Flypaper Cast: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 3 Read online

  Again, Defcon blew past it. “Justice is the great equalizer, right? No matter how rich or famous, or talented, or deranged a person may be, when they commit a crime, like say, murder…” He held his hands out, palms up, and raised them up and down. “…The scales must be balanced.”

  Nick glanced at his mother on the floor next to him. Then he turned to Corpse, held against his living room wall by Squamata. He could do the math, and it terrified him.

  Defcon spelled it out for everyone in case they didn’t get it. “He’s taken two of ours over the course of the past year. Flypaper, as she was known to us. Danielle Johnson. And the Maggot Maestro, Clark Abernathy. They were our friends. Our compatriots. He took them from us and all we could do was watch. Justice demands that we take two of his. And that he too should only get to watch.”

  “No.” Nick tried to stand, but his bad leg wasn’t ready to support his weight. He crumpled back to the floor. The guy’s a paranoid, dumbass. Thinks he’s the smartest guy in the room and everyone’s out to get him. Use it. “Come on, man, listen to yourself. You’re not talking about justice, you’re talking about rationalized murder. You’re going to let those Flystrike idiots make you into a murderer? They’re using you, man. They’ve got you out here slogging through ice and snow to do their bidding like a two-bit thug. Does that sound like you?”

  Defcon cocked his head to one side. Nick could see the gears turn.

  “And these guys Wormwood sent with you? Do you even know them?” Defcon twitched and glanced back and forth at the men on either side of him. It was working. “Of course you don’t. Doesn’t it seem odd that you’d get saddled with two complete strangers on this thing? They’re just here for me, right? Or, you know, for pieces of me. That’s all they care about. Who’s to say what happens to you after you’ve taken out my people for them? Maybe they don’t really need you after all.” Nick looked at Longpig. “Maybe the cannibal even decides he’s still hungry after they’re done with me.”

  Longpig thrust the end of Nick’s crutch into his head. “Shut up.”

  Defcon gave Longpig a once over. “Why are you so eager to shut him up?”

  Nick gave Defcon another push. “Why do you think?”

  The man with the gun tapped himself in the head with it. Those gears ground away. They spit flakes of rust all over the inside of his skull.

  “Are you kidding me? You can’t possibly be listening to him. You have a gun to his family’s heads, he’ll say anything.” Longpig was definitely too smart for this line of nonsense. Thankfully, the smartest man on Earth couldn’t rationalize with a paranoid. All they heard was more manipulation. A person could tell them to ‘get out, run, the building’s on fire’ and they’d burn to death while they tried to work out the angle.

  There was a chance Nick could turn Defcon against his allies. Maybe even get him to just shoot them and be done with it. Whatever the outcome, he, Corpse and his mother stood a better chance of coming out of this when the brawling was over.

  “You’re right.” Defcon pointed his gun at Squamata and nodded his head. “You’re absolutely right.”

  Bingo. Do it. Do it, you paranoid pile of human waste.

  “Squamata. You called it. The demon lies.” Defcon flicked the gun’s barrel in the direction of the floor. “Put her down. Let’s do this. Who’s going first?”

  The big man tossed Corpse to the floor. Her army helmet clattered to the hardwood. She tried to get back up, but he put his foot on her and held her in place. “Piglickingcocksuckingmotherfucking—” She spewed verbal venom from a bottomless well of hate.

  Nick tried to stand again, but Longpig kicked him in his bad leg. Pain was like a thief, trying to rob him of his dignity. He cried out in agony and terror.

  “Who’s going first, Nick?” Defcon pointed the gun at Corpse. Then he pivoted to Meredith. “Don’t make me choose for you. I wouldn’t know how.”

  “Listen.” Keep him talking. Every second Defcon ran his mouth was another second Corpse and his mother still breathed. Another second to think of something.

  “Nothing? I guess we can go with an oldie but goodie.”

  Nick and Corpse looked at one another. “Hey Nick… I ever tell you why my screenname was CorpseFlower?”

  The words themselves weren’t scary, but the intent behind them was. “Corpse…”

  “There’s this flower, see…” Her breath was short; the weight of Squamata’s foot on her chest. “…About five feet tall. Not the prettiest flower you’ve ever seen…”

  Defcon swung the gun back and forth between Corpse and Meredith. “Eenie. Meanie. Miney. Moe.”

  Corpse coughed. “…And she lies dormant for years. Never lets anyone see her real face.”

  “Catch. A tiger. By. The. Toe.”

  Nick looked at Defcon. “Don’t do this. Please. What do you want from me? You want me to beg? I’ll beg.”

  Nick’s pleas fell on deaf ears. The pendulum that was Defcon’s gun continued to swing. “If. He. Hollers. Let. Him. Go.”

  Nick turned to his mother. Tears rolled down her face. She closed her eyes.

  He looked back at Corpse. “But every once in a blue moon, she blooms. People come from miles around to see her…”

  “Eenie.”

  Corpse reached along the floor behind her. “…Because she only blooms for a day or a two…”

  “Meenie.”

  Meredith cracked one eye open.

  “Miney.”

  Corpse looked at Nick. “…And when she does, Nick, she makes such a colossal, nose-fucking stink…”

  Nick took a breath.

  “Moe.”

  The gun landed pointed at Corpse. “…they say it smells like death.”

  Defcon smiled. “I guess you’re it.”

  “They call it the Corpse Flower.”

  The webmaster seized her army helmet and flung it into Defcon’s head. He reeled and fired blindly.

  Bam.

  Blood burst forth from Squamata’s leg. It was no baseball bat to the ribs. He howled and clutched his perforated limb.

  Meredith grabbed one of the giant lights on the floor. Longpig’s attention was on the bloody spectacle that took place a few feet away. It was all the time she needed to heave the light into the wannabe cannibal’s face.

  Nick sprang at Defcon and let gravity do the rest. He pulled the lunatic to the floor and grabbed his arm. The two struggled for the gun, which Nick kept pointed at the ceiling, away from the others. “I didn’t kill anyone, you prick, but I’ll damn sure kill you.”

  “Crazy…” Defcon said as he dug his fingers into the soft spot beneath Nick’s tongue. “…You’re insane.” Nick would show him crazy. He bit down. Defcon screamed and pulled his hand back. Nick felt slivers of skin stick to his teeth.

  Corpse slipped into a Pacino-perfect Cuban accent. “You wanna play rough? ‘Hokay.” She jammed her finger into the brand new hole in Squamata’s leg. It did the job. The giant pulled away and stumbled backwards across the living room. He slammed into Nick’s DVD collection. “You wanna play rough?” Corpse picked up her helmet, ran at Squamata with full force and smashed his nose in with it.

  Longpig charged into Meredith. They slammed into several shelves full of awards and other random memorabilia. An empty vodka bottle shaped like a skull crashed to the floor and shattered. She cried out as her head slammed into a shelf.

  Nick turned his head. “Mom?”

  Defcon drove his foot into Nick’s cast. Nick screamed and rolled onto his back.

  Meredith wobbled and collapsed to the floor.

  Defcon rose like a nightmarish phoenix. He hovered above Nick and leveled his gun directly at his head.

  Corpse ran at Defcon, the helmet pulled back for another gruesome collision with flesh and bone. “Say ‘ello to my little—”

  Defcon spun toward her, the gun lifting to shoulder level.

  “No!” Nick screamed as the irate man squeezed the trigger.

  An ear-splitti
ng boom rang out and Corpse was drilled into the floor with a sickening thud.

  The contrast was horrifying. Outside the open balcony door, white snow fell. Inside, a red rain.

  Corpse gasped for air and kicked at the floor. Her eyes bulged, until they didn’t.

  She fell as still as her namesake.

  Chapter 19

  “So ends the story of Nick Dawkins.”

  Wormwood hung up the phone and sniffled as he sat across from Hellen and typed at his keyboard. He said nothing. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t just ordered the execution of three people over the phone with the casual attitude of someone ordering take out.

  Hellen glared at him for nearly a full minute before he looked up and noticed her dead-eyed gaze. He bit at one of his fingernails and spat the result into a far corner of the room. “Problem?”

  He knew very well what the problem was. His attempt to force her into explaining herself was a cheap intimidation tactic. She stared him down. “You went through with it?”

  Wormwood pushed his keyboard away from him and put his hands together on the table. “And what would you have had me do, Hellen? I ask you again.”

  She shook her head. “Who are you right now?”

  Wormwood leaned forward and put his finger behind his ear. “I’m sorry?”

  She leaned forward too. She had intimidation tactics of her own. “You heard me, Worm. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be right now, but I won’t be with this person; this spineless wretch who has other people do his dirty work for him. I’m done.” She rolled her chair away from the table, stood up and pulled her car keys out of her pocket.

  He got out of his chair as well, but with more force. His roller chair slammed into the wall. He walked around the table toward the doorway. “What do you mean you’re done? With the podcast?”

  Hellen waved her arms in every direction. “With the podcast. With us. With everything. I’m telling you, it’s over.”

  Wormwood blocked the doorway with his arm. “What? You’re leaving me? You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I’m serious, alright.” She pushed her chest into his arm. “Move out of the way.”

  He clenched his fist and pushed it in the doorway. “So that’s it? You’ll walk out on me? On us? How many years?” He beat his fists against the door frame. “How many years?”

  Hellen moved away from him. “Years? This guy, whoever this is, I’ve never met him before this week. I’ve seen you do some shitty things in the last couple of years, but this is next level. I mean, I finally get it. You used to do the am I talking to Helen or Hellen thing to me, and I finally know what that feels like, because I have no idea who’s standing in front of me.”

  Wormwood punched the wall next to her head and left a deep crater. “It’s me. I’m right here. I’ve never been one to take shit from anybody. Neither have you, until now. It’s who we are. What’s wrong with you?”

  She pointed a finger in his face. “No. No. This isn’t the guy I fell in love with. You never lifted a hand to me that wasn’t in play, you never put holes in the walls and you sure as shit never ordered a hit on someone like some pissant Sopranos character.”

  He grabbed her hand and squeezed her wrist. “That’s what you think of me? I’m your fiancé, Hellen.” He beat his fist against his own chest. “You agreed to marry me not six freaking months ago.”

  Hellen put her face in his. “Yeah, well that’s off now, buddy boy, and you better take your worthless miserable hand off me before I do something we’ll both regret.”

  Wormwood let go of her and turned away. He bent over and pulled at his own hair. “What the shit is happening right now? We’re a fucking team.”

  She pulled off her engagement ring and tossed it to the floor. It landed with a tink and rolled across the tile in the hallway. “Not anymore, we’re not.”

  He straightened his back and breathed deep, long, labored breaths. Without warning, he spun around and full-force slapped her across the face.

  Hellen dropped to her knees. There on the floor, with her hand pressed against her hot, stinging cheek, she couldn’t have said for sure why she’d fallen. It could have been the sheer force of the blow. He’d done his level best to take her damn head off.

  Or it could have been the shock of a years-long relationship condensed and then obliterated in a single half-second of violence.

  Either way, there she was. And if she didn’t get back up, she wouldn’t be the person she thought she was, either. She gripped her car keys tight.

  Wormwood breathed heavily behind her. “Hellen,” he said. She detected a hint of remorse. Too little, too late.

  She tongued her lip. It was already swollen and tinged with the coppery taste of blood. She placed the long ignition key to her car between the two primary fingers of her right hand.

  He couldn’t say she didn’t warn him.

  She stood, turned on one foot and with every ounce of strength she could find, she put the car key in his left eye. There was an audible pop, followed by a high-pitched shriek and warm, wet fluid running down her fingers.

  She closed her eyes and pulled back on her keys. It took a decent tug.

  The shrieks turned to moans and then swelled into shrieks again. They rose and fell like the ebb and flow of an ocean.

  She dropped her keys to the floor and opened her eyes. Wormwood was on the floor, doubled over, holding his face, gore oozing from his fingers. Noises came out of him she’d never heard before and hoped she’d never have to hear again. Not from him; not from anyone.

  A part of her, the part who had been engaged to the squalling man-child at her feet for half-a-year, and hopelessly in love with him for two years before that, wanted to check on him. To go to his aid and comfort him. It was the part of her that remembered the first time she saw him, in those ridiculous red and blue glasses, at a retro screening of Friday the 13th 3D. The part of her who swooned when he gave her a pendent shaped like an actual heart, and melted when he told her he loved her for the first time.

  The part of her who tearfully said ‘yes’ when he proposed after her mother died. “I could never bear to lose you,” he’d said.

  The part of her that remembered these things was small—childlike—and she told it to grow up.

  She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and dialed 911.

  The call connected immediately. “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  She scarcely knew where to begin.

  Chapter 20

  Nick’s voice caught in his throat. “Corpse?”

  Defcon stood over him and looked down his nose at her motionless form. “Certainly looks that way.”

  Hatred and rage consumed Nick. He couldn’t feel his leg. He couldn’t feel the throbbing bump on his head. It all faded away, drowned in a river of red.

  He was on his feet before he realized he’d moved at all. He drove his fists into Defcon’s face, half-aware of the damage it did to both the other man and his own fists.

  The first thing he became consciously aware of as self-awareness returned, was that he was atop Defcon again, but this time the intruder held no gun. His hands were, instead, used as ineffective self-defense.

  The second thing Nick noticed was that each wet smack of knuckle against bone satisfied less than the last. Even as teeth gave way and Defcon’s mouth vanished beneath a fountain of blood, he couldn’t stop himself. He’d keep drilling until he hit floor. Maybe then the endless hole in his chest would be sated.

  Movement behind Nick caught his attention. He remembered where he was; that there were other people in the room other than he and Defcon and Corpse’s limp body. He whipped around like an attack animal.

  Meredith sat on the floor, her hand at the back of her head. She stared at Corpse, her mouth slack with sorrow. “Oh god,” she said.

  Longpig stood over Nick’s mother, his hands raised in front of him. He wanted no part in what Nick had done to Defcon. He also no longer appeared interested in eati
ng Nick. If anything, he wanted to be at home, or back in whatever cubicle paid his bills. Anywhere, so long as it was far away from the man who knelt over his partner with torn and bloody knuckles.

  That wasn’t an option.

  Nick picked up the gun a couple of feet away and stood up. His leg complained. He put more weight on it out of spite. The pain returned. Good. For too long, he’d been afraid of pain. The pain of his past. The pain of his mother’s betrayal. The pain of loss. He’d spent years avoiding it all like a plague. Years holed up in his house, afraid of being caught in a moment of vulnerability. He’d treated his emotions like he’d treated his leg as it had healed. He coddled them, like they were fragile. Unwilling to put any real weight on them.

  He walked toward the man who only minutes ago harbored an insane craving for Nickburgers. He ignored his leg cries for mercy. Just like Defcon had ignored his. Just he would ignore Longpig’s. Behind him, Defcon sounded as though he were in danger of choking on his own blood.

  Nick grabbed Longpig by the hair and jammed the gun into the underside of his jaw. “Let’s see if you can eat with no face.” He pointed the gun at Defcon. “Your buddy won’t be eating anything for a while.”

  Squamata moved as though he might attempt an intervention. Nick pointed the gun at the giant’s good leg and fired. The kneecap that had kept Squamata upright decorated Nick’s DVD collection with a splash of blood and bone. The big man wailed his lungs out.

  Nick stuck the hot barrel of the gun against Longpig’s face. “I am not fucking around with you people.” The would-be cannibal whimpered as smoke wafted through the air. Nick’s heart beat to burst. He glanced down at his hand. His knuckles were split. Either cartilage or a tooth stuck out of one of them. It was impossible to tell from all the blood. “This isn’t a warning.”

  He looked down at his mother. “You okay, Mom?”

  Meredith inspected the palm of her hand for blood. “I’m fine, I think. Just a knot. But Corpse…” She crawled across the floor. “Oh god, the poor girl.”

  Nick’s hand trembled as he worked his thumb along the hammer of the gun and pulled it back. Longpig closed his eyes and breathed through his nose.