Jericho

Narration Key:

Blue = Maddox Kane

Purple = Kristina Kane

Green = Johnny Desperation

PART FOUR:

the mexican standoff

Chapter Fifteen:

"Unknown Road"

I

 

    Do you know what it feels like to have an edgy millionaire nervously point a gun towards you?  I do.

    Do you know what it feels like to be participating in something made famous in spaghetti westerns known as a Mexican standoff?  I do. 

    I’m in one right now.

    I look around at my surroundings.  I’m standing a couple feet from a sofa with a revolver in my hand, which is pointing at Jimmy, the blob on the sofa.  Sitting next to Jimmy is his doped out brother, Johnny, but he isn’t too important at the moment.  Ole Jimmy, though, well he’s gripping the sawed-off shotgun that he snatched out of my hands, and he’s pointing it at my newly acquainted partner standing by the flat screen television, Winston Anderson.  Now Winston, he has his eye (along with his customized golden .45) pointing towards this Irish lookin kid by the corner, who in return is aiming his snub nose at my brother, whom is standing by the big picture window next to the front door.  Benny excitedly has another one of those golden .45s risen towards Ruth Desperation.  This is where we come full circle, folks.  Ruth, who is struggling to keep her balance by the kitchen door and end of the stairs, is pointing her gun at me.  I notice that the duffle bag is lying beside her fat feet.  Good, she actually filled it up with the money.  This should be over quickly -- I hope.

    A Mexican standoff.  I never thought in a million years that I would ever see a bunch of demons from hell in a goddamn Mexican standoff.  It’s just like friggin’ Reservoir Dogs or something.  I kid you not.  I do not know what the hell they are talking about, though.  None of it makes a lick of sense to me.  Arguing about cannibalistic peacocks and savagely murdering my nonexistent cat.  And now they’re talking about watching Scrubs!  These creatures certainly have no idea what the television schedules are, that’s for sure.  I guess I’m gonna have to be the one to tell them that it’s not on yet.  I don’t know why I should even bother.  We’re all going to be dead soon enough.  That’ll show those fucking dolls.  Goddamn lunatics they are.

    I clear my throat and announce, “It isn’t on till later, guys.”

    Everybody slowly turns their heads towards me as if I’m the monster and they’re just regular ole folk having a normal day with some tea and cookies.  What’s wrong with these pissants?  Don’t they know English?

    I grip the rifle tighter as I dash towards Desperation Mansion.  I am going to save my love.  I have to save him.  I just cannot let Leon die.  That’s all I care about.  If he dies, I don’t know how I could continue living.

    I reach the driveway and before I can help it, my foot is sliding across a patch of ice and I am doing a back flip in mid-air.  Gravity takes its course and pushes my finger against the trigger and a thunderous explosion bursts out of the top of the rifle.  The picture window shatters and I hear a horrendous scream. 

    Shit … that can’t be good.

    We are all staring at the tweaker on the sofa.  What is he talking about?  He must really be losing it, that’s for sure.  I open my mouth to say something (although I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to say) when a loud, thunderous gunshot explodes through the picture window in front of the mansion.  Before I can react, Benny is thrown violently on the carpet floor, landing on his back. 

    It’s like slow motion.

    I watch Benny grab his bleeding throat and he shakes as if he was in a seizure.  I watch the confused expressions on everybody’s faces.  Where did the bullet come from?  That is a question I want an answer to as well. 

    “Benny?” I muttered.  “Benny!  Are you okay?”   I look around at everyone.  “Who did it?  Which one of you sorry sonsofbitches shot him?”

    “It came from outside, I think,” Winston says, approaching the broken picture window.

    “Oh shit,” the Irish kid sighs. 

    “What?” I ask.

    “Nothing,” he says.  “Just hand over the money, I gotta get out of here.”

    “Alright fuck this,” Winston sighs.  He stomps over to Ruth.  “Thank you ever so much for your hospitality --” 

    Ruth squeezes the trigger and Vincent King’s bodyguard’s brains explode out of the back of his skull.  His body falls like an anchor.  Leon jumps in surprise, shouting, “Jesus Christ!“

    I give Ruth a cold stare and mutter, “You just fucked up, lady.  This could have gone nice and smooth, but no, now they’re both dead.” 

    I can’t believe she actually killed him.

    “I told you bastards it was my money!” Ruth Desperation exclaimed.  “Now get ready to join your friends.” 

    She raises the pistol towards me and I stare death right in the face.  My revolver is lowered to my waist.  I must have accidentally done that when Benny got his throat shot out from that mysterious bullet.  There isn’t anyway I can shoot this lady without her plugging me a good one first.  I get a vague glimpse of Jimmy on my right.  He has the sawed off shotgun level with my crotch.  How pathetic.  I just want to pistol whip the shit out of him, but that would result in the lost of my head and balls.  That would suck very much.  I gotta face it; I’m royally fucked. 

    I can see the Irish kid out of the corner of my eyes.  He’s switching his targets rabidly, sweating profusely.  He’s afraid.  He just wants to get out of here.  Easy to tell.    We all want to get out of here.

    I can hear my brother twitching on the floor.  I know he doesn’t have too much longer to live.  I mean, he was shot in the throat and you usually do not survive that type of gunshot.  Who the hell shot him, though?  Some kind of sniper from outside?  The Irish kid must have backup.  That will most definitely be a problem when trying to leave.  Shit, this is bad.  This is not what I planned!  This should have been so goddamn easy, too.  What the hell are the chances that somebody else would hold up this family on the same goddamn day?  It was impossible.  Nope, I guess it is possible.  Look at my situation now.  It was really happening.  Winston’s dead.  My own little brother’s dying.  I have three guns aimed in my direction.  All of it my fault.  I cannot blame Benny for this, it’s my doing.  These were my choices.  Yeah, so what if my brother might have screwed me over a bit, but there were ways I could have prevented them.  I did not have to leave the keys in the Camaro.  That was my misdoing, not his.  Now I am going to die for my mistakes.

    Whoa!

    They’re really shootin’ the shit out of each other, aren’t they?  Bang, bang!  Hot dog!  Hot dog?  Mmmm … that sounds good.  Maybe some mustard, ketchup, onions.  Oh jeez now I’m hungry.  Just great.  I’m gonna die hungry.  Just fuckin’ terrif.  Hahaha it’s about time.  Where’s the fire?  I can feel it.  The shit is about to hit the fan, Stan!

    Johnny scares the crap out of me when he leaps to his feet and shouts “Ka-boom!”  It scares Ruth, too.  She jumps in surprise, losing her target.  It’s my only chance now.  Take advantage of it.  Like a gunslinger, I draw my revolver up in the air and begin to pull back the trigger.  Bye, bye, Mother Dearest.

    However, once again, I am interrupted.

    We hear a loud explosion in the back of the mansion and before we can investigate, a great ball of fire is shooting through the kitchen and into the living room.  The intense heat is like swimming in the pits of Hell. 

    “Holy fuuuuuuuck!” the Irish kid yells, as the monstrous fireball springs towards us.

    Along with everyone else, I am lifted off my feet and thrown through the front side of Desperation Mansion.  We actually break the wall down.  Well, I am sure the sudden explosion has a great deal of help in the matter.

    I manage to get to my feet.  I have to save Leon.  I really hope I didn’t shoot him.  I get two more feet and then I hear another gunshot.  Shit, shit, shit!  They executed him, didn’t they?  The bastards will pay.  I’ll fill each and every last one of them with lead.  Jesus, listen to me!  I’m talking like a gangster now.  Just like from the movies.

    I hear a very close explosion then.  Not a gun explosion, but more like a bomb.  I freeze in fear and the hairs on the back of my necks stands straight up.  Goosebumps devour my fragile body and I’m shaking in the cold wind. 

    Before I know it, the front of Desperation Mansion is blowing a ball of fire towards me and I am diving for cover.  Two thoughts keep running through my head.  One is that somebody must have set off a grenade or something.  The second is that Leon is dead.  I know he is, I just know it.  It’s a gut feeling, and my gut feelings are almost never wrong.

    Everything is like a blur.

    How high up in the air am I?  I do not know.  Nevertheless, my fellow Mexican standoff participants are flying away from the house amongst me.  Right before I land, I think this is going to hurt like a sonofabitch.  And I’m not proven wrong.

    I hit the slushy pavement of the driveway and I somersault at least twenty feet, banging my head pretty good in the process.  What finally stops me is a tree in the middle of the humongous front yard.  It stops me dead in my tracks.  I stand up on one knee and experience vertigo.  I rub my eyes and stare clearer.  What the hell happened?

    I see shards of wood from the house hovering in the morning air like ashes.  Man, that fire knocked me about two hundred and fifty feet away from the mansion.  How am I not dead?  I don’t even feel any pain, but I could just be numb from the sudden colossal rush of adrenaline. 

    I see bodies laying spread out all over the place.  The sofa is upside down in the middle of the driveway and Jimmy is quite close to it.  I’m not too sure where Johnny is, though.  No biggie, doesn’t matter.  I see Jimmy begin to stand to his feet.  Somehow, he was able to keep his grip on my shotgun.  I manage to stand up completely and I’m jogging towards him.  I gotta stop him before he clears his head. 

    I leap at Jimmy and tackle him to the ground, the sawed off shotgun rolling away from us.  I get on top of him and jack him right in the jaw.  He’s out cold.  Good, I don’t have to kill him.  I sigh and stand back up.  More bad news.  The other two survivals have gotten up as well.  And they still have their guns!  How the hell was I the only one who lost their weapon?  Man, I gotta find that revolver and quick.  There’s still that sniper to worry about too.  Jesus, I could be in the crosshairs right now.  Where the hell is that gun?  It couldn’t have gone too far, right?  Damnit … I could really go for some Butterrum right about now.

    I am hiding behind a bush by Desperation Mansion.  Flames are everywhere; they’re falling from the sky.  What happened inside?  A grenade, right?  Has to be.  Well, nevertheless, something blew the place to bits.  Hey, wait a minute … Leon!  I see him.  He’s alive!

    I poke my head out of the bush and watch as Leon stumbles along the front lawn, walking in one solid direction.  Where is he going?  Then I see his target.  A short, fat woman is getting to her plum feet.  A pistol is in her hands.  I watch as she raises it and pulls the trigger.
   
    “No!” I shriek, as a bullet goes through my boyfriend’s chest.  He still stands, fortunately.  He quickly aims his snub nose and blows the fat woman’s face to shreds.  It’s like something out of a movie.  It can’t be real.  Her face -- it’s just gone.  There has to be a special effects crew somewhere around here controlling everything.  There has to be. 

    Leon and the fat woman collapse to the snowy earth simultaneously.

    I cry out, grip the rifle, and dash towards my beloved.  I get there within seconds and subside beside him.  Blood is oozing out his chest, spurting out of his closed mouth.  “Leon?  Oh no … oh no, come on, baby, suck it up.  It’s okay, you’re not going to die.  You can’t die, okay, Leon?  Please, you just can’t!”  I hug him tightly and soak his shoulder with my tears of sorrow.  I know he’s already gone, but I’m not accepting it.

    After several moments of pleading for his life to be returned I look up to see a man dressed in blue, standing in the front lawn maybe a hundred and twenty-five feet away from me.  I know he’s one of them.  One of the monsters who murdered my Leon.  He may have not literally pulled the trigger, but he was in the mansion nonetheless.  Who knew what part he had in this?  I’m not going to take any chances, though. 

    I position the rifle so I’m looking through the sight and I carefully pull the anxious trigger.

    Shit, everyone is dead.  Ruth and the Irish kid took each other out.  I see the corpses of my brother and Winston.  They’re not too far from where I’m standing.  Benny … he’s really gone.  It’s my fault, too.

    Now it’s just me … and the sniper.  He could be anywhere!  I feel the presence of being watched.  Man, I have to find this revolver and quick.  I scan the snow for any holes where the gun might have fallen into.  No luck, though.  Goddamnit where is it --

    Another gunshot rings through my ears and a sharp pain stabs into my stomach, pushing me off my feet and onto the snow.  I creep my hand to my gut and feel the warm sensation of blood.  I see a vague silhouette of a human maybe at the most two hundred feet away from me.  I think it’s a he.  The sniper.  He got me.  I was too slow and now this time I really am going to die.   Stomach shots are the most painful, that and the ones in the kneecaps. 

    I failed my daughter.  I’m a failure.  Now she would go on to live with Sidney and that disgrace of a man, Craig.  Her drug fiend parents would beat her and there would be no one there to help her.  She would be all alone, constantly disappointed in life. 

    I notice the revolver in the corner of my Cubbie blue shaded eyes.  I don’t know how I missed it before; it’s right out in the open.  Oh well, no time to complain, now is it?  I swipe my blood soaked hand to the right and pick up the revolver with fatigue, aiming like a pro and clasping my finger against the trigger. 

    It reminds me of that dye pack from the Fifth Third Bank; a gust of red mist explodes out of the sniper’s head and he peacefully slumps to the ground. 

    Bull’s-eye, baby. 

    I slowly rise to my knees, then to my feet.  I brush some of the blood colored snow off my hands, tuck the revolver in the back of my jeans, and make my way towards the direction of the corpse of Ruth Desperation.  Sure enough, close by is what I am looking for.  The duffel bag.  The bees and honey.  That equals money, baby.  Benjamin’s and Grant’s.

    Shit.  I hear sirens in the distance.  I’m fucked.  No … I can still get away.  Well, at least I can give it a shot.  I pick up the duffel bag and as fast as I can (which is not very fast, but quick enough considering the bullet wound in my stomach) I jump in the yellow Hummer.  I’m very fortunate that Winston had left the keys in the ignition.  I start it up and hightail it out of there. 

    Bump, bump.

    Oh Christ, I forgot about Jimmy.  He was knocked out in the driveway, wasn’t he?  Well, he’s dead now.  Goddamnit, nobody was supposed to die today.  I sigh and hit the gas pedal once more.  The squad cars pass me along the street and they don’t give me the time of day.  I’m home free, baby.  No way it’s this easy. 

    When I cough up blood, I remember that I have been shot, and I probably don’t have much longer to live.  I cannot go to a hospital, can I?  No, that would not due at all.  Doctors call the police on gunshot victims because … well, someone had to have shot you, right?  And I can’t very well say I was mugged, can I?  Those forensic scientists will be able to match the bullet in my gut to the rifle of the sniper back at the mansion.  The crime scene. 

    I wipe the blood off my mouth with the back of my hand and sigh.  It’s about a half hour drive to the Sears Tower, so I better suck it up.  King will have a private doctor that can help me out.  I just take the pain like a man for a little bit longer.  Just suck it up, old man.  You’re better than this.

    Turquoise colored flames engulf my left arm.  I’m burning up, I’m on fire!  I don’t need no water let the motherfucker burn!  No, wait … I need water and quick.  I’m dying.  Melting.  I dodge incoming flesh-bullets and run like hell away from the blazing inferno of a mansion.  Where am I going?  I do not know.  Somewhere, though.  That I am certain of.

    An eternity of running through a dragon-infested garden is much similar to purgatory I imagine.  Jesus, they’re snapping at me like rabid pit bulls!  Feisty bastards they are.  Back!  Back, I say.  Back!  I kick one in the eye and spill its guts all over the lawn, making an example out of it.  The other dragons back off, clearly understanding who’s in charge here.  I look down at my arm and realize that I am still roasting like a marshmallow.  Fuck, it burns!  It burns! 

    Where am I?  Well, I have an answer to that now.  I’m at the mansion again!  Must have went all the way around the world, went full circle.  Jeez, it took me look enough.  Goddamn traffic, man, it never ceases to piss me off.  Wait, no, this isn’t my mansion.  It’s Haugh Mansion.  The scumbags are my saviors!  I burst through the front door and savagely scramble towards the kitchen area, where I find some kind of weird, naked woman with long, mole invested sagging breasts at the table sipping orange juice out of a Champagne glass.  Oh yeah, she has the head of a rabbit’s, too.  Obviously, she is Mrs. Haugh.  If I weren’t on fire, I’d puke.  Instead, though, I yank the Champagne glass out of her hairy hands and dump the contents on my scorching arm.

    “No, not my Mimosa!” the repulsive creature squeals.

    “Shut your mouth, bitch, or I’ll slice your throat!” I scream.  Wow, that might have been a little too mean.  Pretty harsh.  I put my hand on her slimy shoulder and look her in her cute, bunny eyes.  “Hey, keep your chin up little lady.  I’m sorry; I’ve just had a bad day is all.  Now, will you please make me a sandwich?  I’m starving here.  No pickles, though.  I cannot stand that shit.  Just some mustard on a slice of bread will do.  Lots and lots of mustard, okay?  Well, get to it, bitch, or I’ll … you know, slice your fucking throat.”

    “I’m gonna call the police is what I’m gonna do,” the fish lady announces.

    “Like hell you are!”  I grab a knife lying on the table and hold it to her throat.  “I’m gonna slice it, I tell you!”

    “Get out of here you little brat!” she orders, “or I’m going to call the police.”

    “Mustard sandwich!” I yell, and force the blade into her jugular.  Purple blood spurts across my maniacal grin, staining my gritted teeth.  I watch in an orgasmic pleasure as the fish head slumps onto the wooden table.  Let that be a lesson to the rest of the lot of you.  When I want a mustard sandwich, you best be making me a mustard sandwich.  Got it?  Do you understand?  Wait … who am I talking to?  Am I even talking out loud?  What the hell’s wrong with me?  Where’s my goddamn mustard sandwich?!

    “Mommy?”

    I snap my attention to the doorway.  Standing there are two little demon spawns straight out hell.  The red scaly skin on the razor-sharp horns and all.  It is quite obvious of who these monsters are.  Mozart and Beethoven Haugh.  They are crying tears of flames.  It’s clear to me that these bastards must be stop before they terrorize another mansion.  Have they gotten to Miss Cindy yet?  Is she in her own mansion, rape and blundered to death?  Well if not, I’m going to prevent that from ever happening in the future. 

    I get a firmer grip on the kitchen knife handle and charge the demons like a furious bull looking for revenge in all the right places.  The first devil goes down without a problem.  His blood paints the wall behind him like a beautiful collage.  The other devil bastard, though, is quite the handful.  I chase him up the stairs as he lets out cries of mercy.  Mercy?  Ha!  He should have thought about that before he decided to set up camp on Earth. 

    I find him sobbing in the tub.  Poor bastard.  I slowly saw off his head and grasp it by the hair.  I highly consider keeping it as a trophy, a warning to other demons who think they can fuck with me, but in the end, I resist temptation and toss it in the toilet.  I hit the flusher as I make my way out. 

    I think I hear police sirens.  Good, I’ve been waiting for someone to record my statement.  Took them long enough, though.  Goddamn traffic, man, it’ll end up killing you in the end.

    I’m so pumped up!  I leap and bust my head through the drywall in the hallway.  Extreme!  Fuck, I need to do something.  I’m hungry.  Thirsty.  I look down at my knife and lick the blade clean.  It helps, but not enough.  It isn’t enough. 

    I exit the mansion and see a police car pulling up in the driveway.

    “Sir?” a green octopus says, as it steps out of the vehicle.  “There were reports that a man on fire came this way.  Have you seen him?”

    “Give me your eyeballs,” I order.

    “Excuse me?”

    “I’ll rip ‘em out the sockets, you no good dirty dog fucker.”

    “Wh-what?”

    “Chaaaarrrge!” I scream, lowering my head, raising the knife, and stampeding towards Deputy Octopus.

    “Stand back or I’ll shoot!”

    “Diiieee!”

    “That’s it.”  The octopus pulls out a pink candy cane and aims it towards me.  He cocks it back and pulls the trigger.  I am thrown off my feet and into the mud and the muck.  This is messed up, man.  Fuckin’ animal abuse is never a funny thing.  I’m gonna call PETA, I swear it.  Is it even hunting season?  Who the hell shoots a duck at pointblank range?

    Deputy Octopus approaches me with the delicious looking candy cane and asks if I am alright.  I respond with a simple -- yet reasonable --, “Quack.” 

    Goodbye, World. 

    It’s been fun.

    Tell Kylie I love her.

    Unbelievably -- but still fortunately --, I find a parking space across from the Tower.  I look down at my white tee-shirt.  It is now soaked with my blood.  Man, I’m in so much pain.  I just want to curl up in the fetal position and die.  Instead, though, I button up my jean jacket to cover up any visible traces of blood, grab the duffel bag, and head towards the Sears Tower.

    I enter through the doors trying as hard as I can not to bend over and grab my stomach.  I approach the first security guard I see and he asks if I’m alright.

    “Yeah, I’m fine.”

    “Well, you look all pale and clammy.”

    “I just have a cold is all.  I’m fine.”

    “Okay then … well, can I help you with something?” the security guard asks.

    “Yeah, um … I need directions to Big John’s Pizzeria.”

    He inspects my face and nods.  “Very well.  Follow me.”

    He takes me to the ‘secret lower floor’ and searches me.  I have to bite my lower lip when his hand sweeps across my stomach.  I want to cry out and collapse to the carpet floor.  But no, I suck it up.  He does not search the duffel bag, though.  They never search the bags.  I always found that funny.  Maybe ole Vinny doesn’t want anyone to see what kind of business he’s cooking up, although it is quite obvious.  I walk through the metal door and find Vincent King in his regular room, sitting at his desk with a freshly lit cigar hanging out the center of his greedy mouth.  He’s wearing the same white suit and red tie.  The man never changes a thing, I tell ya.  Unchangeable.

    The first thing he asks me is, “Where’s Winston?”

    “Winston’s dead,” I coldly reply.

    “What?” he exclaimed.  “Are you sure?”

    “Well, I saw his brains leave his skull.  So … yep, he’s dead.”

    “What the hell happened?”

    “A crazy old lady shot him.  We were trying to get your money and she pulled a gun on us.  Don’t worry, though, I took care of her.  Also, I got your money.”

    “You got my bees?”

    “I got your bees.  More than you asked for.  A lot more, so I’m hoping to get a cut, eh?  I mean, it’s damn near twenty million.”

    His eyes lit up in surprise.  “Fuck, Maddox, twenty million bees are worth ole Winston’s causality.  Even worth givin’ a little to you.  Shit, I’ll be generous; I’ll give ya a million.  How’s that sound, Maddy-boy?”

    “That sounds great, Mr. King.  But um, one more thing,” I say.

    “What?”

    “I need a doctor.”  I unbutton my jacket and reveal my wound.  “I need a doctor really bad.”

    “Bloody hell, mate, you need that taken care of.  I’ll get ya a doctor in a minute, alright?  Hand me the bees and let me count it first.”

    I lay the duffel bag on the desk and Vincent impatiently unzips it.  He peeks his head inside and slowly looks back up at me.

    “Problem, Mr. King?” I ask.

    “What is this?  Some kind of bloody joke?  Because if it is, I’m not laughing,” Vincent says.

    “What are you talking about?”

    “Well, take a look for yourself.”

    He shoves the bag towards me and I reluctantly look inside.  Shit.  Oh no.  Oh no shit this is bad.  Fuck!

    Inside the duffel bag, there are maybe five or six plastic dolls with different colored hair.  All of them clothed in different sorts of dresses.  In addition, lying on top of the dolls there is a sheet of paper.  And written in the center of the sheet of paper in black permanent marker is: R.I.P.

    Shit.

    I’m fucked.

    Shit!

    Trembling, I look up to Vincent and stutter, “Look, I can explain, okay?  Just I … I don’t know, she must have switched bags or something.  Hey, just give me another chance, okay?  I’ll get you your money, I promise.  C’mon, man, trust me.” 

    Damnit, Maddox, why the hell didn’t you just check the bag beforehand?  You stupid old fool!

    “Sampson!” Vincent barked, and a tall, black man stepped out of the shadows.  He bore a very similar resemblance to Winston.  “Maddox, meet Winston’s twin brother, Sampson.”

    “Ah, you gotta be shitting me,” I sigh, as he jacks me across the jaw and I go sprawling against the ground.

    “He was my flesh and blood, you white trash motherfucker,” Sampson says.

    “And he died for a couple of dolls,” Vincent provokes.

    He picks me up by my collar and tosses me against the wall, causing me to yelp out in pain.  That didn’t help my stomach at all. 

    “Let’s take this into the Room,” Vincent smiles.

    Memories of the Mexican, Felipe -- or better known as the Test Subject -- come shooting back to my head.  Sampson grabs me by my arms and begins to drag me towards the ominous brown door at the end of the office.  “No!” I shout -- I beg.  “No, c’mon!  I’ll get your money, I promise.  Just don’t do what you’re thinking about doing.  Please for the love of fucking God let me go!”

    I close my eyes and hope for the best.

    “Wakey, wakey, hands off snaky.”

    I open my eyes.  Jesus, I must have passed out.  How long, I wonder.  Just how long?  I am sitting in a wooden chair with my hands tightly tied behind my back, which spreads the hole in my stomach even wider.  Jesus Christ, how much blood can I lose before my heart calls it quits?  I inspect my surroundings.  Everything is dark -- except for me.  My body glows like a helicopter spotlight from a dim light bulb hanging by a chain above my head.  I know where I am right away.

    I am being held hostage in the Room.

    Fist connects with my face and face violently jerks to the right.  When is he going to stop hitting me?  Goddamn, you would think he would be tired by now. 
   
    “Enough,” Vincent finally says, and Sampson reluctantly stops pounding his paws into my delicate face.  It’s about time.  I thought he was going to kill me before my stomach would.

    Vincent approaches me, looks me into my blue eyes.  “Well, well … have you learnt your lesson yet?”

    “Yeah, I promise I’m never going to steal money from a crazy millionaire bitch again,” I smirk.

    “Bad move, Maddox.”  He drives his elbow into my nose and it is instantly broken.  Blood flows out my nostrils and down my face like the Nile River.  “You know, you’ve had this coming for a long time, you did.  Start off by stealing blow and smack from me, but I let that slide considering the prison time you served for me.”

    Oh shit, he knows about that?  I thought I was careful back in my drug days.  How the hell did he know?

    “But now, you get my best bodyguard ever killed over a bunch of fuckin dolls.  Also, you lose five million dollars of my shit.  So, how do you suppose I deal with this, Maddox?  Just give ya a swift kickin’ in the arse and send ya on your way?  Some kind of warning is it?  Fuck that, I’ve gave you too many warnings as it is.”

    “So what the hell are you going to do?” I ask.  I am drowning in nervous sweat and aching blood.  “You gonna kill me?  Fine, do it.  I laugh in the face of death.”

    I laugh in the face of death?  What the hell am I talking about?  Stop acting brave and plead for your life, you idiot!  Beg!

    “C’mon, ole Vinny,” I say, “what are you gonna do?  Huh, fat boy?  Gonna kill me?  C’mon, kill me then, you walking pile of shit!”

    I’m so stupid it’s not even funny.

    Vincent smiles at me.  “Yeah, I’m going to kill you alright, but not just yet.”

    “Well hurry up, I don’t have all fucking day, you know,” I say, and spit a glob of blood into his eyes.  “Here’s to me hoping I have AIDS, you dickless asshole.” 

    He backhands me across the face and I nearly tip over with the chair.  I think the folks in the floor above could hear that smack.  “I’ll be right back,” he announces, and leaves the Room.

    There’s a deafening silence and Winston and I stare each other in the eyes.  Then as quickly as he left, Vincent returned with a syringe in his right hand.  He smiles as I show a face of confusion.

    “Ever hear of kissing the moon, Maddox?” Vincent asks me.

    “What?”  What is he talking about?  Kissing the moon?  Is he high?

    “Well, firstly, I inject you with this here needle.  This speedball, if you will.”

    Vincent walks behind me quite quickly and I feel a sharp pain in my wrist.  “Let’s hope I hit a vein,” he laughs.

    I feel something similar to a gas line, and whatever it is, it’s zipping up the inside of my body like a fighter jet.  Before I know it, it reaches the top of my head and I scrunch my face in pain.  It is the ultimate brain freeze.  A goddamn Speedball.  Heroin and cocaine combined in one needle.  Goddamnit.

    “Then,” Vincent says, “you take a big ole whiff of Jericho.  As so.”  He pulls a black bottle out of his pocket and before I can close my mouth in time, purple mist is spraying into my lungs.  I begin gagging like a maniac immediately.

    “That,” Vincent says, “is how you kiss the moon.”

    It’s a fucking death sentence is what it is.

    My heart is pounding a thousand times a second.  It’s hitting the bars, trying to break out of its prison.  Trying to rip itself out of my chest.  I want to grab at it but my hands are tied behind my chest.  I want to grab my head, too, but you know, problem with the hands.  Every vain in my body is about to shoot out the skin.  My eyeballs are going to roll out the sockets and my Adam’s apple is on the verge of cracking in two.  Every join in my body is full of vengeful pain.  My toes and fingers are the worse.  My stomach is the least of my problems now. 

    I just then realize that I’m roaring like a lion.

    “Havin’ fun then, are we?” Vincent asks, and he and Sampson laugh.

    I try to stare at him, but all I see is a blurry goblin.  And he’s laughing at me!  Son of a bitch AHHHHHHH goddamn I’m so hyper.  I just wanna break something!  Maybe break something over the goblin’s head.  Yeah, sounds like a plan.

    “Who’ll be laughing then?” I mutter.

    “What was that, you little wanker?  Speak up.”

    “Go Cubs!” I scream, losing my invincibility and breaking my hands free of the duct tape and tackling the asshole goblin with all my might.  I strike him once in the face and then his bodyguard throws me to the ground.  The bodyguard -- no, it’s not Sampson.  Some kind of robot. 

    “Holy shit … it’s the terminator,” I whisper.

    He shoots flesh burning laser beams at me but I dodge them with ease.  I get to my feet, pound my chest, and roar like the fierce animal I am.  Afterwards, I smile and charge towards the all-knowing terminator.  I grab him by his eyes and press down with my thumbs, shattering the glass eyeballs.  I then grasp the top of his head and tear all the wires to shreds.  He goes down and I am victorious!  I lick the blood off my hands and roar once more.  It feels like I'm swimming underwater a thousand miles per hour but I still have the power to slow down time within a blink of an eye.

 

    I look down at the goblin.  “Oh no … this wasn’t supposed to happen,“ he says.  “You weren’t supposed to break free.  Of fuck … bloody hell this is bad.  Just leave, okay, Maddox?  I'll leave you be, alright?  You can take my money, too.  I have millions.  All of it yours if you just leave.  What do you say, old chum?”

    My teeth are chattering as if I was in Alaska and I’m head banging to invisible Metallica.  “Lashing out the action, returning the reaction.  Weak are ripped and torn away.  Hypnotizing power, crushing all that cower.  Battery is here to stay!” I scream, as I rabidly kick the goblin in the gut.  I want him to feel my pain.  I want him to squirm and beg for mercy.  I want him to die a slow painful death.

    I jump to ground level and grab the goblin by its head.  I savagely bash its skull into the concrete floor countless times.  The whole time I am screaming off the top of my lungs, “Smashing through the boundaries; lunacy has found me.  Cannot stop the battery!  Pounding out aggression turns into obsession.  Cannot stop the battery!  Crushing all deceivers, mashing non-believers.  Never ending potency!  Hungry violence seeker feeding off the weaker.  Breeding on insanity!”  And with that last shout I release my firm grip and let his crushed skull bounce off the floor once more.  His monstrous, lifeless eyes are looking straight at me.  They’re trying to tell me something.  But what are they saying?  If only I knew English slang, then maybe I would understand him better.

    I stand to my feet and begin to mosh-pit against the wall, jumping up and down while angry voices tears itself apart in my confused head.

    Circle of destruction, hammer comes crushing.  Powerhouse of energy whipping up a fury, dominating flurry.  We create the battery!

    Whoa … just whoa.  An extreme gust of vertigo consumes my body and I lose my balance, crumbling to the floor.  I lift my arm up to look at my hand, but I do not have the strength to keep it in the air so it falls on my face.  Jesus Christ, it’s like some kind of mean spirited enemy of mine has drained all the energy out of my body.  I don’t even have the attentiveness to keep my eyelids open --

    “Mr. King?  Mr. King?”

    The voice awakens me and I’m back in real life.  It feels like I’m suffering the world’s worst hangover ever.  I slowly sit up and the events before I passed out hit me like a Teflon-coated bullet.  I wanna puke at the sight of Sampson.  Jesus, what the hell did I do to him? Where … where is his scalp?  And Vincent … his brains are over the floor and stained on my hands.  I wipe them off on the corpse of Sampson and manage to stand up.

    “Mr. King?”

    The voice.  It’s coming from outside the door.

    “Mr. King, if you don’t answer me I’m going to have to come in.  Do you hear me?  Mr. King?!  Fine, here I come.  Please don’t fire or kill me, sir.”

    He’s turning the doorknob.

    Shit, shit , shit!

    Without putting much thought into the matter, I quickly pick up the chair that I was tied up to and wait for him.  The door swings open and in comes the security guard that led me down to King’s secret chambers in the first place.  Before he realizes what exactly is going on I knock him out by smashing the chair across his shoulders.

    Okay, I have to get the fuck out of this place and quick.  People are going to be gunning for me on every street corner once this shit reaches the headlines.  I exit the Room and stumble beyond the metal door and towards the elevator.  I button up my jacket (which is now stained with blood as well) and tighten the Cubs hat on my head, pushing the bill down to shield my eyes from onlookers.  Man, this stomach wound is really making me nauseous.  How much longer do I have to live?