As he scrambled for the lost jewelry piece, the sound of shoe leather as it scraped across the asphalt echoed behind him, a heavy thud then followed. "What the…?” Roy faintly said then raised his head.
He heard it again, closer; each thud sent vibrations through the ground. Roy looked over the small brick fence and saw the cause of this ominous sound. "Vladimir, you zombie bastard!" he screamed. “It’s practically World War Z out here.”
Desperation took over. He frantically searched with both hands across the concrete path. He had to hurry, Vladimir was close, ever so close.
"Bingo!" he yelled as his fingers fell upon the ring. "Got it!" He clutched the metal band in his right hand and, with the shoe-box tucked under his other arm, got to his feet. Agony shot through the right knee—the one he came down on—but he didn't have time to worry about it.
Vladimir was less than ten yards behind and gaining.
Roy limped off across the road from the apartments but paused to look back at his pursuer. The visual he had of the undead creature, Vladimir, as he staggered unevenly. Slapping one foot down, then pause ever so slightly as he dragged the other then repeat the entire process was worse than any horror film he’d ever seen. Vladimir was hunched over and to one side, more pronounced now than he was five minutes ago, when Roy spotted him in the alley through his apartment window.
There was light from a streetlamp on this side of the road, and Roy daringly took a moment to examine the ring in his hand. The polished gold band he held in his fingertips held a row of diamonds in the center that went all the way around. Tiny sparkles of light flashed as the streetlight reflected off the diamonds, dazzling his mind. Roy blinked hard several times and shoved the ring into the front pocket of his pants before looking back at Vladimir. For some bizarre reason, which he didn't understand, he taunted the undead spirit from Pine Ridge Cemetery, "Come on! You’ll need to be faster than that if you want to catch me!"
Why would I do that? I don’t want him to chase me?
Roy questioned his sanity as he headed towards the highway, he was limping badly now. It slowed him down, he was still considerably faster than Vladimir. He thought of flagging down a police car, or maybe there would be one at a fast food joint on the highway–cops never say no to free burgers and fries. He could tell them that, err… well…
"What the fuck would I tell them?" Roy said out loud.
As he neared the highway, the seriousness of the situation—whatever the hell it was—closed in on him. For Christ's sake, a dead man was chasing him! He'd tried to tell himself (again) this couldn’t happen, maybe it was a nightmare caused by too much beer on an empty stomach, but he wasn’t sold on that either. He had to accept that an undead creature, whose coffin he had placed in the ground, was after him—because he'd taken items that were supposed to accompany him, just as Besnick said. His family tradition dictated the treasure was to travel with him after he’d departed this mortal world. Vladimir wanted his trinkets back, that was obvious, but Roy wondered if it also wanted to take a chunk of him back to the grave too, a macabre prize to go with the jewels.
The thought struck cold, like an ice pick into the back of his neck, he turned around quickly but there was no sign of Vladimir, and he continued.
"Just around this corner," he panted, "then its straight to the highway!"
He paused at a bus stop for a few minutes’ rest when he got to the highway. His leg throbbed with pain, and the further he went the more pressure he felt on his chest and his mouth was dry. Dry and tacky like he had no spit—or his mouth was full of dirt. He couldn’t continue much longer, not like this. But, he was safe here on the highway. The highway was lit up on both sides with bright street lamps, this made him feel more at ease right away. He saw a diner not far from him and a Quick Stop Mart to his left, and he started in that direction.
People, a phone, another beer! That was on his mind as he hobbled away.
For the first time since peering out his bathroom window and coming upon the repulsive vision of Vladimir, Roy began to relax. He shook his head from side to side in an attempt to clear the image of Vladimir from his mind. He was safe here on the highway… surely, he was.
He hadn't gone far when Roy realized that something was amiss. He stopped, stared ahead then looked up and down the highway. Once, twice, three times to be sure. There was no traffic. None. Major highways always had some traffic, even in the middle of the night. The complete lack of traffic sent a chill up his back. “Where was everyone?” He kept asking himself. He wasn’t in Podunk, USA, where they rolled up the sidewalks every night!
"Its like a fucking ghost town!” Roy bellowed. “Well, there has to be someone in the burger joint!"
Nearing the diner, Roy saw his first living person since fleeing the cemetery. An elderly man walked along toward him. He even had a smile on his face.
The first person I’ve seen all night, Roy thought as he limped along. Closer now, Roy thought he had seen this man before, but where? His face was so familiar and…
Then it came to him. The clothes were different, and he may have been a bit older, but he was the spitting image of the priest he’d seen at the cemetery, who conducted Vladimir’s service.
The older man stopped just short of Roy, alarmed at his unkempt appearance. "Young man," he asked, “are you all right? You look like you're in bad way. Were you in an accident?"
Roy turned to the elderly gentleman, who had his back to the entrance of the dark alleyway between the diner and a shuttered bowling alley.
"In a way," he said. "I, uh, just tripped and banged my knee. Got muddied up a bit. But thank you for asking." He didn't want to involve a stranger with his woes, especially one who was just out walking, but he needed help. The concerned gentleman nodded and smiled at Roy.
"Are you sure—?"
Vladimir leaped out of the darkness of the alley, a vision of pure evil, and grabbed the old man’s head in his flesh-torn hands. The monstrous entity twisted and wrenched from side to side until he pulled the man’s head clear from his body. Blood spurted like a fountain, and Vladimir roared triumphantly as he threw the head across the highway. Roy screamed at the savagery displayed as the head bounced across the southbound lanes—a grisly basketball on the court of hell. The old man's body remained upright a second or two, quivering like a bowl of Jell-O in an earth quake, took a few stumbling steps then collapsed with a squishy thud, splashing gore all over Roy's tormented face. Roy's stomach could no longer hold out after such brutality, he threw up all over himself from a standing position—he didn’t dare take his eyes from Vladimir.
His bladder let go—again. Roy started to stagger, he was about to pass out from the shock, but when Vladimir moved towards him, fear for his safety snapped him back to the grim reality.
"Fuck you!" Roy screamed angrily. "Fuck you!"
Vladimir had decayed further. A few tufts of hair remained, and the skin on his skull began to peel as had more of his facial skin One of his bloodshot eyes hung lower than the other, loose in its socket, and the other eye resembled a hardboiled egg, replete with jagged red veins.
Roy wheeled around and ran as fast as his gimpy leg would allow to the diner, he had to get help—and fast. To hell with not involving strangers, he needed to get hold of some cops, a group of bikers or someone with a gun—or maybe the entire National Fucking Guard!
He burst through the front door and, as with the highway, there wasn’t a soul around. No one.
"Hello? Hello, anybody here?" Roy called his voice shaking with terror. There was no answer, no sound at all. He hesitated before walking up to the counter. The closer he got to the counter, the more aware he was of a metallic scent, like new pennies. He had no idea what the cause of the strange smell was until he looked down. Rivulets of blood streamed across the floor from the end of the counter. Roy moved to one side to see where the flow of blood had started. Just a few feet away, on a platter among the silverware and half-empty coffee cups, was a human arm.
<
br /> A half-eaten arm.
"Fuck’n hell!" Roy gritted his teeth. "That bastard! He's been here. He killed them, killed them all!"
Outside the diner, back on the dark, deserted highway, Vladimir let out a roar that shook the windows of the diner and made the hair on the back of Roy’s neck stand.
“Does he ever stop?” Roy said as he looked back beyond the diner's doorway and saw the abomination that was Vladimir. The once giant of a man stood with his arms straight out, his fingers squeezed the night air in front of him. Roy understood the vengeful revenant wanted to take hold of his head and tear and twist; just like he did to the old man on the highway.
How does this fucker travel so fast, all bent over, dragging his leg like airport luggage? What now remained of Roy's mind asked.
There wasn’t any time for self-analysis of the situation and Roy ran for the side door, back onto the highway. His leg throbbed with pain, his breathing was hampered, but it was preferable to the alternative.
Roy didn’t want to go to hell, or whatever dark place Vladimir had in mind.
What am I going do, what can I do? His asked himself repeatedly as he limped away. He began to mumble it to himself, terrified and convinced he would die before the night was out. He still held onto the shoe box, though—after all, that’s what it was all about?
Wasn’t it?
No. This is Judgment Day, Roy Stevens. An answer from out of nowhere echoed in the recess of his mind. Judgment Day!
"I created this monster, didn't I?" The realization hit Roy like a slap in the face with one of his shovels. He looked up to the heavens, tears streamed from his eyes. "I defiled the grave. I spat on the coffin, threw beer cans, spilled blood and worst of all—I pissed all over it!" He raged, one arm raised to the heaven’s as if he was receiving a revelation, which wasn’t so far from the truth. "I created this beast, didn’t I? Not just for today’s wrongs but for all my past sins!"
He rotated on the spot in small, even circles as he testified. "It's for all those years, isn't it? All those years of my contempt, not just toward the dead but for their families as well! My lack of compassion! I brought Vladimir back, to seek retribution, to punish me once and for all, isn’t it?"
He crumpled onto his knees like a wet towel. Sobbing and too exhausted to move in this, his first spiritual experience, he cried for deliverance. "Oh God, I'm so sorry." Roy looked to the low clouds, stained orange by the highway lights, and wept. "My Lord, so, so sorry, please, please forgive me!"
He hung his head on his chest and heaved as each breath became more difficult. He waited for Vladimir, and the judgment he would deliver. It wouldn't be long now and he could—
Before he completely condemned himself, a thought crossed his mind, as it always does in the darkest hour. More than just a thought, it was a ray of hope. Roy lifted his head, strained to get to his feet, and searched his shirt pockets. "The envelope," he stammered, "the one Besnick gave me!"
He retrieved it, rifled through the contents, and found among the now useless bills a small cream-colored business card. Printed upon it, was Besnick's phone number—just what he wanted! Directly ahead of him was the Quick Stop Mart, bright lights were positioned all around the large windows. Roy didn’t want to confine himself indoors again, but he’d be able to see anyone coming for quite a distance and since he was still ahead of that relentless vengeance seeker, Vladimir, he should have enough time to make a call unimpeded.
Thank God for small mercy’s. Perhaps he was real after all and had heard my call. Roy made an affirmation in his mind that, should he get out of this alive—he would never doubt his existence again.
Inside the Quick Stop Mart Roy found a pay phone easy enough but when he searched his pockets, he couldn't find any change at all—not even a dime. His eyes swept the dimly lit interior and fell upon the cash register on the counter, which he hoped that it wasn't locked. At that moment that he realized the store, like the diner, and the highway was deserted, and fear of what he might find behind the counter overtook him like an old overcoat. It wasn't like he had much of a choice.
Roy couldn’t afford to waste time or tread lightly, he ran around the counter and almost tripped over a young girl, barely eighteen years of age. She lay in a heap on the floor below the cash register, her head had been twisted around so it faced behind. The sight was a stark contrast to the cheery orange tunic she wore.
"Steady, Roy, steady," he said, and braced himself against the counter top. "Don't look down, just get to the register." He stepped over the body as his stomach churned and hit the No Sale key. The register drawer slid open, and Roy snatched a handful of quarters and rushed back to the pay phone while he tried (unsuccessfully) to put the picture of that poor dead girl out of his mind.
The phone rang for a long time before it was answered.
"Yah?" Was the heavily accented answer.
"Besnick, Besnick!" Roy almost cried. "It's me, Roy. You remember, the gravedigger at Vladimir's funeral? Something awful has happened!"
"Yes, I remember. What has happened that is so awful?" Besnick asked; his voice drowsy—but if Roy had any wits left he would have detected more than a touch of suspicion.
Roy confessed as fast as he could—while still maintaining a semblance of coherence—to all he had done since the funeral.
Besnick slowly, and coldly, asked, "So let me understand this—you stole the gift I entrusted to you? Vladimir's possessions for the afterlife?"
"Yes, yes, I did," Roy said between sobs. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself when I saw what was inside! I'm sorry, Besnick please believe me!"
"Indeed, I believe you are," Besnick paused before adding, "now."
Roy shook all over from weeping, from fear but he believed his confession to Besnick had lanced a cancer from his black heart and cleansed him of his sins, not just this one, but everyone he’d ever committed—and there had been many. Besnick, on the other hand, appeared calm and not all that surprised that Vladimir had risen from the grave.
"When you have disrespected the spirit of a dead man the way you have," he said, "then that spirit will not rest until justice is served. You realize you have brought this upon yourself, Roy Stevens?"
"Yes, I know… but Besnick, people are dying! I'm going die! There must be some way I can atone for this—please, there must be!" Roy begged.
In the silence that greeted his request, he failed to pick up that Besnick had called him, Roy Stevens. Roy never told him his full name.
"There may be perhaps one small chance." Besnick finally admitted.
"Please, you have to tell me! Quickly! I can feel him, he’s close, very close!"
Roy listened to every word Besnick said, made mental notes and tried to calm himself. He was surprised at how alert he had become now that he might, just might have some small chance at salvation. "Okay, okay, Besnick," Roy shouted into the phone, excited at the prospect. "I can do that, I can! Thank you so much, I owe you my life!"
Roy hung up the phone before Besnick's response had come through. "Indeed you do, Roy, indeed you do."
Roy was excited now, nervous, but excited. There was a chance that he might get out of this without his head ripped off and thrown across the highway. He grabbed the shoe box and turned to leave.
His heart jumped into his throat, and he stopped breathing. Staring straight at him, an arm’s length away, was his nemesis, the putrid Vladimir! He looked at Roy with a curiosity, head cocked to one side, as a cat does with a mouse it has caught. Roy screamed like a child woken by a terrible nightmare and Vladimir appeared to back off a little, put off balance by the high-pitched sound. Roy didn't hesitate and ran straight through the plate glass window of the storefront. The window shattered all around him; shards flew everywhere, but Roy didn't flinch. He didn’t wait to see if he was bleeding, he kept running, too scared to stop. Besnick had told him his one last hope was to put the shoe box back into the grave and allow Vladimir to see that it was there. Only then might he be left alone
.
Chapter Four
Where it All Began
* * *
The treasure had to be intact. "All the contents must be there..." Roy recalled the exact words from his phone conversation with the mysterious European. Roy hurried as best he could with his injured leg, chest pain, and open cuts to get back to the cemetery. It was quite a distance but he believed a shortcut could get him there before the cemetery gates opened for the employees at 6:00 A.M. sharp. He would have to get in, complete his deed and get out before that time. There was no way to gain entrance into the cemetery grounds through the front gate, but Roy knew of a hole in the chain-link fence around one side. On reaching the cemetery, Roy struggled in the dark through an uneven grassy field full of shrubs, fallen tree limbs and tangled briars to get to in. It wasn't easy, and it ate up precious time—time he didn’t have.
He searched for and found a fallen branch which he used it to poke his way through to the hole in the fence. The uneven ground played havoc with his leg. "Not far," Roy encouraged himself, "not far now."
He could see the gap in the fence against the many white marble headstones ahead of him and eased himself through He took great care not to drop the shoe box amongst all the weeds in the dark. Not here. No, no, no!
Once inside, he took a few minutes before he got his bearings, then moved toward Vladimir’s graveside. He hoped that it hadn’t been filled in. That would throw a wrench into the works—and seal his fate. Roy was relieved to see, when he came upon the grave that it hadn’t been. He breathed in deep but felt restricted as if he did so and gave a sincere thanks to God. For the second time, tonight—and his life.
To the east, a line of lighter colored clouds appeared. Soon the first rays of the sun would surface, and he’d be in trouble if he hadn’t placed the shoebox where it belonged by then.
A Grave Matter Page 3
