Chapter 6 #2
Not long after, my teeth sink into her shoulder as I climax. “Oh, my little drug.” I pant, “What have you done to me?”
She had me on a high I never thought I would come down from. All was well between us, and we became remarkably close, inseparable even. Until one day, she was wheeled out, looking like a zombie, strapped to her chair. That’s around the same time I found a letter, and then I knew what had to happen.
It took days to plan, hours to implement, and she was too weak from the meds that the Doctor had been giving her.
I had never seen him before, his green eyes deep like the forest I wanted to bury him in.
I would have remembered those eyes, the distant mystery and absence they carried, but also, I couldn’t read his body language or the lack thereof.
The way he conveyed himself was with a false sense of bravado and the ‘demand for respect’ attitude, like some entitled high-born.
“Evelyn, sugar… come on, baby… you gotta wake up. Damn it!” I snap my fingers in front of her face.
“Come on, baby, we gotta book it.” I look around.
The alarm klaxons are screeching, and I can hear some of the nurses as they chatter like anxious chipmunks.
Their voices heightened and on alert, due to the events transpiring before them.
I grab Evelyn’s arm and throw her over my shoulder, leaving the other exposed for ramming—if necessary.
Dodging nurses from pillar to post, like a recruit in basic training body-swerving the Drill Instructor swarm.
The double doors leading out to the front parking lot come into focus.
Just as we approach it, two steroid-pumped rehab bouncers block it.
That didn’t scare me though, because what they have in bulk, they lack in brains.
I open a room to the left, and by my luck, it’s a supply closet.
I put Evelyn in a wheelchair, before I throw on a pair of scrubs, clipping a name tag to my patch pocket—one that I lifted off a male nurse as they rushed past me to stop the other wards from rioting.
After placing restraints on Evelyn's limbs, I comb her hair out of her face using my nails.
“I'm so sorry, sugar. We are pulling chalks on this hellhole.” Her glazed eyes stare absently past me as if she had been lobotomized.
Surveying the room, I take a broom handle, snapping it in two.
Then, I unscrew the bristled head and throw it to the floor, all so I can slide both halves into the back of my scrubs pinning them to my backside with the waistband of my pants.
Once I pull my hoodie back on, I sneak us back into the hall, snatching a fire extinguisher from the nearby stairwell.
Discreetly, I stow it in the pouch of the wheelchair behind Evelyn, we make our way to the exit—calm and collectively.
“Hey fellas, this is a late transfer, gotta get her back to police lockup,” I say to tweetle Dipshit and tweetle Dumbass.
“Which Wagon is ready for her?” I glare at the one who keeps eyeing Evelyn.
“Bus three is gassed and ready,” the other one interjects, cutting the tension in the air with his sharp response. "Keys are in the cupholder.”
“Thanks,” My voice is airy, as I push her past them.
Coming within proximity of the guard that was eyeing Evelyn, something clicks and I remember he is due for a karmic surprise.
He is the one all those stories are about, involving his ‘nighttime welfare checks’ in the female ward.
Without hesitation, I take the broken broom handles from my waist, stabbing the splintered side into the other guard’s fat ass gut.
He recoils, I crack him on the back of his neck, then uppercut his forehead as I bring the pieces together, causing him to collapse instantly.
My focus wasn’t on him, but I still had to incapacitate him—I don’t need to be interrupted in what I must do next.
Turning to the Dipshit left standing, I slip the extinguisher from the back of the wheelchair lifting it before me like an AK47.
With all my force behind it, I lunge forward, causing the bottom of the tank to meet his face and break his nose.
I bathe in the crimson reward of my victory from it bouncing off him—like the recoil of a M1A1 50 Cal sniper rifle.
Before he can recover, I retrieve the broken broom handle from the ground by Dumbass and commence beating Dipshit with it. I don’t stop until his arms are useless noodles flopping at his side, unable to shield himself from the events that will inevitably follow.
Attaining the fire extinguisher once more, relieving it of its protective seal, I saunter over to him.
Crouching down beside him, I lock his throat between my thumb and forefinger, then lifting him off the ground until his legs dangle.
“This is just a quick check on your welfare.
... that's what you told them, right?” My inner beast whispers.
Without waiting for his retort and with no respite, I ram him into a wall, then jam the hose down his throat.
Using a little pressure, I slide my hand up his neck, enough to secure and stabilize the hose.
“Don’t want that to fall out now, do we?
” I fumble a little to get a good grip on the tank.
When I have it, a menacing smile graces my face.
“Say, Ah!” After pulling the pin with my teeth, like a mother. Fucking. Grenade—I squeeze.
I hold it until the gauge reads 0 psi. “That’s for touching what doesn’t belong to you.
” Releasing him, like it's my turn to serve in tennis, I kick him center-mass, “40-Love!” I shout as I deliver a blow with such force that my foot goes through his chest cavity.
His crystallized organs shatter on impact.
As I stare at him, my vivid imagination and prior knowledge hold the door open for the reel playing in my head of what the rest of his frozen insides look like.
Shit, I hope he wasn’t an organ donor. I just ruined a perfect specimen.
I grin at my work, then I step through him and turn—completing our escape.