Morden Man
xVampire3go
Captain Uni
Memoria
Eddie Brock
Master Bruce
parelaxis
Cyrania
mattmanganonJohn Norman didn't completely black out after Jed stomped him. It was more like a brownout that had flights of consciousness that would quickly be followed by dimming periods that felt like a second had passed, but John could tell serious chunk of time had passed in between. He was pretty sure he was concussed. Even in his state, he had a good idea of where he was. His face was against what felt like the floor of a car and his hands and legs were tied together by what felt like cheap nylon rope. They were moving somewhere. The car he was in would bump and stir occasionally, the bumps sending waves of pain through his battered face. John browned out again and felt no movement through the car. They were parked wherever they were. Something was pressed against his back. Something big and bulky. To John, it felt like another person.
A pneumatic hiss sounded behind him. Someone lifted the hatch of a car. Rough hands grabbed him and pulled him out the back of an SUV. He stood on wobbly legs. Crickets were sounding in the dark, and the smell the lake wafted through his nose. A light from somewhere shined. John could make out Jed's tall and muscular frame in the dim light. But the skinny man holding the Coleman lantern beside him let John know he was in some serious shit.
Jim Brown. A first-rate psycho and his cousin, John's grandpa Mike and Jim Brown's grandma being brother and sister. Another fine branch grown from that twisted and rotten Norman Family Tree. Both men had those small, harsh eyes everyone called Norman eyes. Jim Brown's eyes were always distorted by his thick glasses. Tonight, he wore a pair of black leather gloves.
"Hey, Johnny," he said, softly slapping John with a glove-clad hand. "You with me?"
"Yeah," John said groggily.
Jim Brown said, "Sounds like he's got a concussion."
"Good," said Jed. "This'll make it easier."
A knife blade snapped open somewhere in the dark. John began to struggle, but stopped when the blade cut the binds on his leg. Jed held his powerful hands around his shoulders and kept him still as Jim Brown cut the rope holding his arms together. He was free for all of a half second before Jed spun John around to face him. He backhanded him with his left hand, sending John's already hurting face aflame with more pain. He stumbled backwards in the dark before his foot found a tree root that tripped him up and sent him falling into the dirt. Jed's hands grabbed John again and hoisted him up. He tossed John like a rag doll farther into the woods. He felt my body slam against something solid and meaty, His head knocking against the ground.
John browned out again, this time coming to as the car that had carried him here was pulling away, its engine fading in the distance. His head rested against whatever it was he had fallen on. A solid, weighty object was resting on his back just below the shoulder blades. His buzzed brain made a connection to his gun. he groped for the thing on his back with my right hand. It was a gun, just not his gun. It was someone else's. He held on to the gun with his right while he groped through the dark with his left, feeling what he landed against. John felt flesh and fat and quickly rolled away in horror. It took him a few minutes to get to his feet. When he did, he pulled his cell phone out and used its light to shine on the body on the ground.
Laying face up on a bed of pine needles, his glassy eyes staring up into the night sky, was Howard Beggs. Or that's what John thought was Howard Beggs, since he was missing a face and all. The shock of using a fresh corpse as a pillow sent John reeling back through the dark as far away from Beggs' body as possible. He tripped on another root and was sent flat on his ass in the middle of the fallen leaves and needles. His teeth clicked together and rattled his jaw, the gun slipped from his hands as he sprawled out on the ground just a few feet away from the dead body. John groped in the darkness for the gun, found it, and squinted at it in the dark. Not his gun... but now it had his fingerprints all over it.
"Son of a bitch."
And that was when he saw the headlights headed his way.
--
John picked himself up from the ground as quick as he could. The headlights were bumping along with the unpaved trail the car was riding on. He tucked his phone into his pants before staring at the gun in the dark. It wasn't his, but it had his fingerprints on it. There was no way in hell that this wasn't the murder weapon that killed Beggs. He had to get rid of it. John tucked it into his jacket and ran through the woods. His body smacked against bushes and branches. A small branch slapped against his already injured face, causing his vision to dim. John's knees wobbled and threatened to give out from the pain. He ignored it, fought against it, and kept going.
He was maybe a hundred yards away from the original spot where he was left when the car come to a stop. John slid behind an old oak tree to watch what happened next. The headlights shined on Beggs' body, illuminating him and the immediate area. A door opened and a figure stepped out. The person left the door open and walked towards Beggs' body. A police radio inside the car let out a burst of static, then a dispatcher's voice saying something unintelligible from this far away.
The person stood over Beggs and crouched down over the body. John started backing away in the dark as quickly and quietly as he could. Whoever was looking at Beggs stood up and stared for a long time in the darkness. John stayed frozen a few feet behind the oak tree, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Finally, the hidden person relented and headed back to the car. John crouched down and watched the car do a U-turn on the dirt path and go back the way they came.
Back in the dark, he began to blindly search out through the woods and kept going away from the dirt road. Whoever had come to look at Beggs' body had left, but they still had to be out here and watching the road. After all, whoever it was, they were a cop. A cop waiting for a murderer to show up with the murder weapon. John's hands touched the gun in his pocket on instinct. He stopped and pulled it out, ejecting the clip into his hands. He couldn't see it in the dark, but just based on weight alone it was lighter than a full clip.
Jed and Jim Brown hadn't killed him, but they might as well have. He ran through the events of the last few days... he was going all over town, looking for Beggs and saying the man owed him money... and now he was dead and John clearly looked like he had been in a fight. To John, that sounded like the perfect conditions of just about every murder that happens in a hick town. He pulled his phone out and shut it off. The last thing he wanted was to give the cops a chance to track him with it, even though it didn't have a signal. The area around the lake was where cell phone signals go to die. Ongoing theory as to why there are no cell towers nearby is so that all those fishers and boaters out on the lake wouldn't be bothered by phone calls from their wives.
John put the clip and gun back into his pocket and kept slowly walking. The trees and the canopy above got lighter and lighter as he walked, more stars coming through to provide a little light. Finally, after what felt like an hour, he came to the gentle slope where the trees stopped and the lake started. A crescent moon hang in the sky that night and it shone down to provide a little light on the area. It was a cove tucked away from the lake. A semi-circle of trees ran from start to finish around the cove. John knew this place. I'd been fishing here a time or two. As the crow flies, it was maybe two miles from Jenkins Mill.
He walked towards the water and pulled the gun from his jacket. He gripped the barrel firmly and tossed the gun out into the lake. It made a small splash and disappeared into the dark waters of the lake. He had no intention of making this frame up easy for those sons of bitches. They wanted to charge him with murder, they'd have to work for it. With the gun disposed, he headed towards the general direction of Jenkins Mill. It was slow going. He walked carefully to avoid injury and anybody who may be out here looking for him. As quietly as he tried to walk, the woods didn't make it easy. Dried leaves, twigs, pine cones, and whatever else you can think of was out there. It was like nature itself was conspiring against him.
He finally turned his phone back on at about one in the morning. It said it had a signal, only two bars, but it was enough. John knew only person he could trust to come get him and actually keep their mouths shut about it. But damn if he didn't want to make that call. Finally, he worked up the nerve and it went about as well as John expected. He told him to park right down the road from Jenkins Mill and then turned off his phone again. John figured turning his phone back on was probably a major mistake, but he had to risk it. It was fifteen miles back to Pickett, and no way in hell he could walk all that way in the woods with someone out there watching the road.
An hour later, he emerged from the trees. John kept low and walked towards the parked Cadillac car sitting at the dirt pull off beside the road. His knuckles rapped on the driver's side window, waking the driver with a start.
"Wakey wakey," he said.
"Little shit," Mike Norman said hatefully. He turned on the car's interior light and rolled down the window. His mean look disappeared when he could see part of John's beaten face. "The hell happened to you?"
"I'll explain on the way to Jardin," John said, opening the driver's door. "I'm driving."
A pneumatic hiss sounded behind him. Someone lifted the hatch of a car. Rough hands grabbed him and pulled him out the back of an SUV. He stood on wobbly legs. Crickets were sounding in the dark, and the smell the lake wafted through his nose. A light from somewhere shined. John could make out Jed's tall and muscular frame in the dim light. But the skinny man holding the Coleman lantern beside him let John know he was in some serious shit.
Jim Brown. A first-rate psycho and his cousin, John's grandpa Mike and Jim Brown's grandma being brother and sister. Another fine branch grown from that twisted and rotten Norman Family Tree. Both men had those small, harsh eyes everyone called Norman eyes. Jim Brown's eyes were always distorted by his thick glasses. Tonight, he wore a pair of black leather gloves.
"Hey, Johnny," he said, softly slapping John with a glove-clad hand. "You with me?"
"Yeah," John said groggily.
Jim Brown said, "Sounds like he's got a concussion."
"Good," said Jed. "This'll make it easier."
A knife blade snapped open somewhere in the dark. John began to struggle, but stopped when the blade cut the binds on his leg. Jed held his powerful hands around his shoulders and kept him still as Jim Brown cut the rope holding his arms together. He was free for all of a half second before Jed spun John around to face him. He backhanded him with his left hand, sending John's already hurting face aflame with more pain. He stumbled backwards in the dark before his foot found a tree root that tripped him up and sent him falling into the dirt. Jed's hands grabbed John again and hoisted him up. He tossed John like a rag doll farther into the woods. He felt my body slam against something solid and meaty, His head knocking against the ground.
John browned out again, this time coming to as the car that had carried him here was pulling away, its engine fading in the distance. His head rested against whatever it was he had fallen on. A solid, weighty object was resting on his back just below the shoulder blades. His buzzed brain made a connection to his gun. he groped for the thing on his back with my right hand. It was a gun, just not his gun. It was someone else's. He held on to the gun with his right while he groped through the dark with his left, feeling what he landed against. John felt flesh and fat and quickly rolled away in horror. It took him a few minutes to get to his feet. When he did, he pulled his cell phone out and used its light to shine on the body on the ground.
Laying face up on a bed of pine needles, his glassy eyes staring up into the night sky, was Howard Beggs. Or that's what John thought was Howard Beggs, since he was missing a face and all. The shock of using a fresh corpse as a pillow sent John reeling back through the dark as far away from Beggs' body as possible. He tripped on another root and was sent flat on his ass in the middle of the fallen leaves and needles. His teeth clicked together and rattled his jaw, the gun slipped from his hands as he sprawled out on the ground just a few feet away from the dead body. John groped in the darkness for the gun, found it, and squinted at it in the dark. Not his gun... but now it had his fingerprints all over it.
"Son of a bitch."
And that was when he saw the headlights headed his way.
--
John picked himself up from the ground as quick as he could. The headlights were bumping along with the unpaved trail the car was riding on. He tucked his phone into his pants before staring at the gun in the dark. It wasn't his, but it had his fingerprints on it. There was no way in hell that this wasn't the murder weapon that killed Beggs. He had to get rid of it. John tucked it into his jacket and ran through the woods. His body smacked against bushes and branches. A small branch slapped against his already injured face, causing his vision to dim. John's knees wobbled and threatened to give out from the pain. He ignored it, fought against it, and kept going.
He was maybe a hundred yards away from the original spot where he was left when the car come to a stop. John slid behind an old oak tree to watch what happened next. The headlights shined on Beggs' body, illuminating him and the immediate area. A door opened and a figure stepped out. The person left the door open and walked towards Beggs' body. A police radio inside the car let out a burst of static, then a dispatcher's voice saying something unintelligible from this far away.
The person stood over Beggs and crouched down over the body. John started backing away in the dark as quickly and quietly as he could. Whoever was looking at Beggs stood up and stared for a long time in the darkness. John stayed frozen a few feet behind the oak tree, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. Finally, the hidden person relented and headed back to the car. John crouched down and watched the car do a U-turn on the dirt path and go back the way they came.
Back in the dark, he began to blindly search out through the woods and kept going away from the dirt road. Whoever had come to look at Beggs' body had left, but they still had to be out here and watching the road. After all, whoever it was, they were a cop. A cop waiting for a murderer to show up with the murder weapon. John's hands touched the gun in his pocket on instinct. He stopped and pulled it out, ejecting the clip into his hands. He couldn't see it in the dark, but just based on weight alone it was lighter than a full clip.
Jed and Jim Brown hadn't killed him, but they might as well have. He ran through the events of the last few days... he was going all over town, looking for Beggs and saying the man owed him money... and now he was dead and John clearly looked like he had been in a fight. To John, that sounded like the perfect conditions of just about every murder that happens in a hick town. He pulled his phone out and shut it off. The last thing he wanted was to give the cops a chance to track him with it, even though it didn't have a signal. The area around the lake was where cell phone signals go to die. Ongoing theory as to why there are no cell towers nearby is so that all those fishers and boaters out on the lake wouldn't be bothered by phone calls from their wives.
John put the clip and gun back into his pocket and kept slowly walking. The trees and the canopy above got lighter and lighter as he walked, more stars coming through to provide a little light. Finally, after what felt like an hour, he came to the gentle slope where the trees stopped and the lake started. A crescent moon hang in the sky that night and it shone down to provide a little light on the area. It was a cove tucked away from the lake. A semi-circle of trees ran from start to finish around the cove. John knew this place. I'd been fishing here a time or two. As the crow flies, it was maybe two miles from Jenkins Mill.
He walked towards the water and pulled the gun from his jacket. He gripped the barrel firmly and tossed the gun out into the lake. It made a small splash and disappeared into the dark waters of the lake. He had no intention of making this frame up easy for those sons of bitches. They wanted to charge him with murder, they'd have to work for it. With the gun disposed, he headed towards the general direction of Jenkins Mill. It was slow going. He walked carefully to avoid injury and anybody who may be out here looking for him. As quietly as he tried to walk, the woods didn't make it easy. Dried leaves, twigs, pine cones, and whatever else you can think of was out there. It was like nature itself was conspiring against him.
He finally turned his phone back on at about one in the morning. It said it had a signal, only two bars, but it was enough. John knew only person he could trust to come get him and actually keep their mouths shut about it. But damn if he didn't want to make that call. Finally, he worked up the nerve and it went about as well as John expected. He told him to park right down the road from Jenkins Mill and then turned off his phone again. John figured turning his phone back on was probably a major mistake, but he had to risk it. It was fifteen miles back to Pickett, and no way in hell he could walk all that way in the woods with someone out there watching the road.
An hour later, he emerged from the trees. John kept low and walked towards the parked Cadillac car sitting at the dirt pull off beside the road. His knuckles rapped on the driver's side window, waking the driver with a start.
"Wakey wakey," he said.
"Little shit," Mike Norman said hatefully. He turned on the car's interior light and rolled down the window. His mean look disappeared when he could see part of John's beaten face. "The hell happened to you?"
"I'll explain on the way to Jardin," John said, opening the driver's door. "I'm driving."
