Now You See Me...

Discussion in 'The Artist's Corner' started by Goopus, May 7, 2011.

  1. Chapter 9: Them Screamin' Psych Ward Blues

    "Don't shoot It," Cole said in a weakening voice. "It's just a kid now."

    He collapsed onto his side and he was still again. Woods now cared whether the kid got some medical attention quickly.

    He saw It, too.

    Woods climbed back through the rubble into his bedroom and grabbed his walkie-talkie off the entertainment center that had been sideswiped by the right front fender of the Prelude. He switched to the appropriate station.

    "What the hell are you guys doing?!" he screamed into the radio. "Get your asses down to my house. We have an emergency situation. We have one critically injured. We need an ambulance. Hustle hustle hustle!"

    Tommy tossed the walkie-talkie aside into the rubble dismissively and laid the .380 on the hooker's pillow. He sat down wearily on the stained matress and put his head in his hands. He let out a long, deep sigh and took a good breath.

    "I think I'll wait inside," he said, just for himself to hear.

    Woods heard two of the police cars veer around that same blind corner and park haphazardly in the street in front of his house. One hustled out and began putting up yellow tape around the scene to close the street down as well as he could. The other hurried over and knelt beside Cole, checking his pulse.

    "He's alive, for fuck's sake!" Tommy yelled. "Just get an ambulance here pronto or you'll be making me a liar!"

    The cop nodded, chastised. He dashed back to his waiting car and sent the call out for an ambulance. He yelled to Woods that the ambulance would be here in three minutes.

    Woods laid back on the bed and lit up a Marlboro.

    "It's about fucking time," he whispered, staring up at the ceiling and watching smoke rings form into ghostly fanged mouths as they spiraled towards the ceiling in beautiful arcs. "About fucking time, indeed."

    -----------------Two Days Later----------
    ------------------In The Hospital---------

    Cole opened his eyes for the first time since the accident.

    He saw the face of Tommy Woods and closed his eyes, muttering a muffled curse through his precautionary oxygen mask. He supposed the shit had really hit the fan then.

    "Hey, you little bastard," Woods said cheerfully as he laid aside a copy of Playboy and a cup of coffee.

    He leaned forward so that he could better see Cole -- or maybe so Cole could better see him -- and smiled. It was time to get down to business.

    "Do you know how much money it costs to repair a bedroom wall and the furnishings for a bedroom?" Tommy asked, retaining that forcefully cheerful tone.

    Tommy had perfected that tone. He called it the 'shut the fuck up or I will beat you within an inch of your life' tone. He called it the 'who's your daddy?' tone. It worked wonders with whores and junkies. Tommy thought with a homophobic sneer that Cole was probably both.

    "No, but I---" Cole started to say.

    "You got the wrong idea here," Woods replied happily. "This isn't a discussion. This is a lecture. My questions are rhetorical, you scum-sucking worm."

    Cole sighed and nodded to show that he understood. The movement hurt his injured neck and he grunted. Tommy smirked again at the sight.

    "You could be looking at years of jail time and no money to pay to take care of your fucked-up face," Woods said with a touch of glee in his voice. "All I have to do is say the word."

    Woods grinned widely. It was the only time he was truly happened. He was a power-hungry little bastard. He had Napoleon's syndrome. He had to have that power because he was compensating for something.

    He was on a power trip, like all cops. Like all cops, he was stupid. Like all cops, he was pathetically vulnerable to Cole's quick yet tortured mind.

    "But you won't," Cole whispered with a sardonic grin. "You need me. You need me to retain your hold over your sanity."

    "What?" Woods whispered.

    He had dropped the power-hungry tone and he was down to a little kid's whisper. He was terrified of what Cole might mean. Was he going crazy? Cole was crazy. Did that mean Tommy was crazy? Good gosh, he hoped not.

    "I saw them, too," Cole whispered in a songtone tone, and began laughing. "I saw the kid. Have you seen my other car?"

    He began giggling.

    "I saw it, too!" he screamed.

    "Calm down!" Woods said, almost pleading. "I just need to get the police report and go home before someone steals something. I have to get home before someone robs me through the MASSIVE FUCKING HOLE YOU RIPPED IN MY HOUSE."

    "Look who's telling who to calm down!" Cole spat contemptuously. "I'm a fucking veteran at this. You're not mentally strong enough to weather the early storm, you little fucking midget!"

    He actually spat now. It was a big loogie. It landed right below Tommy's left eye and dribbled down into his mustache as the two stared daggers at each other.

    "You little fat fucking pig!" Cole shrieked.

    Tommy stood up fast, sending the little plastic chair skittering across the room. A nurse passing the room caught a glimpse of this through the open door and froze with her mouth agape.

    Tommy aimed a shaking finger no more than three inches away from Cole's face.

    "Give the police report to my deputy, get your shit fixed up with your insurance and you come and see me when you get out!" he ordered.

    He turned to leave, and looked back over his shoulder as he pulled out a handkerchief. He wiped the spittle away.

    "You come and see me or I'll come and see you!" he warned darkly.

    He left, shouldering past the nurse and leaving both the nurse and Cole staring after him with mixed emotions. The nurse stepped inside the room hesitantly, looking both ways like she was worried there were horrible things waiting for her. Maybe Cole and Woods just exuded that feeling now.

    "What was that all about?" she asked shyly.

    She was a pretty young girl, probably around twenty-three. Cole briefly wondered why she was a nurse but as he adjusted his weight, he felt the pain in his face and let out a loud shout of agony.

    The nurse hurried over and asked him if he needed help. He grunted and laid back in a more comfortable position and shook his head no. She smiled down at him and he found himself smiling back.

    "I've had a rough week," Cole blurted out hoarsely.

    They both started laughing at the understatement. The nurse turned and left and as soon as the door slid shut behind her, the world changed.

    That tinkling fucking tune was back.

    "There can't be any fucking ice cream trucks in the FUCKING HOSPITAL!" Cole screamed.

    It didn't start as a scream but it sure got there fast enough. The door opened up and the nurse peaked in. The tune disappeared. She gave him a strange look as if she was wondering whether he was in the wrong ward. She looked like she thought he belonged in the psych ward.

    "Maybe I do," Cole murmured to himself.

    "Excuse me," the nurse asked and her tone was no longer friendly. It was back to business."What did you say?"

    "I said "I'd like some more food"," Cole replied in a derisive version of Tom Woods's 'who's your daddy' tone. "And make it snappy."

    "Would you like some ice cream?" the nurse asked.

    Cole raised an eyebrow, and there was a sort of sick distaste in his eyes as he said, "No. Are you fucking crazy or something?"
  2. Hah! Cole is a dick to everyone that is just trying to be nice to him... poor nurse, didn't do anything to him. XD I like the cop, he seems like the typical cop around here.
  3. (Hehe told ya the cop rules.)

    Chapter 10: Doctor, Doctor, give me the news...

    Cole's mom and her boyfriend came in. They always had silly little gestures that were cheesy and cute in an ugly way. He felt about them the way anyone felt about a genetically mutated fish or a puppy with a malformed spine.

    They played a song for him on their phones. It was "Bad Case Of Loving You" by Robert Palmer. Cole groaned and covered his eyes with his hands.

    "Doctor, doctor, give me the news. I got a bad case of loving you."

    "Very hospital-appropriate," Cole managed.

    His brother came by later in the day. He was usually out smoking or doing whatever else kids do these days with his buddies. He had probably only just heard about Cole's accident.

    As a matter of fact, Cole's brother.. Graham played a song for him on his phone, as well. It was also about a hospital. It was just entirely a different genre from Robert Palmer. Somehow he thought The Used would stab and kill Robert Palmer before eating his heart and stealing his wallet.

    "Before I cross my heart and hope to die at all," Bert whined, "take off my mask and leave the lies to the liars."

    Cole sighed. The next song was just as tactful. But he liked this one. He wished he hadn't recently suffered massive skull trauma or he would headbang to it with gusto...

    "I don't do what I've been told. You're so lame, why don't you just go... Die motherfucker die motherfucker die. Die motherfucker die motherfucker die motherfucker die. DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE!"

    "I'm glad you're trying to cheer me up," Cole said to his brother, who was just as crazy as he was. "Dude this song fucking rules!"

    Cole remembered those barren times when he had listened to this song trying to get souped up to kill people at his high school. The words had been like blood for a blood-thirsty dog. Cole had been thirsty, indeed.

    "DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE MOTHERFUCKER DIE!" Cole had yelled loud and hungry in those times.

    "Die motherfucker die motherfucker die," Cole murmured now to himself as he thought of the zombie kid.

    He also thought of Tommy Woods, admittedly.

    "Dude," his brother said bluntly. "Your face is fucked up."

    Cole sighed again. His brother wasn't the smartest, sometimes. He was about as smart as could be expected for a veteran junkie. Cole was one as well. He knew how it felt to be that way. Perhaps Graham was in his own little terrifying world.

    Cole figured he might as well risk a guess.

    "Have you, uhh..." Cole started to say casually. "Have you ever seen a kid with maggots eating his eyeball walking the streets hereabouts?"

    His brother laughed.

    "Man, zombie kids aren't shit. That's just the beginning, bro. Wait till reality starts to completely unfold."

    Cole nodded, acknowledging the obvious truth of Graham's statement. He realized that in some way, Graham had gone through the same shit. But Graham was sixteen. Cole was nineteen.

    "Reality has completely unfolded," he told Graham.

    "You ain't seen nothing yet," his brother replied, smiling a little secret smile and walking away.

    "What the fuck?" Cole whispered, trying to sit up and groaning as his broken, healing body protested. "What the fuck, man?"

    He gasped for breath, whispering to himself.

    "He's one of them."


    Woods groaned as he pulled around that damned corner and saw his house.

    He hadn't let it all soak in yet, but damned if he wasn't being forced to now. It was either that or have a mental breakdown and shoot himself.

    It was either that or go crazy and shoot Jessica and the hot mamacita and Cole and Cole's brother and that fucking strange kid and his mom.

    No, no. He would leave the strange kid and his mom alone. They were not to be touched. That was simply a fact. They were off-limits.

    "I'm not going to have a mental breakdown," Tom whispered calmly. "My daddy was a fucking Marine."

    Tom's daddy died serving his country, even after the bloody battles in Grenada were over. He was a traffic policeman a few years back and he got killed by a drunk driver.

    Woods smiled and stepped out of his car after parking it in the driveway. He saw the little crimson painting Cole's body had left in the gravel.

    Oh how I wish that blood was in my mouth, Tom thought and then blinked and the thought had disappeared like the wind.

    "Oh I guess I thought the blood looked tasty like strawberries," Tom said in a little daze. "I had better head inside."

    No, he had better stand outside and smoke a cigarette. He had better stand outside and wait.

    "What am I waiting for?" he whispered, standing in front of that beautiful crimson painting.

    He was waiting for Alvin.

    "Who is Alvin?" he asked softly, no longer talking to just himself.

    He should shut up now. He shut up. He lit a Marlboro. He waited. He kept getting that feeling that he should head inside but something smashed it each time like a sledgehammer from hell.

    "I'm a Gosh-darned Christian and I don't believe in that," Tommy whimpered.

    The kid stepped out onto the street, pausing to watch Woods before he replied.

    "I'm a gosh-darned demon and I say I'm real," it said in a high child's voice.

    It was a mockery of a human voice, when you really boiled it down. If you went any deeper, you'd lose your mind. Tommy dared not test his limits. He dared not read its mind. It might take his for ransom.

    "So I can see the other side?" Tommy asked with some of his old derision back in his voice.

    "I believe your anger," it replied soothingly now. "I'll be disappointed if Cole Sharp isn't drowning on his own blood by this time tomorrow. You don't want me to be disappointed."

    It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. Tom heard and understood.

    "I wouldn't want that," he echoed hollowly. "I wouldn't want you to be disappointed, Alvin."

    Alvin smiled, showing mossy fangs. Had they really glimmered before? Now they were mossy with age and neglect and something like rotting flesh.

    "This boy's name is Alvin," it admitted with a little giggle. "Our name is not to be uttered by you pathetic mortals. If you like, you may call us Suspect."

    "Okay," Tom whispered with a defeated shrug.

    He gave the boy a little wave but he was already gone after Tom blinked. He was waving at a stray dog in the middle of the road. It stared at him and then bounded off, narrowly avoiding a red truck speeding down the road. Close behind the truck came a blue '95 Honda Prelude.

    He recognized the person leaning out the driver's-side window of the Prelude. It was Cole Sharp. It was a Cole with a completely unmarked and fresh face. It was a Cole that gave him the finger as the pair of vehicles sped by.

    Woods remembered what Cole had asked him in the hospital.

    Have you seen my other car?

    "Yes," Woods whispered. "Yes I have, Cole."
  4. Dude... holy balls. I think the chapters are getting better. :D

    Hehe... Graham... makes me laugh. :) You're soooo honest with this stuff, it's like... I dunno, it's pretty great.
  5. (Heh I try. :) )

    Chapter 11: Ice Ice Baby And A Knife Fight

    "Fuck my life," Cole whispered. "And fuck it good. Ram it home."

    He was worried. He was wondering if Tom was going to come back and kill him. Tom was weak and he had seen it, too. Whatever wanted Cole dead was going to try through Tom next.

    He was certain of it. It sounded crazy, but Cole knew it to be true. It was just a hunch, but it was a plenty healthy hunch. Cole wondered when was lunch?

    Cole vowed that he would kill Woods first. He had hidden a stolen scalpel under his pillow. He waited for Woods, listening to a song on his phone.

    "Stop, collaborate and listen," Vanilla spit. "Ice is back with a brand new invention."

    Cole didn't mind waiting. He was scared. Woods weighed two hundred pounds despite his meager height. He also had a .380, a 9mm and a .45. He had several calibers of whoop-ass.

    Oh yes, Cole had a reason to be scared. He had a horrifyingly honest reason to be scared. He wasn't so much scared of Woods.

    He was scared of It.

    He was scared of that genderless consciousness that had invaded Watson Avenue lately.

    He was scared of his own mind.

    Cole sat there breathing fast, taking short and shallow breaths. He tensed up as the door opened and his hand slid beneath his pillow.

    It was the nurse.

    "Hello," she said curtly. "We seem to have a missing scalpel."

    Cole sighed and whispered, "Fuck." He held out his hands.

    "Hook me and book me," he said sweetly.

    The nurse opened her mouth to reply at the exact same instant that Woods put a bullet through her right nostril.

    "Holy shit!" Cole screamed as the body crumpled bonelessly in the doorway.

    It propped the door open.

    "Holy shit!" he screamed again. "Is this even fucking real?"

    Another trio of shots were fired. It was an exchange of shots this time from two different weapons. It was probably Woods dispatching an unfortunately untrained security guard.

    "It's real!" he screamed.

    He jerked the scalpel out from under the pillow and held it aloft.

    "I feel like fuckin' Mel Gibson from The Patriot," Cole whispered.

    He grinned in anticipation.

    The little midget form of Woods filled the doorway. His eyes were bathed in a mad light, and he was panting like a dog. He smiled tightly as he aimed the pistol in Cole's general direction.

    "I can't disappoint them, Cole," Tom said sternly. "I mustn't piss them off."

    "Give me a chance, you fat fucker," Cole begged. "Or are you scared? Don't you always win?"

    "I always win," Tom agreed proudly.

    Cole rolled his eyes and struggled out of the bed, grunting as his head throbbed. He stood and braced himself against the wall weakly.

    "What a gambler," Cole yelled as he waved his scalpel. "You brought a gun to a knife fight."

    At the sound of that, Tom dropped his nine-mil and drew out his little hunting knife deftly. That hungry look blazed in Tom's eyes. He was beyond insane. He was a pawn of his own crazy mind utterly and completely.

    "I'm going to stab you," Tom Woods whispered.

    Woods charged in swinging his blade and Cole ducked low and sliced a thin gash across Tom's right shin as he danced painfully out of range. Both took a step back from the field of combat. They shared a deep breath. This was a knife fight to the death.

    Or until the cops arrive, Cole thought.

    He saw Woods coming and leapt back in to meet him with a primal roar.
  6. Hah! Hunch... lunch. You're a regular Dr. Seuss :D

    Pffftt... several calibers of whoop ass. XD

    Holy shit dude... the nurse is dead! I like how this story went from the exact details of your life, to a "ghost" story. :p This is great.

    Oh man... action packed!!

    (This was my reaction as reading this chapter. But I'm too high to remember after I say it... so I just wrote it down as I thought it. lol)
  7. Makes sense, I've done that as well. Okay we're all caught up. I am in the PROCESS of writing chapter twelve. I always have them under preliminary chapter titles as like a placeholder for the final chapter title when I think of it. I pick out random song lyrics for these preliminary chapter titles. Currently chapter twelve is called Chapter 12: I'm Gonna Get That Money Like A Robbery.

    EDIT: I'm gonna get really stoned and hopefully MAKE Chapter 12 fucking awesome guys. You can count on me.
  8. Hah! Good stuff. :) I feel like... you know how there used to be shows on the radio back in the old days? Weekly installments of whatever show... Anyway, that's what I feel like when I read these. :D
  9. (Hehe makes sense. :D)

    Chapter 12: Cole Was Born A Gamblin' Man

    Cole sliced Tom's left ear and half of it dangled free.

    Woods slashed wildly and opened a mean wound in Cole's right forearm.

    Cole gasped in pain and swung back with the scalpel, cutting Woods above his right eye. Almost immediately blood was pouring down that side of the town sheriff's crazed face.

    Shit was getting real.

    "Hey, no face shots," Tom grumbled.

    Cole used the distraction to step back and drop the bloody scalpel. As Tom sprang forward to attack, Cole picked up the pistol and aimed it between the little fucker's eyes and Woods froze.

    "One more step and you'll be a stain on the wall!" Cole murmured. "We're just going to wait for the cops to arrive."

    "How do you think that will look?" Tom replied softly, spitting through the waterfall of blood flowing into his mouth.

    Cole shrugged. Tom was right.

    "Yeah, you're right," he agreed.

    He shot Tom in the face and tossed the pistol aside, sitting wearily in the doorway and pulling a cigarette from the pack.

    Cole muttered, "What a fucking day." He lit the cigarette as he waited for the cops to drag their lazy asses to the hospital.

    He smirked as he thought of a fitting line for the moment.

    "I shot the sheriff...." he sang quietly, and blew out a puff of smoke with a little chuckle. "But I did not shoot the deputyyyyyy."


    The nurse hurried down the hallway. She had received reports from patients and other nurses that screaming was coming from Cole Sharp's room. As she rounded the corner, she gasped at the scene in the hospital room. She gasped as she gazed at it through the open door.

    She saw her friend Cora laying in the doorway and Cole Sharp was sitting beside the body smoking a cigarette. She looked further and saw a little boy standing behind Cole.

    The boy noticed the nurse and grinned. He motioned towards Cora's corpse, capering around happily. It laughed at the nurse's tears and it wouldn't let her pull away. It held two fingers up in a V and flicked its tongue between them crudely with accompanying sound effects.

    The nurse sobbed harder. She turned, breaking the hold and she ran for her life. Cole watched her run before he turned his blank eyes towards the little boy.

    "What's her problem?" he asked.

    "I don't know," the little boy replied. "How does it feel to lose again?"

    Cole laughed in It's face. He laughed in It's face because he wasn't scared of It any more. He almost pitied It.

    "The accident was just that - an accident!" Cole replied coldly. "Woods killed the hot bitch. I killed Woods in self-defense."

    Cole smirked and It was speechless.

    "If they want to pin this on me, I can claim insanity because of you," Cole continued contemptuously.

    "Perhaps," It said softly.

    "Perhaps nothing," Cole spat. "Them's the facts, homegirl. Them's the facts."

    "I will return," It warned quietly.

    "And I will be ready," Cole countered.

    "No one survives me forever," It promised.

    "Wanna bet?" Cole asked.

    "I've got twenty on it," It responded.

    "See you when I get home, sweetie," Cole said, ushering It out over Cora's dead body. "Buh-bye."

    Cole shut the door a bit more, grimacing at the sound of a skull fracture as Cora's head was vised in the process.

    "Well she already got a skull fracture," Cole said with a little giggle as he sat back down weakly. "She got a nine-millimeter skull fracture."

    His laughter echoed down the hallways of the hospital and haunted the occupants for months.
  10. Shit was getting real... XD Hahahah!!

    "I shot the sheriff..." XD Good shit.
  11. I'm currently writing the chapter where the cops show up. And here's my inspiration music to write cops worthy of my story.

    [ame=]YouTube - Inner Circle - Bad Boys[/ame]
  12. Oh... oh wow. XD
  13. Chapter 13: Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do?
  14. Chapter 13: Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha Gonna Do?

    "Uuuuh whatcha gonna do when they come for you," Officer Benoit whispered as he peeked around the corner towards Room 133.

    "Do you even know the fucking lyrics?" Sergeant Reynolds asked as he peeked around the corner, too.

    Benoit rolled his eyes pompously.

    "Every beat cop knows the lyrics, bubbaloo," Benoit replied. "Uh whatcha gonna do when we come for you."

    Sergeant Reynolds grinned unpleasantly. He was black. He found Benoit's antics utterly hilarious. White people were so stupid sometimes.

    "Shut the fuck up, rookie," he barked sternly. "We're gonna come around this corner with guns drawn and if the suspect has his weapon out, we are going to fucking drop him like a bad habit. Is that understood?"

    Benoit nodded sullenly and drew his weapon out. He stood there at the ready but with his head drooping like a kid ready to go to detention.

    Reynolds came around the corner first. He let his pistol lead the way and covered every inch of the hallway with its aim in one sweeping motion. Benoit came next aiming straight down the hallway.

    Thus he was the first one to really focus on the scene in Room 133. He saw a kid aiming a pistol at him. Behind the kid he saw the body of Tom Woods. He only recognized Woods from the erm.. length of the body and the uniform.

    "Holy shit!" Benoit yelled, and opened fire.

    Reynolds went to one knee and gasped as a hail of bullets were returned towards Benoit. Benoit took one of the bullets in the belly and let out a cat-like shriek of indignant anger. He dropped onto his back and lay there shrieking.

    "What the fuck is going on?!" Sergeant Reynolds bellowed, and he opened fire on what little he could see of Room 133.


    Cole was sitting there, minding his own business when all of a sudden bullets started spranging off the metal door that was propped open by Half-A-Head Cora.

    His first instinct was to grab the pistol that was laying nearby. He saw a cop down the hallway shooting at him. This cop looked like a serious dweeb. He had probably been a jock in high school. He looked like a wrestling fan. Cole wondered why he always had such random thoughts during gun fights.

    "Is every cop in this town going nuts?!" Cole screamed and he fired four quick bullets to reply to the arrogant bastard.

    To Cole's infinite surprise, one of the bullets actually hit the cop and he went down. Cole didn't have much time to celebrate this Pyrrhic victory. Another cop that was mainly out of sight opened fire as well and bullets were once more spranging off the metal door and ricocheting at deadly cool angles.

    "You better come out now," the other cop yelled. "We're gonna have this place surrounded in just a jiffy, Sharp."

    Cole sighed and shook his head. It had been right when it said 'Perhaps.'

    "Man, y'all are the ones who started shooting at me," Cole drawled weakly. "I'm the one who should be negotiating here. Are you scared, piggy?"

    A genuine laugh drifted back from the cop.

    "I'm shaking in my boots, cowboy," he replied.

    Cole laughed, as well.

    "Look, if you'll hear my side of the story, I'll gladly lay down my pistol," Cole said in a reasonable tone. "But I've already defended myself against two police officers. Let's not make it three. I want that on the record."

    Sergeant Reynolds shook his head even though he knew Cole couldn't see him from around the corner.

    "We will talk about that afterwards," he yelled. "Right now you will lay down your pistol and put your hands up."

    "Or else what?" Cole asked with a little giggle.

    "Or else I'm coming in," Reynolds replied.

    "Well come on in," Cole said. "I won't shoot if you won't. But I'm not giving you my gun until your backup arrives."

    "It doesn't work that way," Reynolds said.

    His patience was wearing thin. A vein was pulsing in his forehead. It was like a voice telling him to just end this the easy way and fuck the consequences. This voice shocked him, but it sounded like his own.

    "Come on in," Cole called again.

    There was the sound of a cigarette lighter, and a satisfied sigh.

    "The lava's fine," Cole finished.

    Reynolds was tired of talking with Cole. He leaned back around the corner and fired two shots. He saw one bullet smash into the metal door and another caught the dead nurse in the small of her back. Reynolds grimaced.

    "Fuck you!" he yelled, irrationally frustrated.


    Reynolds turned his head at the sound of the gasping voice. He saw Benoit. Benoit was taking his last breaths.

    "Fuck," Reynolds whispered.

    "Sarge, Woods had no face," Benoit spluttered. "I'm sorry, Sarge."

    Reynolds whipped out his walkie-talkie.

    "God damn it, we need an ambulance!" he yelled. "We need an ambulance. Officer down. Two officers down at the hospital."

    Reynolds looked up and saw that Cole was standing outside the room and aiming a pistol now.

    "What?" Reynolds said.

    That was all he had time for. Cole shot him in the forehead.

    "Three officers down in the hospital," Cole corrected with a smile, and he dropped the pistol on the floor and sat beside it. "I guess I did shoot a few deputies, too."
  15. (Yo it's Lee, or well for all intents and purposes I'm Cole. Anyways yeah.. Just for comedic purposes, I jammed out to I Don't Want To Wait by Paula Cole for the entire half an hour it took me to write this chapter. I have the Dawson's Creek theme song in my head. Please, please kill me. No but seriously... Yeah. Definitely feeling some discomfort, this should be a torture method. I'm gonna rock out to some Eve 6 now while I smoke a bowl. Remember that desperate insatiable part of me? Yeah haha. Anything's better than that fucking Dawson's Creek theme song. Anyways yeah the story's gotta end soon.)

    Chapter 14: I Don't Wanna Wait For Our Lives To Be Over

    "It would be awesome if my last name was Miner," Cole mused as he sat in the blood-spattered hallway calmly.

    He lit up another cigarette, and sighed.

    "I might as well try to make a run for it," he admitted. "Am I scared of the cops or am I scared of what It can do to me when I'm locked in a prison cell?"

    He looked at the dying cop. He looked at the wrestling fan, and laughed.

    "Probably the second one," he said with a laugh.

    "You have the right to remain silent," Benoit blustered.

    Cole rolled his eyes.

    "Dude, just shut the fuck up," he said and picked up the pistol.

    Benoit played dead once more. Cole laughed and laid the pistol aside again.

    "Fuckin' pussy," he murmured.

    He retrieved his cellphone from the hospital room. He selected a random song with a sardonic grin.

    "Oh life is waiting for you," Our Lady Peace blared. "It's all messed up but we're alive. Oh life is waiting for you. It's all messed up but we're surviving."

    Cole raised an eyebrow. He shook his head. He selected another song, and grinned as it began.

    "I push my fingers into my eyes. It's the only thing that slowly stops the ache. But it's made of all the things I have to take. Jesus it never ends, it works its way inside. If the pain goes on, ARGH!"

    Cole laughed. Slipknot somehow fit the moment. The phone switched to another song by itself. Cole shook his head. No, It had a hand in that quite literally.

    "I'm so happy because today I found my friends. They're in my head. I'm so ugly but that's okay cause so are you. We've broken our mirrors."

    Cole nodded. That was true.

    "I'm so excited. I can't wait to meet you there. But I don't care. I'm so horny. That's okay, my will is good."

    Cole raised an eyebrow. Okay, that was enough. It was getting strange. He turned off the phone.

    The phone flipped back on.

    "I like it. I'm not gonna crack. I miss you, I'm not gonna crack. I love you. I'm not gonna crack. I kill you. I'm not gonna crack. I like it. I'm not gonna crack. I miss you. I'm not gonna crack. I love you. I'm not gonna crack. I kill you. I'm not gonna craaaaaaack."

    "Okay!" Cole yelled. "I've got the point. That is a commendably good use of Nirvana."

    He turned the phone back off. When he looked up, the little boy with the fangs was back. He was kneeling beside Benoit. Benoit was too far gone to notice by then. He was dead.

    The little boy was leaning over with his head buried in Benoit's shoulder.

    "Are you crying?" Cole asked softly.

    The little boy turned with blood-covered fangs. He had been eating away at Benoit's neck.

    "No," It replied. "We just wanted a little afternoon snack."

    "I understand," Cole replied. "That's... understandable."

    "If you escape, we could make it worth your while," It said. "We have good plans for you."

    Cole sighed, and looked around. How many bodies were there? He spotted Cora with most of her face gone. Most of Tom's face was gone. The top of the black cop's head was gone. The other cop was spread-eagled in a big pool of blood from his generous belly.

    "Alright," he replied. "Just tell me what to do."

    It turned and picked up Benoit's pistol and slung it with inhuman strength into the nearest window. Glass sprayed outwards. It looked at Cole.

    "We're not even on the second floor, you imbecile," It said.

    Cole nodded.

    "Good point," he said as he clambered through the window carefully.


    Cole followed It's directions but he stayed wary. He didn't have much choice. It led him to a private parking lot and disappeared from there.

    Sitting in one of the spaces was a blue Honda Prelude. It looked like it had been through a car wash and it certainly didn't have a smashed front end. It didn't seem to have a single scratch on it.

    Cole grinned. It was his other car, but it was still his car. Oh she looked beautiful.

    The engine started up on its own and the CD player snapped on.

    "I don't wanna wait for our lives to be over. I want to know right now what will it be.... I don't want to wait for our lives to be over. Will it be yes or will it be... sorry?"

    Cole blinked.

    "Uhh yes," he said into the silent afternoon.

    He felt like an idiot.

    The driver-side door of the Prelude popped open as the chorus swelled again. Cole looked around and still felt like an idiot. He shrugged and hopped in and the door shut itself behind him and the lock clicked.

    Cole buckled up as the car pulled out of the parking lot, going faster than reality would have allowed. Cole felt a bit better after buckling up.

    It was going to be a bumpy ride.


    The car was as much of a junkie as Cole was. It was just in tune with his every habit and desire. It was a great car.

    Cole wanted to light a cigarette but thought better of it. He needed to concentrate on breathing because sometimes this car gets so overwhelmingly hot. Sometimes it even gets murderously hot.

    "I can hardly take a breath," Cole wheezed. "It feels like I'm floating."

    He thought of something funny.

    "We all float down here."

    Cole giggled and gasped for air that wasn't there. Oh dear, he could just about laugh himself to death.

    "How can you float when you're dr-druh-drowning?" Cole wheezed.

    The CD player flipped itself on. It played a haunting tune for Cole.

    "Let me be the one who calls you baby all the time," Bert whined. "Surely you can take some comfort knowing that you're mine."

    Cole laid his head against the driver-side window, feeling like a fish out of water once again.

    "Now I can breathe, turn my insides out and smother me. Warm and alive, I'm all over you. Would you smother me?"

    "Fuck you," Cole mouthed silently.

    "Hold me too tight, stay by my side. And let me be the one who calls you baby all the time."

    Cole went limp and his heart stopped. The car switched to a more appropriate song as it pulled onto the interstate and reached eighty heading into the storm. The engine roared triumphantly.

    "I'm on the highway to hell! On the highway to hell! Highway to hell! I'm on the highway to hell! No stop signs, speed limit. Nobody's gonna slow us down. Like a wheel, gonna spin it. Nobody's gonna mess me round. Hey Satan! Payin' my dues, playin' in a rockin' band! Hey Mama! Look at me, I'm on my way to the promised land!"

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