Consequences

Consequences

Life is like mixing drinks. Adding things together make a whole new thing. A lifetime’s worth of unrequited love mixed with a gallon of faith and trust is a stable compound; stir in a large dash of untraceable money and, sure as shit, it turns into betrayal, with just a whiff of avarice for good measure.

The frost rimed window distorts my view of the street, like looking through a snowman’s kaleidoscope. If I stand in just the right spot though, there is a clear patch, just big enough to see trouble coming. And it is coming tonight, just like it always does.

In the halo of the solitary working street light, I can see her waiting. Cool and beautiful as ever, she wears her designer labels like armour from the cold that she never seems to feel. As she flicks her lighter, the flame illuminates a face more perfectly painted than any Michelangelo ever captured. A face I know as well as my own. I had thought that I knew the person behind it too, but, hell; one out of two ain’t bad.

It goes to show, you can’t be sure about much in his world, but one thing I was sure about was cocked and loaded in my coat pocket.

The thing about the cold is, it carries sound - messages for the brain to turn into pictures. You can create a whole movie in your head from just the evidence of your ears – if you know the back story.

The slam of a car door – no, two doors. A big car, heavy doors.

Footsteps across the cobblestoned street, slow and steady.

The screech of a reluctant gate hinge.

Bam. Bam. Bam. A tired, communal door shivers under the weight of the blows.

The buzz and click of the entry system. Someone decides to let a problem in - to save their door – and in the hope that it isn’t their problem.

Count the treads of four feet on threadbare carpet. Thirteen steps to my floor. Unlucky for some.

Wait.

Another thirteen steps, but only one pair of feet.

A crash of a door, a scream, a slap, and silence for a heartbeat.

The floor boards creak above me. I follow them across the ceiling, the light fitment trembles briefly and then settles as the steps move to the back.

The back!

I snatch the precious carpetbag and rush to the rear of the flat to cover the old, now disused communal staircase, a relic of the building’s grander days.

Stamp. Stamp. Stamp.

As the echo fades from the flat above, two doors are kicked in.

One above me, one behind.

I fumble for my forgotten 38, but the hammer snags in the lining of my coat.

A sharp metallic tap tap tap bounces down the stairs.

BANG!

Blinded by the flash, I stagger back, stunned and deafened.

A blunt, brutal, blow buffets my ears and I go down like a house of cards in the Chinook, bouncing once of the wall and once off the floor.

Face down, one eye examines the worn, dirty boards closer that I ever wanted to.

A harsh metallic taste invades my mouth, dripping down my face and pooling dark on the floor, some running away through ages old cracks, into the flat below.

A pair of red stilettos glides into my field of vision and a perfectly manicured hand reaches down daintily for the fallen bag using a slip of white lace handkerchief, to protect from the grubby handles I assume, not from the filthy lucre inside.

As the shoes spin away to leave me to my fate, my 38 shouts from my pocket.

I see one of the perfectly formed feet disappear in a cloud of red mist.

She falls in front of me, face scrunched up and screaming. Not so pretty now, eh?

There you go, Honey, betrayal and revenge, the perfect cocktail.

I call it Consequences.

 660  words

This story was the winner in Jeff Tsuruoka's Mid-Week Blues Buster 3.11 flash fiction contest, and was inspired by this week's song 'Don't Worry Baby' by Los Lobos.
Judge Ruth Long said:-
 Each one of the stories was filled with tension and angst but the devil was in the details. Nick Johns' story was slick, polished, and filled with fresh crisp details that stuck in my head like good song lyrics. In short, it’has a great noir feel that left me wanting more –  much more!

The Cleansing Fire

I bury my face in her shirt, sobbing. Her scent insinuates itself into my tingling nostrils and draws me toward her, even now. I resist the siren call of her screams and let the crumpled garment drop from my useless fingers into the flames. And I step off to join it.

***

It had all started so easy; a trip to the pharmacy to replace her dwindling supply of meds. A quick in and out; no more dangerous that the monthly trip to forage for food.

I’d nailed the door shut and slid a note ringed with kisses under the weathered oak. I’d shrugged to adjust the familiar weight of my ballistic vest and checked that I was locked and loaded before dropping down the hatch and crawling out to meet the watery, winter dawn.

It had all gone to hell. Newly blocked streets had made for massive detours and delays. By the time I had all the drugs, I was running dangerously late. Lengthening shadows swarmed across every street, growing fast as the sun fled, phantom fingers reaching to pull me into the dark.

In movies in the old days, how many times did you shout at someone who got into a car in the dark without first checking the back seats? What can I say? I was in a rush to get back to her – and more than a little spooked by then. Hey! It’s not like they would steal the car. They don’t drive.

I jumped in and gunned the engine. The roar of the unsilenced V8 echoed off the concrete.

I felt a hand grab at my shoulder and threw myself flat on the bench seat. The hand scrabbled for a hold before falling away. I swung the shortened twelve gauge on its strap and fired blindly through the seat.

BAM! BAM!

I rolled out onto the road, and lay there, ears ringing and hands shaking from my narrow escape, gulping for suddenly scarce air. No injuries.

Jumping to my feet I snatched open the rear door to clear away the remains of my stowaway. I should have grabbed another car, but the old sedan had been hers in happier days and I wanted to hang onto it. I dragged the shredded body out onto the road. As I turned to get back in the front, the body heaved and snatched my leg. I kicked out and, as I wrenched away, I felt nails scratch down my leg as my Levis rode up above my boots.

BAM! BAM!

The body jerked across the asphalt like a gaffed fish being landed and lay still – for now. I fishtailed away and took three tries to get the flame near enough to my Camel to light it.

The tingling in my calf started almost straight away. I rubbed it hard with the side of my boot, hoping it was just an adrenaline twitch. By halfway home, my whole leg was burning and the other was tingling. I figured I had a couple of hours at best. I needed a plan.

***

I skid to a halt on our drive and fall out of the car. My whole body feels like it has been flensed and dipped in salt. My legs are numb and I move now with their characteristic shamble. My neck tingles. I can sense her presence.

Inside, I call “Honey, I’m home!” Like always.  

“Quick, out the window, my husband’s here!” comes her accustomed reply.

After bumping legs that no longer belong to me up the stairs, I lean my head against her door.

“Baby. Listen carefully. We’ve got a problem.” My tongue tingles and I feel like my mouth is full of dry crackers. I hear her wheelchair cross towards the door.

“What’s happened?”

“One of them’s here. In the house. No. I’ll kill it. Remember, you’ve got a revolver on the dresser. Love you Babe...”

The flames from the paraffin splashed about the lobby crackles and flickers, consuming the stairs. The smoke swirls, dancing with me, beckoning me to destroy the thing that will surely kill her if I wait. I grab blindly at the laundry pile. I bury my face in her shirt, sobbing.

700 words

@nickjohns999

This story was the winner of Jeff Tsuruoka's Midweek Blues Buster #39 and was inspired by this week's song 'Heavy in your Arms' by Florence and the Machine

Judge Jenn Monty said:-First Place goes to @nickjohns999 – ZOMBIES! very creative and unexpected while still fitting the song perfectly. The descriptions of the disease spreading through the MC were excellent. Great job. And I just want to add – always double tap!

Man The Hunter

Man The Hunter

Carefully placing the bike, I stepped back to survey the overall effect.

Scattered abandoned debris would attract adventurous scavengers. Open windows and doorways hinted at shelter or unlooted treasures.

Settling into the shadowy hide, checking fields of fire, I quieted my grumbling belly. My boiled bone soup would soon be replaced by something fresher.

There!

55 words

@nickjohns999

This story was judged the WINNER in Lisa McCourt-Hollar's 55 word Challenge #83

Judge J Whitworth Hazard (@zombiemechanics) said:-
Winner:@nickjohns999 for his clever use of all three prompts to string together a horrifying man-trap. Curiosity will kill more than the cat when this guy's lurking in the dark corners.

Gazing into the Abyss

She waited, trembling, for them to call his name. Or hers.
The sweat stained Mayor picked a folded slip, passed it to David to read out.

“David Osborne.”

He crushed it. Dropped it. It rolled to a stop against her foot.

He strode to the hatch, his body no longer warming the space next to her. She felt the impossibly small drop in temperature. But the hairs on her arm bristled for a different reason. 

 ***

“Come on, Em. Don’t be like this. It’s what we’ve worked for all this time.”

“What you’ve worked for, David.”

He yawned, popping his ears. Equalising the pressure of the descent, she knew, but she couldn’t let the chance pass.

“Sorry, am I boring you? At least you can listen now you are in the same room as me.”

“Em, I’m not...”

“...Not what? Not tired from spending all night out... again? Not wishing it wasn’t me here with you?”

His eyes flashed, cold and dangerous like the darkening water surrounding them.

“That’s not fair and you know it! There were a million details to settle recently. Who was going to sort them out – you?”

“...and why not? We started this project together. I know every inch of the design, even if it’s your brainchild. ‘You’re not just a pretty face are you?’ You used to say that when I surprised you knowing about the schematics Well, it seems that just a pretty face was all you were really interested in – once I got your funding lined up. We are – were – a team, David.”

“There’s no ‘I’ in team, Emma.”

“Is that the best you’ve got...?”

“... but there is a ‘me’, isn’t there? If you twist it. The way you twist everything.”

He took a step towards me then stopped. He drew a deep ragged breath. He exhaled as if more air came out than went in. His shoulders sagged, deflated, defeated.

“Whatever. I’m going to glad-hand the VIPs. You have the conn.”

The hatch closed, leaving me alone and still fuming. That was quicker than I expected. He gave in too easily now. You can’t fight properly unless you get in close, and we got so close we swore we’d never be apart.

Who was he close to now, I wondered. I wiped my eyes with my coverall sleeve, making a note to check the humidity later.

My hand hovered over the button. Was I really ready for this?

Hell yes! I slammed the button and held on. We lurched, our descent speed increasing rapidly.

I flicked the tannoy. “Emergency buoyancy loss! Brace for impact! Brace for impact!”

We hit bottom hard.

The VIPs had bickered, but it was obvious. David or I had to man the escape pod.

Two names in the helmet. Let fate decide.

***

 The sub rocked as the pod launched with a whoosh.

She had almost emptied the air tanks in it. No chance of making the surface.

She retrieved the crumpled slip. Unravelled it.

‘Emma Osborne’

500 words

@nickjohns999

This story was written for Alissa Leonard’s FinishThat Thought Flash Fiction Challenge #11

The story was judged the WINNER of the Judge's Challenge Category of the contest.
Judge Rebekah Postupak said:-

WINNERS:

Judge's Challenge: @NickJohns999. While I'm not sure why the POV switched from 3rd to 1st person midway, the abyss of deep water is pivotal to this story's central crisis and also serves as a stark metaphor of David & Emma's lethally destructive relationship. In the tradition of Stephen King, "Abyss" is utterly tragic and utterly terrifying; and it is utterly inseparable from its watery setting. It's a powerful and full-bodied use of the challenge, deserving of the challenge title.