Chosen P.3
Carmine sprang up into the air, landing easily on the first floor balcony of the hotel in which he’d been staying. “Okay, can’t quite fly. Can’t turn into a bat.” He grasped the metal balustrade and pulled, bending it upward, and grinned. “Pretty damned strong though. Cool.” He kicked the balcony door to the hotel room in and strolled inside; disappointed to find it deserted. He’d hoped for a snack before going back to what had been his room and collecting a few things. Oh, well, there were plenty of occupied rooms at the Sunnydale Arms. He didn’t mind kicking in a few more doors.
Striding
down the hallway, he reached the room in which he’d been staying. He slapped
the door open and went inside, pleased to see that his few possessions remained
undisturbed. There wasn’t much from his former life that he wanted or needed,
just this one thing, which lay face down on the nightstand where he’d left it.
Carmine
picked up the small silver frame and studied the face that smiled back at him
angelically. “My reason for being,” he sneered, then tucked the photo in his
new leather jacket’s pocket.
A
faint knock distracted him. He turned slowly and saw a maid standing in the
doorway, her wide brown eyes uncertain as she regarded him. “Housekeeping,
senor,” she said in broken English. “I come back?”
“No,”
Carmine replied, extending his right hand as he crossed the room. “No, you
won’t.”
Her
screams were brief, but satisfying.
***
“So, you all packed ‘n stuff?” Squiggy looked around, feeling the usual shyness he experienced whenever Shirley stood near him.
“Yes.
We’re ready to go.” She glanced at her watch. “You know, it’s really nice of
you and Lenny to drive us to Sunnydale. I can’t imagine what’s wrong with our
car.”
“Yeah,
well, I could take a look at it for ya’s when we get back.” He tried to find
something to do with his hands. “Um, Shirl?”
“Yes?”
She met his eyes.
“I’m…well…you
know I ain’t that good with words.”
“Go
on,” she sighed.
“I
just wanted to say that, about Carmine? That really stinks that he’s dead and
all.” He let his eyes drop to stare at his shoes. “I mean, he and me, we
weren’t all that tight, but he was a pretty okay guy and I know you really
liked him.”
“I
loved him.” Shirley’s voice cracked. “I really loved him.”
Squiggy
didn’t know what to say to this, so he just stood there and waited for her to
continue. When she didn’t, he nodded toward the horizon. “Sun’s almost all the
way down. We oughta get a move on if we want to make it to Sunnydale before too
late.”
“Right.”
She hugged herself and walked over to the ice cream truck, which was parked on
a side street behind the Laurel Vista apartments.
“I’ll
um, I’ll go tell Lenny and Laverne to get a move on with the rest of the
suitcases.” He headed back toward the apartment building, cursing his inability
to ever say the right thing.
A
strange sound caught his attention before he’d gone a hundred feet. Turning
back, he saw a tall, skinny guy climbing out of a manhole in the street. The
noise he’d heard was the metal manhole cover, which was still spinning and
settling a good fifteen feet away from where the guy had apparently tossed it.
“The hell?” Squiggy wondered, watching the strange figure moving much faster
and sneakier than a normal guy toward Shirley. Alarmed, he shouted, “Hey, what
do you think you’re doing?”
Shirley
gave him a quizzical look, then spun around to face the approaching man. Before
she could move or even cry out, the tall and skinny guy jumped at her with a
loud hiss that made Squiggy’s arm hairs stand at attention.
“Jesus
Christus!” he exclaimed, dashing forward, then stopping to slap at his pockets.
Weapon, weapon…he withdrew his folding comb. From a distance, it might just
pass for a switchblade. Waving it in the air, he continued running headlong
toward Shirley and her attacker, yelling, “I got a knife! Back off, or I’ll cut
you up like an Easter turkey!”
The
tall guy swung around and made a weird growl. His face looked all wrong, with
really long teeth and a swollen forehead. And were his eyes yellow…?
Squiggy
didn’t have any more time to wonder about the guy’s looks. One swing of his arm
and the stranger sent him flying. His back slammed against something hard and a
loud cracking sound filled Squiggy’s ears. He sat on the ground, listening to
the buzzing that filled his ears and waiting for the little black dots to stop
dancing in front of his eyes. Am I dead? Am I broken? His thoughts
tumbled around in his brain until he realized that the cracking he’d heard was
the trunk of the slender yearling birch tree he’d fetched up against. Meaning
he’d been tossed about fifty feet across the yard.
Shaking
his head to clear it, Squiggy struggled back to his feet, trying to ignore the
radiating pain down his spine. What he saw next made his mouth drop open like a
frog waiting to catch flies.
Little
Shirley Feeney had the tall, skinny, weird guy by the left arm. She swung
around and slammed him against the side of the ice cream truck with enough
force to rock the vehicle. Then she kicked him in the stomach, causing him to
double over with a loud whoof of escaping air. Before he could recover,
she sent a combination of blows into his face, bloodying his nose and driving
him to his knees.
How
is that even possible? Squiggy marveled, even as his inner manliness drove him to stumble
closer to defend the girl. Before he could reach them, he saw the assailant
snag Shirley by the ankle, yanking her to the ground. He climbed on top of her
and laughed, a sound totally devoid of human emotion. “My lucky night. Seems my
dinner is the newest Slayer!”
Shirley
glared up at him. “What? What are you babbling about?”
His
only response was another soulless chuckle. Squiggy saw him dive open-mouthed
toward Shirley’s throat and did the only thing he could – he jumped on the
guy’s back. Wrapping his arms around the man’s neck, Squiggy cried, “Run, Shirley!
Run!”
She
did, scrambling to her feet and disappearing from Squiggy’s sight. The angry
skinny guy reared up, reaching back to snag Squiggy’s shirt with clawlike
fingers. His heart pounding in his ears, Squiggy realized that despite his
outer appearance, this guy was incredibly strong and about to throw him into
some other very hard object. He clung to the man’s thin neck with all his
strength, trying to keep that from happening, and desperately wondered what to
do next.
“The
branch!” he heard a familiar voice cry. “Shirley, use the branch!”
As
Shirley’s attacker bucked and spun trying to dislodge him, Squiggy caught a
glimpse of Lenny standing in the doorframe of the apartment building, shouting
and pointing to the broken birch tree. Shirley was in front of it and she
hesitated only a moment before snatching up one of the torn limbs.
“You
know what to do, Shirley!” Lenny cried. “Follow your instincts!”
Squiggy
wondered how a thin little branch wielded by a thin little girl was going to
help, but only for a moment. Strong arms wrapped around his head and flipped
him head-over-heels to the ground. He blinked up at the man – no, strike that.
It was no man glaring down at him, fangs exposed, face contorted and nearly
unrecognizable as human. The monster’s
hand closed around his neck and in that instant, Andrew Squigman knew he was
about to die.
But
he didn’t. Instead, there was a sudden burst of smoke in the air between him
and the creature attacking him. Then he realized that it wasn’t in the space between
them, it was the monster himself, exploding and cascading down into a
pile of ashes. The only living thing left standing over him was Shirley Feeney,
a sharp piece of wood clenched in one small fist, her chest heaving with
breath. She blinked a few times, as startled as he was. Then she said,
“Squiggy. Are you – okay?”
He
just stared up at her. Finally he said, “What…in the hell…just happened here?”
She
straightened, holding out her right hand. He grasped it and she pulled him to
his feet with surprising ease. “I have no idea.” She cast a sidelong look over
her shoulder at Lenny, who was approaching cautiously, a strange look on his
face. “But I think I know who does.”
***
Carmine
hummed as he strode down the street. He’d had a good day’s sleep and was ready
for some breakfast before he hit the road home. He was happy with his new
wardrobe. Now all he needed was a cool set of wheels to coordinate.
He
sensed that he was being followed, but every time he spun round to catch a
look, no one was there. He chalked it up to paranoia left over from still
having a life to lose and forgot about it.
He’d
found a nasty section of town, where unsavory types liked to gather. Perfect.
It wasn’t long until he spotted a group of five grungy-looking guys dressed in black
leather, standing near a trashcan that contained a healthy-burning fire. They
were passing a bottle around and what looked like a joint, laughing way too
loud and hooting at nervous passersby.
Carmine
nodded and walked up to them. He tapped the chest of the biggest guy and said,
“I need your help with something.”
The
guy looked down at him and laughed incredulously. “Really. And what would that
be?”
Carmine
shrugged. “Call it an experiment. I’m trying to figure out what my limits are.”
The big man glanced to his left and right. His buddies guffawed in response.
Ignoring this, Carmine continued, “So what’s your name, pal?”
“Pal?
I ain’t your pal, little man.” He cracked his knuckles, which were tattooed
with skulls, four on one hand, five on the other. “They call me Judas.”
Carmine
nodded. “That’s cute. What are the skulls about, Judas?”
The
big man’s friends hooted and slapped their thighs at this. Carmine’s eyes
remained locked on Judas’, his smile unwavering. The bruiser thrust his fists
under Carmine’s nose. “These? These are mementos pal. Of the loudmouths
like you that I shut up before. Permanently.”
Carmine
shrugged. “So what were you planning to do when you ran out of knuckles? Move
on to the toes?”
The
four other men froze, their mouths hanging open in disbelief. Judas blinked
once, twice, then said, “Are you out of your mind?”
Carmine
sighed. “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to tease you there, Judy. Now, about that
experiment….”
The
big guy’s right was fast, faster than anything Carmine had faced since he’d
been in the ring. It nailed him in the jaw, even forced him to take a small
step backward. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he looked back at Judas and
nodded. “Interesting.”
With
a roar, the man charged him. Carmine blocked his second punch with casual ease,
then let loose with his own right, nailing Judas straight in the stomach.
The
big man doubled over and skidded backward into the trashcan, nearly setting
himself on fire. He dropped to his knees, heaving, face nearly purple from lack
of breath.
“Very
interesting,” said Carmine. He turned to face Judas’ four buddies, who were
advancing on him. One was wrapping a length of metal chain around his hand.
Another flicked a switchblade into place. He grinned his approval. “All right
fellas. Let’s dance.”
About
ten minutes later, he spat out the blood of the last survivor and glared
balefully into the man’s pale, gore-encrusted face. “Shirley was right,” he
noted, grasping the guy’s collar and giving him a hard shake. “Drugs are
yucky!”
“P…please,”
the wounded goon moaned. “Don’t….”
“Keys.”
Carmine held out his hand under the man’s mashed nosed. When he just stared at
it blankly, Carmine gave him another shake. “Now?”
“K…keys.
Right, right! Whatever you want! Just please…no more.” He fumbled in his jacket
and came up with a set of keys on a death’s head keychain.
Carmine
took them. “Thank you. And the car is…?”
This
time, the guy answered immediately. “There, there! Right over there! Take it,
take it all!” He coughed up something unpleasant.
Carmine
glanced in the direction he’d pointed, and peered one last time into the man’s
swollen eyes. “You had good taste.”
“Had…wait…!”
He
crushed the man’s windpipe and dropped him, still twitching, on the asphalt.
Stepping gingerly over Judas’ twisted remains, Carmine tossed the keys up and
down with one hand as he approached the black Trans-Am.
As
he slid into the driver’s seat, adjusting it so he could reach the pedals, he
began to sing. “You know I’d go from rags to riches…!”
***