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The Survivor - Part III (Conclusion)
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About the Author: |
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The letters were in vertical placement and the r’s were cherry stems with luscious neon cherries hanging from them. It was clever and gave off the Las Vegas feel. During happy hour, which I was told was between the hours of 1 a.m. and 2 a.m. for some odd reason, the cherries would flash. After about a week of living in my apartment, I gave happy hour a new name: it was “Epileptic Seizure Hour” for me as the flashing neon would echo through my entire apartment carried upon the thick clouds of marijuana smoke. Every moment I spent inside my apartment I was surrounded by the wave of cherry smoke. I started working the nightshift of a warehouse. Since I slept during the day, I would be awake the entire night. The bar never closed and the light was always on. The red smoke was a cool effect when I was tripping on mushrooms. The warehouse I worked at would ship boxes to different stores in the area. All the walls of the warehouse were lined with cardboard boxes. If one were to take the walls down from the building, the boxes would hold up to the task just fine. My job was keeping track of the boxes and making sure they had all six of their sides. Sometimes boxes would slip through the box factory and would deceivingly only carry four or sometimes five of their intended six sides. The new guys frequently assumed that all the boxes in the warehouse had bottoms and would fill them with our product without even knowing. Apple sauce and mayonnaise were quite messy when the jars would break on the floor. I and the rest of my seniors would call it a “Rookie Dump”. The name is pretty self explanatory and would often lead to very interesting conversations at lunch about who took the most dumps and who had to clean them up. We even had a makeshift score board on the break room wall that contained the names of all the workers and the amount of dumps they had. Everyone would pool money at the beginning of the month and whoever had the lowest amount of dumps at the end of the month would get the money. This made work quite interesting. Interesting was the shipment of boxes for Halloween. Each box had the label “Ha”, on each side so it would be easy to recognize. Every time we got a shipment, each box was loaded off the truck and down some large rollers. We stood alongside the rollers to make sure they got all the way down to the unloaders. I was in the center of the rollers and watched as each box passed. Each one seemed to be laughing at me. Ha,Ha,Ha,Ha,Ha,Ha,Ha,Ha One after the other and the next after the last. I thought it was really weird and for the remaining of my shift, I had to stack them and make them look pretty. The laughing boxes really freaked me out but I think it probably wasn’t a good idea to do acid and unload boxes. Boxes usually don’t laugh at people. After my strange night at work, I went home and went right to sleep. I awoke about 10 a.m. to the sound of a knock at my door. I made my way through the red smoke and opened the door. “So, I’m pretty sure you know why I’m here. It’s been a long day. I hope you’re going to be in that iron man mood of yours again,” said Cherry. She wore a long wine red dress and matching lipstick. Supporting her tall thin frame was a pair of black high heels. In her right hand she held a large black bag containing various toys of hers. “Aww... You sure do know what to say to get my gears going…,” she said while pushing me out of the way to enter my apartment. “What? I just said that because we have a contract. Remember?” “Oh, yeah. How could I forget? You dick!” She said with a playful poke into my back. “What’s with all the smoke? Please don’t tell me you’re smoking pot up here. It’s cool though. I like the whole red and smoke theme ya got goin’ on here. Christ, how do you breathe up here?” “It’s only incense. Don’t get too excited. I can breathe just fine. I’ll get the condoms and meet you in the room. I hope you shaved your legs today because I got bad brush burn from them last time,” I said while observing her walking into my room. She sat on the bed and kicked off her high heels one at a time and removed a small black whip from her bag. Afterwards, she pulled up her dress and began rubbing her leg to demonstrate how smooth it felt. “Sweetheart, they’re damn near silk this time. You got the burlap last time. That’s what you get for pissing me off. When I say I want certain things to be cherry flavored, I mean it. I’ve always told you I don’t play nice. You should know by now,” she said with a grin. I walked into the room and took my shirt off and threw it on the floor. “Damn, you workin’ out for me huh? You spoil me way too much. Looks like this whip has some virgin muscle to break in tonight,” Cherry said while finally removing her dress. “Shut up and lay down. Let’s get this done with,” I replied while slamming the door. “Where’d you get that from Cherry? Did you get that from my work?” I asked disregarding her entire question. I lunged for it with both arms and she quickly pulled the box away. “No. Why? What’s in it? I saw it in the hallway in front of your door earlier. I figured I would make sure it was in safe keeping. I was coming back here anyway. We have some obligations to take care of.” “Fuck the obligations, Cherry. Is this some sort of joke?” “Fuck the obligations? Well, yeah duh. That’s why I’m here to begin with,” she giggled. “It’s kind of funny you’re this wierded out about all this ‘cause I was thinking about it too.” “Do you remember Doug?” I asked She paused for a second and locked eyes with mine before aggressively pushing me away. “How could I fucking forget?” “Did he see what I wrote on the walls? I mean, you two were the only ones who had any knowledge of it,” I replied with a serious and worried tone in my voice. “He’s still there…right?” “I don’t know if they put him back in once they reopened the establishment,” she looked into my eyes impatiently. “But, hon, I’m not here to discuss my past employment. I’m here to get something else.” With a friendly one fingered push to the chest she directed me back into my apartment. She dropped the conversation topic and pushed her way into my room again. After we had sex, she fell asleep in my bed and I laid in bed wide awake thinking about my past. My past was tainted with bad mistakes that just led up to even bigger and nastier “life issues” as my psychiatrist would call them. I looked on top of the dresser on which I had set the mystery box upon. I got up, opened the box; there was nothing inside. There was no address label on it. I was a bit confused and just thought that maybe Cherry was playing some daunting type of game with me considering that she was one of two people, not including myself, that knew about what I had done. It really didn’t work though. After Cherry awoke, I went to work and came home to another box sitting outside my apartment door. I took it inside and found it to be identical with the box that was sitting on my dresser. Things were now beginning to get strange. I had a hard time believing it was Doug so the next day at work I confronted a few people that I thought may have pulled this stunt off. All of them looked at me like I was nuts for the remainder of the day. Within a month’s time, I had about thirty boxes all stacked in my room. It was really bizarre and kind of creepy at the same time. That day I smoked a lot of pot and entered my artistic mode. I flattened all the boxes and proceeded to glue them all to the walls and ceiling of my bedroom. I felt it would be a waste to throw them out. After I glued all of them to my wall, the boxes stopped showing up at my door. Cherry was kind of freaked out by it and that’s truly saying something as she did some weird activities herself. The day I found out who was playing this cruel game, I was getting ready to go to work. I was running late so I put out my roach and put my coat on. As I opened the door I saw an individual with a Ha box in his arms leaning over to put it in front of my door. He looked up. “Doug?” “Hi,” he smiled with a look on his face that exposed his two letter greeting as far from sufficient. “Are you gonna let me in or are you gonna keep an old friend waiting with his arms full?” I pulled away from the door. He stepped in still holding the box. “I thought I’d give you a few days break so you would think it was over,” he turned around like a curious cat, wading through the smoke and paintings on the floor. He didn’t look much different than before. His black hair still surrounded his pale face. He looked as normal as he’ll ever be, which is far from the definition itself. “How courteous of you,” I remarked closing the door. “Funny, I like what you’ve done with the place. It looks like something out of a Depeche Mode video,” he said completing his tour of my apartment before sitting on the couch. “Yes yes that’s really funny Doug.” I stood in front of him. “I saw the article in the paper. Front page…What happened?” “You tell me. I was in solitary the whole time man.” He placed his home warming gift on the table in front of the couch. “When I got out, I was told about what Wendy did with your paintings.” “The ones that were intended for you? Fuck, I knew it was a bad idea. I should’ve just found another way to give them to you. What the fuck was I thinking?” “Tell me about it. I figured you would have known better than to trust her with shit like that. She was the last person who needed to see something like that.” “I guess it was a bad decision.” “I’d say it was an ass hat of a decision.” “Ass hat?” I took a seat in the recliner on the other side of the coffee table. “I can’t say I’ve heard that one before.” “Yep. A hat for asses.” “I don’t want to know. Anyway, what did the cops say?” “Nothin’. They interviewed everyone. Nurses, doctors, janitors… Everyone that was inside the walls of that building.” “So you get out of there and decide to send me boxes? Man, you had me freaked out.” “Ha, yeah. I saw them at the warehouse I work at and it sort of sparked an idea.” “Shayman’s Warehouse?” “Bingo.” “I’ve been working there for some time…I work the night shift, I guess you work during the day and that’s why we had not crossed paths.” Doug wore a surprised expression on his face. I guess sometimes you could say that I could read a mind or two. “B.I.N.G.O.” “How did you find me?” “I did a little research… If that is what you’d call hacking into the payroll computer and stealing addresses,” he winked. “What are you doing out here anyway? Awfully far from where you told me you where from. Lookin’ for a fresh start?” It looked as if there were two mind readers in the room now. “Sure, why not? Who doesn’t want to start over? Clean their tainted hands, breathe clean virgin air, and cut the rusty cables of old connections?” “Clean virgin air? Man, when I came in, I thought I was going to get a contact high,” he laughed. Doug and I discussed our lives since the establishment and the reason why I was looking for a new beginning. After all, I was a murderer and he did not seem to disagree. When he first walked through the door, it was almost psychically noticeable how bloated he was with stories and information. Hours later, he was finally drained. The result of squeezing this lemon was my tardiness to work. After he left, I officially called off from work and took a walk. I strolled down the dark and grey roads of the city taking all of the sights in. I went past countless bum camps and brightly lit bars until I came across a small diner. I grabbed some breakfast/dinner. I left and headed home. As I came close, I turned a corner and noticed the dark sky was darker than usual. Thick black clouds stained the sky above me like ink blots to paper. I didn’t think anything of it and kept walking down the street until I came upon my next turn. I turned the corner and this time I came to see what the cause of the black stained sky was. My apartment, Cherry’s bar: on fire. The entire building was on fire and thick heavy smoke billowed out the windows toward the heavens. I ran down the street as fast as I could to the front door to make sure no one was inside. I opened the door and a fireball exploded throwing my body to the wayside. All I could do is just hope that there was no one inside. I ran down the street pounding on windows and doors of neighboring buildings trying to get the attention of someone who would let me use their phone to call the fire department. I went down the opposite side of the street, but still, no one was in sight. I sat on the curb across from my burning adobe exhausted and watched helplessly as the hell fire spun around the building consuming every last inch of it. The fire department showed up and five firemen ran inside the building. Minutes later, three came back but two were still inside. I stood by the fire truck as the other firefighters stood patiently waiting for the other two to emerge. An ambulance and a police car showed up on the scene. They also waited patiently. Soon the firemen came out of the fire, both with arms full. At least two people were inside, and now they lay in the arms of these strangers. The firemen ran out full speed toward the open arms of the paramedics. Like batons, the bodies were passed from the hands of one to another. I ran over to the paramedics and laid my eyes onto a gruesome sight. The two people pulled from the building were both women. One of them was Cherry. The paramedics had both of them on the ground and tried to revive them with CPR. I screamed at the paramedics hoping that my vulgar language could produce a spark for new life. Their efforts, as well as mine, were nothing but wasted. The charred bodies of both women lay on the pavement disfigured and departed. I kneeled down at Cherry’s side crying and whimpering like a dog who had just witnessed his owner’s demise. My tears were almost a match for the water hoses that the firefighters behind me were using to extinguish the fire. The paramedics were kind enough to let me have a few moments with Cherry, but soon pulled me away to cover the bodies with sheets. I walked over to the police officer to talk to him, but I could barely keep my composure. He looked like a rookie, a bit nervous and unsure. Unfortunately for him, he got to deal with me. “Who called you? How did you know about the fire? What happened?” I asked, as my thoughts raced and caused a bit of nonsense to escape my mouth. “Sir, it was an anonymous call. It was from a pay phone. We don’t know what happened yet, but it looks like it was arson with the intent of murder.” “What? Murder?” “Yes sir, the victims were tied to a chair. “What? What do you mean?” “Sir, we believe the caller might be behind this but this is police business and I can’t openly discuss this with you.” “That was my apartment!” I screamed in a fit of rage, nearly knocking the notebook out of the police officer’s hand. “Sorry to hear that sir, but I can give you my card and we can discuss this later whenever I have all the details.” He pulled a card from underneath his clipboard and handed it to me. It occupied my hand for no more than a second before I destroyed it. I walked toward the ambulance and asked the paramedics if I could see the body of the other woman. I explained to them that I had known the first victim and could maybe help them identify the second. They pulled the sheets down from the second victim but her face was burned far from recognition. It was until I caught a glimpse of what was on her hand, that I was sure of the identity. I grabbed the charred hand of the woman and slid the ring off of her finger. “This ring looks familiar,” I said to the medic. “How is that?” “It’s my wife’s wedding ring,” I answered, tossing the ring to the ground. It rolled with the silver reflecting the still burning fire, before bouncing off the side of the curb and into the sewer drain. I walked over to the officer, who was still taking notes and grabbed his gun from his holster. Before he could even notice that it was missing, I pressed it to my head. I pulled the trigger and felt the reverberation of its click echo into my skull. It was empty. “Goddamn it! I’m going to get shit for this one!” The rookie screamed as the firefighters tackled me to the ground. “This is one of those days when I’m glad I forgot to load my gun…,” he said, pulling his taser from his holster. One hundred thousand volts is sure to put a man on his ass; gotta love life’s little guarantees. Part 2 of 3: “The Survivor” concludes next quarter in the July issue. Read Part I: The Survivor Read Part II: The Survivor |
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