After a moment the lights and Randy stopped sputtering. He awoke to find himself hunched over the sink, braced on the porcelain, sweat soaking his shirt. He cleared his hair from his long face and wiped his mouth.
"It was the old pervert from the end of the block, Bets. I just took him. They have found us," he rattled off with wild eyes, urgency written all over his face.
Betsy nodded and Randy grabbed my sleeve tightly and led me out of the house. We crashed out of the door and into the dark street. Orange streetlights shone down in rigid sheets. As far down as my vision would allow, I could see nothing other than pockets of light on an old road.
Randy paused by the car and scanned the penumbra of the night, but found that it wouldn't yield any of its secrets. We appeared to be alone in the street but my senses tried to convince me I was in danger and implored me to flee.
"I am not sure if the ingrate down the street was supposed to die or if the demon is killing people just to get to us," Randy said.
"Can it do that?"
"I would not put it past him," Randy answered as he searched his pockets.
"Keys," he demanded of me.
I dug deep in my pocket and flung them at his chest. He bolted into the driver's side and unlocked my door with the automatic switch. I hopped into the car to the sound of the engine starting. The door flung closed on my leg as he took off. We left, leaving black tire tracks on the road and raced back to Boston.
Betsy watched from her doorway with a trembling hand over her mouth.
"Where to now?" I asked.
"I do not know. I am exhausted and out of ideas, so I think I am just going to sit and wait," he said.
Steering cautiously, Randy was rigid like a beginning driver. His hands were at ten and two o'clock, or how I learned, ten after ten on the steering wheel. He never drove like that; he was always laid back and carefree with one hand on the wheel. Those little signs worried me the most.
"Wait a minute," I said, "you just want to wait? To confront him?"
"Yes."
"Sure about this?"
"It is about time I stop hiding from my fears and ruining your life," Randy glared at me.
"And the shit hits the fan," I yawned.
His decision was acceptable. Dangerous as hell, but acceptable. I would have had no problem with running, but Randy had begun to help me believe in new things. Running gets tiring. So very tiring.
Chapter 41
"We are in the city, George," Randy said, shaking my shoulder to wake me.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."
Rising from the slump I was in, my blurred vision struggled to fix on Randy's profile. He was driving laid back again, slumped in the seat with one hand at the top of the wheel.
"I cannot believe you fell asleep in that position," Randy said, talking to try and wake me. "I'm pulling over to get some coffee, on me."
"Don't do that," I grumbled sleepily, "it's hot. It'll burn if it gets on you."
He let out a laugh louder than the joke was funny.
"That is a new one," he continued laughing. "When did you get a sense of humor?"
"Since I gave up sleeping," I yawned.
With a sulking glance he looked over my face, dug the corner of his lip into his cheek, and gave me a look I understood as a 'yeah, I know.' Contemplative, he focused on the road and pulled the car over.
"How do you want your coffee?" he asked.
"As big and black as the space between the stars," I replied, gazing upwards, out the car window.
Hidden behind the ambient city light, I hoped the stars would punch through and talk to me. I wanted to know what they were chatting about all the way up there, but the void that was the sky was as stagnant as a puddle.
So I waited in the dark.
Randy stole off into the store with a clank of the bell on the door. Looking out the window, I tried to wake up. I hadn't the slightest idea exactly where we were so I sluggishly tried to recognize the buildings and landmarks.
An eruption of mumbles from barflies and businessmen rattled into my ears from the sidewalks and stole my attention. Not a soul among the sickly bunch looked happy. I glimpsed past the bustle of life and over the buildings to the blanket of stars above. Lazy clouds boxed in the moon and glowed in its harsh light. It was eerie but peaceful. I basked in that tranquility as every tumultuous action in the streets seemed to screech to a dead halt. I smiled. But the calm was the gasp for air before the scream.
I fumbled around with my sleeve and pulled it back trying to see the time, but my awkward groggy motions knocked Randy's cell phone from the center console. I moaned but didn't have the energy to lean over and pick it up. I looked for the time again. Ten after ten. Supposedly the most visually soothing time on an analog clock. For me though, ten after ten froze life to a standstill. I can't see that time without remembering the passenger side door ripping open to the sight of the convict staring down at me, breaking me so suddenly from tranquility into a racing heart attack.
Chapter 42
Instantly waking with the sudden movement, I clawed and scraped backwards into the driver's seat. The convict crouched down, placed his hands on his knees, and cocked his head to look at me like he'd never seen a human before. Intriguing little creature I must've been. The lighting was poor, but I couldn't avoid his putrid face and the rank his rancid breath. All the shadows of the night couldn't cover the signs of his decay. His features were torn apart, beyond dead it seemed. The red fiber of his muscle tissue peaked from underneath a flap of skin hanging on his cheek, and his yellowing skin was blotted with blood, open sores and contusions. From the convict, far more than Randy ever could, exuded death so completely I had to wonder if he still had the gift. It raised all my hair on end. His breath reeked of age old carrion and it scurried through the air like crazed rats. His eyes dwelled deep in their sockets and were curious and crazed. All recognizable signs that life once, or ever twinkled within those glazed orbs was gone, replaced by the cast aside fervor of desperate greed - a drooling greed, that the convict wore like a badge in a half smirk on his bloated purple lips.
The convict, hunching his immensity to peer into the car, continued to study me, his hulking frame slightly shifting around caging shadows to get a better view. He wore an ancient, tattered, long black coat with a yellow-brown collared shirt beneath, and black torn pants. He seemed docile, almost dumb, and content to gawk at me, until something snapped in his battered brain and told him that I was the enemy. Foolishly subdued by the unexpected calm, I was shocked when it broke. He shot his hand into the car in a heartbeat that he stole from my chest. Bunching up my shirt with his rotting fist, digging his fingers into my skin, he pulled me out of the car. I desperately clawed at the car's frame, trying to hold on as my joints and muscles strained to keep away from the monster. My fingers and arms stabbed signals of pain into my brain as my fingernails scraped across the plastic roof supports so hard that I left scratch marks. I mustered up my strength and pulled backwards in a vain attempt at retreat when my shoulder popped. Blinding pain cursed throughout my arm. It fell limply to my side as my other arm struggled even harder to pick up the slack. The searing pain blurred my eyes and my stomach birthed queasy worms of nausea that peaked and prodded in my throat. Agony welled up to unbearable heights as my heart pounded in my ears, throat, and mind, until my body surrendered to the pressure.
Without strain, the convict pulled me straight out of the car and held me from my shirt and chest skin. I dangled a foot off the ground. My neck lost strength and my head flopped back. I could see the clouds in the sky start to spin around me, forming a celestial halo miles above. I couldn't run for my life this time.
With a violent shake from the convict, my head flopped down and I saw my limp and crumpled arm flailing about like a rag in a dog's mouth. All I could think was that Randy wouldn't even get to be around to try and save me. That I would die right there in the hold of a corpse, trying to control to keep control over my blad
der. That all the faith that had begun to grow in me would die in a moment.
The convict pulled me within inches of his face. His decay was keen. Rotting sulfur billowed from his pores, playing hide and go seek with the food in my stomach. I swallowed lightly trying not to vomit on him, but the sulfur catalyst worked and sent a full and thick rush of puke to my mouth. I spent all my energy trying to keep it inside and it hit the back of my teeth and I swallowed most of it with a heavy gulp. Coughing and spitting from the effort, I lost a bit and it splattered on his face.
From underneath the abrasive ledge of the convict's brow, deep in the cavernous hovel of his head, his misshapen white eyes emerged and ravenously fixated on me. The convict bent his head back and erupted into a bellow. It rang throughout the streets, alerting the wandering pedestrians. It came out like a pack of coyotes screaming at the top of their lungs, crying bloody murder without using words. The air turned cold. The surrounding people were terrified. All feet simultaneously planted onto the cement and their eyes turned in amazement on the hulking dead man. It caught Randy's attention as he walked out of the store with two coffees. The convict lowered his head from the howl and immediately locked eyes with Randy.
I was instantly flung aside into the open car door. It slammed shut behind me, shattering the window into a sharp array of glass over my head. Crunching into the side panel, pulsing pain ate into my skull as I slumped over, blood streaming down and around the stubble on my chin.
The convict hunched over and flashed a wicked smile. He flapped his long coat from his side and lunged towards me. I panicked and attempted to cover my head, but my arms wouldn't respond. I prayed for no pain.
A few feet behind me and the car, our coffee plummeted to the cement. Randy's boots clopped lightly along the sidewalk and stopped. Time stretched into eternity and captured my breath as the convict landed a foot before me, his gaze drilling into my forehead. But he quickly leapt again, right over me. The two black blurry masses of men collided in mid-air above me with a thud that cracked in my ears. Randy and the convict's long coats flapped around them like leathery black wings that carried them straight down onto my car hood. The convict landed squarely with Randy on top of him punching away.
My arm and legs curled together and I huddled in a petrified ball with my lame arm dangling at my side. I shivered and swallowed a lump of blood.
The convict landed a massive jab into Randy's mid-section that drew my attention. He grabbed his shirt and balled it up around his fist and raised him into the air. Without time to respond, Randy was catapulted from the car onto the street. He hit with such force that I swore I felt it rumble through the cement. He bounced and rolled until he hit a curb. A narrow red ribbon of blood erupted from his face and splattered onto the sidewalk.
With Randy disabled, the convict crept over the edge of the car and peered at me from above. My eyes aimed up to see an upside-down massive hand crashing down. I scurried away yelping. As he brushed his fingernails along my shirt, Randy reappeared and grabbed the convict's arm with both hands and twisted it around in a full circle. Bones cracked and moaned like the crisp snapping of celery. The convict's arm hung from his shoulder awkwardly, his elbow facing outwards in the wrong direction.
"Run, George," Randy gasped.
The convict wailed and cradled his arm. Fury burned in his eyes, and he swung his good arm across Randy's face with a hollow thud. Blood and teeth danced through the air, leaving Randy in a heap on the ground.
The convict looked down at me again and pushed up with his good arm off the broken hood. The steel moaned under his pressure. Scampering with paltry feet, I tried to stand and flee, but my dislocated arm was pounding with pain and I tumbled back down. I crawled away from the car as his hand dove at me again. My heart pounded louder and harder, swelling in my ears and temples, waiting to burst out into open air. With a short hop, the convict was in front of me. He stood over me for a moment, watching me scurry like a wounded animal, and scooped me up by the shirt again. He let out a chuckle as he watched me dangle, and then reached behind him and underneath his coat. My imagination raced to figure out how to break free. Sweat and blood poured into my eyes, but I saw him yank out his butcher knife. It gleamed at me in the moonlight.
The convict cocked his head and looked into my eyes. A shivering bolt down my spine as he smiled at me.
"Never," he murmured, "stand against me."
He jerked his head over towards Randy and I looked as well. A glint off the knife was my only warning as a cleaving pinch hit my belly. I grimaced and shrieked as it slid deeper. The knife pushed and stretched my skin, piercing into my right side slowly. The convict struggled to push harder with his broken arm. The ripping sensation was a strange hell that shook me with grinding agony. I could see half the blade protruding from my torso and shivered.
I looked back to him and his smile widened. Oh, bad idea. He wiggled the blade. Blood shot out over the knife and his hand. I screamed. I balled a wad of the convict's coat in my fist, clenching my teeth together as I cried. He pulled the knife out and I bellowed on, holding on, clinging for dear life, to his decrepit clothes as he stepped away, but I hadn't the strength. Landing flat on my back, I rolled into a ball and covered the wound, hoping I could stop the bleeding. Or the pain. But blood still poured. I shakily pulled my hand away and saw more blood than I knew to be in me.
Chapter 43
I hastily slammed my hand back over the gash, pressing down with my palm, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. Dear God get back in me. Nausea gurgled and sharp pains rooted deeply onto every one of my nerves. An acrid sting undulated in my mouth. I pulled my cupped hand away again and the blood pooled, my praying did nothing stop the damned bleeding, turning my pale skin maroon.
Stirring and moaning, Randy pulled himself up to me.
"No! George!" He screamed. He held his stomach and winced with each step. Huddling next to me, he cradled me and pushed my hands down over my wound.
"Man, you look like shit," I felt my trembling lips whisper.
"Save it, you need your energy," he prescribed as he took off his coat and bunched it under my head. Randy wrapped the sleeves around my neck into a makeshift scarf. He knew I was cold, but I later wondered why he didn't press it against the gash in my side.
"Where's the convict?" I asked with a calm I shouldn't have had.
"He is standing over there watching. I think the demon is watching this through his eyes, seeing first hand how this is going."
"And how is it going?" I asked with a coughing chuckle.
My hands trembled and my body grew cold. All sensation left my fingers and toes. My calm turned callousness and I wanted to sleep.
"Stay awake, George," Randy pleaded. "Please, dear God, stay awake!"
My eyelids sank like shades and my eyelashes crisscrossed over what sight I had left. All I saw was Randy covered in my blood and calling to a God he didn't believe would intervene. A deep and somber sleep climbed into my head. A slumber that wanted to bring me to the God I believed in - the same Randy forsake, until now it seemed. The muffled sound of his cries was the last thing I could fully remember of the real world before an icy wave washed over me. And how wonderful it felt. There was no light or a flash of my whole life. Just cool calm. No thoughts, just the fading sensations of my body failing. I felt my heart slow and my breath shortened. I stared off into the sky, trying to get my last view of the world until a sensation snapped me away from the peaceful mood. I was enraged at first until I felt Randy. It wasn't me trembling I realized, it was him. Short choppy convulsions rumbled through his arms and shook me. Then, he abruptly stopped.
"What a great time for someone else to die," I thought naively.
But I no longer had a grasp. I remember flopping my head back to look at the moon again. One last look before my sight was extinguished I thought. But a shape blocked my view. I forced my eyes open with sputtered anger and saw Randy standing over me.
"What the Hell ..."
I turned my head upwards and saw Randy standing there as well, as Death, tinted a lucent blue.
"Shit," I thought, looking at the azure spectral Randy.
Something wasn't right. Something was amiss. Something beyond dying. I figured the demon probably loved the fact that it could watch Randy involuntarily take his best friend's soul. But that wasn't it. No, a feeling of misplacement blew below my skin. This unnatural sensation ripped through and divided up my innards. All warmth within me retreated deep into my ribcage. There my every emotion and memory, all that felt to be me, congealed into the tiniest pin-point of a ball.
The spectral Randy crouched down, wrists on his knees, and leaned over me with an ineffable face. I tried not to look at him, not wanting to risk some pathetic expression, but it didn't matter, he was more grief stricken than words could explain or a face could show. Instead, as an omen as well as a turn of events for him, Randy's face contorted with the look I imagine every dying person gave him. Feeling this all in vague impressions, Randy reached down and pinched my nose, while his right hand probed around my lips until his index and middle fingers gripped something. There was a jolt in the back of my throat; some taught string-like object became ostensible but halted, sitting heavily in my throat. Randy tugged it between his fingers, pulling the string fragment of my soul out through my mouth. No tears or gag reflex came to me, it was all strangely calm.
Hold the Light Page 19
