Sick #3
My heart skips a beat as I catch sight of the tiny hot sauce bottle. I might not be able to remove my olfactory gland, but I can sure as hell confuse it.
I instinctively reach for my back pocket, then cringe when I remember that Eddie has my wallet.
Fortunately, there are other options. This particular machine is as vintage as they come, likely picked up at a flea market and refurbished just enough to function.
None of the modern bells and whistles are here to stop me from snapping off the rusty old lock that keeps its translucent front panel secured.
In that case, the only thing I have to worry about is noise.
I crouch down and find a small sharp rock, then stand back up and peer around the machine. The bells on the lobby door have yet to jangle, so Eddie is probably still inside, but he’s no longer visible through the windows.
With little time to spare I reach my arm around and bring my stone down onto the lock in one hard, swift movement.
It snaps off, hitting the ground with a soft thunk that’s louder than I’d hoped, but not enough to alter course.
I pop open the door, extract the hot sauce, then click it shut and immediately retreat around the corner.
There’s another ringing bell as someone, likely Eddie, staggers out of the lobby.
No time to think. No time to hesitate. I unscrew the cap and tilt my head back, then shove the tip up my nose and take an enormous sniff.
White-hot sensation rocks me like a firecracker to the face, more than just a wallop of spice but a shock to my entire nervous system.
The sharp, blinding pain that rips through my sinuses is only the beginning, tears instantly pouring down my cheeks and swamping the back of my throat in an effort to combat this unexpected abuse.
I can feel my stomach heave up into my esophagus, and it takes everything I can muster to push it back down, to deny the bodily rejection of this fiery toxic agent.
My eyes are already swollen and puffy, struggling to stay open.
One thing’s for sure: I don’t smell any fucking popcorn.
“Spooort!” Eddie calls.
I slam the bottle tip up my other nostril and take a second oblivion-seeking huff, then plug my nose and bear down against the pain, barely suppressing my burning compulsion to gag or cough or throw up.
“Come on out!” Eddie booms. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
My body tenses up as I prepare for that terrible loss of control I’ve become so horribly familiar with. I’m braced for the inevitable, racked with dread over whatever retribution Eddie has in store.
But nothing happens.
I clamp my fingers even tighter onto my nose, immediately recognizing that I’ve stumbled across something important.
Despite the horrible throbbing behind my face and the swelling of my nostrils, a sense of relief washes over me.
I’m so overjoyed that I almost start laughing, shaking my head in amazement as the tears of pain are joined by tears of joy.
“It seems like our wires got crossed, because I thought you deserved a little dignity and respect,” Eddie shouts, “but it turns out I should’ve just made you tie your small intestine to the bumper of that piece-of-shit truck and let it roll away!
“You know what? That’s exactly what I’m gonna make you do! I’m going to stand you up in the middle of the road with a gash in your belly and your guts slowly unspooling.
“And when your insides run the entire length of Palm Canyon Drive, I want you to look back and think, ‘Hey! Maybe I should’ve listened to that nice man when he told me to not … fucking … run!’”
My emotions settle as I pull myself together, recognizing that avoiding Eddie’s commands is only one small part of the danger I’m in. He remains just a few yards away, a violent menace with a single goal radiating through whatever’s left of his cold, dead brain.
All he cares about is finding me.
I press myself against the wall even harder, as though I might somehow disappear completely into this little nook, my physical form dissolving into the shadows through sheer force of will. My heart is slamming so hard that it feels like I might be on my last legs anyway.
Poppy Stringer, dead of a heart attack at age twenty-seven.
Yet somehow, my body sustains itself, adjusting various chemical inputs and outputs and leveling out into something with a semblance of functionality.
Pupils dilate, hormones adjust, senses sharpen.
Something has already risen up within me to combat the capsaicin that is currently ravaging my eyes, nose, and throat, slowly dulling it and bringing me back down to a baseline.
Eddie’s silence has stretched for a very long time, and although I can’t actually see him from here, I can feel his stillness. He’s waiting for a sign, giving me a chance to slip up and reveal myself.
“Fuck!” Eddie abruptly shrieks, his fury manifesting in the violent eruption of this single word.
With that, I hear him shuffle off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the night.
I give myself a long beat, letting the air fully settle before I even think about emerging from my hiding spot.
Despite the odd location I’ve stuffed myself into, there’s a real sense of safety here, the briefest feeling of reprieve amid utter chaos.
A part of me could easily never tear away from these shadows, sinking into the darkness like a warm bath and remaining here until the sun rises.
It’s a terrible strategy, of course. If Eddie searches the grounds long enough, he’ll eventually find me.
But inevitable detection isn’t what pushes me onward. As good as this brief moment of shelter feels, there’s somewhere else that would feel infinitely better.
Slowly, I emerge from behind the vending machine, scanning the motel grounds for any sign of movement. I take one step out, then another, crouching down as I head for the cover of a nearby car.
A figure stands in the darkness.
I halt abruptly, frozen in place as I lock eyes with the front desk clerk.
He’s positioned just outside the lobby like a toy soldier on duty, his body unusually stiff.
The young man doesn’t react at all, and for a split second I find myself confused by his behavior.
I don’t quite connect all the dots until his mouth falls open like it’s on the hinge of a nutcracker and he begins to scream—a human alarm.
My swollen eyes widen as I stagger back, then turn on my heels to run.
Before I’ve taken my first step I catch sight of Eddie’s terrible loping shadow as it ripples across the nearby wall.
I break into a sprint, pinching the bridge of my nose and swiveling my head from side to side as I hunt for an escape route.
“Stop!” Eddie howls.
He barrels through the parking lot at a distressingly inhuman clip, looking more like an animal than a man. Eddie’s already gaining on me, completely ignoring the push and pull of whatever sharpened bones are grinding beneath the meat of his shattered leg.
In a flash, something catches my eye. The pool area’s metal gate is propped open with a rock, and while this lush grotto has long been closed for the evening, it now offers me a way out.
I adjust course, dashing toward the gate and ripping it open.
Eddie is right behind me, and I can sense his terrible presence as his shadow looms larger and larger in the upturned lights of this little oasis.
I kick the rock away in one swift movement, then slam the gate shut with a resounding clatter.
I don’t stop moving, pushing onward as I sprint along the edge of a giant, kidney-shaped pool. A hot tub is bubbling to my left, surrounded by a grove of massive palm trees, and it’s only now that I notice five or six people drinking beers within the chlorinated soup.
“What was all that screaming?” a woman asks, standing in the waist-deep water as I hustle by them.
“Plug your fucking noses!” I shriek with belligerent intensity.
There’s a loud bang as the gate behind me is torn from its hinges, my body instinctively crouching and my free hand covering my head.
Splash!
The gate lands in the pool to my right.
I stay laser focused on my escape route, catching sight of another gate just a few yards ahead. This one exits the grotto and emerges onto the opposite side of the parking lot horseshoe.
“Hey! What the hell?” shouts one of the men in the hot tub.
“Slit your throats with those bottles!” Eddie commands as he lopes past them, his voice rattling through his broken throat like a fiery jet engine. “Every last one of you better bleed out before I get back or I’ll make you pluck out each other’s goddamn eyeballs and fucking eat them!”
I don’t turn back, but I can already hear the bottles shattering behind me, transforming into jagged weapons. By now I’ve reached the second gate, yanking it open and slipping through, and in the few seconds when the line of sight is broken between Eddie and me, I hatch a plan.
It’s not a complicated plan, or a particularly good one, but it’s what I’ve got.
I scoop up a golf ball–size rock from the immaculate desert landscaping, turning my body in a single motion and then hurling it down the line of cars that run along this side of the parking lot.
The second I release my little projectile I can feel my breath catch, praying with every fiber of my being that this actually works.
My rock strikes its target, a hollow thump followed by a deafening eruption of caustic sound and flashing lights. The car alarm blares ferociously, filling the night air with its dissonant wail.