Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28428152-20181020224417

Chapter XI

“Alright, everybody,” I announced to the patients in the main area, “it’s that time of day, again. Lunch.”

“Oh, and Pabs?” Joe said over the grumbles and sighs of relief, “please try not to, you know, throw anything.”

Pabs cackled to herself and said, “Everybody loves a tater face.”

Joe sighed, and we led them to the cafeteria, some eager for food and others irritated that they had to suffer the burden of standing up.

Jan walked up to me, she and I side by side. Her eyes fetching and eager. It had been a week since I had started the interviews, and she had become worryingly attached to my hip. It was a little irritating because it might draw suspicions, but I couldn’t blame her. Her only friend for the past nine years had been Clay Shingle, and he only visited once a week. Rosa, Jan had told me the day before, moved to New Orleans not long after Jan had been admitted to Lunar Skies, where she practiced anesthesiology—or, as Jan put it, “gas doctoring.”

“W… why do you guys keep giving her potatoes?” she asked. “She just throws them.”

I chuckled and said, “Because if we don’t, she sticks her tongue in outlets. It’s just easier to let Martine clean it up rather than pry her away from the walls every two minutes.”

Jan laughed and made her way to the food line, even though she would barely eat any of it. I ambled over to the orderlies’ table and took my usual seat next to Joe.

“Hey,” he whispered, scooting away from our fellow orderly Darius, “I really would suggest being more discreet about your current… er… project.”

I paused in my tracks, my lunch sack gripped tightly in my clutches.

“Some of the people are starting to notice that you’ve been talking to Jan a lot. Starting to get suspicious. They haven’t figured out what’s going on yet, so I’d slow things down before they start coming up with conspiracy theories.”

I nodded my head and shot a cautious glance around the others at the table. None of them seemed to pay us any attention.

“Who’s noticed so far?”

Joe leaned his head down and began to tear into his tuna sandwich. “Sarah,” he mumbled. “And also Jack, maybe Nick.”

I mentally nodded to myself and busied with my own lunch in an effort to act as inconspicuously as possible.

“But don’t worry,” Joe said after a moment, “your secret’s safe with me. I know what you’re really doing.”

I huffed, knowing that Joe’s more obnoxious side was about to shine through.

“And what would that be?”

“You tell me,” he said with a grin.

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Oh, you know what I mean,” he chided.

“No, I don't.”

“Oh, come on, man! All the other guys we work with might be a bunch of brick-heads, but not me, man.” He looked at me with a narrow grin and wide eyes. “I can see right through you.”

I snorted. “You look like Corey fucking Feldman when you make that face, you four-eyed pile of shit.”

“A pile of shit has a thousand eyes,” he said dramatically, making the same face as before. We both held our breath for about five seconds before cracking up.

“Nah, but seriously man, admit it,” Joe said a minute later, punching my arm playfully.

“Admit what?” I demanded through a mouthful of pot-pie.

He threw his arms up in disbelief. “That you wanna jump into her fuckin’ goddamn panties, man!”

I choked on my food in betrayal. How could he possibly be saying this right in front of our coworkers? I knew that he was messing with me, but if anybody else heard him, then things could quickly spiral out of control.

“I do not want to jump into her panties!” I cried after I got my food down.

“Bullshit!” he barked with a finger pointed at my face. “You wanna fuck her, and you know it!”

“Joe, I do no--”

“You two are gonna get in her room tonight and start humping along to that Descendants song I showed you!”

“God, I can't believe thi--”

“‘I’m not gonna let you get away!’” he sang, thrusting his hips rhythmically, “‘’Cause I want to fuck you night and day!’”

“Goddamnit, Joe--”

“‘Don't you sometimes wonder what I want?’” he sang louder. “‘Don't you sometimes think I just want your… cunt?’” Here he gave a particularly violent hip thrust and banged on the table.

“Jesus, people are starting to stare.”

“‘I’d hate to think that romance is just a pose! But all I wanna do is rip off your clothes!’”

Darius glared at us.

“’I’m a pervert!’”

“You’re gonna get me fired,” I hissed under my breath. I made a silent prayer that nobody would connect any dots. Joe wiggled his eyebrows at me.

Knowing that there was only one way to steer Joe away from his antics, I pulled out my secret weapon and said, with my best Hank Hill impression, “’Dale, I’m gonna kick your ass!’”

“’So, are ya Chinese or Japanese?’” he returned with a similar impression.

“’I’m Laotian,’” I responded with a fake Asian accent. Joe had initiated this exchange a thousand times before, as it amused him to no ends that I could answer truthfully.

“’You’re from the ocean? What ocean?’”

I pretended to smile, glad that Joe’s recklessness had been successfully diverted. From the opposite side of the cafeteria, I heard a loud splat! as a ball of mashed potatoes went rocketing into the windows.

“Take that, ya damn Yankees!” Pabs cried maniacally. “And that! And some o’ that!”

“What’s she supposed to be today, a Confederate cannoneer or some shit?” I asked.

Joe shrugged. “Guess so. Dude, you missed it on Saturday. She thought she was a fastball pitcher. She landed a hard one right in Willy’s nuts. The poor guy started screaming bloody fuckin’ murder. He thought his dick exploded.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah. Took him two hours in the quiet room to calm down. Poor little guy.”

I looked over to where Willy was sitting. He was a pimply beanpole of a man who didn’t really talk much. But he was a really nice guy and one of the staff favorites.

I took the last sip of my Monster and announced to Joe, “Well, I need a fuckin’ cigarette. You almost gave me a goddamn heart attack earlier with that shit.”

He grinned and made a lude gesture with his hands. I returned by feigning a blow to his abdomen before I went out front.

*  *     *     *  *

The night was dark, and rain splashed on the windshield as Janice raced back home, following in the drunken wake of Mike Erikson. She kept the radio off, music being the last thing on her mind. Instead, she focused on the rhythmic scrape of the windshield wipers as they tried to part the rain which tapped on the hood, the road shining orange from the amber streetlights she passed by. Rosa had stayed behind because she didn’t want to upset Mike even more with her presence, as she was sure that Mike was still upset about the fight they’d been in a few days prior.

The drive felt long, though it was only ten minutes before she came crunching into the driveway, Mike’s car parked haphazardly in front of her. She jumped out of the car and noticed that the lights were off. Jogging up to the front door, Jan found that Mike had locked it. She scrambled for her keys and went inside, the house dead silent.

“Mike?” she called. “Mike, you okay? Where are you?”

No answer.

“Mike!”

There was still no reply, though she thought she heard a quiet sniff and sob from the bathroom. With trepidation, Jan made her way to the hallway. Only the balls of her feet touched the ground.

“Mike?” she whispered. The bathroom door was cracked, and the light pierced through the still darkness. She could hear quiet crying coming from within.

“Hey, buddy, you okay in there?”

Jan approached the doorway and gently tapped on it to announce her presence without surprising him. But Mike’s silence persisted.

“I’m gonna come in, alright? It’s Jan, I just wanna make sure you’re okay. I’m coming in, now.”

She gently eased the door open and took a sharp breath. Mike’s back was turned to her, hunched over the sink and his body shook as though he were violently ill. In the mirror she could see that his face was pale, cheeks stained with tears as blood was spat out of his mouth into the sink. His hair was lanky with sweat or water—Jan wasn’t sure which. But on the bathroom mirror were smears of bloody handprints mixed with bile and pus to such a grotesque extent that it almost obscured everything but Mike’s reflection. On the counter next to him was a black leather book with glints of crimson stamped onto the cover.

Mike must have heard her breath, though, for he raised his eyes to meet hers in the mirror through the filth that covered it. His face twisted from tortured lament into a grimace of hate.

“No,” he whispered, voice ragged and shallow. “No, no, no. Fuck you.”

“M-Mike,” Jan stammered, “I just wanted to che—”

“Can’t you leave me alone for five fucking minutes?”

“What are you tal—”

“FIVE FUCKING MINUTES!” he roared as he whirled on the spot, his eyes wide and crazed. Jan noticed that his hands were clean.

“Mike, I don’t—”

“SHUT UP!” he screamed, spit and blood flying out of his mouth. “It’s not enough to fuck with me at the show? It’s not enough to do whatever that shit was in the fucking mirror?”

He began to take tentative steps towards Jan, who followed suit away from him.

“First, you make me relive all that shit from my grandfather’s ten years ago. Then you made me think you were James, back to haunt me, back to rip my soul in half. And then you—you (he grabbed the book and hurled it at Jan, striking her in the chest) start showing me this fucking thing? Because I just love so much seeing my dead cousins being tortured, right?”

“Mike, what’s—"

“FUCK OFF! I’m not done! Because I’ve had all that I can fucking goddamn take from you, you piece of shit! It’s not enough to make yourself look like James, and now you’ve gotta make me think you’re Jan, too?”

“Mike, please!”

He stopped and glowered at her.

“You took Ben and Larry. I know you wanna take me, too. Well, guess what? I’m taking you tonight.”

“Mike!”

“Yeah, be scared, you little prick. Because I’ve faced worse than you. I’ve seen the Wyrm with my own two eyes, bitch. And you’re nothing compared to that. You’re fucking dead.”

Mike lunged at her, his hair hanging over his face, but Jan slammed the door in time to stop him momentarily. She barely dodged a vase aimed at her head as she scrambled into her room.

“Yeah, who’s scared now, bitch? Who’s fuckin’ scared now?”

Jan locked the door, heart beating in her chest as her fingers fumbled over the lock.

There was a loud boom as Mike slammed into the door and twisted the knob.

“Oh, you fuckin’ prick!” he cried. “You gonna pull a bitch move like that? You’re gonna act like such a bad-ass and then run and hide? You’re a fucking coward!”

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Y-yes, my friend is trying to k-kill me,” she gasped into the phone. “I’m trapped in my bedroom, please hurry!”

“I’m gonna gut you open like a pig! Like you did to Larry, you cocksucker! Like fucking Larry!”

“Ma’am, what’s the address?”

“1077, Laurel Drive!”

“Alright someone will be over right awa—”

The door crashed in as Mike stumbled his way through. Jan could feel the wind of a buck knife as it whizzed past her neck, stabbing itself into the wall behind her. But Jan barely had time to process this as she was knocked through the window and into the bushes outside. In the darkness, she could see Mike’s face—angry and purple—above her own with his hands clasped around her throat. She tried to pry them off, but it was no use. It was becoming hard to move… to see… to think….

“No,” Janice heard from somewhere afar. “No, no, no, don't be dead, please don't be dead.”

She felt something slap her face, and she could make out the faint outline of somebody hovering over her.

She blinked.

“Oh, thank God!” Mike gasped in relief. “I thought I killed you, Jan! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean it, I swear! I thought you were somebody else, you’ve gotta believe me!”

She heard a shrill wailing in the distance.

“Mike….”

“—I’ll never touch you again, I swear, I—"

He froze. The wailing grew louder.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“Mike….”

He got up and looked down the street.

“Mike, I-I….”

She faded out and then back in again. Mike was staring into the broken bedroom window through which he’d tackled her.

“No,” he said. “No, no, no.”

“Mike, what…?” The wailing was growing louder.

“I’ve got you now, you bastard. And I'm gonna fucking kill you. Nobody else.”

From inside she heard a hollow voice respond, “They’ve failed you, Mike. No owls or cougars here.”

“I’m all I need.”

And before the cars pulled up Jan saw Mike climb through the broken window, pick up the buck knife, and walk further into the room. That was the last she would see of Michael Erikson. 