Chapter 2: Part 6, Everything Yet Nothing

Once again he sat there alone in a world that seemed hauntingly familiar yet entirely new to him. The man who had called him friend had gotten up and now stumbled among the graves heedless of the drenching rain. His entrails dangled, painting red blotches along the ground. He would falter now and again as they became caught up in his feet. The dog Pieces had slept briefly, and now playfully chased after the floppy tripe in a macabre game of keep away.

The rain kept a steady pace with thoughts that pitter patted in his mind. He knew things, but couldn't connect the drips of thought into anything larger than puddles. He tried to remember anything about the past which he could grasp onto, something onto which he could build a foundation. Conflicting thoughts fought with each other as blurred memories tumbled viscously. There were age conflicts, physical attribute differences, philosophical differences, and multitudes of religions in his memories. A definite sense of masculinity pervaded him, and his body was male, yet memories of a female nature roiled within. One memory had him losing his virginity to a seventeen year old blonde named Sarah on prom night. In another he was giving birth to his daughter Elizabeth, and yet in another he was too young to have children. The two opposing facets of man and women set the stage for far stranger contentions and for these he didn't need memories to observe. He was embroidered with difference. Looking down at his hands he could delineate where dark skin, possibly African American, was stitch tightly with what looked to be Caucasian. He was everything yet nothing.

Blood splashed against the walls as his fist slammed into the puddle where Nick Daniels had lay. A spider web of cracks emanated from beneath his knuckles in the red stained marble. His troubled thoughts cleared as deadened nerves carried faint signals of pain through his nervous system. Pain was all that was real now, pain and the craving for flesh. Licking the tacky liquid from his hands he sat back and enjoyed the coppery taste.

A slight wind picked up from the east carrying with it the salty sea air. The rain had let up slightly but the wind tossed it at harsh angles against the small building. A story book ending seemed far away, too many things appeared to be stacked against him. No home, no family, and no coherent memory all seemed insurmountable obstacles.

A wet lick brought him back to reality as the dog cleaned the remnants of the drying blood from his hand. No family seemed to be an incorrect statement. They were family he thought sensing the dog, and in no truer sense looked to be spun from the same yarn. The plastic stitches that coursed its back matched those on his arm.

His hand rested on the back of the large animal, its unnatural strength radiated from deep within. It was the strength of a hunter, it was a purpose which seemed built in both of them. He had witnessed it firsthand when they encountered the singing man. The dog intuitively took position in the shadows and waited for a signal from him. They had worked silently as one waiting for the prime opportunity to strike in the darkness.

As if on cue they both turned their heads towards the distant edge of the cemetery. Voices, carried on the wind alerted them to an approaching group. The dog sniffed the air and pawed the ground in agitation. Patchwork stepped silently out of the building and into the light rain with Pieces in tow a few feet behind. They would again have the chance to hunt together tonight.

Alec Wilson and his buddies were on their second row of graves. The sounds of spray cans filled the air with the quiet hiss of rattlesnakes. "Yo Alec! Gimme a red, I'm out!"

"Here ya go!" Alec expertly flipped his knapsack over his shoulder and opened it. It was filled with a dozen or so cans of spray paint in an assortment of colors. Grabbing a can of red he tossed it over to Jonesy. "Don't forget to switch the spray tip off the old can! Those tips are hard to get!"

"Damn kid! You act like I ain't ever done this before!" Jonesy fronted an aggressive attitude jokingly towards Alec.

"Yeah, well the way you been pissin through paint tonight it seems like you a virgin!" His mock slang carried sarcastic undertones. Alec could hear a slight chuckle from the remaining member of their crew, Smitty. "Now shut it unless you wanna get us all pinched!"

Jonesy quietly finished up the swastika he'd been working on with the new can of paint. Their small group was part of a larger skinhead gang called FSU which stood for Fuck Shit Up, and that's pretty much what they did. Their goal tonight was to defame any grave with a name that appeared non-white. Little did they realize that more than half the graves they had vandalized so far were of W.A.S.P.'S. and a majority of the paint had already been washed off by the rain.

"Do you hear that?" Jonesy stopped spraying and looked up from the tomb in front of him. "Yo! You guys hear footsteps?" a slight rustling of leaves followed. "Dude! 5-O!"

"Shut up! You're making Smitty nervous! It's pitch black and 5-O would be using flash lights!" Alec had always been the level headed one. "It's just the wind blowing leaves up your skirt! Ya big sissy!" Alec turned to continue spray painting when Smitty started to make a gurgling sound. "Smitty what the F..." his words trailed off as his gaze fixed on the sight before him.

On the ground off to his right in a pile was Smitty and something else. It was a large dog and it had locked its jaw around Smitty's throat, his eyes bulged in their sockets with each squeeze. Its hind legs tore at Smitty's abdomen with powerful kicks until his intestines spilled onto the ground with a wet slop.

Alec gasped at the gore, he had never seen anything quite like it. Jonesy hearing the commotion looked to Alec and then to Smitty. Dropping the can of paint, he had just got up to help his fallen friend when a powerful hand grabbed him from behind and pulled him back to the ground.

Patchwork felt rage from all his frustration come to the surface as he grabbed the bald head of Jonesy. With uncalculated strength he rammed it into the still wet swastika painted on the grave. A fissure appeared on Jonesy's forehead as his skull cracked with the sound of a hollow coconut. The second bash sent the rupture to the apex of his head. On the third smash Jonesy's head exploded with a cracking mush. Patchwork continued ramming Jonesy's limp carcass into the red pulp that covered the granite surface. All earlier signs of vandalism had been washed away in blood.

Alec turned to run from the sights before him. With every footstep he stumbled with fear as the wet leaves slid beneath his feet. He ran directionless through the cemetery until he saw the figure of a man standing alone praying over a small grave.

"Mister! You gotta help me! There's some psycho guy back there who killed my friends!" Alec placed his hand on the shoulder of the gentleman, "Mister, please..."

The man's hand slowly rose up in a gesture of comfort when Alec noticed that it looked like it had been used as a dog's chew toy. Flayed fingers grabbed onto Alec's hand and quickly pulled it into his mouth. That was when Nick Daniels had gotten his first taste of flesh as he bit down hard. Alec pulled away tearing the few ligaments that held his pinky on. The man slowly turn revealing a gaping hole where his throat had been. Alec, too shocked to feel any pain, ran from the nightmare he had unwillingly entered. The gates to the cemetery loomed before him like the entrance to paradise. Street lights painted the sidewalks in safety as he broke through the darkness and headed towards the light.

Like a long lost son returning home, Nick joined his creator as they feasted on the remains of Jonesy. In just under an hour the mewling cries of the reborn Smitty filled the air around them. Patchworks' family was growing...