true name was used in the caption.

  The photo showed Holly standing next to a diner sign. Miedo thought this odd given that Holly used to handle the dead; but now she was serving food to the living. She held her hands out to the sign and her mouth was open in excitement. The brief caption below said Holly just purchased the diner and was planning on business as usual and hoped for no interruption in the flow.

  The sign was most helpful to Miedo. It read Hillsboro Country Diner and Trade. Open every day! As always~ NO guns permitted inside. And painted at the very bottom in small but easy-to-read letters, In beautiful Hillsboro, New Mexico Est 1877.

  Miedo knew where Holly was. And he was certain the others were still with her. And Hillsboro, New Mexico wasn’t that far from where Miedo currently had his setup.

  Miedo was going to get Holly first. She managed to avoid his torture back in Minnesota. The unique spider Miedo placed under her desk went undiscovered. The memory of her smell and the thrill of having found at least one of them had Miedo on the edge of his seat, rocking in excitement. When he had Holly in his clutches, he was going to take from her what should only be given. The drunk ex-cop, the big-schlonged former football player, and the Wild Card were going to find Holly an oozing shell after Miedo was through with her. After, he would pick them off, one by one.

  Miedo used the outside of his bandaged arm to wipe sweat from his forehead. Then he looked inside. He was tempted to take the bandage off and look at what he had done to himself, but he knew that wouldn’t be a good idea. The last time he looked, the wound looked to be on the verge of infection so Miedo poured some searing rubbing alcohol onto it and bandaged it tightly.

  Miedo accessed a search engine and learned as much as he could about Hillsboro, New Mexico.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  “Do you think this will really work?” Holly said, after she posed for the picture outside the diner.

  “The nice thing about fishing,” Chad said as he flipped through the photos he just shot, “Is that it doesn’t cost too much. Calvin insists he can set up a dummy website and get this on it, and I believe the kid will do anything to get this fucker.”

  Holly nodded and stepped away from the sign. She hooked an arm around Chad’s. They finally grew comfortable with each other and, for the last two months, they’d been sleeping together. “How long do you think it will take Justin to find us?” she asked.

  “Not long,” Chad said in return. “He wants to finish this as much as we do.”

  They turned and walked down the street toward home.

  ~~37~~

  A week later, Holly and Calvin were out for a jog. Holly discovered it was a good way to pump some endorphins into Calvin as well as tire him out a bit. After a run, usually in the afternoon, Calvin would take a quick shower, then cool off in the pool, and usually fall asleep in one of the lounge chairs on the patio. The catnap never lasted long, the longest one was twenty-eight minutes, and Calvin was usually jolted awake by some nightmarish creature or event. But Holly knew the extra minutia of sleep was helping Calvin. She wasn’t sure how much sleep he was getting at night anymore, but more often than not, she would hear from Walt that Calvin was up for some, most, or all of the night.

  Fortunately, Calvin’s appetite was still decent and he wasn’t losing weight as he did when they first got to Hillsboro. Holly was going to do whatever it took to keep it that way.

  The time running also gave them a chance to talk. Without a counselor around, Holly, Chad, and Walt each had to do his or her part to fill that role. And not just for Calvin, but for each other as well.

  “So…,” Holly said through huffs. It was a very warm day currently awash with sunshine, but there were thick clouds brewing in the distance that suggested Hillsboro might see some dicey weather later. “What’d you dream about last night?”

  “Nothing good,” Calvin replied through his own labored breaths. “Chad had the three of us locked up. I was in a cage and you and Walt were each chained to a separate table. It was hot. Chad had blazing fires going everywhere. Some freaky things were working ‘em too. You remember the bad gremlins from the movie?”

  “Yeah,” Holly said. Even though Calvin’s dreams were quite morbid, she found them incredibly interesting. Even more intriguing was the fact that he was able to retain what he dreamed about long after waking.

  “The creatures looked like those, only bigger. And a lot more teeth,” Calvin replied and paused to adjust his breath. “And even though they were kinda mean little shits, the Gremlins were a little cute. There was nothing cute about these thin
gs… Especially when they started throwing hot coals at us.”

  “What was Chad doing? Why wasn’t he tied up like the rest of us, do you think?” Holly said.

  “He was drinking… which is weird and weird for me to see him do in a dream. Remember, I’ve never actually seen Chad touch a drop of the booze. He quit drinkin’ basically right when I met the two of you. But I know he’s a drunk…”

  “Calvin, you should say ‘recovering alcoholic’,” Holly cautioned. “It’s terrible to call someone a drunk… especially if they’ve righted themselves. You and I both know how difficult it’s been for Chad.” Holly probably knew a little better having been subjected to some of Chad’s insomnia and irritability late at night.

  “Yeah, I know,” Calvin returned, a little ruefully. “I guess I’m still pissed about my mom. She was a fucking drunk too.” He puffed a few breaths and continued. “And you won’t get me to clean that one up. But anyway, Chad was drinking. He had a big jug that looked like one of those things you’d see a pirate carrying with the letters XX stamped on the side. But instead of XX, it just said ‘bourbon’. And Chad drank it like it was water.”

  “Then what happened?” Holly asked.

  “Chad started to do it with you,” Calvin said. “And not with his dick. I’m not going to tell you what with.”

  “Thank you,” Holly said flatly, and then continued to pant. Unfortunately, some of Calvin’s dreams involved savage, depraved, and shameful sexual acts, and Holly didn’t care to hear the specific details about any of that. Her hypothesis was that he dreamed about it as if in punishment for subjecting another person to such things.

  “So after Chad started his thing, his gremlins came to me and Walt,” Calvin pressed on. “One of them cut into me with a thin, sharp knife. Then another joined it. They started peeling my flesh off, little by little. But before I woke up, I saw the beasts that were on Walt… they cut his legs off, one of his arms, then his head. I had a few seconds after that to see Chad was still slugging down his bourbon and to feel a little more of my flesh stripped off before I woke up… In the dark.”

  “And now?” Holly said. “When you woke up and in the calm of day, do you see how irrational that all was? I’m fine. Chad never… never… hurt me. He’s still as sober as he was when we both met him, right?” This reassurance tactic had seemed to help in the recent past.

  “Right,” Calvin confirmed.

  “And I’m just fine. Not mad at Chad and right here running with you,” Holly stated.

  “Yep,” Calvin agreed.

  “And when you saw Walt at breakfast, he still had all of his arms and legs as well as his head, didn’t he?” Holly questioned.

  “He did,” Calvin said, and nodded.

  “Then you know nothing in your dreams can hurt you… or any of us,” Holly said in a tone indicating she had recited this line many times. “You can still have bad dreams. But you don’t have to be afraid of them.” She hesitated, then proposed, “You know? Some of the anxiety you have about dreaming could actually be causing the bad dreams.”

  “Dr. Andrews once suggested that too… the fucking asshole,” Calvin fired.

  They rounded a corner and were getting close to the diner. If Calvin hadn’t said the doctor’s name right then and there, when Holly noticed what she happened to notice, she probably would have thought nothing of it. But her eye was drawn to a vehicle parked against the short curb. She grabbed Calvin’s sweat-slick arm and stopped both of them.

  “What?” Calvin questioned when he saw the look on her face.

  Holly nodded to the car. It was a silver BMW with a thin layer of road and desert dust on it. “Look at the plates,” she hissed. Her eyes stared, but she didn’t want to give the impression to anyone who might be watching that she was drawn to the vehicle.

  Calvin, on the other hand, blatantly stared and shuddered. The familiar blue and white background with six black characters jumped out at him. The registration tab on the vehicle was expired, but Calvin knew the government hadn’t caught up enough to be worried about vehicle registrations. This vehicle’s expired the year before; the same year his life took a massive downswing. The plate was from their home state of Minnesota.

  “Holy shit!” Calvin quietly gasped. All thoughts of his nightmares and phobias disappeared along with any sign of the long-term fatigue and distress he’d been stuck under. “He took the bait?!”

  “Don’t act like you see anything,” Holly said in a whisper and squeezed Calvin’s arm. “He could be watching.”

  Calvin smiled and laughed as if she just spoke a soft punchline to a dirty joke. “C’mon. Let’s keep going.” He moved and Holly fell in with him.

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” Holly said. “It could be anyone.”

  “We’ve been here for a while now,” Calvin started. “And no one with plates from any state other than New Mexico, Arizona, or Texas has come into our little haven. We drop a little chum in the water and a car from the state the shark is from shows up a week later? What are the odds that it’s not him?”

  “There are still plenty of people out there who could have a car from there,” Holly said rationally. But she smiled. “But it sure is nice to see you so excited.”

  Calvin was excited. He couldn’t believe it, but he was actually getting a little stiff between his legs… something that hadn’t happened for a while. It certainly wasn’t for a sexual reason. It was the thought of justice and retribution for what that monster had done to all of them. “I didn’t think he would get here so fast. Are we ready?”

  A dreadful thought occurred to Holly. “What if it is him and he got to Chad or Walt already… or both of them? And why would he just saunter his car right into the middle of town and park it right in front of the diner I supposedly own?”

  “Because he’s just that much of an arrogant asshole,” Calvin said.

  Holly considered this. Calvin was probably correct. “I guess that could be. Even still, we better get back home and let the others know.”

  “Plus,” Calvin persisted. They rounded another corner onto a deserted street. “If he’s feeling anything like I am feeling, this is all unfinished business to him and he wants it done more than anything.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” they heard from their left.

  From the shadows, between a storage shed and a carport, a man emerged. Calvin and Holly recognized him as Justin Andrews even though the man had changed his appearance as much as they had. But his eyes and voice were unmistakable. So was the silencer-equipped pistol he held in his hand and trained on them.

  Holly watched as Justin fired with no hesitation.

  Calvin cried out next to her as the bullet tore into his leg just above his knee-cap. He went down.

  “No!!” Holly shouted. “Cal!” She hunched over to help him.

  But Andrews fired again.

  His second bullet tore into Holly’s chest.

  She had a brief moment to feel the searing pain of the impact of the bullet and to hear Calvin call her name before her vision went dark.

  ~~38~~

  Chad was experiencing his own itch. In his mind, he called it the “bitch itch” and it was a sneaky thing. Every nine weeks, give or take a couple days, Chad would feel the alcoholism trying to rear its ugly pathetic face and reassume control of the reins of his life. He’d start by thinking how nice it would be to have a beer with the others after they spent a whole day tending to the house and grounds. Then it would escalate a bit to how tasty a finger or two of bourbon would be with his sausage or piece of chicken at dinner. Ultimately, it would end up taking him over for eight to twelve hours when he would essentially have to stay home. And, at home, he would go through tremors, have the sweats, snap at the others, cry, and have trouble sleeping. Holly recently figured out that, if the timing was right, a healthy session of aggressive, primal, animalistic sex was a good way to bring Chad out of his alcoholic down-spiral.

  Today was one of those days when Chad wa
s in the “bitch-itch” place. He was at the stage where the bourbon was starting to sound really desirable. He was sitting under the awning of the back porch eating his lunch. It was a hot day and he had his shirt off. He was taking a break from making sure no spiders, scorpions, or other creepy-crawlies were finding their way into the house to get Holly, and pulling weeds, which he liked to do during the “bitch-itch” days because it helped relieve some of his tension. His first chore today was a silly task, sure. If a pest wanted in, it was probably going to find a way in. But it was a task that Holly needed to have done per the conditions of her phobia. And she did the same placating behavior for Calvin too. She’d take him running, which was where they were now, and make him talk about his dreams.

  Yep Chad thought. We’re just one great happy fucked-up pseudo-family. He often grew grouchy at their situation during the “bitch-itch” days, even more so if it was hot like today. Man, I would just fucking love a few swallows. His mouth began to salivate for the liquor he craved. He bit into his sandwich instead. He watched Walt in the vegetable garden that was about twenty feet away.

  As he swallowed, the phone on the little outdoor table rang. Phone reception had been pretty good for a while now and the four of them had two phones to share. Chad thought that with them having placed some bait for the monstrous shrink, it might be better to get a phone for each of them. He stepped to the phone and leaned over. The display showed it was their other phone calling; the one Holly and Calvin had with them on their run.

  Chad reached over and picked up the phone.

  ~*~0~0~*~

  Walt was on his knees on the edge of the garden plucking tomatoes off a plant that was abundantly stocked with fruits. Like Chad, he wasn’t wearing a shirt and the southwestern sun had turned his once fair skin an even bronze.

  They had too much food in the garden. They always did, especially in the case of tomatoes, but that didn’t matter. Tomatoes were a super food and Walt and Chad taught themselves how to can, so they saved a lot. They used the excess produce the garden gave them either for bartering or for donating to the diner. Walt really liked that. He enjoyed the communal living they found in Hillsboro; in spite of the fact that Chad was getting worse and worse with his phobia. He pretty much couldn’t go anywhere but the diner and home because deviation from those two places usually meant he’d see a gun… and seeing a gun could easily trigger the start of what Chad called his “bitch-itch” days. And even though Calvin was suffering more and more from his phobia too… slipping farther away from health. And Holly, too, was still at the mercy of her phobia…forcing the guys to look behind doors, in her bed, under the toilet seat, and so many other places where scuttling multi-legged creatures might lie in wait.