36

It wasn't even properly night when Spencer and Floyd were ejected from the bar and told that they weren't welcome back again. Floyd told them where to stick the bar… sideways… and dragged a groggy muddle headed Spencer back towards the small shop. Spencer could feel blood running down the back of his neck and now he had a cut on the bridge of his nose to go with the split lip and the other lumps, bumps and scratches. In Floyd's eyes it just made Spencer look all the more desirable. There was nothing quite as beautiful as a Spencer who flinched away from a gentle touch or a Spencer who was so out of it that he didn't know what day of the week it was. It was perfection. It was a small sign that Spencer was his to control. And all the time Spencer was in this state he wouldn't go wandering off to seek fun elsewhere. This though reminded Floyd of Derek Morgan. It reminded Floyd of how Spencer had come home stinking of someone else. The punch to the side of Spencer's head was so fast and so well judged that it looked as though he'd hardly touched Spencer, but Floyd heard the crunching crack and he saw Spencer's head jerk to the side and then Floyd saw Spencer's knees unhinge. Like the fight (attack) in the restrooms it was done in silence. Floyd didn't even break his stride but he did turn around and look at Spencer splayed out in the street. He'd have to move him. A car might come along and squash him and that wasn't part of Floyd's plan. His plan was to make sure that Spencer knew that disobedience wouldn't be tolerated.

He crouched down in the gutter next to Spencer and touched a shaking shoulder. It looked as though Spencer was sobbing. It was getting better and better. Life was finally coming together as it should have been a long time ago. It was obviously Sam getting in the way of things. 'Spencer.' Floyd pinched a bit of bloody skin on the back of Spencer's neck. 'We have a lot to discuss. Your psychological welfare is foremost on my mind. I'm worried. The drugs are causing a rapid degeneration of your sanity. You can't even walk properly any more. I'm going to help you but you have to trust me. I need to help you. You will trust me. I know that you are paranoid and I know that you have anxiety attacks. I know that you imagine all sorts of horrors and have all kinds of horrific dreams, but it's in your mind. You're destroying your brain. You are wrecking your body. Damn, Spencer I'd not nibble on your internal organs. Fuck knows what damage you've done to them with all of this messing with drugs and alcohol. So you must trust me. I will help you and you will hopefully recover. Now allow me to help you up again and I'll get you home.'

Spencer lay in the road with almost every part of his body aching. The punch to the side of the head had caused bright flashes of light to spark in his vision and for a moment as he hit the ground, that familiar grey fog had threatened to drag him off somewhere… but he stayed awake and he listened to Floyd's words and he knew that it wasn't him who had the problems. He knew it was Floyd who lived in his own odd imaginary world. He knew it was Floyd who would do something and then dismiss it as something totally different if he felt he needed to. Spencer hadn't fallen over because he was drunk! He'd hardly even sipped the drink Floyd had bought him. He'd fallen because that hammer like fist had slammed into his skull and knocked him off his feet.

Did Spencer say any of this though? 'I do trust you.' He told Floyd. 'And I do need your help.'

That was what Floyd wanted to hear. This was good. The dog was remembering the tricks he'd been taught before. 'Come on then. I'll help you home and we can relax. I'll read to you. I'll get something for the headache and we can just be the two of us. Tomorrow I'll call in Sam as a runaway. That will be the end of it, unless of course they find him.'

Spencer struggled to his feet. He'd bashed his hip as he'd gone down and stood now half leaning on Floyd and rubbing at his hip. 'You said they'd not find him.' Spencer licked at his sore lips and then wiped wet salty water off his cheeks.

'Well they might. Maybe he's going to make his way back to Wyoming.'

'He's dead.' Spencer reminded Floyd. 'He's not going back to Wyoming. He's going to lay in the bottom of the lake and the fish are going to eat his flesh.'

'No… really, Spencer – I think Wyoming.'

'Did you do what you said?' Spencer didn't like that this conversation was being held in the street, but now it had started it seemed wise to carry on. He might not get another chance.

'Sam is a run-away. He's done it often. Last time he made his way to Wyoming. I guess that's where he's going to go again.' Floyd hooked his arm around Spencer's and started to walk back down the road. 'Of course I don't know that for sure, but yeah… if asked… if pressed for a location I'd say somewhere between here and Wyoming. Where else would you start to look for a kid who often leaves home and doesn't return for months?'

Spencer didn't answer. He could suggest that they searched the lake, but he didn't say that. He didn't want to become part of Floyd's story either. A story which Spencer really wondered if Floyd was himself believing. Just as things begin to feel like they are going OK everything takes on a twist and becomes a nightmare again… at least for Spencer and he guessed for Sam too.

Floyd prepared food and they sat and ate it surrounded by the mess Sam had made. It hadn't started to smell of rotting meat yet, but Spencer thought that would happen soon. Floyd though, didn't comment. He said nothing when he swept a couple of dirty plates off the table onto the floor with his arm. He refilled a couple of glasses which had a smudge of red colour in the bottom of them from the wine they'd had the night before. Only one night… So much seemed to have happened.

Food, or maybe the wine made Spencer feel sleepy. He could feel his eyes trying to close and he didn't seem to have a whole lot of control of his body. He sat slumped in the chair trying desperately to stay awake. He didn't want to upset Floyd. He didn't want it too look as though he wasn't eternally grateful for the food provided. He wanted to…

… he wanted to ask if Floyd had drugged his food, though the question wasn't really needed. He knew that Floyd had. He could tell by the way Floyd was watching him and checking the mantel clock… looking to see how long it took to take effect. Half an hour maybe? He thought it must have been that long. 'Floyd – I'm… I think I need to sleep.'

Spencer couldn't remember anything else. There was a sensation of falling a great distance and being swept away. That was all he would be able to recall in the morning when he woke up with the bed sheets twisted around him and sore places on his back which might have come from when he was thrown around the restrooms and might not have… the pain somewhere else was definitely not from the thrashing he took. Floyd wasn't in the bed. There was a smell of cooking coming from downstairs and a rich lovely smell of fresh coffee. Spencer slid out of the bed and looked around for something to cover his nakedness. There was a bathrobe on the back of the door, so he slipped into that and slowly and painfully made his way down stairs to the small kitchen full of Floyd and smells of eggs and bacon.

Floyd didn't turn from where he was, looking over the back yard, but spoke. 'I was going to bring you breakfast in bed. You just can't help yourself can you?'

'Help myself?' Spencer carefully sat down on a kitchen chair.

'From ruining things for me. I've made a phone call… actually I made a couple.'

Now that must mean that something had happened. Floyd just hated phones. Why would he use one and not wait for Spencer to come down and use the machine of hades? 'Who did you call?'

'The cops. I reported Sam missing.' Now Floyd turned back to look at Spencer. 'He's still not home.' A plate of undercooked eggs and burnt bacon was placed in front of Spencer. 'I've also called in a doctor to have a look at you. I think you're going crazy on me again. I need someone to confirm it. You fell in the street last night.'

Spencer looked at the food and listened to Floyd. 'Sam? Floyd you said you drowned him. He's not going to come walking back in again. Even if for some reason he's somewhere else now… he's just not going to want to be here with us. He's not going to come back for you to do that to him again. In the short time he was with us he was beaten, shot, and now drowned… why would he come back? Are the cops coming here?'

'They are. Sam isn't the only person to have gone missing that same night. They think that there might be a connection.'

Shifting through lies and delusions, Spencer didn't know where to start. 'There is no connection.' Spencer finally said.

'Right!' Floyd sat down with his own plate of food. It looked like uncooked sausages and something grey and lumpy. Spencer didn't even want to start to think what it was. 'So they will come and ask questions, but that's fine. Just fine.' He picked up a spoon off the floor and dug into the grey stuff. 'The doctor will talk to you, but don't worry. I'll be right there. Nothing to be scared about. If there's something you don't know or if you get stressed, I'll be at your side. Listening… listening to everything. And before that happens...' Floyd paused and moved a fork towards Spencer. '…you must eat. And you must listen to me very carefully. I don't want to have to keep repeating myself. Sam is a constant runaway – you have mental health problems. You take drugs… you've had syphilis and Chlamydia…'

'…not that I know of.' Spencer sniped back. He picked up the fork and stirred the eggs with it.

'Well you have… or was that Sam?'

'It was Sam. Please don't start confusing the two of us. You seem confused enough as it is. Maybe the doctor should talk to you too. I think… I really think…'

The fork was snatched from Spencer's hand and stabbed downwards into a bit of flesh showing on Spencer's thigh. When Floyd removed his hand the fork stayed there with drops of blood welling up around the three fork tines. Spencer did and said nothing. He just looked down at it and swallowed. He was lucky. He was so damned lucky.

'I love you.' Floyd spoke with conviction. 'That is why that fork isn't sticking out of your fucking eye. Don't leave it there and if you're not going to eat I'll have the food. You are the most ungrateful bastard I've ever known. Get the fuck out of my sight… fucking head-case!'

Floyd watched Spencer leave the kitchen again and grinned. The fork had been placed on the kitchen table and so Floyd picked it up and licked it clean. The sweet taste of Spencer's blood flooded his brain. There was nothing like it. Really nothing. Well maybe that one other thing which Spencer produced. That was pretty nice too. Floyd put the licked fork back in the cutlery drawer and stood again staring out of the window. This time with his plate… eating bits of something with his fingers and smiling to him self. 'Where are you Sam?' He asked himself. 'Oh yes! I remember! You're in hell!'

The doctor arrived to speak to Spencer just before mid-day. The three of them sat together in the small lounge even though Dr Swift had suggested that Floyd wasn't there. Floyd insisted that he'd promised Spencer that he would be there for emotional support. Obviously that wasn't true. Floyd was there to ensure that Spencer didn't go off track and start talking about things which Floyd thought would be very detrimental to their future happiness together. Dr Swift asked Spencer a few basic questions about how he was feeling…

'Terrible headaches.' Spencer had told him. Floyd had smiled lovingly at this.

Spencer told the doctor that he sometimes felt confused… no, not about what he wanted… but about when he'd last eaten, or what day of the week it was. He said that his mind felt bogged down with things which he couldn't explain. There was too much. 'Just too much.' Floyd handed Spencer a box of tissues and gave him a sad, sad smile.

'He gets anxious.' Floyd informed the doctor.

'I would like to hear this from Spencer.' The doctor told Floyd. 'I need to hear what Spencer thinks and feels, not your interpretation of what you see.' He spoke again to Spencer. 'Is there a reason for this feeling? Has something happened?'

Spencer didn't say anything else. He just sat with his hands twisting in his lap, occasionally wiping water off his face.

'Do you have any medical conditions besides this one of general confusion? Are you diabetic or do you suffer from blackouts?'

'No he's not and no he doesn't, but he does fall…' Floyd then gave the doctor a very piercing look. 'And though we don't practice safe sex we are both monogamous and clean, so if you're asking if he's HIV or something? No he's not. There is a history of mental illness in his family. His mother to be precise and his father was hardly the most stable of people.' Floyd leaned forwards closer to the doctor and placed a hand on Spencer's thigh in the place he'd stuck in the fork earlier. 'I called you because I'm concerned. He self harms. Look at the mess his arms are in. He doesn't seem to know how to cook or even keep himself clean. He was eating half cooked eggs this morning. I just need you to give him something to keep his head straight. To keep him calm. To stop the rages and the spontaneous attacks. I need him to be safe. I need him to be better.'

The doctor thought that Spencer needed to be taken into hospital for a while. He needed to be monitored.

'I can't.' Spencer said. 'I'm not… Floyd tell him!'

'He's also very paranoid, but I think that goes with the delusional behaviour and the hallucinations. I need him with me. He knows I'd never hurt him.'

'Floyd would never hurt me.' Spencer confirmed around this split lip and sobs of breath. 'I can't leave Floyd.'

The doctor nodded and said that he would give Spencer something to help him sleep. This of course wasn't what Spencer wanted.

'When I take something to sleep I fall into the darkest nightmares you could imagine… and I can't awaken. I can't take something to make me sleep. I can't.'

Again the doctor suggested that Spencer was hospitalised and this time Floyd stood and shook his head. 'If that's the only help you can offer I can't see that you're going to be any help at all. His mother was locked up. She is schizophrenic… if this is the path Spencer is going down I will care for him myself. I'll never see him locked away.'

So the doctor wrote a prescription out. 'It will calm his nerves, stop the brain from firing off and will stop the impulsive actions. This other one will help him…'

'I'm here. Please talk to me… I'm the one taking the damned things.' Spencer stood too now… he wobbled and sat back down again, pressing the heel of his hands over his eyes.

And that was it. It was that easy! Call one not very good doctor who wanted a large amount of money in cash and the deal was struck. Now Floyd could legally sedate and drug Spencer. All was going to be fantastic. As long as Spencer didn't question the medication or the lies Floyd had spoken. Now they could relax and open up the shop and things could finally start to get – well get normal. Floyd frowned at the top of Spencer's head. 'You did good Babes. You did real good. See, I knew they'd have a cure for you.'

'Drugging me isn't curing me.' Spencer commented. He looked up at Floyd and he wanted to say that he knew what was going on, but actually he didn't think he did any more. There's only so much you can put a person through and expect them to come out the other side with a semblance of sanity still in place. Spencer no longer knew what he wanted or where he wanted to be. 'I think I'll go back to bed again. I don't want to talk to the police when they arrive. Can you cope with the shop on your own?'

'Cope on my own? Uh hu… sure. You go rest and I'll come get you when dinner is ready. Go sleep. Here...' Floyd put a hand out, '…I'll help you.'

Spencer sighed and allowed Floyd to half drag him back up the stairs. He let Floyd strip him off again and then he stood there feeling vulnerable and defeated as Floyd straightened out the bedding and made it comfortable for Spencer again. 'Remember to get dressed before you come down. I might have visitors.'

'Sure.' Spencer muttered. Visitors… yes… what Floyd meant was he might be screwing someone on their couch. His head sunk down into the pillow and his head pounded. 'Painkillers?'

A small white pill was slapped into Spencer's hand. 'Chew on it. The effect is much better, faster… powerful… chew… are you chewing?'

Spencer opened his mouth to show the crushed remains and Floyd smiled. 'Thank you Floyd.' Spencer muttered. He didn't really think that there was anything to thank Floyd for, but he thanked him anyway. He'd sat there in front of some doctor who Spencer suspected wasn't fully or qualified or had been banned from the profession for accepting money for prescription drugs but for now he had to let it go. He needed to sleep. He had to close his eyes and just let everything go for now. Until he had his head straight again he couldn't even start to figure out what was going on. He now as he felt him self drift into a lovely deep sleep, actually think that Sam had run off. That Floyd had threatened him or refused him something and Sam had just left. It felt right. It was what Spencer wanted to believe.

o-o-o

The shop had been open for an hour. He'd had two people come in and have a look and then walk out again. That was fine with Floyd. He wasn't here to make a profit. He already knew that the shop was full of fakery. Anyone who bought anything would be a complete idiot. But then the world was full of idiots. Floyd sat on a leather chair in the corner of the room and he drank Whiskey and he smoked cheroots.

'What's this?' A short woman with curly brown hair and a face like a cow asked.

'A bag of mystical dirt from Tibet. It wards off… vampires and lesser demons.' Floyd flicked ash onto the floor. 'You don't look like someone who would need to protect herself from demons.'

'I'm not.' She said. 'I was just curious. What's that?' She pointed to a small metal disk which was displayed next to the skull.

Floyd sighed, got up and walked over to the cabinet. 'A protection. A protection from nightmares. It binds and removes them. But you don't look like someone who has sleep problems. What exactly is it you're looking for?'

'I was hoping for something to help with my health. I've been diagnosed with something.'

'The darkness eats away at your gut.' Floyd told her. 'It will spread and you'll die in agony if you don't do something about it. I suggest that you go out and have as much sex as you can before it's too late, but in the meantime I can give you something to help with pain. I can't remove the growths, but I can ease the effects.' He ignored the look of horror on her face. He ignored the way she clutched at her stomach. 'Or…' He turned back again. 'Are you pregnant?'

'Mister I don't know what your game is, but scare tactics are really dishonest.'

Floyd shook his head. 'No… really, I see something bad growing inside of you. If you are pregnant, I suggest you go and have that thing checked out. I don't can't imagine that the monster eating at your guts is something that will be a viable live birth. Here.' He held out a bit of melted silver. 'This will protect you in a manner. Not total. Magical tokens are not the same as proper medical treatment… but ma'm, you don't want to give birth to that thing.'

'And how will this help? What do I do with it?'

'Place it in a glass of water next to your bed. Just don't drink it OK… leave it there. Remove it in the morning and then drink the water. Repeat for as long as you need to, but remember to remove the token before you drink it. You don't want to make matters worse by having that working its way through your guts. That's fifteen dollars. I only take cash on items that small.'

'You're a charlatan.' She spat at him. 'You know nothing about me!'

He returned the bit of silver back to the drawer it had come from. 'I'll not press my business on anyone ma'm. If you don't want it I'm not going to force you to buy it, but you know where it is. And when you get yourself checked out and you see what I say is true? Well maybe then?' Floyd smiled and went back to his whiskey and chair. 'Good day!' He called out to the retreating back of the woman.

The other person who came in was a teenaged girl wearing a lot of black with her hair dyed and cut in a choppy bob. 'Nice afternoon.' Floyd remarked as she walked in. She was like so many young teen girls he'd seen who thought it was cool to wear too much eye make up and have clothing to suggest that they were different – except there were millions of girls who dressed exactly the same… the different had become the norm. How strange life is. 'What sort of thing are you interested in?'

'Holy water.' She gave a small smile.

Floyd raised an eyebrow. 'Really? Why would you come here asking for such a thing when there's a church just up the road?'

'Towner locks the church and wont let us in. He got fed up with us taking his water.' She ran fingers over the glass cabinet.

'Why would you want holy water?' Floyd stood now and walked over to her. Was she part of the crew of kids he'd killed? Was he going to have to rip her neat little titties off her chest and feed them roasted in garlic to Spencer for a joke?

'There's weird stuff going on. We think there's vampires. We think they were attracted to this place because of… well because of our interest in things like that. And now my friends have gone missing and I just feel…'

Floyd nodded. 'Well… if you want protection from vampires, I have just the thing.' He took the blob of silver out again. 'It's silver. A piece of what is known as The Cross of Malefax. It was used to destroy vampires in Europe. Obviously the actual cross was destroyed in the great plague of 1592… in London. The plague though it's said was spread by rats, was actually spread by diseased vampiric blood. The Cross of Malefax belonged to a great priest called Isgar-Quenell who was in fact an Angel…' Floyd was really getting into this now. '…He took the cross and delved into the nest of the beats and pressed the silver cross onto their foreheads… he had to find the father… and he did. But in the process the Cross of Malefax melted. It was too much even for a silver cross belonging to an Angel… this is but a small part of it. He sent out the small pieces to others who might need them for protection. 'He was a great Angel.' Floyd confirmed.

'Wow.' The stupid slut had been pulled right in. Why were people like her so stupid? Well if Floyd knew that he'd be able to invent a vaccine against moronic behaviour in teenagers… unfortunately he didn't know. 'How much is it?'

'For you?' Floyd bounced the bit of melted spoon in his hand. 'I can't let it go for less than fifty bucks and that's only because I can see you are serious about this vampire sh… stuff.'

'I will have to confer with my friends and maybe we can get the money between us. Can you keep it?'

'I'm afraid I will have to ask for five bucks deposit. Which of course I wont be able to return if you decide not take up my fantastic offer.'

So an afternoon's work and he'd earned five bucks, which was better than nothing. He slipped the note into his pocket and went back to his chair. She'd be back. Oh yes… she'd be back… unless of course he'd not killed her buddies the day before.

'Flanders?' An official sounding voice asked from the doorway. The cops had arrived. Time for another story. This one of woe and misfortune.