She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLI)

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

For the first time in a long time, he slowly opened his own eyes.  His vision was out of focus, making everything around him appear only as shapeless blobs, but he could see well enough to know that someone was sitting only a few feet away.

“You should have come talked to me when you still had the chance, Scott.”

Even though the other spoke in a soft whisper, he immediately recognized that the person to save him was also the last person he saw before losing consciousness.

“Arnie…?  Where am I?”

The other expelled a long, exasperated breath before answering.

“You’re in a shed Scott.  Mr. Patterson’s to be exact.”

“Uhn,” he groaned.  “Why the hell am I in here?”

“Uh…  Oh!  I guess you don’t remember, do you,” the other asked in response.  “Right!  Well, after you passed out, I sorta dragged you in here.”

“I figured that much out.  What I want to know is, why here?”

Even as he finished speaking, his vision fully came into focus.  Arnie was only three feet away from him, sitting on an overturned bucket.  His hands were laced together between his knees as he looked down at Scott, which immediately struck him as off kilter. Arnold was the nervous type and often wrung his hands when around others.  His hands usually alternated between this and pushing his glasses back up his nose.  To see him sitting there, watching him so calmly and speaking without so much as a quiver in his voice, didn’t sit right with him at all.

He was lying on a workbench inside of a small, but functional, wooden shed.  On one wall hung a wide variety of tools, from those used in basic carpentry to the kind needed for advanced woodworking.  Some he recognized, such as hammers and screwdrivers, while others were as foreign to him as another language.  At the foot of the opposite wall was a tarp, beneath of which was the shape of what looked like a riding lawnmower.  There were several cobwebs hanging in the corners and from the ceiling where generations of spiders had made their homes.

Though it was something that immediately struck his senses as odd, he didn’t think for very long about the calm demeanor of his savior.  Try as he might, he couldn’t think of anything other than those who had hurt him the most; Misty for setting him up with that fat psycho, and Tommy for the daily beatings he had given him.  Surely Arnie would understand!

As he slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, he noticed that his midsection felt stiff beneath his shirt.  With a raised eyebrow, he reached down and using his left hand, lifted it enough to see what the cause of this strange sensation was.  When it came into view, he chortled with amusement.

“Duct tape?  You fixed me up with…duct tape?!”

It hurt, the pain was very real and now, very there, but he managed to laugh for several seconds before it became too much for him to bear.

“It was the only thing I could think of.  I couldn’t exactly take you to the hospital, what with the cops looking for you and all,” Arnie answered.

“Yeah…  I guess you’re right.  Thanks.”

The other only watched him with an expression that was droll, at best.  He seemed to be studying him, as if waiting for his next move.

“You know,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard him.  “it isn’t going to be long before they piece it together.”

“What are you talking about,” he asked.  There was a small hint of fear in his voice, and rightfully so.  If Arnie knew anything about what he had done, it wasn’t very likely that he would be able to carry out his final actions.

Arnie only huffed and looked away from Scott, towards the door leading back out into the world.  It would be several long moments before he would answer, which by that time Scott was beginning to wonder if he had heard him.

“I found this,” he finally said, breaking the silence.  As Scott watched, the other reached between his feet and lifted the blood-stained knife into view.  He was busted! For all he knew, the cops were already on their way!

“What are you going to do,” he asked fearfully.  His voice shook with each word, and he felt like he was going to throw up.

“It’s not what I’m going to do, Scott, but what you are going to do next.  What I want to know is, why didn’t you just talk to me?  I gave you an open invitation back there, at the library.  We could have figured some of this out.”

The old familiar rage came back into existence inside of him.   It was only a small pilot light for the fires to come, but he could feel it warming him to the core.

“What makes you think I wanted YOUR help,” he asked between gritted teeth.  “What makes you think I ever needed it?  Besides, what the hell would you have done anyways, Mr. Captain of the Chess team?  Rook to Queen four them to death?”

He barked a cold laugh and slipped off of the makeshift bed.  His movements were slow and methodical as he was careful not to reopen his wound any further than it already was.

“You must really hate them,” Arnie observed wryly.  “There’s absolutely no reason for you to be alive right now.”

“Obviously you’re mistaken,” he answered, ignoring the other’s first remark.  “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.  Yeah you are.  Except…”

“What,” he growled, turning to face him.

“I had to drag you on your back Scott.  I had to drag you on your back because if I didn’t, your insides would have led anyone looking for you right back to us,” he answered dryly.

Scott only grunted as he walked to the door. Arnold was right.  They should have found him on the kitchen floor at Lucy’s house, dead from blood loss.

“How long have I been out?”

“About six hours.”

“Jesus,” Scott muttered as he peered through the crack of the door.  It was a miracle that he hadn’t been found at all.  As he squinted against the bright light of the sun, he could see the grooves his feet had made when he was brought here.

“It’s not too late you know.”

“For what,” Scott grunted.

“To talk.”

“Damn you’re persistent,” he said.  “but I don’t think we’re going to be doing any talking.  I need to get home.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.  That’s the first place they’re expecting you to go.”

“Yeah?  Well, I know something they don’t,” he said with renewed determination.

“Oh?”

But he didn’t answer.  Already, his thoughts were focusing on the secret entrance to his father’s den, one that his patriarch had installed after the murders at General Mercy.  His father had become paranoid, worried that if their home were to be invaded, there would be no way for them to get out.  It would be the perfect way for him to get in without being noticed.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXIX)

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

Though the knife was tucked safely behind him, to Scott it as if a broadsword was strapped to his back.  The closer he drew to Arnie, the heavier it became.  It was silly and he knew it, but the distant sound of sirens were enough to remind him of how serious things had become.

He walked on the far edge of the sidewalk, his feet brushing against the dewy grassy, hoping that there were enough shadows to hide the nature of his injury.  His left hand remained firmly pressed against the wound, holding back the contents that were once safely contained behind his flesh.  And, with the ‘other’ doing whatever it was doing to him, the blood no longer ran down his side.

Arnie’s head suddenly jerked in his direction and he took two fearful steps away.

“W-who’s there,” he yelled much louder than he had probably intended.

Scott didn’t answer.  He was too tired.  He concentrated instead on moving one leg before the other as he continued to narrow the distance between them.  Some rational part of him calculated twenty feet left before Arnie saw him, and what was left found it funnier than it should have been.

“Come on,” Arnie whined.  “This isn’t funny.  You’re scaring the bejeepers outta me!”

Arnie’s pleas only furthered the insanity that had taken root in his mind, which gave way to an escalating series of giggles.  Each vibration sent waves of pain shooting up his spine, but with the ‘other’ in control and him pushed into the back of his mind, he only vaguely felt it.  He knew that the pain was like nothing he had ever felt, but it only registered as if it were a paper-cut on the mend.

“Scott?!  OH MY GOD!”

He knew he was tired, but he still cursed himself when he realized that he had weaved into the range of a nearby street lamp.  Arnie recognized him immediately, but the sight of him was too much for the other to bear.  He back-pedaled into the can he had just deposited his trash into, in the process knocking it over and falling on his rump.

“Arnie,” he moaned weakly.  “Help me.”

The other was going to have absolutely none of that.  He was nearing a full panic and unless Scott could think of some way to snap him out of it, was going to scramble to his feet and run as far in the other direction as he could get.

“I’m hurt Arnie.  I’m hurt real bad.”

He stepped fully into the light with the intention of leaning up against the light pole, but his legs finally gave out.  His knees slammed into the concrete, each just a little over a foot apart, and he slumped backward on his heels.  He could still sense that the other was in control of his nervous and vascular system, but there was going to be no help with his consciousness.

It no longer mattered if Arnie ran screaming.  It didn’t matter if his insides were to empty onto the ground beneath him and he no longer cared if the police caught up with him.  From the void of his captivity, Scott watched helplessly as the huge portals that were his eyes finally closed.

She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXXVIII)

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!

———

Had anyone come across the bloodied apparition of Scott Vali that night, they might have run screaming for their very souls.  He ambled slowly along, each foot carefully moving before the other.  One hand was pressed firmly against his stomach, which was now completely covered in blood, while the other firmly gripped the handle to an equally stained butcher knife.

There were only a few hours before sunrise.  Even now, lights flickered on inside of the houses he passed, the inhabitants beginning their morning routines.  Birds were singing their morning songs high above him, another reminder that he needed to hurry if he wanted to get home before even it was full of activity.

He didn’t know that at this very moment, his mom and sister were sitting at the kitchen counter, fearfully clutching the other as they spoke to a detective.  He had no way of knowing that, even though the pieces were a long ways from being put together, the detective had just received a call about a double homicide involving a classmate and his father.

His mind was focused on other things at the moment.  He thought about the sticky texture of the exposed intestine beneath his hand.  He wondered how long it would be before it would begin to die.

“…probably when the rest of me does,” he muttered softly.

His voice sounded as if it was coming from a different room, and in a way it was.  He was still in the place where the ‘other’ had lay dormant for so long, deep inside the prison of his own mind.  He no longer controlled his limbs as he had before, his will had long since grown tired.  The ‘other’ had taken his place, but it wasn’t acting of its own accord.  It was taking him exactly where he wanted to go.  Home.

After leaving B.J.’s house, he had mentally curled into the fetal position, holding onto his very being as if his life depended upon it.  He had felt fragile.  The very sight of the blood, the feel of it on his clothes, even the smell of it had threatened to sent him spiraling into a whirlpool of madness from which he would never return.

He remembered dancing in the blood of his victims, spinning insanely and watching the blood fling off the blade of his weapon to splash randomly around the room.  He had giggled when the feeling of his guts slipping out had tickled as they fell out.

“Look Ma,” he had said.  “I’m crapping through mah belly!”

It was as if he was a different person, just as the other was a different entity inside of him.  It still was.  He clutched so tightly to his essence that he felt as if he was becoming a concentrated version of the person he once was.

“Just add three cups of water,” he breathed.

But try as he might, it wasn’t good enough.  He couldn’t hold onto the part of himself that he had so long ago let go.  He tried to remember exactly when it happened, but even that was a memory which eluded him.  Maybe it had always been this way?  Maybe there never was no ‘other’?

The sky was beginning to lighten in the distance, fading from black to violet.  Soon it would become orange, spreading outward as the colors chased the darkness beyond the horizon, giving way to the fiery orb which would break dawn upon All Saints.

Home wasn’t far, perhaps another block or so, but ahead was another obstacle he would have to avoid before entering the final stretch.  Placing an empty milk bottle into a recycling bin was his old ‘pal’, Arnie Jameson, who always seemed to be around when he was most down.  Arnie had yet to see him and as he approached, he slid the knife blade between his belt and jeans behind him.