The rain was beating down on me and soothed the wounds from the hospital. It was so quiet. Houses all seemingly abandoned; the city seemed dead. I mean, I knew it was late, but the city seemed like everyone in it had left or died. Usually, you'd see street lights on or a bedroom light on or-- at least a fucking car.
I pulled out my phone and tried the police. The phone rang a few times and then it clicked on as if somebody had picked up the phone. All that greeted my ear was a deafening static sound with a few breaks here and there where somebody tried speaking, “H.... ni....one... wh... is your.... e..mer...gen...y?”
“There is a man inside of St. Judas hospital. He's killed people!” I shouted,
“Wh... h... s... s... yo... I can't under... s...?”
“He's in the basement! There's so much blood and there's bodies everywhere. Please, send he--”
“Sir... I c... you.”
The phone call went out.
I tried the police one more time. My phone didn't ring, it just made the sound a receiver makes if the phone is no longer in service. How? It was 9-1-1 for Christ's sake; it couldn't be out of service. God damn it! What was going on?
I kept trying 9-1-1 at least a dozen more times. I eventually gave up.
“Somebody help me! Help me! There's somebody inside the hospital! He's a murderer!” I called.
A low grumble of thunder answered my pleading.
I looked back at my phone, shielding it from the rain. I tried to call my mom now. and iIt rang and she picked up, . I heard her sobbing before she said,
“Mom? Call the police, something terrible has happened! I don't have time to ex--”
“I know, Simon. I know.” She paused. “Where are you, Simon?”
“I don't know. I'm lost somewhere in the city. Mom, call the police! There is a man and he's killed people and he's trying to kill me now. Call the police!”
“Okay. I will, Simon.” She whispered, “I love you, Simon.”
Before I hung up the phone, she called out again,
“Come home. Please come home. Please.” She started sobbing again and then she hung up. I tried calling her back but the call never went through. It rang six times and then just hang hung up. I did it again and then again and never got through.
I had been walking for about twenty minutes and haven't hadn't found a single sign of anyone.
It was pitch black out and the storm clouds overhead seemed to block out the moon and the stars.
I was freezing and I was soaked. If the psychopath didn't kill me, then the cold would.
Through the rain, I heard a door creak and I traced the sound with my eyes. It was almost completely to my right. In the darkness, I could make out a person standing there. I felt his eyes staring at me.
I called out to him and then approached him as his hand ushered me towards him. As I stepped onto the sidewalk directly in front of him, he pulled himself into the doorway and let the door begin to slowly shut. I caught the freezing knob and pulled it open, and put a foot into the darkened doorway.
“You have to help me,” I said, slamming the door and locking it behind me, “There is someone out there and he has killed a lot of people. Now I think he's chasing me. We have to call the police. Something is wrong with my cell phone and I can't get through.”
I sat there looking to the darkness for a reply and found nothing.
“Hello?” I called.
My voice echoed in the darkness. I was in a somewhat spacious, concrete room.
I heard his feet echo up. I turned on my phone and shone the screen in front of me, it only reached a few inches. I went to the apps menu and clicked the flashlight app and shone it in front of me again. A stair well.
I climbed the stairs and found myself facing a door across from another door, the man was in one of these, hopefully calling the cops, I thought.
I took a minute and sat myself on the top step in the darkness, shivering. It was hard to breathe without coughing and my head spun with exhaustion. The concrete floor looked like a good bed for right now.
Damn it. I killed somebody. What was wrong with me? I had let hatred cloud my judgment. Should I confess? If I didn't, would my morality drive me insane? It was Miguel's minion. He deserved it, to die I mean, not everything he suffered before; but, should I have killed him anyway? I didn't know. Then, Miguel's body, lying wide open there on the table, mutilated beyond belief. Son of a bitch, I could still smell his guts on my fingers. Miguel could fit a set of fucking keys in his cock like a damn stocking pinned to a fleshy mantle on Christmas morning.
I was actually satisfied seeing his corpse lying there like that and I didn't really care about all of the different individuals that were left there to rot after. What was wrong with me?
I pulled my phone out: twenty five percent battery, 3:35 in the morning, and the three texts still there on my screen waiting for me to open them.
The first one was from Tricia:
RECEIVED AT 10:43 pm.
The second and the third were from my mom. The second one said,
Where are u? I'm getting worried.
RECEIVED AT 11:15 pm.
The third one said,
Come home now! I'm really worried. Big storm and really late. Door is unlocked
RECEIVED AT 1:07 am
I turned off my phone and laid back onto the concrete, and closed my eyes for about five minutes. I opened them to the sound of breathing overhead. I could see the same outline of the man in the darkness.
He smelt awful, as if he had taken a rotting man's clothes and hadn't showered in weeks.
I stood up and gazed hard into the darkness. The darkness gazed back.
“Did you get a hold of the police?” I asked.
No reply. I assumed he shook his head not realizing how dark it really was.
“Fuck,” I stated. “Do you know what is going on?”
Still no reply.
“Yeah, neither do I,” I said.
I tried the police on my phone again. I caught a look, in the faint light, of his stained camouflage coat out of the corner of my eye. This could be a crack house for all I know knew and, judging by his appearance, it might just be the case. I dialed the police, it rang and then the static picked up again,.
“H...o this n... one one... Wha... is your... emer....?”
“Hello? Hello!?” I called out.,
“S... I can't... under... I'm sending... your loca...” the The phone call went out.
God damn it! She said she was sending somebody? I thought so. God, I hoped so.
“I think they're on their way. I hope they come really fucking quick,” I said.
As I slide the phone back into the pocket of my sweatshirt, the man approached me, shuffling his feet like an old drunk. He reeked of a dead man's skin, that familiar rotting smell.
“Is everything alright?” I asked.,
“What is this?”
“Back the hell up. The police are on their way.”
My natural instinct told me to turn around and run out the door, but I remembered that I had locked it to keep the other psycho out.
I didn't even turn a hundred and eighty degrees before he had me slammed into one of the apartment doors and thrown down onto the concrete. Before I knew it, I had my hands gripping the collar of his oddly slick and sticky jacket. The mother fucker's mouth was snatching at me.
His drool was dripping on my face, but I managed to push him off of me, jump up to my feet, and land a solid left hook to his jaw-- and his spit or blood coated my knuckles, --then I followed up with another solid punch to his gut. and I heard a bellow launch out of his throat.
I managed to pin him against a wall.
My fingers went in to a hollow space in his skull where his eyes should have been. I immediately tore myself away from him and stumbled to the other side of the hall. He let out a wet growl that echoed in my head and reminded me of that opera mask fuck that tried to trap me.
I heard his feet rapidly beat toward me. I flashed my light at him. No eyes. No fucking eyes! Just like Miguel and his friend. Somehow he still knew exactly where I was.
He grabbed the stomach of my sweatshirt and tried to throw me down the stairs, but before he gained enough momentum to do it, I kicked him hard in the nose and he went toppling down.
He lay at the bottom of the stairs, motionless.
Before I could catch my breath, something came out of one of the rooms and charged at me from behind. I turned as quickly as I could and that something slammed into my shoulder, and sent me sprawling on the ground. Then another hit came down onto my shoulder before I could even push myself up.
I rolled out of the way of another blow that landed on the concrete where my head was assumed to be. A hammer-- that was what was hitting me. It charged at me again and I flashed the light at another eyeless face: a woman with blood-matted and frizzy brown hair. She wore a badly stained tank top, that just hung off of her frame, and she was wearing stained pink underwear.
She let out a weeping moan and brought the hammer down for me again. I gave her a swift up-kick into her chest and it sent her spiraling back, dropping the hammer just before the stairs. I scrambled for the hammer and slipped my hand over the blood-drenched head.
She was up already and running for me. As I stood up, I swung the handle, gripping the sticky, brain-covered hammer head, and hit her right across the temple. The hit gave me just enough time to fix the hammer correctly in my hand and swing, hitting her once on the cheek bone. Now I was swinging madly in the darkness and landing a few blows on her until I heard her body hit the concrete.
Another set of bony arms wrapped around my throat and pulled me into the room. I fell on top of him or her and slammed the hammer head into their skull once or twice until the arms stopped flailing.
I was tackled. I rolled this one over and hit them once in the nose. They stopped moving. I heard another one coming from behind me and I rolled out of the way. I heard glass shatter and a cold breeze had filled the room.
Froma flash of lightning, I saw one charging with two others and by the time the flash was gone, a fleshy knuckle hit me square in my already broken nose and the warmth poured over my lips again; then another hook hit me in the forehead and another in the mouth and from there, blows continued on my head. I had attempted to cover my head, but they made sure that didn't happen.
Out of a desperate attempt, I reached my left hand through the flurry of blows and drove my fingers into a pair of empty eye sockets and pushed them back. I gained an opening and I took the chance. I crawled through the other two and hit the fallen one on the side of the head with the hammer.
The other two charged at me and. I swung completely around and hit one on the left side of his jaw, and hitting the other on the right side and he went down. The other eyeless freak kept coming and I hit him again. Another flash of lightning came and I saw his crooked jaw drenched in blood attempting to growl and his eye sockets squint with frustration, and then he attacked again.
I flipped the hammer around in my hand and swung at the darkness, praying I hit his skull.
My hammer was stuck. I felt like I was trying to crack open a bowling ball and wedged my hammer head into the gap I created.
He fell to his knees and I heard the blood hit the floor as I tried to wiggle the hammer out of his head. A flash of lightning exposed his horrifying face one last time as I pulled the hammer from his forehead.
I left the room and picked up my phone that remained shining up at the roof.
I looked at the screen. I had nineteen percent battery.
I spun around and walked back into the room. I washed the light over the four battered bodies and one extra one with his skull crushed in on a filthy, ragged bed in the corner of the horribly damaged apartment. Now I know whose brains had been on the hammer before.
I sprinted down the stairs, unlocked the door and ripped it open.