Flypaper Cast: Dark Psychological Thriller - Book 3 Read online

  He screamed, a howl of rage and guilt and more rage. He threw one of his crutches to the floor and stomped his good foot into the hardwood. An ache shot through his cast bound leg. He didn’t care.

  He shouted at Corpse. “Bonnie and Chuck? Too far. It’s way too far. Burn them. Tear their lives down. Salt the fucking earth.” He slammed his remaining crutch into the floor. “You hear me? Go nuts. Do what you do. Do your worst.”

  An evil grin replaced Corpse’s uncharacteristic look of worry. “You sure?”

  Nick lowered his voice. “Do I sound unsure?”

  Corpse thrust her hand into her forehead in a salute. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

  She sat on the couch and clicked away at her laptop. Nick hobbled to the window that overlooked the trees and the snow and the dark that consisted of his land. He leaned against it and caught his breath.

  The Meet the Feebles theme song played in his head, over and over, a continuous, vicious loop that never ended.

  Chapter 11

  “They haven’t gotten back to us at all?”

  Hellen scrolled through the Myiasis forum for new posts. There were a handful, but it was the usual trolling and weirdness. “No direct messages, no forum posts, nada. Maybe they didn’t go through with it.”

  Wormwood thumped his fist into the table several times. “They better have gone through with it. Amateurs.”

  She got up from her computer and walked out of the recording room. “Oh come on, you have to admit, it’s one thing to vandalize someone’s house in the dead of night, it’s a whole other thing to get up in some little old couple’s faces.” She raised her voice so he could hear her while she grabbed a beer out of the fridge. “I don’t know if I could have gone through it either.”

  Wormwood shouted back at her. “Yeah, well you’re a pussy too, so…”

  “Hey.” She came back into the recording room, a scowl across her face. She made sure he saw it. “I didn’t want to send Beavis and Butt-plug back out anyway. As far as I’m concerned the best possible outcome would be if they backed out.”

  Wormwood clicked at his mouse. “Yeah, you would think that.”

  Hellen took a swig of her beer. “You know, I really don’t like this crazy ante-upping macho bullshit, it is not a good look for you.”

  He stood up and tossed his mouse across the table. “What then? We should let it go?” He affected the tone of someone who might be found in one of the less reputable trailer parks in the area. “No problem guys, you posted all of personal information online, and I’ve been dealing with that bullshit for two days, but all is forgiven. That it?”

  He wasn’t exaggerating about the bullshit. Their standing in the Myiasis community had meant jack shit. The Maggots had spent the past twenty-four hours running roughshod all over their existence simply because they could. Their bank account had been frozen as strange charges cropped up all over the country. Their parents, the ones they still spoke to at any rate, had reported a never-ending string of prank calls. It was highly probable that Hellen’s estranged father had gotten the same treatment, but he’d never call her to let her know.

  There had been a couple of strange drive-bys, cars parked outside their home at odd hours. One Maggot in a skull mask took a selfie of himself on their front step after dark and posted it online with the caption, ‘Less than fifty yards from Hellen’s sweet, sweet ass. #YumYumGimmeSome.’ Wormwood had seen it and spent the next hour screaming himself hoarse.

  In fact, the entire ordeal had brought out and amplified the very worst traits in Worm. The tantrums, the violent outbursts. All the crap she’d hoped he’d grow out of or leave behind if he wasn’t tied down to some shitty job that made him miserable. If nothing else, she wanted this whole thing to end so they could move on with their lives and she could have her fiancé back.

  Hellen set her beer down. “It’s not like we didn’t push first, if you want to really get into basic fairness.” She extended her hands toward her fiancé. “I think for this week’s cast we should mea culpa. We screwed up, Dawkins and CorpseFucker screwed up, and the damage is done. No more.”

  Wormwood didn’t say anything. The wheels in his head turned slowly when he got like this, but she had him. He’d see reason. They could put the whole thing behind them and get back to doing what they love.

  A crash sent Hellen’s heart bounding into her throat, where her pulse leapt like a rabbit. Daylight poured into the house, followed by the silhouettes of large men in tactical gear.

  “On the floor. On the floor. Away from the girl.” One of the men stuck a rifle in Wormwood’s face. Worm didn’t have time to react before another man slammed the butt of his gun against Wormwood’s head. “Down, now, on the floor. You too, on the floor.”

  Hellen dropped to her knees and put her hands up. She couldn’t count the number of guns pointed at them. It was a blur of black uniforms, blinding light and shouting.

  “What’s happening? What is this?” Wormwood was on his knees, his hands behind his head.

  The invaders shouted over one another, a dozen variations of ‘on the floor’ or ‘hands behind your head.’ Hellen complied to every one of them. “Worm, get down. Shut up, don’t say anything.”

  One of the men twisted Hellen’s arms behind her back and cuffed her. Worm moved as though he would come to her defense and took another shot to the back of his head with the butt of the rifle. The man who held it pinned him face down on the floor. “Don’t move. Is there anyone else in the house?”

  “No,” Hellen screamed, “there’s no one else, it’s just us.”

  She looked up and saw SWAT stenciled on the back of one of the men’s flak jackets. “What is this, we haven’t done anything.” One of the officers picked Hellen up and hurried her out of the house into the stark outdoors. She couldn’t see a damn thing. Where were they taking her?

  “Are you alright? Have you been harmed?” The officer who pushed her along shouted.

  Hellen squinted and could see a squad car ahead of her. There were squad cars and SWAT trucks everywhere. “I’m fine. I don’t understand, please talk to me, what’s happening?”

  The officer seated her in the back of a squad car. “We received a report of a possible murder-suicide. Is there anything or anyone in the house we should know about? Any explosives, any weapons?”

  “What? No. Hell no, we don’t even own a gun. Murder-suicide, what are you talking about? What are you doing to my fiancé?” Confusion gave way to anger. This was some serious bullshit.

  The officer leaned down and made eye contact. “Ma’am, you can talk to us, are you in any danger? Do you have any reason to believe your fiancé may want to hurt you?”

  “No, dammit, no. We’re fine, everything is fine.” Hellen looked around. A dozen neighbors stood in their front yards and gawked at the scene. Every single freakin’ one of them had a phone pointed at her. Some of them had their dirty-faced hell spawn standing around with them in nothing but diapers. Look at the nice police officers saving the day, Junior.

  She stared up at the officer. “Someone’s screwing with you. We’ve had problems with kids on the internet the last day. That’s all this is, someone dicking with you.”

  Wormwood was hauled out of the house in cuffs. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek.

  Hellen tried to get up. “God, Worm.”

  The officer held her in place. “Stay seated, ma’am.”

  One of the men who came out with Wormwood walked over to Hellen and the other officer. “What do you think?”

  The officer with Hellen stood up. “Freaking kids is what I think. She says they’ve had some problems with the internet.”

  The other officer glanced at Wormwood, who was shoved into the back of another car. “That tracks with what he said. They’re going through the house now, just in case.” He turned to Hellen. “Anything we should know about? Guns, drugs, illegal bootlegs?” He smirked.

  “No.” Hellen was cold. Damn pigs. Scared the shit out of them, hit
Worm twice, and then had the gall to crack jokes.

  “Well, this is a clusterfuck. I hate the internet.” The officer next to Hellen patted his leg. “We’ll bandage your boyfriend up and cut him loose as soon as we’re done checking the house.”

  Hellen craned her neck to see Wormwood in the other car. She couldn’t see his face. His head was lowered. Maybe this would be enough to get him to back down. They needed less attention on them, not more.

  Then again, this was Wormwood. She hadn’t said yes to his proposal because he was a pussycat. She liked his balls. Most of the time.

  One by one, officers in SWAT gear filed out of the house. They conversed on the lawn and laughed with each other like they were at a neighborhood barbecue. The rubberneckers up and down the street dispersed into their own homes over time. Nothing of interest to see after all, Junior. Just the complete upheaval of her and Wormwood’s lives.

  She looked back at the other car every so often. Wormwood never moved. He was either broken or fuming. She’d be left to deal with the fallout in either event.

  The officer who had dragged Hellen outside came back to her. “I have to admit, I thought we’d at least find weed in the house. Not a stem. You two sure like your pizza though.”

  Hellen stared straight ahead. “Sorry officer, we’re boozers, not users. Can we go now?”

  The officer uncuffed her. “Indeed you may. You kids stay out of trouble now. Maybe take a break from Facebook. Some of those people play rough.”

  She met Wormwood on the sidewalk leading to their front door. He rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had been too tight. Behind them, police cruisers and SWAT vehicles drove away.

  Hellen tried to put her arm around Worm, but he pulled away from her. “Don’t,” he said.

  They walked back into their home. A broken whiskey bottle was in the hallway floor, stepped on and shattered by jackbooted thugs with authority complexes. The drawers and cabinets in their kitchen hung open. The whole place was a shambles.

  Wormwood stood motionless in the middle of the whole god awful mess.

  Hellen tried to close the front door, but it was busted. It wouldn’t stay shut. “Worm. Joe.”

  “Don’t say a word.” He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He stood and breathed; his lungs pumped air in and out with unnatural force. “I’ll kill them.”

  She’d hoped for any kind of reaction but this. “We don’t know that it was them, our shit is out there. It could have been anyone.”

  Wormwood turned and screamed directly into her face. “I’ll kill them.” His expression was so twisted she didn’t recognize him. The white piece of gauze taped to his cheek didn’t help. He trod to his computer and loomed over it. The light from his monitor cast upwards onto him and gave him the appearance of a skull. “Look.”

  Hellen didn’t move. She didn’t want to be near him.

  He pointed at the screen and spoke through clenched teeth. “Look.”

  She moved toward him and looked at the screen. It was their e-mail inbox. It was full of new messages, but one in particular stood out from the others.

  For the Littleberrys. Love and kisses, The Cunt.

  This would not end well if it didn’t end now. Hellen spoke softly. “Joey. That’s it. We’re even. Let’s walk away. This isn’t what we set out to do. The podcast, Joe. It was ours, remember? Our baby.”

  “You know what I remember?” He took a step toward her. She took a step back. “I remember you being the one to start all this shit. Remember that, Hellen? You were the one who wanted to swing your big dick around and threaten Nick Dawkins. You were the one who said, ‘Hey, let’s jack up his house, that’ll show him’. And what are you doing now?”

  Wormwood grabbed the edge of the table with his hands and slammed the entire thing up and down. Their flat screen monitors fell over. He screamed. “What are you doing now?” He stepped toward her again and jabbed a pointed finger hard into her chest. “You’re doing the same shit you always do. In one second, out the next. You never commit to anything.”

  She pushed his hand away. “Stop poking me. And that’s bullshit. I committed to you. I committed to us, and to our podcast. I commit to the important stuff, but this isn’t that. One of the worst things about human beings is that most of them never change their minds about anything. They pick one road and stay on it until they go off a gosh damn bridge. There are signs everywhere that say ‘bridge out’ but they keep driving. I’m not one of those assholes and I’m telling you there are signs everywhere that say ‘bridge fucking out’, Worm. Open your eyes and look.”

  Wormwood grabbed her by the arms and slammed her against the wall. An autographed picture of the two of them with Bill Mosely fell from its nail and broke. His voice turned nasty, like the words were floating out on sludge. “I’ll kill them. Do you hear me? I swear to god. I’ll have them killed.”

  Hellen lashed back and slapped him across the face. She hoped it stung him twice as much as it stung her hand. “No. You don’t touch me like that. Ever.”

  He raised a fist like he’d hit her. He’d never struck her before—not outside of playtime, anyway—but she’d never seen him like this. Not this far gone. She couldn’t be sure of what he might do. But she didn’t flinch. She looked him dead in the eyes. “Do it. Take it out on me if it’ll make you feel better, but I swear it will be the last time.”

  Wormwood’s fist shook with the force he’d balled up into it. She waited for the blow. He relented and backed away before he stormed out of the room.

  Crashes came from the kitchen as he shut the cabinets and drawers as hard as he could. She said nothing, did nothing. Better their kitchenware than her face, and then wherever things would inevitably escalate to beyond that.

  That was the problem with violence. It begat itself, an ongoing crescendo that culminated until all bets were off and anything could happen.

  She picked up her beer, took a swig and wondered where this crescendo would end.

  Chapter 12

  CorpseFlower cackled maniacally. She’d been doing that the better part of the afternoon. Wormwood and Hellen were paid a visit by their friendly local SWAT team after an anonymous tip led them to believe he planned to kill her and then himself. There was also a vague implication of IED’s in the home. It didn’t matter that the tip came from an anonymous source that, according to Corpse, couldn’t be traced by ‘Skynet itself.’ These cats busted down the door first and asked questions second.

  The unexpected storming of the victim’s home by large, heavily armed men in tactical gear was the primary consequence of being ‘SWATed,’ as it’s called. The secondary consequence was the discovery of any illicit substances that might be lying around when the big men with guns burst through the door. The third consequence was the damage to the home, property, etc. All of these things combined was why SWATing was apparently one of the internet’s favorite ways to royally screw with someone’s life.

  Wormwood and Hellen’s SWATing experience had been live-tweeted by a helpful neighbor, and Nick and Corpse watched the entire thing unfold with the relish of a pay-per-view event. Corpse never stopped laughing, and Nick feared that she may actually rupture a vital organ when Wormwood was dragged from the house with blood running down his face.

  “I have to admit, there was a certain satisfaction in that,” Nick said after Wormwood and Hellen were cut loose and retreated into their home. “Not worth it, though. Hell’s sake, Bonnie and Chuck lost their store.”

  “Right? I hope they’re insured. But yeah, that shit was Gnarles Barkley.” Corpse pointed at her laptop. “That’s why you can’t feel bad about hitting them back. Boners had it coming. I say we hit ‘em again. Punk ‘em until they can’t get back up.”

  Nick didn’t have a chance to respond. A buzzer sounded from the monitor near the front door. He grabbed his crutches. “Someone’s at the gate.”

  Corpse pulled up a window on her computer. Nick’s mom stood at the gate and pressed the buzzer again. “Dude, i
t’s your mom. You want I should get my baseball bat?”

  He laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Nah, that’s not necessary. What could she possibly want? Let her in, I guess, what the hell.”

  Corpse moved her cursor over the ‘open’ button on the gate controls. “You sure?”

  Nick pushed himself up off of the couch and settled onto his crutches. “Yeah, like what am I supposed to do, turn her away? I can’t believe she’s even out here, that cold front’s coming through tonight.”

  “You’re the boss, boss.” Corpse clicked a button and the front gates swung open. “What do you think she wants?”

  “God willing, she’s saying good-bye on her way to not Forest Down.” The front door had an ominous aura around it when Nick knew his mother was on the other side. At the very least, he no longer had the urge to vomit when she showed up out of the blue. “Let me do the talking. If one of us is going to make her cry, I’d rather it be me.”

  “Roger that. You want me to mess with the idiots some more?” Corpse tapped her fingers together in front of her face like an overeager supervillain.

  “Put a pin in it for the moment.” He unlocked the door to greet his mother face-to-face. “I can only focus on one shitstorm at a time.”

  Meredith walked up to the door with her hands tangled together in a mess of twitching fingers.

  “Mom.” Nick leaned against the frame of his door. “What brings you by, completely uninvited, two days after I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore?”

  “I know, baby, I know. But I couldn’t leave without saying good-bye.”

  Nick ran that sentence back in his head to make sure he’d gotten it right. “You’re leaving? For good?”

  She nodded. If he’d been asked five minutes earlier what this conversation might go like, he’d have described his mother as a bawling mess. She’d use the word ‘baby’ ad nauseam and beg him to take it all back.

  But the scene that would have played out in his head was very different than the one that played out in reality. She was completely calm. Oddly at peace with her current situation. Life was full of surprises.