I posted this story some time ago, but I wrote myself into a hole with it, so I did a major overhaul. Plus, the original version featured Vincent as a main character, and I came to realize that I can't stand that bastardly little fuck (sorry fangirls!) Anyway, read and review if you like, or beat me profusely about the head and shoulders if you prefer (I wish you wouldn't.)
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. You can't prove I don't not own nothing ((brain explodes from overdose of double negatives)) Okay, I lied. Any characters you don't recognize belong to me. So there.
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Prologue
I'm wrapped in the depths of these deeds that have made me
I can't bring a sound from my head though I try
I can't seem to find my way up from the basement
A demon holds my place on earth 'till I die
Neko Case, Furnace Room Lullaby
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I meet them in Rosewater Park. Well, I can't really say I ever meet any of them, since our encounters usually last less than a minute. They come up to me as I'm standing there on the observation deck overlooking Toluca Lake. They make pathetic small talk, commenting on the lake, the park, the dark-green Pleasant River University hoodie I always wear. "Are you a student there?" they always ask. I simply answer yes and get on with it. They don't need to know that I'm financing my education by doing this, and working towards a degree in criminal justice at that. I hand them the bag, they hand me the cash. Some of them I'll see again later that day. Some I'll never see again. And still others I'll see some time later, in the obituaries. The headlines let me know when to expect this. Suspicious deaths continue. "PTV" dealers still at large.
I actually tried it once, the drug. I knew better, I knew I could be next, but I like to take my chances. At first it felt kinda nice, warm and fuzzy, like drinking vodka on an empty stomach. I actually did think about going to get something to drink when it hit me. I stood up off the couch and the next thing I knew I was rushing to the bathroom, collapsing to my knees in front of the toilet and retching violently. I could taste it rising in my throat, but it refused to come up entirely. It tasted the way cat piss smells. I slumped over the toilet, staring at the hole in the bottom, my tears the only thing hitting the water. Suddenly a foul reddish-brown substance started bubbling up through the hole, and I jumped away. It started overflowing, and at the same time tiny rivulets of blood were rising from the baseboards and snaking up the walls, across the floor, into the toilet and the shower, forming a grisly web on everything. I scrambled to my feet as they started crawling up my legs, and dashed into the living room. Here too. The blood appeared to be soaking through the wall as if it were a sponge, seeping into the room. The sponge-wall started pulsing, as if it were alive, and hideous, human faces materialized in it, all laughing and shrieking discordantly. I ran into the bedroom but they were there too, all laughing at me. Finally I curled up in a ball on the floor, screaming until my throat was raw to drown out the maddening din.
That was just last night. Somehow I woke up this morning, and I returned to the park, where I stand now. A nice looking middle-aged guy spies me from a few yards away on the deck. Two minutes later he walks away with a bag, and I walk the opposite direction with four crisp $20 bills in my pocket.
I wonder what he'll see tonight.