Paresthesia Pt. 10

"Why?" she huffs before a deep breath calms down the boiling blood, "Don't answer. Not now. Not the place. Still need to stash the stupid rock and get out of the kit. But we're talking this through. We are totally talking this through, because I am so fucking pissed right now."

She turns and the picture slowly comes back together with the motion of walking away. She is dancing once more, unaffected by the little cracks in the world. She is perfect, picturesque, practical.

I shiver again. I am waiting for it. I am ready for it. I am prepared for the next little bit to go wrong, because that is how it always goes down. The bribe alone should not have been enough for all this.

The lights go out and a deep laugh of graveyard earth echoes up to the ceiling and back.

---

We're hiding in the bathroom, pressed into one stall. I would comment on the hand to my ass, but we are in the process of shifting to a better configuration. I copped a feel at the same time, so I'm not really one to say anything. Our little dance presses my phone into my hip before taking it away. It comes back with my keys digging into very soft tender places.

I'm smiling. I laughed with Deadman once it all went dark. He's having fun. He deserves to have fun. Everyone should have the chance to have this much fun with something in their life, at least once. Violence is not having fun, probably because I stopped touching her.

"Stop that," she says, "This is serious. How did he know we're here? Did you tell him?"

"Now, why would I do that?" I say. The smirk does not help convey any sense of honesty. But I can't wipe it off. It will stay there forever and ever and ever.

"Because I don't know. You were a good guy once."

And she found a way to make the smile droop. It is now a frown. She should be proud of herself.

"Are you actually serious? Years. I have been working on this end for years. Almost 10 of them. Could have spilled the beans at any time. Why would I do it now?"

"Because of the Hall job. It's all an act and now that there's an actual threat to your side, you want to turn coat. Again."

Deep breaths, I take deep breaths and they smell like disinfectant. She doesn't mean that. She can't mean that. But if she does, then I don't know what I am going to do.

"He hit me y'know," I say, tone even and clear, "Solar. He hit Hannah too. I don't know how bad, but why would I go back to that? Even if he didn't do anything to her, Solar soured that entire place for me."

She tries to bring some indignance to her face. There is a bit in her that comes through.

"So," I say, "I did not tip anyone off. My guess, the guys you bribed are double dipping. Good on them. That's what they're supposed to do. Responsible citizens upholding law and order. That doesn't change the fact that Deadman is out there somewhere stalking us and wanting to arrest us. And beat us up a little. But in a fun way. I say we keep it simple. Make a rush for the front door, smash through the glass and book it."

"Car's about two blocks away," she says, "Alley behind the laundry place. Once we're outside, you stall him and hold him down. I swing back with the car and pick you up."

I nod. I nod because it will work. The first part is the hard part, but it's what we have to do. And I hope that it works. But we will deal with that when we come to it. She is looking at me and I don't know what's going on in her mind. It's fine. She's fine. Business, we are all business. My keys dig into me again and I have to smooth them out, make sure my wallet and phone line up nice and even.

She's the first to break out of the stall. We are safe. It is dark. And I hear the door creak open as I look at myself in the mirror. The hair is starting to sag and fall. Too long without a touch up. Too long with the sweep and dance with another out in the world. I somehow got her color on me, the edges and the cheeks. It's on my jacket and I sigh. Takes forever to get out, and it is barely worth the effort. Later, all that will come later. I need to get better sleep or something. Getting old, maybe. Need to turn in early for a week and reset everything. Nice long vacation. I nod my head down once, twice, three times and hit the sink. I am here and I am unstoppable. I am the man who bends time with a slightest exertion. The ticking of a clock only slips by through my inattention. I am the only thing that allows the world to spin.

"Stop preening," says Violence, "Coast looks clear. Lots of fog out there, but it'll be fine. Probably. Maybe."

I laugh again. I snicker and I giggle. I'm excited, plain and simple.

"We're getting the haunted house treatment," I say with a grin that eats the nastiest shit, "Oh man, I can't believe it. Hasn't pulled this trick in years. We're going to have a good time."

She rolls her eyes and that reads wonderfully through the mask. She doesn't believe me. She should.

There is a dense fog clinging to the floor. I see it spill from the vents. Good trick, easy trick, all it takes is a few pounds of dry ice shoved in the right place and the whole building gets a wonderful sense of ambience. It's cold and chilly and the hairs on my arms stand on end. They know that death hangs in the air wearing and old suit and a rumpled hat. I shiver and everything shivers with me.

"I feel honored, big guy," I say to the rolling mist, "Been a while since you've gone all out. And just for little old us who wanted a little old rock."

The chuckle comes again and I feel the fear settle deep in my heart. Shivers, plain and simple, the laugh sends shivers down my spine. It ignites the cold flame that calls for action. Violence grows still.

"Beat, shut up," she whispers, "You'll give away our position."

"I'm betting he knows where we are headed anyway. We're walking into an ambush. Front doors are going to be locked or shuddered or a wave of police cars are going to be sitting out there with spotlights on while he does his thing. But at least we know we're in a trap. That's the first step of not being in a trap. Do you think you can get up on that glass thing we saw?"

The moment passes and she comes to a fun little realization. I had mine when my phone went off.

"Oh, that's good. Maybe. It'll be a tricky jump from the balcony, and I don't know what it's secured with, but that's a good first move. Worst case, I can just jump him from there."

"So, we keep carrying on. Enjoy the scares. It's a haunted house and all that. None of it is real. Unless it is."

I sigh and twirl my bat until it comes to my shoulders again. There's a bounce in my step once more. All that tired fatigue of too many late nights simply vanishes with a moment of fun coming back to us. Our little nest deposits us right in front of the stuffed and ancient animals. Namely the big mammoth thing that's probably an elephant. Violence jumps and I can't help but snicker a bit. She never struck me as the jumpy type.

"Beat," she mutters, "What's happening? Why am I scared?"

"Part of his little shtick. You get used to it. Kind of makes it fun. Do you like scary movies?"

She shakes her head and the rest of her shakes with it.

"Weird. With your whole film school thing, I thought you'd at least have some familiarity with it."

She shakes her head a bit harder and hugs her arms around her chest. She's cold. I'm cold. The adrenaline is going and settling into that sharp dagger shape that it loves to take.

The front reception is clear, although I catch the saber tooth behind me glaring with shining eyes. Trick of the light, the fog, the little bit of pinpricky fear making me jump at all the shadows. Violence sticks close, trying to bring back some measure of smooth confidence. It's there, at the edge. It's been practiced and rehearsed enough to come at the drop of a hat, but it still waivers a bit. I don't notice. I am too busy looking at the shuttered front door. Heavy metal and interlocked chain, battened down tight, and things are starting to finally go wrong. I couldn't be happier. The laugh comes from the dark crushing graves of the earth once more and I laugh with it.

"I'm happy for you, buddy," I shout to the river of mist, "Finally off the leash. Although maybe you liked it. Married man and all that. Must get boring after a while. Tell me, do you like walkies?"

The chuckle comes again and I feel the option of violence slip away from my protective bravado. The bat thumps against the floor in time with my stride. I shall inspect the grate and see what terrible tortures come from the shadows. My walk concludes uninterrupted and I am disappointed in so many things. Mostly, the chains securing the doors. Thick, heavy things, almost certainly immune to the humble baseball bat. I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, bouncing on my feet.

"Deadman," I sigh, "Did you really have to do that? You're just making it easier for us. So come on out. Let's dance the danse macabre. I got my shoes on and everything."

The mist should swirl, but it doesn't. It really should. Get some fans set up in the right way, put them on a remote, let it all collect and swirl and churn as he steps from the shadows. But it doesn't. And really, the heavy boot foot falls echoing up the cold stone, those do wonders. More than a simple trick can honestly do. Someone is coming down the hall to hurt me. I rattle the cage a bit and let my bat run up and down.

"You rang?" says the walking corpse with moldy gravel and earthworms choking his throat.

Ken was right. Dude looks good. Dude looks older, but in a good way. Hair's gone gray, deep wrinkles and sallow skin. Mostly makeup. Guy tans super well from what I remember. But the suit is what ties it all together. Fresh from the morgue, crumpled and loose and covered in silver dust, it hangs tight to his body. For all the sickness and grave tidings, he brings with the heavy presence, he is ripped. Didn't take the juice, just hit the gym and watched what he ate. And I am afraid of him, the mist rolling in and the cold shivers. I hear bones creak and skulls rattle. I remember Halloween, every Halloween, with witches and brimstone and cold soil, moonless nights and cats hissing, owls on silent wing and I remember it all flooding back to me. I smash the ground and the echoing clash of stone and metal brings me back to the moment. All he is sits on the steps. An old man just standing there, menacingly.

"God, I missed you buddy," I say, "And you even got the hat back on."

He smiles and tombstone teeth glint like cold dead stars in the moonlight. The glass sculpture ripples overhead and a wolf howls in the distant. But that's just the edge of thought trying to bleed into reflex. There is no threat here, other than an old man who can throw a damn good punch.

I take the color and the world stops. For all the tricks in the world, the fear can't reach me now. I am trundling forward through the clouds. My path is clearly marked, but I don't know what good it will do. Where I have been is not where I am going, and the first is markedly more important than the second. I look up and catch a glimpse of a gray that will be purple from the glass. Good. Good. I am feeling good and I am feeling great.

He's hard to move though. Heavy, all that muscle and pride and weight of a thousand million deaths makes him heavy. But he's pushable and rollable and shoveable. And that mausoleum smile doesn't protect him from blue collar work. All I do really.

I put him in the comfy chair and I know he will appreciate it. Bad knees, bad hips, all the bad things the oldies get. Not that I'm one to talk. The way I crack my joints, I'll get arthritis by the time I turn 30. I have a moment in my moment to catch my breath and slowly get out of the way. I don't have a comfy chair, but the metal shutter does a good job of rolling across and up my back. Settled in, I start the show.

"Y'know," I say with a lazy stretch, "With all that work you put in, I still don't really fear the reaper. Thanks for dropping by though."

The glass goes silent for a moment as the tension gives way. No fear on Deadman though. He looks up then raises his arms to cover his face. But the structure is gone. It is a mass of shattering crystals in beautiful cacophonic destruction. Rainbow shimmers and glittering daggers, it all tears the dull fog down to dissipated fumes. Violence swings from the rope for a moment, building up the motion. A bit of effort and she is sailing down, landing safely in a cushion of broken glass in a picturesque dismount. I applaud her and wait a bit before getting up. I don't want to spoil any more fun. And I'm still waiting for my recharge to kick in.

She's laughing, ugly and snorting and composed of simple relief. The threat is gone and she is safe. I shift in my little seat and straighten my spine out. She is bowing and giggling and all the bad things that happened to her don't matter anymore.

A hand bursts from the razor-sharp dust and grabs her ankle, the skin knitting back together and shoving out shards of broken glass. She tries to suppress a surprised yelp and fails completely.

"Why won't you die, old man," she screams.

The earth of graveyards chuckles and I chuckle with it.

"And after a brief moment of rest, the Deadman rises and mounts a counterattack," I say, "That's the thing with the old timers. Experience, dedication, anything with that many years behind can roll with the punches."

"Beat, shut up," Violence yells, "You're not helping. So, get up and actually help."

"I'm afraid interfering will result in a disqualification. So good luck. We're scheduled for a pinfall for time remaining on air."

Dead rises with a wonderfully vicious grin of shimmering through his teeth and slipping out of the corners of his mouth. There is no escape. There can be no escape. With no effort he lifts and spins Violence to hang upside down from her ankles. He places his face between her legs and drops every ounce of his weight down to the core of the earth. I feel the impact from my seat and the rattle of the window behind me. Don't know why I had Violence bother cutting the wire. We could have just waited for him to do that and bring down the whole damn roof.

"I don't know if she can get up from that, folks," I say, "Brutal, simply brutal. I may have to leave to protect my innocent eyes. A devasting DDT from Deadman"

Deadman keeps laughing and that means I am not in trouble. Violence moans in pain and that means I actually might be.

"Beat," she whines, "You suck."

"Tombstone," growls Deadman.

"He's right. She's going to need a tombstone if she takes another one of those."

He shakes his head and steps over the moaning body. Despite my naturally jovial disposition, I feel the full weight of the fear crashing down upon me, blood roaring in my ears as my vision grows tunnel and dark. Should have just stayed quiet and let the whole thing blow over. Should have stayed in bed with a teddy bear under the thickest covers I could find, enough nightlights to turn every corner daytime, and a Hannah to check under the bed and in the closet. I shake a I rise to my feet. The haunted house is now hijacked by an actual killer with an actual knife and actual deadly intent. I twirl the bat and it makes me feel a bit better. Not by much.

And to my surprise the horror show stops in his tracks with an odd confusion that breaks through the makeup. He's just an old man in a costume who needs a couple days in the sun to roast. He's starting right now, apparently. A star brought down to earth shines from my back, casting a colossus shadow over the room. And I still hear the roaring in my ears. It just has to travel a bit farther now.

"By god," I shout, "Its Riot Girl with a steel chair."

I duck and cover as the world shatters behind me in broken glass and blown out metal. I catch a glimpse of our stolen ride still idling with a blinding high beam. She runs past me, each step quaking the rainbow dust already lost into the lines in the tile. I pat my pocket and the several missed messages in the phone. The pull in my stomach is back, wanting the moment to be frozen forever. But not now. I know something amazing is bound to happen. The earth chuckles in its deep rumbles, but the plates don't laugh along.

Riot breaks into a sprint and Deadman turtles up. Can't have that. I have a plan in all this, so I just have to wait. Really, it's what I'm best at. A boom scatters reality in a perfect dome as she leaps, boots pointing directly at Deadman's head. Shame he has his arms up.

And this is the part I like. The world goes gray and it is all mine. No gems, no paper, no stack of money behind a thick steel door. The world itself fits in my pocket. Each and every clockwork gear is turned and tuned by my hand, which in this case, uses the bat to hoist myself up to a relaxed vertical. A bit of bounce and stretch, just to get everything aligned. My beautiful disaster hangs suspended with no strings, fully stretched out, soles almost, almost to the dense wall of bone and muscle that wants us afraid.

It's going to be a bad hit, no matter where it lands. She hasn't popped the bubble of kinetic force on him yet, but I can tell it's about in her ankles. I can also see her tummy. The movement lifted her shirt and I love it. Smooth and hard and line, supple and bendy and eager to be filled in any and every way. It gets a kiss and lingering trace to suggest something a bit more downward.

But I am on the clock in a manner of speaking. So, I actually have to do something. And it involves more movement of people without their explicit knowledge. She might have called it, delaying her final impact just so I had a more lenient window. Such a considerate partner I have. I am just as considerate, moving her so she aligns with his temple, making sure everything is straight and aligned. I even toss up a handful of the glass dust to sparkle and shine in our stolen sun. Just to go above and beyond, I line up the bat and drive dinger after dinger into the other side of his head. There might even be a grand slam in there. Someone's going home with a souvenir and a hell of a story.

I don't even bother moving back to my comfy seat to let it all collect in the next tick of the second hand. I just stand in front of him, finding the gap in his guard and giving him the smuggest mugging I can give.

He has the gall to smile back before his brain starts to scramble and blend. The noise hits and I skid back as the snowflake gems slip by me. I get a cut across my cheek before my arms get high enough to scuff the leather instead.

The end of the world ends and I am left standing. Riot is rolling back to her feet and Violence picks herself up slowly. Deadman, unfortunately, seems to be content to just lie there and sell the pain he feels. I don't really think a 3 count is necessary.

---

I hiss and twinge as the needles touch the skin. It burns and sears and slips cold terrible intent through the delicate, raw flesh and leaves nothing but desolate wastes behind. I feel it slip down to my core.

"Evan," Hannah says, "Cut it out. You're distracting me."

"It's sympathy pains," I say, "It makes her feel better."

"It really doesn't," Sylvia whimpers, "Hannah, you suck though. Both of you are just the worst."

"Don't be such a big baby. There is an entire chandelier in your back and we have to get it out of there. Tweezers."

As the dutiful nurse I am, I hand the good surgeon her tools. I already did my bit on the lower half, but it just so happens that most of the shards found their way to the top. Shreds, she has been torn to shreds.

"You really need to wear something heavier than a blouse," Hannah says, "I've got the denim jacket, but I've also woven some patches on the inside to help dampen stuff. Evan, you have your leather. Alessandra has her thing."