Chapter 3: Part 8, The Road Kill Machine

Note from the author: Well, its been awhile since the last update. As some of you might already know I have been hospitalized for a while. I am happy to let you know that I am on the mend but it will be a slow recovery. I will try to post new sections when I can but the process of recovery will be slow. I thank you for your patience! William Zedalis.

Beth Hansen stirred in the darkness as she stretched trying to shake off the effects of another poor night of sleep. It had seemed ages since she had felt truly rested. Two years... she sadly thought to herself. Two long years since she’d left home and run off with her boyfriend in search of a life away from her abusive step father and alcoholic mother. The decision to leave her family had been an easy one to make, but the true reality of street life was harder lesson to learn. She quickly realized that her idealized glamour of teen independence neglected to include things like rampant drug use, rape, and the everyday violence of survival. Her boyfriend Tommy had left her strung out on heroine and pregnant after three months. The beauty of her youth was now gone and left her with a permanently jaded look on her face.

Every day since then had been a fight to stay clean and survive so that she could protect and provide for the baby she now held in her arms. Being a single mother of seventeen was hard enough, but being one and homeless was torture. She was bombarded daily with insults and degrading looks from passers by as she panhandled for money to feed her baby. What really got to her were the glimpses of pity that she could see in some eyes. She didn’t want their pity or sad expressions, she wanted their money. She cared nothing for the countless faces that passed by her. They walked like mindless zombies to their jobs and then home again at the end of the day. If they gave her money even better, otherwise she would just have to steal to get what she needed.

Lately she had to rely more on other means of getting the things she needed. Pan handling had become too much of a risk. Evading the authorities had become a necessity if she wanted to keep her baby. There had been too many close calls where some do-gooder had informed the police that there was a homeless mother and infant on the streets. God damn them! She thought. Why couldn’t they just mind their own business, go home and watch American Idol or some other senseless bullshit.

Her daughter Tess was all she cared about now in this life. Sure, there were good people that truly wanted to help her like Nick Daniels, who would split whatever earnings he made from singing down at Harvard Square with her. He would make her laugh with the impressions that he would do and when Tess was colicky he would rock her to sleep singing the sweetest lullabies.

It had been Nick who told her about the abandoned school that sadly sat unoccupied at the end of Highborn Street. They had been living at the school for almost a month now, which seemed like a lifetime in such a transient world. It appeared that no matter how much she tried to clean the debris and remnants of countless vagrants that had occupied the school since its closure, she could never remove the ingrained smell of musky urine that pervaded the structure.

She stretched out on the grimy mattress that she had spent the last month on. It was one of the only articles which she couldn’t bring herself to remove from the dank room. There was a certain aspect of civility which compelled her to keep it, even though she could still smell its mildewed padding through two layers of blankets.

She turned in the darkness and felt around for her scented candles, her only defense against the black of the windowless room. With a sigh she realized that yet again she had fallen asleep with them burning, and now they were just hollow containers with charred wicks at the bottom.

Where was Nick? He was supposed to bring more candles for her last night. Then she remembered the rain and how it had come down without warning last night. Maybe he just decided to hunker down and stay dry for the night. Dry, she laughed to herself as she thought of Nick’s propensity to overindulge in whiskey. He probably got drunk in some shelter. Yet again there was just another reminder that she couldn’t rely on anyone. Then she scolded herself, who was she to be mad at Nick when he had been so kind to her. She resented how jaded she had become.

She listened to the slow and steady breathing of Tess and smiled as she thought of her tiny toothless grin. The smile disappeared quickly as an alien sound caught her attention, something shifted in the far corner. Her hand shot protectively over Tess as she froze and listened. Nothing... maybe she had just imagined it. No... There it was again, she could feel something disturbing the still air around her and causing a putrid aroma to drift past. It wasn’t a sound that scared her, it was the fact that something was moving around the room with out making any sound. Even the rats that scurried around for food made faint scrabbling sounds which echoed in the dark.

Then there was a sound. As soon as she had heard it she wished that she hadn’t. It was the sound of nails scratching against the rough pine floors of the class room. It was a dog. How did it get in? Was it rabid? Her mind raced through a thousand questions and not one had a positive reply. She slowly moved her hand under the covers over to her duffle bag. Fortunately it was open, and furrowed away on an inside pocket she found what she had been looking for. Her now sweating hand closed the diamond textured plastic grip of a hunting knife. It had been her father’s, and now she silently thanked the abusive son of a bitch as she pulled it close to her chest.

Then suddenly a cold hand locked around her throat, its icy fingers instinctively finding the soft spots in her neck. They dived inward blocking off her airway and pinching her carotid artery. She would black out soon if she didn’t stop this attack. Thinking only of Tess she drove the blade upward in a violent blur. She felt the six inch blade sink deep into her assailants’ rib cage and waited to hear the screams of pain, but they never came. Instead the hand continued squeezing and she could feel the world around her sliding away as she blacked out. Her last thoughts before her mind slipped into the blank void of unconsciousness were of the tiny baby that now lay defenseless beside her.

Patchwork felt the girl go limp in his hand as she blacked out. Her body immediately fell to the floor as he released his grasp. The dark spots on her neck where his fingers had been began to glow as warm blood started to return to her oxygen starved brain. She was still alive! He felt a lustful hunger arise within him as he stared down at his prey.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of the knife protruding from his chest. Thoughtlessly he pulled it out and examined the bloodless blade. The handle was a diamond patterned rubber which had a snake engraved into it. From its hilt a scalloped serration danced its way along the back edge of the blade. Tiny bits of flesh interrupted its progression towards a sweeping curve where finally it ended in a brutally sharp point. The knife fell from his hand and landed point first with a loud Thunk!

He was beginning to examine the wound in his chest with a morbid fascination when Pieces began to circle around them. Then Patchwork noticed movement as the dog honed in one what had grabbed his attention and had begun to growl. With one hand absentmindedly probing the hole in his chest he reached with the other and moved the blankets to one side. As he hungrily moved in to examine the glowing warmth hidden within the numerous folds of fabric he suddenly stopped and withdrew abruptly. It was a baby! Patchwork backed up and startled Pieces as he stumbled over a broken chair.

For the first time since his awakening he no longer saw food before him, he saw a mother and child. I was a mother... I was a father... “Me!” he said and continued backing up. Patchwork turned and lunged for the door. His mind congested with miles of memories gridlocked at the forefront of his consciousness.

Unsure as to what was going on Pieces returned to his master and they both spilled out into the bright hallway. Memories of dozens of children and scores of childhoods blurred as he tried to make sense of it all. They’re all mine... I’m all of them... Confused he staggered down the hallway trying to get away from the images in his mind. His curled fists grabbed and beat at his temples as he fought back the building pressure. Strange sounds erupted from his throat as fought back a rising nausea.

He wanted it all to end, the headaches, the voices, and the memories. He was an abortion, not meant to be alive and yet somehow forced to exist. His fist slammed through a boarded window splintering the wood and shattering the remaining glass. The release of aggression seemed to be the only thing which held his sanity together. He continued to smash at anything within arms reach. Framing nails whined as they pulled out of dried lumber, and broken glass crunched under his rampaging feet. Uncaring about the brilliance outside or whatever lay beyond he grabbed the window sill and heaved himself out.

Down the road buried in daylight he saw the fast flowing traffic of the morning rush hour. That is it, he thought. He would end it all in the blur of mechanical beasts that roared down the freeway. Without noticing the people that stood and stared at him he hurried off towards the road kill machine. He had no sooner started off when he heard Pieces howl in pain. He stopped and turned to see a man in black standing over the dogs motionless body, a tangle of thin wires led from the dog to a device the man held.

Patchwork confusion melted away into pure aggression as he lunged at the man, he never saw the other men standing coolly around with similar devices. Ridgeman stepped forward as electrified darts leapt from his hand. The barbed daggers bit through the clothing Patchwork wore and immediately he lost all muscle control and landed on the ground by his fallen comrade.

“Secure them and move them into the vehicles... quickly!” Ridgeman’s cool gaze surveyed the area.

“Good eyes chief! Can you believe the coincidence? That this freak is crawling out of a building just as we’re going by.” Adams moved to the window and peered into the dark hallway.

“There’s no such thing as coincidence.” Ridgeman followed Adams’ gaze into the structure. “Search the building for anyone who might have come into contact with the target. Take anyone you find into custody!”