A Life Without Fear

by Leo King

  Sparks and smoke flew everywhere.

  Standing between Rodger and Dallas, holding up the very IV stand she was attached to, was a very nude, very bloody, and very angry-looking Sam.

  “This fucking city… ” she yelled back, her blue eyes positively glowing with rage, “. . . is my home, you asshole!” Jumping up, she kicked Dallas in the chest.

  He stumbled back. Shaking the blow off, he roared and lunged at her with the chainsaw.

  Sam jumped in and blocked the blow. She then flipped back and, using the IV stand, broke Rodger’s bonds while in mid-air.

  Rodger hit the floor and scrambled for the revolver. “Sam! How are you doing this?”

  Dallas ignored Rodger, leaping over the spiked chair and coming down on Sam with the chainsaw.

  Sam swung the IV stand in a wide arc to parry Dallas’s attack before sliding underneath him. “Whatever Vincent put inside me when I was a child, she calls herself Sam of Spades, but that’s not her real name.”

  Dallas gritted his teeth. He faced the spiked chair and gave it a hard kick. That knocked it off its foundation and right at Sam.

  As the spiked chair slammed into her, she cried out and stumbled back.

  “So you think Vincent put something inside you instead of just injecting you with the tkeeus?” He roared his question. “Why do you once again get the better deal?” Seizing his chance, he rushed forward and thrust the chainsaw at Sam.

  She must have seen the attack coming, for at the last moment, she slammed the IV stand into the side of the chainsaw. Sparks flew everywhere. “It’s not the better deal, Dallas,” she said before bashing his left arm. “I’ve had a few days to talk to Sam of Spades. As Dr. Klein’s drugs wore off, she remembered more of what she really is. She’s nothing good. She’s something dark. Something that feeds off my hate. Something that wants to harm others!”

  The pain was the first real thing Dallas had felt in days. With a cry, he lunged at her, starting a series of fast, high-powered slashes with the chainsaw. She was barely able to parry them, and the IV stand was getting more and more damaged.

  He laughed madly as he attacked. “Sounds like you’re not possessed, Sam. Sounds like you’re just crazy. Crazy as me! Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Something about that last phrase seemed to strike a chord with her, for even as she parried his attacks, she roared, “Shut up! None of this is wonderful. It’s all ugly!”

  With a final grunt, she parried the last of his attacks, then rushed forward and flipped over him, swinging the IV stand at his head.

  This time, he was ready and ducked the attack. As she landed, he heard the hammer of a gun click. He dodged toward the tray of medical instruments as the bullets Rodger fired from Edward’s gun missed him.

  “Mind your own business, old man,” Dallas said, grabbing the same stiletto knife that had been buried in Gladys’s back and throwing it with a deadeye’s accuracy.

  The knife embedded itself into Rodger’s other shoulder. His arm went limp.

  “Your time is long past, Detective,” Dallas said. He turned back toward Sam, who was starting to rush at him. He snarled and kicked the tray of surgical tools up into the air. He glared at her. “Time to die, bitch!”

  Jumping into the air, he spun around and kicked the tray of surgical tools at her, again exhibiting prefect precision. He crouched as he landed, revving up the chainsaw.

  She cried out as she got hit by a dozen or so sharp instruments, her nude body getting cut in multiple places. Her skin was now almost completely crimson from the blood.

  Dallas was amazed that any human being could survive that much blood loss. It was like she was damn near immortal. Closing the distance, he side-kicked her in the gut.

  Dropping the IV stand, Sam flew back into the iron maiden. The IV ripped out of her arm, making even more blood flow. She let out a scream, which was wholly satisfying to Dallas, and tried to move forward, but she was apparently stuck on one of the spikes of the torture device.

  Chainsaw still whirring, he moved to the iron maiden and grabbed the door. “This will make a good coffin,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Goodbye, Auntie.”

  Then he heard Rodger’s voice. “Her name is Sam!”

  Dallas sighed, turning to face him. “I guess I need to kill you first, eh, Rod—” He stopped in mid-sentence, staring.

  Rodger held a small pink capsule—the tkeeus.

  At that moment, Dallas remembered that he was the one who had said, out loud, that inhaling the tkeeus would increase a normal person’s abilities.

  “Fuck…” inhaled Dallas.

  Rodger cracked open the capsule and inhaled the tkeeus.

  “. . . me…” exhaled Dallas.

  Rodger’s entire demeanor shifted. He drew his own gun to companion Edward’s. “It’s your time that’s over.” He fired both guns at Dallas.

  Dallas couldn’t move fast enough. The hail of bullets that flew at him was like lightning strikes. They penetrated his arms and legs with incredible precision. The pain was like fire. He was sure that when the tkeeus wore off, he’d be unable to walk.

  Breaking through the pain, he starting rushing at Rodger until something jerked him back and turned him around. He was face-to-face with the glowing blue eyes of a very pissed-off-looking Sam.

  “Go to hell, Dallas,” she said. She vaulted over him, landed, and kicked him in the back of the head.

  Everything went white as he stumbled, blindly swiping with the chainsaw. Barely able to see, he felt himself get kicked in the chest so hard he flew back. He kept his grip on the chainsaw like his life depended on it.

  When he became aware of his surroundings, he saw he was in a dark room with pipes on the walls and ceiling and holes in the floor. A single valve had a sign above it: “Emergency Controls.”

  He had been kicked into the crematorium.

  He shook off the pain in time to see Sam rushing at him, Rodger just behind her, both guns aimed at him.

  Dallas was so angry, all he could see was red. Nothing mattered, not even his own life, so long as he got to kill these two. As he charged, he roared, “I swear I’ll kill you both!” Rushing forward, he swung a series of blows at Sam.

  This time, she dodged every blow, finally hand-springing back and calling out, “Now, Rodger!”

  Turning toward the entrance, Dallas saw Rodger had both guns aimed at him. As Rodger fired, Dallas swung the chainsaw, knocking the first two bullets out of the air with perfect accuracy. The rest of the projectiles hit him in the abdomen, making him stumble back. He looked up just in time to see Sam jump-kicking him square in the chest. Hitting the back wall where the gas pipes were, Dallas could only stand there, limp, body shaking. It was all he could do to not fall over.

  “I’ve… lost…” The words came out in an incredulous tone, his eyes wide with disbelief. His entire body hurt, everything was getting fuzzy, and his teeth were starting to chatter. “Why? Why are you so much more powerful? It doesn’t make any sense. Dammit, tell me why!”

  “I have no idea,” she replied as she walked forward, holding the switchblade that he had cast aside. “And I don’t care. I just want this to be over. It’s time for you to die.” She put the knife to his throat.

  The metal felt so good.

  “Sam, no!” Rodger exclaimed. “Don’t kill him. We’ve already won!”

  Dallas looked into Sam’s eyes as she held the knife against his throat. Her eyes held the same rage he’d had most of his life.

  “Fuck that, Rodger,” she said, her voice trembling with anger. “He… he tortured me! He was going to kill me. He doesn’t deserve a trial. He deserves to die.”

  Dallas leered at Sam with his sadistic grin. He locked eyes with her. Yes, exactly. I don’t deserve a trial. You and I are just the same. You’re as sick and twisted as I am. We are both Castilles.

  “When you were the prime suspect, you deserved due process,” Rodger called out, his voice thick with concern. “Sam, there’s no way he’s
getting acquitted. Not with the evidence we’ve gathered.”

  “He’ll just get committed,” she cried out, pushing the knife’s blade against his neck.

  The metal started to cut into the threads of his flesh. It was pure ecstasy. Dallas’s leering grin broadened. His heart rate remained slow and steady. “And I’ll escape. You know that, don’t you, Auntie? You have to kill me. And when you do, you’ll become me. The seed of evil that rots the hearts of all Castilles will blossom into something beautiful within you. Won’t that be wonderful?”

  Sam’s eyes began to widen as she stared at him.

  Rodger’s voice was more urgent as he called out, “Sam, please! Don’t let people like Michael die in vain. Don’t become what he is!”

  “You already are a killer like me, Sam,” Dallas said. “It’s just a matter of time. In the end, you’ll always be happiest when you’re making others suffer. That’s what it means to have Vincent’s blood in your veins.”

  The sharpness of the metal grew more painful as she pressed the knife further into his neck, the threads of skin popping more quickly. Hot blood was flowing. She bared her teeth in a grimace. “You are a cruel, remorseless bastard. You are more like Father than I could ever be. I really want to kill you, Dallas Christofer. And I know I’d enjoy every second of it.”

  He looked up, his cold eyes staring into her simmering ones. “I know you do. So do it. Prove that you’re Vincent Castille’s daughter.”

  For a long time, they locked eyes. He never felt his pulse quicken or his breath deepen. He just waited, waited for that final moment. She would narrow her eyes and swipe the blade. He would felt a sharp pain at his throat, then a gasping sensation. Taking in breath would be impossible. Then his knees would weaken as he bled out. He’d be dead in a matter of seconds. It would be euphoric beyond words.

  “Kill me,” he said.

  Sam’s eyes narrowed, her wrist flicked…

  . . . and she threw the knife into the adjacent wall. “No. I may be Vincent’s daughter, but I’m not him. And I sure as hell am not you. I am Sam Castille. And Sam Castille is not a killer.”

  Dallas watched in growing indignation as she turned and walked away. Seeing Rodger advancing with a second pair of handcuffs, Dallas felt molten-hot rage course through every nerve.

  The hell with you, bitch!

  He squeezed the trigger of the chainsaw. The machine roared to life as he raised his weapon and aimed it at Sam’s head. “Then die, Sam Castille!”

  Click.

  The chainsaw fell out of his hand, hit the ground, and shut off.

  Sam turned quickly, ready to fight, and then stared in shock. Rodger stared as well.

  Dallas’s right hand was raised. But the handcuff around his right wrist, the one Rodger had put on him before the fight, was now secured to the pipe above him. And Dallas’s own left hand had closed the cuff, trapping him.

  “What the hell?” said Rodger, confused.

  Dallas stared at his left hand in horror, feeling his body twitch as a part of him he thought he had murdered and buried away pushed forward. “No way! No fucking way,” he said. “You can’t still be there.”

  Another voice strained through Dallas’s throat. “Don’t… you… dare… hurt her…”

  It was Richie.

  Sam began to pale. Her voice sounded shocked. “Oh, my beloved…” Covering her mouth, she peered at him in growing horror. “Richie, can you hear me?”

  Dallas glared at her, his eyes fierce. “I told you, I’m the one in charge. He’s just a cover. A mask! I’m the real thing. And I got rid of him! I—”

  But as those words left his mouth, his left arm moved once again on its own to a valve on the pipes. With a quick turn of the handle, the room began to fill with the hissing sound of building pressure and the smell of natural gas.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Dallas yelled at his left hand. Even as he shouted, his left hand broke the valve’s handle. There was no shutting it off now.

  “Holy shit,” Rodger said, starting to back out. “The nutcase is going to light the fire. Sam, we have to get out of here now.”

  “Richie,” Sam repeated, her chest heaving. She turned to Rodger. “For God’s sake, Rodger, shut it off from the outside!”

  “Yes, shut it off!” cried Dallas in a panic, his heart rate spiking. He couldn’t die like this, not being beaten by his own mask. He’d go to jail or to the sanitarium. He’d take years, if he had to, to reestablish control. He had to have control. “For the love of God, Rodger, shut it—” Even as he said that, his left hand covered his mouth.

  Rodger ran outside the room. A moment later, he ducked his head back inside. “Sam, it’s busted! Must have been broken in the fight.”

  She seemed to ignore him, instead calling out, “Richie, if you are in there, answer me.”

  Dallas was sweating, from both the rising heat and from the fear welling up inside him. But even as he uncovered his own mouth, he felt his subordinate personality push forward and speak through him. “It’s OK, Sam.”

  Gritting his teeth, Dallas closed his eyes and cried out, “No! It’s not OK. Get me out of here, Rodger! I swear I’ll surrender. I’ll confess. Just don’t leave me to die like this! Not on his terms!”

  He looked up in time to see Sam before him. She touched his face in a way so gentle it reminded him of his mother. “I love you, Richie,” she said, her voice choking. “Please. Please don’t do this…”

  “I’m not!” He felt the urge to bite into her neck, to tear out her throat. Instead, despite his best efforts, Richie spoke through him again. “Sam, I know I’m screwed up. I’ll never live a normal life. Even if I get help, Dallas is who I really am. And I can’t live with the pain I’ve inflicted. On other people. On you. I love you too much.”

  The heat in the room had become intense and Dallas saw Sam’s face start to redden. His own skin was painfully hot.

  Rodger, now at the door, called out, “Sam! I can’t turn it off. You’ve got to get out of there!”

  Sam looked into Dallas’s eyes.

  Dallas tried to whisper, “Sam, I beg you. Please. Let me live.”

  That was what he wanted to say. But instead of his desperate plea, Richie again spoke. “Sam, I beg you. Please. Let me die.”

  Her lips trembled as she leaned in and pressed them to Dallas’s. He felt utter repulsion. To his horror, his own body returned the kiss. It was the most tender thing he had ever experienced. He didn’t know how to respond to that kind of genuine affection.

  When the kiss parted, Richie spoke once more. “I love you. I’ll see you on the other side, Sam.”

  She stepped back, tears in her eyes. “You better, you doofus, or I’ll be pissed.”

  “What the hell, bitch,” Dallas cried out, again in control. “No, no waiting on the other side! Save me now! You can break the handcuffs with your super-whatever strength. Come on! Save me!”

  The air was so hot now that their hair was starting to smolder. She rushed toward the exit, stopping only to look back and say, “Dallas…”

  He looked up at Sam, spat, and said, “The hell you want?”

  Her eyes looked sad. They were filled with something he couldn’t place. It was the kind of look you gave someone when they managed to screw up everything about themselves, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel contempt. What is that? Hate? Disgust? Or is it…

  Suddenly, he knew what he was seeing. It made him even angrier. That’s… pity… in her eyes.

  “Dallas, you’re wrong,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You aren’t the dominant one. You’re just the mask. Richie was the real you. Good. Kind. Loving. The person you didn’t have the courage to be.”

  He roared with rage as she exited the crematorium and closed the door.

  “Sam! Come back, Sam!” he cried out, tears in his eyes. “You goddamn sadistic bitch! You are as evil as your goddamn father. Bitch!” He lowered his head and sobbed in anger and fear.

  Then h
e heard a familiar sound. Even as the bottom of the room started to glow with fire, even as the gas pressure built, even as he smelled his hair sizzling—he heard it. The clicking of heels.

  Looking up, he saw the Lady in Red approach him.

  “What do you want?” he asked, spite in his voice.

  Sighing, she shook her head and patted the side of his face.

  He tried to shrug her away. “And why are you here, anyway? I created you to manipulate Richie, you shouldn’t—”

  “Because Sam was right, you are the mask. And Richie’s using me to do this.”

  The Lady in Red’s fingernails sank into the flesh of Dallas’s face. As she ripped, he felt his consciousness getting torn away, replaced by the person he thought he had destroyed. He screamed.

  When Richie’s eyes focused, the Lady in Red was gone. The side of his face had a gashing, bleeding wound. And the fingernails of his left hand were soaked in his own blood. I did it. I beat him.

  It had been a hard-won battle. Dallas had created the delusion of the pale-faced killer, the one believed to be Julius, to give Richie the hallucination of being brutally murdered. Though it had kept him dormant while Dallas kidnapped Sam, it did not destroy him. All of his experiences in New Orleans had made him too strong. So he started meticulously chipping away at Dallas, hoping he’d not be discovered.

  Dallas’s arrogance proved to be his undoing, and bit by bit Richie gained a silent foothold. When the fight with Sam began, and Dallas became completely distracted, Richie used every ounce of his will to gain dominance. In the end, he used the very same delusion that had been used on him—the Lady in Red—to destroy Dallas and become the sole remaining personality.

  “So that’s it,” Richie said, as the heat made his lips crack, his skin peel off. He felt like he was being baked alive. “I created a delusion of the one person I’d listen to… to manipulate… myself.”

  “The Lady in Red was made in the image of my mother,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes, sizzling on his blistering skin. “My real mother. Maple Christofer. Man, I am a very special kind of crazy.”