by mike Evans
“Some guy knew a guy who worked with another guy at the department for planning and let us all lease the building. You know how it goes. We get to have free reign of the place as long as we don’t touch anything structural. It was a pretty huge undertaking getting the building filled with businesses, but we did it, eventually. All twelve floors are now filled.” Rebecca laughed and pulled out a pack of Haribos, chewing on the small jelly candies. “There’s even a porn company on one of these floors.” She shrugged again like it was no big deal.
“No way. So while you’re tatting up the youth of today and Wile E. Coyote over there is piercing some guy’s dick,” they both waved as they passed the piercing studio and Butch—the lanky owner who had more hair than Rebecca’s pet Alsatian—waved back, “some guys are gang-banging some woman upstairs?”
Spike’s voice raised several octaves in awe, as most men’s did whenever the word porn was mentioned.
Rebecca chuckled. “I try not to think about it too much.”
“How can you not think about it!”
“Somehow I manage to refrain.” She winked and threw in the last of her Haribos.
Spike whistled slowly, his eyes wide in wonder. “Gotta be the top floor, keep that shit away from the rest, huh?”
“However you gotta make a buck is fine by me.” Rebecca shrugged again. “Who am I to judge? Besides, there are a lot of other businesses here too. There’s a psych office, a union, a—”
“What the fuck is that?” Spike said, pulling up short and placing a hand on Rebecca’s arm to stop her in her tracks.
Rebecca smiled and waved at Mrs. McReath. “Hey, how are you today, ma’am?”
Mrs. McReath looked up from her book, a worn out copy of Little Women that she’d been trying to read for the past ten years. No matter how many times she started it, she never seemed to get past chapter seven for some reason. Her white and gray hair was pulled back from her face into a bun, and her pale eyes dazzled even in the dim lighting of floor five.
“Oh, I’m just dandy,” she replied with a smile and then turned her attention back to her book.
Rebecca pulled Spike by the arm and grinned. “Come on.”
The elevator was in the main foyer, with worn-out couches arranged in a half-circle as if this was a doctor’s waiting room. She hit the button, and the elevator pinged almost instantly and the doors opened up. Both of them stepped inside and she pressed the button for the ground floor.
A black and yellow bee was flying around the elevator, hitting the dull metal walls as it frantically tried to escape. Spike slipped off his sneaker and swatted the bee with the back of it, and Rebecca gasped in horror.
“What? Why would you do that?”
Spike looked confused as he shoved his sweaty foot back into his sneaker. Fall was particularly warm this year and his sweat glands weren’t coping too well with the heat.
“It’s a wasp, those things are evil!” He shrugged, watching as the squashed body of the bee fell from the wall.
“It was a bee! A harmless bumblebee, not a damned wasp you idiot!” Tears welled in Rebecca’s eyes.
“Well shit, I’m sorry Mrs. Bee Lover,” he replied, but Rebecca’s expression softened him, “okay, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Poor little fella.”
“Who was that up there?” Spike asked, pulling his cigarette out of his mouth and drying the tip before poking it back between his lips. He wanted to change the subject from the bees untimely death before Rebecca broke down in to full blown female hysteria.
“Who?” She replied, finally getting a grip of herself.
“The old broad!” He chuckled. “And was she selling wool and shit?”
“That’s Mrs. McReath. And yes, she was selling wool,” Rebecca finally laughed, it was hard not to when she thought of how out of place Mrs. McReath was on floor five. “She got misplaced when they divvied up the floor space. Somewhere along the line things got screwed up and she ended up here with us. She was looking at canceling her lease at first, but we all help her out when she needs it, and surprisingly, business has been pretty good for her up there on the fifth floor.” Rebecca laughed again, thinking of André. “I’m telling you, André should think about getting into knitting and crocheting rather than that stupid metronome!”
Spike laughed back. “Maybe you should buy him some wool on the way back up.”
“You know, I think I might just do that,” she laughed back.
Two.
WhatThe…
Both Rebecca and Spike’s laughter died on their lips as the elevator came to a shuddering stop and the metal doors separated to reveal the chaos behind them.
“What the—” Rebecca started, but the words dried up on her tongue like a bad acid tablet. Her light green eyes bulged as she looked out onto the foyer of the ground floor. At the cream walls that were no longer cream, but blood-splattered, and at the prone bodies on the floor with pools of blood surrounding them.
The main glass doors to the building were shut and the metal shutters that sealed the building from thieves at night were slammed down and more than likely locked into place. But the bloody smeared handprints on the glass doors could be seen, and with quickening dread Rebecca wondered whether whatever had caused this destruction had been locked in or out of the building.
Out, she hoped.
Rebecca took a step forward, her gaze traveling over the scene before her as her mind worked a million miles an hour as it tried to work out what the hell was going on. Spike’s hand shot out and landed on her arm, halting her from leaving the elevator, and she turned to look at him, her eyes still wide and fearful, possibly more so as she took in his similar expression of terror.
He shook his head and swallowed, his cigarette still hanging limply from between his lips. Rebecca glanced back at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. She finally shook out of his grip and looked back into the foyer, her brain still trying to make sense of what she was seeing, but repeatedly coming up scenarios that she didn’t want to think about.
Terrorists.
Mass murderer.
Vegan rights activists trying to turn a hand at celebrity stardom in the form of a mass cult suicide… Who the fuck really knew? Some people would do anything to become a celebrity these days.
Rebecca’s gaze traveled to one of the prone bodies on the ground as a soft growl came from it. She shook out from under Spike’s grip and took a small step toward it, her caring nature making her want to help if she could. She took another step forward and Spike’s body quickly crashed into the back of hers, and she let out a small squeal of surprise and turned around to hit him.
“Back up, Spike!” she hissed. Spike was taller than she was, which wasn’t really difficult, but he was also so close that she had to crane her neck to look up into his face. “Stop being such a douche canoe and calm down, will you?”
The cigarette was still in his mouth, but it was now bent at an awkward angle, with bits of tobacco hanging out of the end of it. Rebecca reached up and pulled it from his mouth before throwing it to one side. The cigarette tore some of the skin off Spike’s lip and a small drop of blood sprung to the surface, but Spike didn’t seem to notice. His entire body was unflinching, barring his gaze, which followed the broken cigarette to the floor. He’d never desired a nicotine rush so much in all his life, he surmised miserably.
His gaze lifted from the floor and up to Rebecca’s face, shifting slightly as it followed the now moving body of the person that was on the ground just outside the elevator. They were slowly getting up to their knees, and Spike felt a small sense of joy that perhaps things weren’t quite what he had first thought. He swallowed and let out a small laugh, thankful that whatever was going on here would be sorted out in no time. This person could tell them what had happened, they could call the police and get his mess straightened out. And, he decided, he would get his tattoo finished up somewhere else. Somewhere without b
lood and guts all over the floor.
It was the smell that did it.
The smell of rotting meat that reminded him of long-ago memories of working a summer job slaughtering lambs ready for the spring.
The very real scent of blood and death that hung in the air dredged up the memories of that one horrific summer.
The pungent aroma of dead flesh as it hit the back of his nose and traveled down his throat.
He hadn’t known what it was at first, but now that he did, now that he realized what that smell was, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. His mouth slowly began to fill with liquid as his body prepared to vomit out last night’s fine dining of burritos and beer.
“Don’t you dare!” Rebecca yelled, the confusion of the moment forgotten at the thought of being trapped in an elevator with a vomit-covered Spike. She stepped to one side, ready to push him out into the lobby where he could puke until his merry little heart’s content, when another person rounded the corner and slowly stepped into the cramped space with them.
The person—a balding man with a filthy-looking toupee hanging from the top of his head and blood running down his neck—reached for Spike, giving a throaty growl of annoyance as Spike screamed like a twelve-year-old boy whose voice was starting to break. Spike’s back slammed against the elevator wall as he tried to dodge the other man’s reaching advances, and the sound echoed through the restricted space loudly. The other man opened his mouth and coughed up phlegmy blood, which splattered all down Spike’s face, and Spike screamed again and lashed out, his fist connecting with the other man’s cheek and whipping his head back.
“Get out of my space, man!” Spike yelled, trying not to focus on the man’s bloodshot eyes.
Spike, for all his rough exterior, was a gentle man and had never hit anyone in his life. The punch ricocheted through his fist and up his arm and he cried out in pain. The punch, however, seemed to have little to no effect on the other man, who was already splattered in blood and had the unhealthiest complexion that Spike had ever seen; and he’d seen a lot. Everything from friends who had OD’d to that one time his friend had eaten bad chicken and thrown up for two days straight.
His knuckles still throbbing from the first punch, Spike chose a different tactic this time and decided to push with both hands against the other man to keep him at arm’s length—at least until he could think of what to do.
“What is wrong with you? Back off!” he yelled, staring into the other man’s unflinching face.
“You need to chill out, man,” Rebecca yelled as she gripped the back of the man’s shirt.
The material came completely untucked from the back of his jeans as she pulled and pulled, the sound of the material tearing obnoxiously loud. The man continued reaching for Spike, his fingers clasping onto Spike’s shoulders and pulling at the skin there like he was hungrily trying to unwrap a cheese string while blindfolded. All the while Spike continued to work up a sweat as he pushed against the other man’s chest to keep him away.
Rebecca’s grip was still tight on the man’s shirt, but she had no doubt that she’d tire soon if the damn thing didn’t…
Wrippppppp!
…the sound of the material ripping further and giving him an extra centimeter of leverage made Spike scream, his eyes widening in horror as the other man’s fingers began to tear away at the muscle in his shoulder, and panic blossomed in Rebecca’s chest.
“Get off of me!” Spike screamed, his arms shaking and sweat trailing down the sides of his face.
“Duck!” Rebecca yelled out as the other man’s shirt finally ripped free of her grip and his bloody body flew forward.
Spike ducked.
The man slammed headfirst into the metal wall of the elevator and collapsed into a heap at their feet.
Rebecca stared in horror as the man lay prone and silent, a small puddle of blood pooling underneath his body. The elevator was small, and one of the man’s feet hung into the doorway. The doors tried to close, but once they hit the leg they dinged back open again.
“Holy shit!” She glanced at Spike, her gaze traveling to the trickle of blood coming from the wound in his shoulder. “Holy shit,” she repeated, since her brain refused to think of any other coherent words. “Holy shit.”
The puddle of blood grew larger.
Spike’s sniveling grew louder.
Rebecca’s heartbeat slammed against her chest harder.
“Is he dead?” Spike finally said, breaking the silence.
Rebecca looked back down at the man on the floor. He hadn’t moved since he’d slam-dunked his head into the wall. She couldn’t even see the slightest rise and fall of his shoulders. She shrugged slowly.
“Concussion?” Spike offered limply.
Rebecca shrugged again, still not sure what to do. She, like Spike, wasn’t a violent person by nature. “Breed peace, not war” was her motto. “Sow love, not carnage” was another. “Understand, don’t reprimand” was yet another… The last one was a work in progress. Like the mom upstairs with her outdated-yet-still-meaningful symbols of peace, Rebecca tried not to allow hate into her life. She didn’t like to be around it, or around people who bred it. But she also wasn’t a pushover. She stared down at the body again, feeling a glimmer of guilt despite the fact that the man had been violent and threatening toward Spike. He was still a person, a human, a man with feelings and possibly a family. God, she hoped she wasn’t going to get sued by his family for this.
“Ambulance. We need to get an ambulance,” she finally managed to mumble out, words spilling back into her mouth like two-day-old vomit. They tasted vile, untruthful, and pointless. She slowly got down on her knees and, avoiding the puddle of blood as best she could, got herself as close to the man as she dared to.
“What are you doing?” Spike whispered, his panicked voice filling the small space. “Get away from him.” His hand was clasped over his bleeding shoulder, his body trembling as blood seeped between his shaking fingers.
“Seeing if he’s alive.”
“And if he isn’t?”
Rebecca glanced back up at him, not sure what to say in reply. She had no idea what they would do if this man was dead. He’d clearly needed their help, but he’d gone about it in all the wrong ways.
“I don’t know, but we can’t leave him like this,” she said, pressing her fingers to the man’s cold neck.
“He tried to tear my arm off!” Spike snapped angrily, giving a hearty kick to the body on the floor.
“Will you calm down!” Rebecca snapped and turned back to the man. On closer inspection she could now see that his toupee wasn’t so much of a toupee at all, but in fact was the entire top half of his scalp.
He’d been scalped. And the remnants of his scalp had been slapping him in the side of the face like an old hairpiece. She pressed a hand to her mouth, refusing to vomit at the crime scene and leave any incriminating evidence behind.
“Calm down? Calm down? Are you crazy? I need to get out of here. I can’t do this—” Spike’s scream finished off the end of his sentence, and Rebecca turned around to see someone’s face buried into the side of Spike’s neck as he clawed and grabbed at them to stop.
Blood splashed down his front as what Rebecca assumed must have been the jugular was split open and blood began to pump from the wound. She screamed and stood up abruptly, stumbling over the body at her feet and almost falling back down on top of him.
Spike’s gaze was on her.
His eyes wide.
His mouth open wider.
The wound in his neck wider still.
Like a bloody red space hole it was sucking her into it, swallowing her into the gory scene before her until all she could see and hear and smell was Spike’s death.
She took a step forward to help and realized with regret that A: it was probably too late to help him now anyway, and B: she had no idea how to help him.
So Rebecca took option C.
“I’m really sorry, Spike. Truly I am. It was the b
ee thing that did it. Gotta love bees, man,” she said, true remorse punctuating her words. And then she kicked out as hard as she could and sent both Spike and whoever was currently attached to his neck stumbling backwards out of the elevator.
Spike tripped over the leg that was blocking the doorway and fell onto the foyer floor, letting out a loud “oomph!” The other person clambered on top of him and started to give him the kiss of life. Or the Heimlich maneuver. Or neither of those things. But whatever he was doing, he was definitely getting all up in Spike’s personal space, and by Spike’s high-pitched screams, he wasn’t too happy about it.
Rebecca looked warily either side of her, feeling guilty about her next move but knowing she was going to do it regardless. She kicked out again, her boot knocking the leg of the scalped man out of the way of the door and, not wanting to waste another second, she pressed the number button for floor five.
She watched as Spike stared up at her in disbelief from the floor, his mouth open wide as blood continued to flow from his neck. She wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead right now, but it was pretty obvious that death was most definitely in the cards for him in the very near future. Like an old fortune-teller with a glass globe, she could clearly see that good old Spike and his skull-adorned body were destined for greater things. Or at least things not of this planet. Not anymore, anyway.
The doors began to slide shut, but at the last moment another person dove between them and threw themselves against the wall of the elevator. The doors pinged shut and the elevator began to ascend to the fifth floor. Rebecca leaned against the opposite wall of the elevator and waited for the other person to move. Or say something. Either of those things was fine, she decided. As long as they didn’t try to rip her apart like the other man had just done to Spike, she was fine.
She was fine.
She was…
The other person turned to face her and Rebecca let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Two.
DramaticMuch?
“Wooaahhhh, chill out there, lady!” the blood-soaked person replied.
