“What the fuck, man? What the fuck is your problem?” Ugh said.
“You shouldn’t startle a man with a knife,” Calico said, wiping the blood from his face with his forearm. His own blood trickled from the self-inflicted wound, and the pain that throbbed there was the only thing keeping him cool. He studied the mutilated man at his feet, kicked a red chunk of something from his boot. “Is it clear in there?”
“Yeah, it’s clear. All the men are dead, all the women are tied up. Our boy is in the back shitting himself,” Grunt said. “A kid, man. A fuckin’ kid.”
“Well let me go say hello, then.” As Calico strolled across the yellow lawn, the men stood aside, averted their gaze. Ugh, still patting himself, had his eyes trained on the ruined meat in the yard, his head shaking slowly from side to side. Calico yanked his knife from the wood and entered the house.
The inside of the home was a massacre. Bullet holes decorated the walls, along with a fresh coat of blood. Scrawny, stick-figure bodies lay about like firewood leaking red sap. A thrashing pile of women, hog-tie and gagged, whimpered as they fought their restraints. When their eyes landed on Calico’s blood sprayed body and penetrating eyes, they grew silent at once.
But he wasn’t worried about them. They would get theirs. They would be stars. These women looked much older than Sky, and Calico felt nothing for them.
The house was little more than an efficiency. Calico moved past the living room and into the only bedroom where a boy—maybe nineteen years old—lay writhing on the ground, his skin the pink and red color of a recent ass-kicking. He looked up at Calico as he entered the room, turned his head and wept.
“Little fucker’s been cryin’ the whole damn time,” the remaining crony said. “If I gotta listen to him blubber any more, I’ll tear his fucking throat out.”
“Round up the women. I got him.” Calico’s cold words hung in the air as if filled with helium. At the sound of them, the boy rolled around on his stomach and sobbed, each wet cry slathered with mucus.
“You do your thing, man. Remember what Fleet said—”
“If you don’t leave this fucking room, I’ll make an example out of you too.”
Without another word, the man stomped out. The sudden screams of the women told Calico the man was taking out his frustrations on them, the easy prey.
Calico rolled the boy onto his back, lifted him up, brushed off his shirt. A wooden chair sat against the wall, and Calico grabbed it, set it in front of the bed where he sat.
“Have a seat,” he said and gestured toward the chair with his Bowie knife.
“You gon’ kill me?” Each word looked painful. The boy could barely stand as his legs shook beneath him, but he did as he was told and took a seat. “Look, man, I didn’t mean no disrespect or nothin’ like that. I…I…”
“Save it, kid. Not my problem.”
“I got money, man. Plenty of money…”
Calico jabbed his knife into the bed, releasing a gust of feathers that swirled into the air. “Once you see my pretty face, it’s too late. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Calico. And there’s no doubt you knew whose territory this is.”
The boy’s eyes widened and a trickle of urine soaked into his jeans and puddled beneath the wooden chair.
“So, I see you’ve heard of me, then. You’ve been a very bad boy…what do they call you, kid?”
“B-brewster.”
“Brewster? Like Punky Brewster? That’s too damn funny.”
“Look, man…Mr. Calico…I don’t want no trouble. Those meatheads out there, I don’t give a fuck ‘bout them, man. We can make a deal, me and you, we can—”
The knife was wrenched from the bed and buried into Brewster’s thigh, pinning him to the chair beneath him.
“Fuuuuuuck!”
“There, that’ll help you focus,” Calico said. “I’m not here to make any deals with you, Brewster. I’m here because you fucked with the wrong guy. I’m here to make sure everyone knows what happens to people that fuck with Ted Fleet.” He wiggled the knife back and forth as he leaned closer to the boy. “You like turning kids into meatheads, huh? Saw some of your handiwork, girl said you were her boyfriend. Sky was a pretty girl, Brewster.”
“W-what? I…I don’t know what you’re…ahhh!”
“She’s a corpse now. I had to watch while she was raped over and over again, even after she was dead. How does that make you feel, motherfucker?”
Brewster was back to sobbing again, his shoulders jumping up and down as he stared at the blood rushing from his leg and splashing over his bedroom floor. A long string of drool stretched from his lip and mixed with the blood at his feet before breaking off. “I’m sorry…I’m s-sorry. They come to me…I don’t go lookin’ for ’em. They come to me!” He shook his head, bared his teeth. “I’m small time, man. I-I-I swear! Just t-tryin’ to make it…th-that’s all…”
Calico held up his hand to shut the boy up. He thought he heard something…beneath them. Moaning…shuffling.
He smiled at Brewster. “Where have you been getting your meat supply, Brewster? Hmm?”
“I f-found them. Been c-collectin’ them for a while.”
“Where are they?”
Brewster tried to move, but the blade held fast and he screamed until Calico thought the boy’s throat would explode. More blood soaked into Brewster’s jeans and he hung his head and cried through his nose.
“Let me help you with that.” Calico gripped the hilt of the knife, and ignoring Brewster’s protests, tugged it out. Brewster fell into a pitiful heap, bathing in his own blood on the carpet that was freckled with cigarette butts and decayed food remnants.
“P-please, man. Please stop…”
“Show me where they are and I’ll kill you quick, dismember you after you’re dead. Fuck with me and, well, you get the picture.”
Brewster pointed an unsteady finger. “The bed…under th-the bed.”
Calico stood and inspected the bed. A rectangular niche was cut out of the wall where the bed was pulled down from, and when he lifted the bed and fit it back into the wall, he saw the trap door.
“Well what have we got here?” Leaving the boy to weep and think about his inescapable fate, Calico lifted the door.
The smell rushed out from under the floor like demons escaping hell. Though Calico was used to the aroma of rot, he was forced to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. The stink was extra potent, brought tears to his eyes.
From the darkness of the basement, pale faces stared up at him with eyes white with cataracts. They moaned, shambled around each other to get away from Calico’s stare. There were at least ten dead men and women down there, and every one of them was missing chunks of flesh from various spots on their nude, shrunken bodies, a few little more than skeletons.
“You fucked up now, d-din’t you, motherfucker?” Brewster said.
And before Calico could turn and face the kid, a shot rang out.
The bullet grazed Calico’s left cheek, leaving a trail of sizzling agony there that nearly gave him an erection.
“Yeah, boy. That’s what I’m talking about,” Calico said as he fingered the wound.
Brewster fired again, but Calico ducked low, then launched himself with his knife clutched blade down.
The boy pulled the trigger once more, driving a hot bullet through Calico’s left shoulder before the man was on him. Calico stabbed the knife into the boy’s gun hand, pinning it to the wall beside them. The gun clattered to the carpet and Calico pocketed it.
Brewster shrieked and stared at the knife protruding from his palm.
“You know, I was going to make this real easy on you. Was going to make it quick, send you out of this world so fast, you wouldn’t have felt a thing.” He shoved his index finger knuckle-deep into the bullet wound on his own shoulder, shuddered. “But now? Now you’ll suffer. You’ll suffer a thousand times worse than Sky did, you hear me? You’ll be screaming all the way to hell.”
Crooked
red lines ran down the wall and the boy’s hand twitched like a poisoned spider. “F-fuck you, motherfucker. Fuck you!”
Calico squeezed the boy into a tight embrace as he stood, then yanked hard to the side, tearing Brewster’s hand from the wall, turning it into tattered ribbons of torn flesh and broken bone—the knife was still stuck in the wall. Brewster’s rattling scream echoed throughout the small house.
“Fuck me, Brewster? No, kid.” Calico yanked the knife from the wall and shoved it up Brewster’s ass with all of his might, stabbing straight through the blood soaked jeans and deep into his rectum. “Fuck you.”
Brewster squealed like a hog giving birth, and as he fought, swinging his limbs, Calico pumped the knife in and out. “She was innocent, motherfucker. Just a kid. Just a fucking kid!”
“Everything okay? We heard gun—” The three cronies stood in the doorway and watched as Calico continued to knife-rape the boy, blood and shit roaring out and coating his arms.
“You boys got the girls packed up?” He let Brewster’s body thump to the floor.
“Y-yeah, man. Yeah.”
“You better drop them off and come back with another truck,” Calico said. “Got some meat to take back with us.” He swung the trapdoor open to reveal the terrified walking corpses hiding in the darkness.
All three men covered their faces with their arms as they peered inside.
“Shit, that’s a nice haul,” Grunt said.
“What about you?” Ugh said.
“I’m not even close to done with our boy Punky Brewster here. You go, bring the truck. I’ll stay here. Got lots of work to do.”
The men nodded and mumbled to one another as they escaped the bloody mess in the bedroom.
“Just me and you now, Brewster.”
The boy could only writhe and bawl, howling cries with long pauses between each one. As Calico watched him squirming in his own bodily fluids, he again imagined it was Fleet’s desecrated body beneath him, Fleet’s blood coating his knife, Fleet’s blubbering cries of pain.
You’ll get yours, old man. Someday, I’ll make you suffer.
Brewster’s gun pressed against Calico’s thigh from inside of his pocket, and he already knew where he could hide it back home. He slid his finger back into the bullet hole on his shoulder, trembled with near-orgasm, then descended onto Brewster and unleashed the fury that had been begging to be uncaged.
- Chapter 17 -
“Don’t be shy, come on over here and let me take a look at you,” Mrs. Harrell said after she rode the electric railing to the bottom of the stairs.
“She’s not very pretty, Paco,” Sophia whispered.
Mrs. Harrell sat in a motorized wheelchair, her body resembling a skeleton wrapped in nude-colored Spandex. Her teeth stuck out past her withered-looking red lips, and when she smiled, she looked even more like a skull. Thin blonde hair hung down, strands of it pasted to her cheeks and forehead by perspiration. The red floral dress hung loose from her frail body—her legs looked like broomsticks.
Paco realized he and Sophia still stood by the door, both of them gawking at her. He took a step toward her and stretched his mouth into a smile. “Hi, I’m Paco. This is Sophia. Thanks for having us here.”
“Come closer, kids. I won’t bite.” Just waving her arm looked painful for her.
“Go ahead, you guys. Don’t be shy,” Mr. Harrell said, ushering them along from behind.
As they grew nearer, Paco picked up the woman’s scent, like body odor coated in perfume. His eyes watered slightly and he held his breath as the woman wrapped her stick arms around him and Sophia, hugging them weakly.
“Well don’t you look lovely in your new dress?” Mrs. Harrell said as she beamed at Sophia. “And look at this dapper young man.”
“Thank you so much for the new clothes,” Paco said.
“Yes, I love my dress. So pretty.” Sophia twirled and giggled.
The woman’s face changed in that moment. Her smile became a grimace which then became a frown. Her eyes darted to Mr. Harrell and her body visibly shook.
“Kids…I think Mrs. Harrell needs some time alone. Why don’t you let Jake show you to your bedrooms and we’ll be with you guys for a late lunch, hmm?” Mr. Harrell smiled, but his eyes showed something else.
Jake appeared from a side door and nodded at his boss, then placed his massive hands on Paco and Sophia’s shoulders.
“S-sorry kids. I’m suddenly not feeling w-well.” Mrs. Harrell’s nostrils widened and her face became feral as she sniffed the air, then she seemed to catch herself and smiled again. “Bedroom, Grant. P-please.”
“Yes, dear. Of course.”
Mrs. Harrell rode back up the stairs, never again looking at the kids. She rubbed her palms over her thighs and kept running her dark tongue over pale lips.
“And Paco,” Mr. Harrell said. “I’ll be calling your friend’s brother, the doctor, this evening to come and take a look at Sophia, all right?”
“Yeah, that sounds great!” Paco no longer cared how strange Mrs. Harrell looked or acted. He no longer felt the apprehension that filled him during the drive through the city into the elegant neighborhood. The entire reason they left home was to find someone that could help his sister, and now it seemed their goal was at hand. His chest filled with pride and he messed Sophia’s hair and giggled at her.
“Hey, you’re messing up my hair,” she said as she smoothed it back down.
Mr. Harrell was midway up the stairs now, and he turned to face them. “You know…she doesn’t seem that sick to me. Whatever it is that’s the matter with her, I’m sure the good doc will take care of it.”
“I hope so. Thanks, Mr. Harrell,” Paco said.
“Yes, thank you. I don’t wanna be sick anymore,” Sophia said as she rocked from heel to toe.
“I told you…you kids call me Dad. We’re family now.” And before the kids could reply, the man turned his back and trotted up the stairs to catch up with his wife. Quick footsteps and a mechanical whir, then the slam of a door.
“What’s the matter with her?” Paco asked Jake.
“She’s just got…special needs is all. Nice lady.” Jake stared up at the empty staircase, then shook his head and chuckled. “Now let me show you your bedrooms. You’ll love ’em, no question.”
Paco had expected them to ascend the stairs, but instead, they moved down the hall into a completely different wing of the house. A Hispanic woman with a vacuum rolled by, followed by another with a feather duster. Then they came to a hallway with yellow wallpaper the color of banana Laffy Taffy. Two red doors stood side by side, and Jake opened the first one, stepped inside.
“This one here is for the little girl,” he said as he presented the room with open arms. “Whattya think? Not too bad, huh?”
“This is…this is for me?” Sophia said as she strolled into the room with slow and bewildered steps.
The wallpaper was a pale purple, something Paco knew right away sent pulses of excitement through Sophia. The bed was big enough to fit ten of her, with tall white poles that resembled unicorn horns at every corner. The walls were aligned with stuffed animals and dolls and other sparkly princess paraphernalia. A long vanity mirror, equipped with enough jewelry to sink a ship with, stood near the bed. Sophia spun and took it all in, the grin on her face widening by the second.
“I think she likes it,” Jake said to Paco.
“Yeah…it’s, it’s really nice. What do you think, Sophia?”
“I love it, I love it, I love it!” She hopped up and down and clapped, made a sound like eeeeee!
“Of course, if there’s anything missing, anything she may want that isn’t already here, you just let me know. I’ll take care of it.” Jake puffed his chest out and raised an eyebrow.
“It’s perfect!” Sophia cried as she leapt onto her bed and rolled around in the periwinkle sheets. “Is it really for me? Do I really get to stay here?”
“Think that’s up to your brother,” Jake said, patti
ng Paco on the back. “How about we go see your room, huh, little man?”
“I’ll stay here,” Sophia said as she ran across the room toward the mountain of toys.
Paco shook his head and snickered as he followed Jake back into the hallway and to the neighboring bedroom.
“Like I said,” Jake said as he turned his back to the room and faced Paco. “You need anything, you can always let me know.”
“Did Mr. and Mrs. Harrell have children before?”
“No, they…uh…they’ve just always been prepared in case a blessing came along. You and your sister are those blessings, little man.”
The room was similar to Sophia’s, but opposite, everything geared toward a boy her age. The wallpaper was navy blue with posters of outdated sports teams plastered on it. An extensive train set sat in the center of the floor, the train making circles and tooting a horn, tiny tufts of steam blowing into the air and disappearing at once. There were action figures, army men, legos. None of these things really did anything for Paco, but when his eyes landed on the shiny, chrome bicycle leaning against the far wall, he made a beeline for it.
“Found something you like, huh?” Jake said.
“It’s awesome. I’ve seen this one in the store before, but Mama and Papa couldn’t…it’s really nice.” He ran his hand over the frame, gripped the handlebars. It felt solid, way better than the rusty thing back home. Every time Paco had ridden the old bike, he thought it would crumble beneath him. But not this one. This one was top of the line. Paco had never owned anything top of the line before, and as he ran his hands over the frame, he smiled even though his chest was filling up with guilt. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was betraying his parents.
“Well, maybe later you can take it for a spin. When Mr. and Mrs. Harrell have had a chance to…settle in.”
“Yeah, all right.” Paco sat on his bed, almost identical to Sophia’s except for the masculine colors and wooden poles the shape of baseball bats instead of the unicorn horns. His stomach churned.
“You hungry? What can I get for you?”
Addicted to the Dead Page 11
