Flypaper Cast: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 3 Page 10

  Longpig tried to keep up. “I thought the cops shot the Maestro.”

  Defcon grew tired of having to hold his hand throughout the conversation. Ironic that the guy who wanted to eat Nick Dawkins practically begged to be devoured by the rest of the world by virtue of his ineptitude. “Of course they did. Think about it. You’re Nick Dawkins. You want to eliminate your competition. You can’t just openly murder people. It’d raise too many questions. So you get someone else to do it for you. Pull some strings, trick the local fuzz into doing the wet work.”

  “Ah, I see now.” More lies. What did Longpig have to hide? Was he a Dawkins plant? Defcon wouldn’t put it past the mastermind author. He’d have to watch his back.

  Defcon regained control of the conversation. Always be in control. Never let the other guy get a hand up. “My original point. Don’t underestimate Dawkins. Why do you think I shaved my head?”

  Longpig didn’t get it. Or he pretended not to. “I give up, why did you shave your head?”

  Defcon grabbed Longpig’s hair, whipped a knife out of the holder strapped to his leg and held it to his passenger’s throat. “That’s why. I just killed you. You’re dead now. Was it worth having hair? I think not.” With his knife that close to Longpig’s neck, he could kill him then and there, to be on the safe side. Always better to err on the side of caution, especially when it came to the mentally unstable.

  A flick of the wrist. That’s all it would take.

  Someone knocked at the driver’s side window. Defcon jumped in his seat and held the knife up defensively. “Christ.”

  The guy outside was huge. Built like a tank. A damn sight more impressive than the eater. Well worth the wait.

  Defcon rolled his window down. “Squamata?”

  The linebacker in the black trench coat nodded. Long black hair hung over his face. Between the wet strands, Defcon could see beady eyes buried in deep sockets. They would be hard to read. A risk. But if the guy was on the level, his size would be invaluable in the upcoming assault.

  Defcon studied the monstrosity outside his window. “You’re late. Why are you late?”

  Squamata huffed. “Traffic.”

  That made sense. The weather was bad. Traffic would be bad too. Defcon could buy that. For now. He motioned at the back door. “Alright. Get in.”

  Squamata climbed into the back. The whole vehicle shook with his movements as he made himself comfortable in the seat behind Defcon. That wouldn’t do. He wanted the big man where he could keep an eye on him. Defcon pointed his knife at the seat behind Longpig. “Not behind me. Behind him. Thanks.”

  The car shifted as Squamata moved from one seat to the other. Defcon looked at him in the rearview. Better. He pointed his knife at Longpig. “Squamata, Longpig. I’m Defcon. No real names.” He put the knife back in its holder. “I’ll bring you boys back to your cars when all this is over. Terrible as the roads will be out there, no sense in taking three separate cars.” He shifted the car into drive. “Okay, ramblers, let’s get rambling.”

  Longpig looked at his phone. “Do you want me to help navigate?”

  “Negative. I have the route memorized.” Defcon looked at Squamata through the rearview mirror. “You don’t have much to say, do you big guy?”

  Squamata stared out his window. His breath fogged it over. “It’s all happening like it should. This…” He wiped his hand across the window so he could see outside again. “…All this. It’s a sign from God.”

  Crazy people intrigued the hell out of Defcon, even if they made him nervous. They could be unpredictable and he wasn’t a fan. “A sign from God, huh? How can you tell?”

  The big man never looked in the direction of the front seat. He was transfixed by the winter wonderland outside the car. “He talks to me.”

  Defcon threw a knowing look at Longpig. “Who does? God?”

  Squamata slapped himself in the face with a massive hand. He leaned forward in his seat until his head was between Defcon and Longpig’s. “The demon in the wall. He says it’s not a sign from God. But the demon is a liar, so I know it is.”

  Defcon glanced at Longpig out the corner of his eye. The cannibal had his hand on the door handle. He appeared undecided between remaining in the car and hurling himself into a snowbank on the side of the road. “I know what you mean. I hate liars. You can’t trust ‘em.”

  Longpig waded into the conversation, his hand still resting on the door. “I read your posts on the site. You want to wear Nick Dawkins’ skin to protect yourself from the demon?”

  Defcon turned onto 2273. The road had been plowed and sanded, but he didn’t expect that to continue all the way to Dawkins’ home. They’d more than likely have to approach the maniac’s home on foot. “Don’t judge him, you wanna eat the guy to get his brain powers.”

  “I’m not judging him.” Longpig turned to Squamata. “I’m not judging you.”

  “You were judging him, you had a very judgmental tone.” Defcon kicked himself for trying to reason with the nutcase in his passenger seat. He should have cut his throat when he had the chance.

  “I was not. And also, I don’t want to eat his brain to get his ‘brain powers’.” Longpig made air quotes. “That’s insane. I’ve speculated that maybe some part of his creative essence may be passed onto me if I eat his brain, it’s a whole different thing. Because we are what we eat, you know? You keep something from everything you eat, so why not? But even if that doesn’t happen, that’s okay because it’s not why I want to eat him.”

  Intriguing as hell. “Oh, well excuse the hell out of me, why do you want to eat him then?”

  Longpig folded his arms. “How else will I find out what he tastes like?”

  Defcon couldn’t argue with that logic. It was sound as a pound. The cannibal was clever. A little too clever. He’d have to be killed once they were done with Dawkins. Even if he had no intent to harm anyone else now, who knows what he might do once he had a taste for human flesh. He’d be a maneater. Can’t trust a maneater.

  Squamata spoke up. “I get the lizard’s skin.”

  “Yes, you get his skin, absolutely. I think we’ve established that.” Defcon shook his head. Psychos, these two. He should have his head examined for agreeing to have them at his back. “So, here’s the plan. We’re going to take this road as far as we safely can. Maybe, if we take our time, we can even get it all the way to Dawkins’ house, but I doubt we’ll get that lucky, so I hope you both brought some extra layers. You may have noticed, there’s a nip in the air.”

  Squamata grunted and muttered a few words. Defcon couldn’t make out most of them, but he was sure he heard ‘molting’ in there.

  Defcon nodded. “Right, so I found some pictures of the place online and Dawkins has beefed up his home security in the last few weeks. He’s got bars on the windows, though I’m not sure if they’re there to keep people out or keep people in. Either way, they’re a problem, so I brought some tools that should help. Any questions?”

  Longpig raised his hand. “Yes, what about the girl?”

  Defcon did a double take. “You wanna eat the girl, too?”

  Longpig scrunched his face up. “Ew, gross, no. What’s the matter with you? But we’re supposed to kill her if she’s with him, right?”

  “If she’s his accomplice, yes, although I haven’t ruled out the possibility that she may be an unwilling participant in a hostage type situation. If that’s the case, we’ll play it by ear.” Defcon looked in the rearview mirror. “Big man, you got any questions?”

  Squamata made eye contact with Defcon through the mirror for the first time since he entered the car. “The demon followed me and won’t stop screaming. It’s not bothering you, is it?”

  The air in the car chilled considerably. Defcon shivered and looked at Longpig. The eater scooched up in his seat, away from the beast behind him. Defcon looked in the review again. “Uh… no.”

  Nobody said anything for a long time after that.

  Chapter 15

>   Nick Dawkins’ next book is about __________.

  Meredith and Corpse laughed themselves sick. Then they each set down a card that they thought best encapsulated Nick’s sensibilities in an ironic way.

  Nick’s eyes were closed so he didn’t know who had set down which card. The object was for him to decide which of the two cards was the ‘winner’, and thus which of the two women across the coffee table from him got a point. He opened his eyes and turned the cards over.

  One card read: An unhinged Ferris wheel rolling into the sea.

  The other read: Mr. Clean, standing right behind you.

  Both Corpse and Meredith stifled giggles between pursed lips, eager for his reaction to their cards. “Okay,” he said.

  That was all it took for Corpse to fall over laughing.

  He ignored her. “So the Ferris wheel rolling into the sea is super dark and funny. Which puts it in my wheel house for sure. I approve. But ‘Mr. Clean, standing right behind you,’ is genuinely creepy as hell, and actually a hilarious premise for a book. I’m thinking something along the lines of Halloween, but with a giant bald mascot instead of an escaped mental patient in a William Shatner mask.”

  Corpse raised one hand like an overeager child in class. “Ooh! Ooh! I’d read that.”

  Nick gestured at Corpse. “Of course you would. I’ll have to go with that one.”

  Meredith raised her hand and grabbed the card. She added it to the growing pile in front of her. She’d taken to Cards Against Humanity like a duck to water. Truthfully, she’d taken to everything in his life over the course of the past day.

  He’d started her off slow. For movie time the previous night, Corpse had wanted to watch Sleepaway Camp, a notoriously graphic slasher movie capped with a comically long shot of male genitalia. Nick got her to compromise with Scream, which he considered to be a beginner’s guide to murder-movies. His mother was enthralled with every minute of its runtime.

  The day thus far had been blissfully drama-free. Meredith sat on the edge of the balcony doorway while Corpse made taquitos and hot chocolate. It was like a bizarre funhouse mirror version of a real family breakfast. Afterwards, Nick had retreated to his room to write, while Corpse showed his mother how to shoot zombies on the PS4. Again, she took to it surprisingly well. When Nick finally emerged from his creative cocoon, Meredith was unloading a heavy machine gun into a swarm of exploding undead.

  As it turned out, when Clark Abernathy sewed crabs into a man and left him in Nick’s driveway, he only thought he’d seen everything. When Meredith yelled “Here comes momma. Be afraid, you brain dead bitches,” he thought rapture was upon him.

  Corpse stood up and lifted her empty wine glass. “That’s fair. I don’t feel bad at all about losing that one. Do either of you need anything from the kitchen? I need a refill.”

  “I’m good, sweetie, thank you.” Meredith sipped from her glass of water.

  Nick sucked on a juice box straw. “Nope, I’m fine.”

  The two Dawkinses sat across from each other in uncomfortable silence. Nick searched the furthest recesses of his mind for topics to converse about; anything to murder the quiet that threatened to suffocate him. The ‘Nick Dawkins’ card at the top of his mother’s pile caught his eye. “It’s appropriate for you to be proud of that, by the way.”

  The blank look on her face suggested she didn’t follow.

  He pointed at the card. “I’m in a card game. Forget movies, that’s how you know you’re hot shit, right there. I mean, I’m only in the expansion, but still… pretty cool.”

  She smiled. “It’s very cool. Of course I’m proud of you. You do know that, right?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know. You tell me constantly.” Sometimes even at the most inappropriate times. Like when psychopaths leave cobbled together pet store Frankensteins on his porch.

  The quiet must have bothered his mother too. She fidgeted with her cards until she found a thought worth expressing. She looked in the direction of the kitchen and lowered her voice to a whisper. “She seems nice. Are you two…?”

  “Are we what?” After a moment, he realized what she had implied. “Oh, god, no. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a badass, but no. It’s not like that. We’re friends.” He patted his cast. “And I don’t think I’d have survived the last however many weeks without her.”

  Meredith opened her mouth and then closed it again. “I—I want to ask…”

  Nick was both curious and a little afraid, but in the card game of emotions, curiosity trumped fear every time. “Ask away.”

  She scrunched her face up. “Is it because of Danielle?”

  The mention of Danielle’s name unspooled vivid memories of her in Nick’s brain. The memory of the night they had spent together wrestled with the memory of her burning alive in front of him. The conflagration grated at his nerves. “Jesus, Mom, can we not talk about her?”

  Meredith reached across the table. “I’m sorry, you said I could ask.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know you were going to ask about her.” The urge to move around the room was strong enough to justify the substantial effort that went into it. Nick picked up a crutch and hoisted himself up off the floor. “I don’t like to talk about it. But since you asked, no, it’s not because of Danielle.”

  His mother stayed seated at the coffee table. “You don’t talk about her with anyone?”

  “Hell no. I put way too much effort into pushing all that stuff down to go bringing it up.” He hobbled to the living room window.

  “Is that healthy?” The irony of his mother showing concern for his health irked him to no end, but he chose not to harp on it.

  “I’m sure it’s not healthy at all, but it’s where I am.” He put his hand to the window and peered out into the billowing wall of snow and darkness. “Man, it is really coming down out there.”

  “Hey.” Nick jumped at the sharp and loud sound of Corpse’s voice. He turned and saw her storm from the kitchen toward Meredith. “Do not touch that.”

  Meredith backed away from the coffee table, her hands raised in front of her. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Nick had obviously missed something important. “What? What happened?”

  Corpse pointed at his mother. “She was screwing with your juice box.”

  “I was just looking at it.” Meredith stood up. “I didn’t do anything.”

  Nick stared at her. “Really, Mom?”

  She tugged at the bottom of her shirt. “We were talking and I was absent-mindedly looking at it. That’s all, I swear.”

  “That may be, but how on Earth did that seem like a good idea?” He waved his free arm about the room. “Of all of the things for you to mess with? My drink? You can imagine how it looks.”

  Meredith put her hands on her head as though it might otherwise fall off. “I know, I wasn’t thinking. It was stupid.”

  Corpse jutted a finger in Meredith’s chest. “Fucking right it was.”

  Nick moved closer to the two women. “Corpse, don’t poke her, jeez. Mom…” For the first time since he was a kid, he found himself holding onto a genuine desire to trust his mother. It was weird. Unfamiliar. “…You know how it looks, right? You understand why it’s extremely bothersome.”

  She nodded. “I do, I’m so, so sorry. I won’t blame you if you don’t want to drink it. But please believe me, I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

  “I don’t trust her, Nick.” Corpse moved into Meredith’s personal space. The two of them that close together really drove home how short Corpse was. His mother had a full head on her.

  Meredith put a hand on Corpse’s shoulder. “Sweetie…”

  Corpse slapped it away. “Don’t ‘sweetie’ me.”

  Nick put his hand between them. “Hey, guys, calm down. I can’t believe I’m saying it, but it’s been a really nice day. Let’s not blow it up over something that may have been nothing.”

  Corpse picked up the juice box. “You may have him fooled, but not me. Not for a second. If I s
ee you so much as look at his food or drink again, I will carve your ass up and feed the pieces to the birds, feel me?”

  Meredith covered her face. “I know, I messed up, it won’t happen again.” She turned and pleaded with Nick. “Nickie, you believe me, right?”

  “I want to.” It was true. He did want to. But he also wanted a flying car. Life was full of disappointments. “But you know I can’t drink that. The thought of it makes me ill. It’s a whole thing.”

  “I know, I understand.” She buried her face in her hands. “God, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “I’ll get you a new drink.” Corpse exchanged a glance with Nick before she headed back to the kitchen.

  “She’s very protective of you.” Meredith said, her voice full of awe.

  “You have no idea. I’m surprised she didn’t go get her bat. She has mommy-issues, daddy ones too. Beware.”

  Meredith’s mouth drew into a perfect ‘o’. “She didn’t…?”

  Nick cut her off. “There’s a million ways to poison a child, Mom. She—“

  It was Nick’s turn to get interrupted. His smartphone rang from the coffee table. He leaned down to pick it up. He looked at his phone’s screen and recognized the area code.

  Hellen and Wormwood.

  Meredith looked over toward Corpse’s room. “Like a baseball bat, or the flying kind?”

  Nick raised a hand to quiet her and hit ‘Answer’ on his phone.

  “Hello?” It was a single word but it said volumes. Why are you calling me? What do you want? Did you enjoy the impromptu house party we threw for you?

  “Hello, Nick.” He had expected Hellen’s voice. Instead it was Wormwood’s. “Getting some weather up there, aren’t you?”

  Nick looked at the window, but as dark as it was out, he only saw his own reflection. “Little bit. What do you want?”

  Wormwood was calm. Measured. Confident. “I wanted to call and give you a heads up. In fact, it’s the first time I’ve had my phone on all day. It was blowing up with every shitheel on the internet for a while there.”