Chapter 5

 

Caleb stared dumbfounded as the man from his hallucination bolted from the alleyway, wearing all black and carrying a duffel bag.  He turned right towards Caleb, running straight at him, worry and childlike mischief taking turns at playing on his face.  Caleb’s shoulders slumped.  I am crazy.  Now my hallucinations are taking over reality.  He wondered how long it would be until he started yelling at imaginary students in class.  Staring the stranger down, he brought up a hand to wave slightly.  I may as well make friends with him.  Who wants the first voice in their head to be a grumpy neighbor?

He opened his mouth to say hello but the imaginary man beat him to it, “Might want to run the other way, pal.  Trouble’s coming.”  The imaginary man said as he shouldered past Caleb, knocking him sideways.  Caleb looked down at his body as if it had betrayed him; hallucinations weren’t supposed to run into you.  He stared in confusion for a moment, then turned and watched the imaginary man kick a cardboard box out of his way as he fled.  Imaginary people weren’t supposed to affect the real world, either.  But if that man was real, then what about the…

A roar like death clawing its way through granite sounded behind him, interrupting his half-delusional reverie.  Caleb spun his head around and saw it.  He was huge—easily six and a half feet tall with large, iron arms and legs like an oak.  His skin was pale to the point of almost being translucent and black pupils framed by a weave of red lines sat buried in his rage-crumpled face.  He held something in his hand; a black and crimson mess that was twisted and bent at odd angles.  Caleb looked closely at it and involuntarily stepped backwards as he realized it was vaguely human in shape.  He shook his head in denial and moved farther backwards.  It must be a mannequin or something.  Men weren’t supposed to bend that way.  The behemoth holding the mess moved slightly, and Caleb saw the face as the blood-covered head rolled towards him.

It was the oriental man…again.

The man’s bloodshot eyes focused on Caleb and narrowed.  Caleb turned slightly but froze as he saw a black mist begin weaving upwards from the corpse' arms in slow, snaking tendrils.  His mouth gave up the fight to remain closed as the history teacher watched the oriental man—the dead one—slowly…evaporate. 

Caleb blinked numbly and swallowed.  His eyes began to lose focus as everything hit him at once; Tiffany; the visions; melting dead men.  It was all too much.  His hands reached back and slapped the cold bricks, arms of string trying futilely to hold him up as his mind threatened to shut down and save at least one island of sanity in his quickly growing sea of delusion.  His vision faded.

The roar snapped him back to consciousness.  He snapped his head to the pale, murderous beast of a man not twenty yards away, fear making his stomach shrink and writhe like a pile of cockroaches scurrying from the kitchen light.  The thing growled, showing his teeth—his yellow, sharpened teeth.  Thin lines of red ran between the teeth and Caleb suddenly knew why the corpse he had been holding had been covered in blood.  Caleb looked back to see if the oriental man had indeed evaporated and immediately regretted it as he saw the empty hand flex from a fist to an open hand and back again—and saw the long, black claws on the end of each finger.

That pushed him over the edge.  He screamed something unintelligible and turned away, stumbling over a pile of debris as he tried to flee down the dark street as fast as he could. 

“Not so fast, little man.” A dry, rattling voice sounded behind him in an accent that sounded German or Russian, “You’ve seen far too much.”

Caleb couldn’t agree more, but wasn’t entirely sure he would agree with that monster’s solution to the problem.  He regained his feet and broke into a dead sprint.  He could see the oriental man in front of him as he ran and realized he was gaining on him.  Caleb had been a star wide receiver in high school primarily due to his speed.  He had considered giving up his training once he didn’t make the pros, but he was infinitely glad he had kept up with his workouts and stayed in shape at the moment.  Even more so as he realized he would soon overtake the oriental man.  If the German creature caught him, he might be preoccupied long enough to lose Caleb.

A few eternal seconds later, he had caught up to the other man and was running past when the other man yelled between breaths, “If we stop…we might…be able…to take him.” 

Caleb considered it a moment and then remembered the claws; the mouth like a shark’s; the bloody, melting corpse.  He shook his head.  “Sorry, man, you’re on your own.”

“A pity.” The oriental man said.

Then he shoved Caleb as hard as he could. 

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Jayden continued on as he heard the unfortunate sap crash into a pickup and tumble backwards with a groan.  A sucker born every minute, they said.  But in Vegas there was a sucker born every couple seconds.  He continued running and stole a glance back to see that he was outpacing his pursuer.  He smiled.  A dozen more blocks would have him on the strip, and that undead freak wouldn’t dream of following him there.

Just to be safe, he took a turn down a side street and stopped for a moment, glancing around to be sure nobody was watching.  His mind quickly rifled through the emotions that might work here.  Fear?  No.  He’d be just as likely to sit on the curb and whimper as he would run.  And besides, Jayden needed his fear or he might decide to just walk away—which would be very, very bad.  Paranoia?  That wouldn’t do either.  Paranoia was always unpredictable.  Anxiety?  Hmm…he might work, if properly motivated.

Jayden nodded, his decision made.  Focusing inwards, he found the anxious part of himself and called to it, isolated it.  He drew it away from his other mix of emotions, focusing on it pushing it away.  His mental action provoked a physical kick inside his chest.  His face pulled away slowly, followed by his neck and chest.  It stretched straight forward, as if his skin was being pulled away from his muscles.  Soon his arms and legs followed, his feet scraping on the sidewalk.  A hiss sounded, drowning the scrapes out as black mist began to creep out from the middle of the stretched out Jayden.  The mist began to drift upwards, and in the middle of it another face began to appear so that it soon appeared to be two Jaydens standing on the street, one facing the other’s back and both connected by stringy lines of cloying mist.  The mist scattered and soon there were two Jaydens standing on the street, identical down to the clothing—though only one held the duffel bag full of cash.  That one spoke first.

“You’d better run; he’s coming.”

“What?  He is?  D****t!  Why..why’d you…” he made a nervous noise and looked around, chewing on his fingernails in a panic as his eyes hopped around like hyperactive children..

“I mean it.  Run.” the real Jayden said calmly, the cold edge to his voice sending the other one into a scurry as he turned and tripped, tumbling into a garbage can and sprawling onto the street amidst a pile of bouncing trash.  He scrambled to his feet and started running back towards Jayden.

“No.  Wrong way.  Go that way!” Jayden said coolly and the double reversed direction again, looking about anxiously before bolting into the darkness, muttering to himself.

Jayden shook his head and watched his Anxiety run away with ice in his veins.  He calmly looked back up the street but didn’t see the murderous crime boss.  He quickly went over his options and nodded to himself, turning towards the strip and trotting away swiftly.  He knew the best course and had to be level-headed about it, which was no problem without anxiety there to bother him.  As he ran from Caleb and the murderous man chasing them both, he calmly mused that he might have to let Anxiety out more often.

 

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Caleb might have had world class speed, but he had never been very good at jumping—which was part of the reason he had never gone past college ball.  His long strides carried him forward and directly into the pickup parked at the little strip mall he had just passed moments ago; a lifetime ago.  He slammed into it and felt his face fold around the large steel mirror.  His shoulder crumpled as it came in awkwardly and something popped audibly as he crumpled to the hot asphalt.

He lay there a moment, angry red pain clouding his vision.  He wondered for a moment what had happened.  He had been running, he knew, and had run into something—a car?  Why had he been running?  Was he trying to catch someone?  Was someone trying to catch…  His vision cleared abruptly as frigid, black fear lanced through the pain and his mind woke, screaming at him to focus; get up; run; hide; anything!  It was coming, he knew, and he doubted he had the strength to do anything but lie there and be slaughtered.

The worst part about it was that nobody would ever know why.  He would just be another death on the streets; another drunk who got jumped by thugs for his wallet.  He wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about the melting men, the shark-faced murderer and how he had done nothing wrong.  He had only tried to be responsible and avoid driving drunk.  Not even drunk—tipsy.  He regretted not having called his mom in weeks.  He regretted never telling his students how much he really did love them.  He almost regretted not driving home, but shook it away.  Better to die doing what was right than live and be that guy.

His vision finally cleared and he watched the pale beast running towards him, loping along like some sort of wolf or hunting cat as it closed on its prey.  It grinned a wide, toothy grin the color decay and death as it approached, and Caleb lamented that he wasn’t crazy for a moment; hallucinations don’t tear your internal organs from your body. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath; the least he could do was try to get up and run.  He briefly moved to one foot, then collapsed backwards again as pain shot through his ankle.  He wasn’t running anywhere on that.  Think Caleb.  Don’t give up.  Do something.

He opened his eyes again to meet his aggressor, staring down his murderer with grim determination.  He grabbed his keys and held them in his fist, the points sticking out between his knuckles as he waited.  At least I can take this freak with me.  He thought, but it was a small comfort.  It was thirty yards away now.  Twenty.  Fifteen.

And then everything went black.