Chapter 22 #2
The Man: (Brandishing his firearm and pointing it at the cashier, his identity completely concealed) Empty it into the bag! (He slams a burlap sack on the counter with his free hand) Now! All of it!
Cashier: (A college boy, unfazed by the pistol mere inches from his face) Take whatever you want, you won’t get far.
Not even minutes after the words left the cashier's mouth, a swarm of officers barreled through the store’s entrance. S. W. A. T. plastered across their breast plates.
Officer #1: (Cuffing the criminal) We all knew it was only a matter of time before you would try to attack another college student. Evidence led us to this one (She looks at the cashier, and nods). Thank you for your cooperation.
She began tapping the perpetrator's calves with her shoes, telling him he was allowed to walk and that this is the direction I need you to go. They clear the threshold before another cop approaches my mom.
My concentration is broken again as a booming voice erupts from the shadows, “You can try and run, but you will never be able to hide. I will always find you.” It echoes through the small alcove of shrubbery—the thickness of the floral tornado thinning.
“Once I get my hands on you,” The voice cries, fueled by anger and a longing for vengeance. “I will ensure that you die slowly, little snake.”
A small clearing formed in the petals allows me to watch as Peter inhales deep, then shouts, “Suck my dick, y-you Selby fuck!”
Selby?
Was this thing that was after him once...
a Selby?
All in this moment, the misted figure appears again, placing its hand on Peter’s shoulder and violently jerking him to where he is now in a partially seated position.
Blood flies from Peter’s mouth as an invisible force cold cocks him across the face.
He gurgles and chokes, trying to clear it from his throat.
The mist solidifies into a man as he licks the crimson dots within reach of his tongue.
Inhaling through his nose, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he releases a sigh of pure bliss.
At the end of his exhale, he allows an animalistic grumble to escape.
Then, with euphoria on his tongue, he speaks, “Good thing Niven was a great nurse in her prime, or I wouldn’t have known whether you were diseased or not.
” He swipes a spectral thumb over Peter’s busted lip.
“Funny enough, you weren’t,” Putting it in his mouth, he sucks it clean, then continues, “But I always knew your family was filth—I can taste it in your blood.”
The word ‘taste’ activates the memory once more, only this time, instead of the vivid image awash in bright pigmentation, its depiction is more akin to that of a scene from “Pleasantville”, devoid of color and indulging in the many shades of gray with hues and undertones of black and white.
Peter’s screams act as an overlay, causing the moments in this memory to appear broken up into pieces, like fast-forwarding a VHS tape, stopping to play it here and again, to see where in the show you are.
The officer is speaking to my mom. Then, a whirling of images, assisted by sped-up sounds, rushes past me, and we are broken down on the side of the road heading back home from our frozen yogurt excursion.
Peter’s howls replace the screeching of the car, as the memory continues.
The front passenger side tire blew out, and Mom swerved as the remaining tires screamed for relief. We came to a stop—Evelyn and I both frantically threw ourselves from the vehicle and kissed the ground, happy to not be moving anymore.
Evelyn: (Almost in full hysterics) Solid ground! (loud smacks emanate from her direction as she physically kisses the asphalt)
Mom: (hollering over traffic) Girls! Girls, is everyone ok?
Now that I am thinking back on it, I don’t know why we wouldn’t have been ‘okay’, it wasn’t like we crashed.
As I got older, I learned adrenaline mixed with fear was the reason we were all afraid after the fact.
Another spout of fast-moving images, and we are all in Peter’s squad car on our way back home.
Then the darkness consumes me, and the sound of reality pierces my ears.
“I hope you’ve done your fucking penitence!” The man pulls something from his waist, spitting as he says the word penitence. “You’ll be meeting your maker soon enough, little snake.”
A glint of metal, then, quick as the bolt that lights up the night sky, he jams a knife into Peter’s abdomen—slamming it upward, maneuvering it under the heart’s protective cage…
and piercing it. With another strike of lightning, scarlet spews from Peter’s mouth and gushes from his wound, bathing the man of mist in a crimson shower.
“Y-you will p-pay… S-Selby dirt!” Peter spits, the mist only chuckling at Peter’s last words before pushing him face-first into the puddle beneath him.
His screams, muffled by the water and exhausted by his many injuries, were hopeless below the strength applied.
Petrified by the events playing out before me, all I can do is stand here and watch as his body convulses and gyrates, the air leaves his lungs, and water takes its place…
my vision tunnels—my breathing becomes restricted and depthless.
A stabbing in my head and the feeling of water filling my lungs have me falling to my knees in the mud within seconds.
My vision is going in and out as I gasp for air.
It’s like I am drowning all over again—like I am drowning with him.
The mist forms before me, the golden glimmer in his eye eluding an amount of sadness that should have been too much for one person to have to experience alone.
“Is that you, Oliver?” His eyes are searching, as if he doesn’t see me.
“If it is, please let Niven know that ‘things’ have been ‘handled’.” He looks over his shoulder at Peter, “I must clean up fast or this could get ugly.” Then the man of wisps was gone, as though carried on a strong wind—Peter was gone too.
What.
The hell.
Just happened?
I try to stand, as the wind begins to pick up around me, a whirlwind of dust and dirt swirls where Peter once lay.
Strands of smoke start to lash out, defying the gravitational pull of the dirt devil, and an ear-splitting howl roars above the whooshing from the spiraling air.
Then they charge at me, and an uproar of cackling breaks forth from a disembodied voice.
.. filling my head, enhancing the agonizing pain that is still present.
“He can’t save you.” The ghostly anomaly wailed.
“P-” before I can finish his name, eyes appear mere feet in front of mine. These are not the same eyes as before. No, these were like a swamp green—where the gilding eyes of the previous Phantasm portrayed sadness, these were filled to the brim with sheer hate and envy.
I knew this aura—it was Peter, and as if he were looking into my soul, he spoke again, “At least I was able to rid the world of a few disgusting. Selby. Peasants.” In a trice, he launches into hysterics.
Then, I am knocked back. Hitting my head as the fog shoots through my body, vanishing as the world starts spinning, and I am thrown into the void of darkness once more.
~*~
My mind is a labyrinth of memories—each one a moment in time that Peter helped Evelyn or me.
A vision of the garden looms before me—I look around and see that I am alone.
Not fully understanding, I take a step forward, and a path begins dimly shining beneath my feet.
The memories rise into the endless sky and separate a few feet away from each other.
I look back at the lit runway before me and descend into the ominous hedges.
Deeper into the abyss. The shrubbery is moving—breathing as if it is alive. I can still see the images. The first one gets closer as I advance further, and I start thinking of it, trying to remember it. This was just after the car accident.
Peter: Hey champ, can you stare at me for a bit?
I need to check your eyes using my flashlight for a sec.
To make sure they are dilating. (Bending at the waist before me he shines the light in my eyes.
I am blinded, as my vision turns into a dancing phantasmagoria of colors.) One more question, (His voice is disembodied.) Where is your father?
The colors grow brighter, then flash white, and I am standing amidst the hedges in the garden again—a new path forming to the right of me. The hedges appear gray-scaled as thick branches sway sporadically throughout them.
Without looking back, I bolt to the mouth of the towering, colorless shrubbery.
The light from the last memory fades the further away I get.
As I pass through the thin, leafy entrance, it collapses behind me—the light snuffed out with it, except for the dim gleam from the moon.
I scan my surroundings, not much really to see, the soft silvery glow from the sky offers very little assistance.
Taking a deep breath, I walk forward, and as I plant my first step firmly in front of me, the bigger branches begin to shake.
My heart starts to race as the feeling of terror consumes me and not giving myself any more time to stand there in fear, I book it—kicking up the soft dirt as I run.
The walls appear to be closing in, causing my adrenaline to spike and make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
Then I make the worst mistake of my life—I look back, as I do, and something grabs me.
Screaming, I search to find the culprit, slapping my body like I am covered in ants.
Finally, I can pull far enough away from the hedge to see that it is one of the bulky branches.
To my surprise, it isn't a branch at all—it is an arm, complete from shoulder to fingertips, and it's got me locked in its creepy grasp.
Punching.
Clawing.
Pulling.