chapter eighteen

There was a moving picture playing before Dirty's eyes. Not in dull black and white like his usual wants or desires; this played in front of him in visceral color where everything was touchable, everything was within reach.

The hold loosened on crude reality, and he drank in the sweet nectar of It. He cupped his hands around the base of the jaw leaning in, cocking his head. He felt the thickness and weight of hair, the lips parted smile which closed as he moved in for that one and most important first kiss.

He watched Balddee rush into the room. Saw in slow motion as Balddee, now framed in a bleeding sepia photograph, grab and try to stop a hand posed above his chest. Then he watched Balddee's grip loosen and the hand plunge into him wrenching out his heart.

The heart is such a simple thing, the size of a clenched fist. And he laughed to himself, he thought he'd already given that away.

Balddee’s answer is too loud, too guttural to understand. Dirty felt the creature reaching out to Balddee. Reminding Balddee of a party where the steaks were under done, but everybody he cared about was there, and how Baldee chased people around with a chef’s knife.

Dirty and the creature looked over at the face of Balddee to see a face not of happiness but of anger and rage.

The creature became angry at Balddee for not wanting to be happy, and Dirty felt an intense need to kill him.

The sepia faded away as noises return. The world became faster, sharper. “Two minutes and thirty seconds! Balddee how much longer can you hold him?”

“Eighteen seconds.”

The power coursed through Dead Dirty’s body and it reached for whatever weapon is available to him.

Satchel or Bel, the one not holding onto the radio, noticed, “Pedro, Dirty! He’s coming back to life!”

Dead Dirty felt Pedro’s claws scratching at its’ face, its’ eyes. It heard the time being yelled again: “Just ten more seconds!”

It ripped Pedro off of its’ face and grabbed hold of Balddee’s arm intent on rendering it from his body.

“Five seconds!”

It noticed, too late, that Balddee had relaxed his grip and felt the crushing elbow thunder down, breaking its’ nose. Then everything stood still again and its’ arms felt chained to his sides.

“That should be it.” Satchel or Bel said, looking curiously at Dead Dirty.

“Good,” said Balddee. “Last things last though.”

And Balddee picked up the knife that Marjorie had fallen on; it had become re-exposed during the fight. He picked up the knife and Dead Dirty felt it plunge into his chest through the place that his heart used to be.

Then all went black.