The Spiral Effect Page 4
glared at Justin.
Justin’s eyes dart around.
“Is he telling the truth? Justin—Justin?”
“Uh—, are you going to listen to this guy? He’ll—he’ll say anything.”
“Answer the question.”
“Come on, Willy, you know me.”
William’s eyes flare. Seems Justin forgot that Willy knows Justin’s tell.
Justin’s giant head disappears—
“Come back here.”
—followed by the disappearance of William’s head.
Tom, Brandon, and the other one, David, look at each other with confused and nervous glances. Who to trust—who to believe—who to kill? No longer clear on who is the real enemy and who is a friend. If Justin betrayed William, a dear friend of twenty years, then how could the rest, just mere acquaintances of four months, ever trust each other?
“Would you leave us—
“What about David? What’s he done?”
“Yeah. What about you, David?”
“Guys, he’s just doing this to—
A scream from the physical realm shatters into the psionic. Justin’s floating head reappears. Guilty and flustered, as if he doesn’t know what to do next.
“What’d you do, Justin?”
“Where’s William?”
“Uh…”
I think it’s pretty clear guys.
“Where the hell is he?”
Justin looks at me and then back at his accomplices. I don’t think he can consider them friends any longer.
“Would you shut up? Why haven’t you killed him yet?”
“Why won’t you answer the question?”
“Where’s William?”
Justin knows he can’t get rid of me without them. What he doesn’t realize is that even with William alive, together they didn’t stand a chance of stopping me.
“No—NO—the woman—the woman grabbed the gun while we were fighting him.”
Bad liar Justin.
“Justin?”
“What’d you—
Justin disappears. A scream follows in sync with the disappearance of David’s head. Desperation and guilt can force a man to do the dumbest things. Surprised that Tom and Brandon are still wasting time watching me while Justin kills their bodies.
“He wouldn’t.”
“Shit.”
Both heads disappear. Time to head outside before the entire collective is dead. Not a moment too soon either.
Tom holds his hands in the air as Justin, standing a few feet away, aims the gun.
“Put down the gun, Justin. Put it—f
BLAM!
The bullet scorches Tom’s right eye and exits with a crunch through the back of the head. Tom’s body drops, adding a fourth to the pile.
No more help. What are you going to do now?
Justin swings the gun around the deserted office, looking for me.
“Where are you? Show yourself.”
You can’t shoot a mental projection.
“Oh yeah? Fine, if you don’t show yourself then I’ll shoot them.” Justin turns to point the gun at Mary and Taylor, but they’re no longer there.
“Where—where are they? What’d you do with them? I need her body—I’m—I’m—
Dying. You were dead a long time ago. Now you’re just a ghost stealing what isn’t his.
“Big talk. Pushing that much power, you’d have to jump bodies once a week. I know they’re still here, probably right where I left them, just making it look like they’re not there. How about I fire and we find out?”
Justin points the gun where Mary and Taylor still sit and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens.
“Huh?”
The idiot actually looks into the barrel.
I could have released the bullet just now.
Justin’s eyes widen as he pulls the gun from his face. He swings it around, trying to find my presence.
Go and die in dignity Justin. Repent for what you’ve done. Ask for forgiveness. Retain some semblance of the man you used to be.
“I—I—no, I need them. I need a new body. Please, we can share. You need one too, right? What are you going to do, keep one around for later? Why? We can find more, together. The world is ripe, so many young, healthy bodies—just for us. You and me.”
No. Leave.
“Please.”
I said go.
Justin muffles his ears and screams. His eyes blaze as he points the gun back to the same spot he figures Mary and Taylor to be—
Stop.
Justin freezes.
I’m sorry.
The gun slowly moves to his temple. Justin tries to resist, but his mind is too weak—degraded—diseased.
“No, no, please don’t do this.”
I warned you.
“I’ll leave. I’ll go. I promise. I’ll die with—with dignity.”
You’re lying. You’ll try again, hoping to catch me off guard. I’m sorry for this. Truly.”
“Please, don’t—
Blam!
Justin’s lifeless body drops to the floor in a crumpled heap among his dead friends. Wasted, but I had no choice. He would have killed both mother and daughter. They all would have. Still, rationale doesn’t make this any easier.
Kneel next to their bodies. Sign of the Cross—Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Lord please find mercy on the souls of these dead men. May they find peace and forgiveness in the next life. And may others like them stop before they find a similar fate. Father, Son, Holy Spirit. Amen.
Now to check on—
A glass cage forms around me.
Hello?
An invisible lock clicks.
One of the Jumpers playing possum? Just walk through—ouch. Definitely not one of the Jumpers. This is too intricate, too detailed and strong.
Child’s laughter rings around the cage.
I look for Mary and Taylor, but they are no longer there. Neither is in the motel office. Only my mental image, the class cage, and white emptiness.
Open.
The glass cage refuses to budge.
“Futile—futile—futile—futile.” The words ring out with the singsong of cartoon animals.
Open.
The bottom of the cage barely budges a centimeter.
“Bad boy—bad boy—bad boy.”
The white emptiness gives way to a green field. Giant oaks sprout as cartoon crows pop in the air, singing, “No way out—no way out—no way out.”
Two elephants materialize outside the cage. They stand like men, wearing the green and red uniforms found on a royal guard. Each one holds a rifle. Their breath fogs the outside of the cage as their sharp tusks scrape against the glass.
BOING BOING BOING!
Five tigers, using their tails, bounce up and down on top of the cage. The smile I’m used to seeing from this cartoon replica is absent, replaced by sharp fangs.
They growl, “Eat you—eat you—eat your mind—buddy boy. HOO HOO Ha HOO!”
The tigers’ friends join in; a waddling bear in a t-shirt holds not jars of honey but bombs; a skinny pig chanting, “oh dear, oh dear,” holds an AK-47; a donkey using his teeth, slowly pulls a cannon; and an owl fluttering above, clutches a missile between his talons. Two kangaroos, a mother and son, hop into view, both shouldering a bazooka. I have the sinking suspicion that their attack won’t feel like a cool flashlight beam.
“Dare you to open—dare you to open—dare you to open.” The tigers taunt.
The small patch of grass that makes up the floor to my cage begins to move. Little blue people with mushroom hats spring from the ground. Each one wields a tiny little ax.
A child’s laughter rings around the cage again.
Taylor! I’m not here to hurt you.
“Liar—liar—liar.” The tigers change the song.
A sharp sting in my ankle. The mushroom kids are climbing my leg, swinging with ferocity. They make a small incision
in my calf and burrow into muscle tissue.
Taylor, I’m here to help.
“Liar, liar pants on fire.” A gnome behind me shouts.
Is that a—
The little guy throws a Molotov cocktail at my waist. The fire flares up and ignites my pants. The heat is all too real, as is the pain.
Taylor, stop.
The gnome laughs and throws another, setting my shirt ablaze. My belly button shrieks with pain as a blue man rips through my stomach. Gentleness will get me killed. Be careful not to damage her mind.
OFF ME!
The little blue people fly off and out of my body, smashing into the glass and turning into blue smudge mixed with pieces of tiny bones.
“That’s cheating.” The gnome holds up another cocktail.
I snap my fingers and the cocktail explodes in his hand. The gnome screams as he runs around in a circle before his body fizzles into black ash.
EXTINGUISH!
The flames consuming my shirt and pants disappear.
The tigers stop jumping. The crows grow silent. Everything becomes deathly quiet.
Remember, she’s just a little girl.
LET ME OUT!
The cage explodes upward, sending the tigers to burn in the sun. I twirl my finger, and now the animals face each other.
FIGHT!
Each cartoon character unloads on the other with his weapon. The pig shoots the bear, the bear’s bomb blows both of the elephants into pieces, mamma kangaroo’s bazooka blasts the little pig, baby kangaroo fires at the donkey, but not before the donkey’s cannon decapitates the owl, whose missile falls on the kangaroos.
“No fair.” Taylor says.
The grass is littered with mutilated cartoons. A massacre best kept from Saturday mornings. I feel bad that Taylor has to see such horrific images, especially of beloved characters. It’s strange, even though they’re her own, there’s something personally familiar about those cartoon animals and the forest. As if—
“Can’t catch me—can’t catch me—can’t catch me.”
The grassy forest disappears into a labyrinth of giant dominoes. White dominoes with black dots make up the floor while black dominoes with white