Chapter Eleven: Aftershock

Rod sat in the cold, dim cell. The maddening moonlight shone through the barred window. He was in a straightjacket. He sat, back against the wall, half asleep. He heard a faint rustle, and looked up, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The room was still, as still as still can be. But he could just make out the sound of the FBI men down the hall, speaking in low, urgent voices. He sighed, and lowered his head. The events of the past months were a torrid blur of naked bodies and horrible dreams melding into horrible days. He hated himself, his flesh, his skin, and the desires that had once pulsed within his wicked heart, now replaced with horrible shame. Why did I do those things? Why? I have become everything I hate…I am a monster. I want to die.

He heard the rustling again. Longer. Louder. Nearer. Todd saw something move in the cell across from him. He strained his eyes into the darkness. Fearing what he would see yet unable to rest until he knew. He looked. There was nothing there. He exhaled. His breathe was visible in the sudden chill. He shivered. He felt a cruel, noxious feeling in his gut. The room shook and tilted and rolled. His vision blurred and split and focused. He felt as though he was moving backward, as though his eyes were being pulled back into his skull. A sharp, white pain spread throughout his skull, down his veins. His ears filled with a white noise. He shuddered uncontrollably, trying to muster the strength to scream but finding that the strength merely disappeared within him.

"Ah! Ahh-ah-ah! AAAAHH!"

He felt as though something slimy was being forced down his throat, as though a poison was spilling into his lungs. His head swung back and forth. He tried to shake it from him, the feeling of a large snake uncoiling within his chest, of a tentacled beast reaching out from his brain.

"Did you hear that?"

"It's just the kid again. Go in an' tell him to shut up."

The agent took the keys and unlocked the door. He locked it behind himself. He walked down the dim, blue corridor. It was quiet now. He sauntered up to the door, and stood squarely on his feet. Turned on his flashlight and held it so that it shone upon the boy's hanging head.

"Hey kid…!"

The figure within looked up. The air was dark, the pale moonlight snuffed by a Shadow, and the dim, white light of the torch the only light in the dark cavern.

"Open…the…door…" called a deep and rumbling voice.

The agent shook his

"Open …the…door…"

The agent's trembling hand reached for his keys. His breathe now rose in cold puffs. The air was like a casket of ice around him. His mind faded into mist. The door opened. The leather straps had given way. The boy leapt.

"What the hell was that?" roared Agent Mallone. The men drew their weapons. One agent shot the lock, then kicked open the door. It swung open, hanging on it's weakened hinges. They rushed down the chilly hall, and found the young agent in a pool of his in a thick, red pool. His head looked up at them in shocked confusion. The body lay on it's front.

As they shook their heads and made plans for what to do, a small figure scuttled, spider-like, on the ceiling above them. It scurried out of the holding area, and into a vent. It got out on the roof. It leapt into the bushes. And it ran off into the night.

Jessica Lovejoy slept fitfully in her room. Daddy had paid her bail, yet again, but now her windows were barred, her door knob reversed so that it could be locked from the outside, a tracking anklet was tied to her leg, and a security camera showed her every move to her parents.

An owl with long legs was striding through the mist. On it's head was a golden crown. It's eyes were as red as carbuncles, and gleamed like novae. A small Christmas orb, falling towards the ground. Faster, faster…speeding towards oblivion. It shattered, it's fragile beauty, ages in the making, was gone in an instant. The embers of the the furnace dimmed, and died. A wide, lidless, restless eye, wreathed in flame; seeing all, and nothing. A dark prince on a dark throne. A creature, androgynous, faceless, almost featureless, next to oblivion, crying out in the void. The owl was bending over, seizing a small, screaming infant in it's beak.

The door creaked open, a thin sliver of light fell across her face. She opened her eyes; her vision was blurry, the light caused her to wince. She sat up and stared at the door. It closed. Probably just mom or someone checking on me.

She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But she hardly wanted to; her dreams had made her sleep restless and draining the past few nights. She thought that she may have damaged her brain: all the drugs and smoking and drinking…and what of her mind, her psyche? Could she ever recover from it all? From the porn, the sex, the torture, the cruel and frightening images…? Could she ever again be normal? Was she ever normal?

Something dropped one her from the ceiling. It was Todd. His skin was a grey, covered with gashes and scars. His eyes were pale, ghostly blue, with the albumin stained urine yellow. His dark red tongue was flickering, light a snake's, in and out of his open mouth.

Jessica screamed and struggled to get from beneath him. He seized her wrists and leered at her. Thick, noisome yellow gas bellowed from his bowels. Her wrists were now in his one hand, and with his other, he forced open her mouth. He placed his on hers, and forced his tongue, swirling, into her throat. She gagged and gasped, tears falling from her eyes. This is what I get. I deserve this, She thought as her will gave way.

The door flung open. Her father stood with his gun, and behind him was her mortified mother, holding a golf club and a flashlight.

"Jeeesus CHRIST!" her father screamed, lowering his gun in fear and disgust. The monster looked at him and screeched. It leapt. The Reverend fired, but the creature had struck the barrel and the shot impacted on the wall. The creature knocked the man off his feet with the force of his jump. Mrs. Lovejoy screamed as the creature straddled her husband's chest and bit his neck, pulling off a huge piece of skin. She swung the club and removed the beast from her husband's corpse. It stood on all fours and hissed like a cat. The reverend's wife, now his widow, walked backwards as the strange creature scuttled towards her like a crab. She fell over and screamed. It leapt right over her and charged to the bedroom. She heard the window shatter.

She crawled over to her husband.

"Jim…Jim! Wake up! C'mon JIM!"

"Daddy…I'm so sorry…"

Edna Krabbapel was content. She lay back in Skinner's mother's bed, enjoying the biting taste of a fresh cigarette. Seymour was in the bathroom, showering. She sighed and took a long, calming draw on her cig. He is good…I was a fool to leave him.

The door creaked open. Edna smiled as she put out her cigarette in the ash tray by the bed and turned, hoping to see her beloved Seymour. Instead, it was Todd, wild-eyed and pale, with dried blood on his chin. He ran towards her. He flew over the footboard and landed on her. Edna thought briefly of her pepper spray, in her purse, downstairs. Todd's cold, clammy hands seized her head. His thumbs were on her closed eyes. He began to press. He began to turn his thumbs down. He was punched hard in the temple and sent careening into the wall. Skinner stood, in his shorts and tank top, in killing mode. Edna got out of the bed and ran behind his as the freak regained it's feet and hopped on the bed. It threw a punch. Skinner blocked and countered. The creature countered the counter-punch with a kick, followed with a kick to Skinner's face. The kick connected, and hurt, but it took far more than that to defeat Skinner. The fight raged on, moving out of the bed room and down the hall. The beast was more flexible and agile than the forty-one year-old, but Skinner was strong and fit, his muscles remembered every move, every combination, every technique. His mind was a steel trap, a well-oiled machine. He blocked a kick then counter-kicked. He caught the beast off-balance, and punched. As the punch connected, the thing opened it's mouth and then closed. It's jagged teeth sunk into his clenched knuckles. He shook it violently. He seized it around the neck, and pinned it to the wall. It gurgled and squealed like a piglet.

"I called the police, they're one their way!" Edna said, running down the hall with Skinner's pistol in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

"Good…work…Edna," gasped the winded Skinner, struggling with the writhing Todd, "Now kindly go and get those handcuffs!"

With some difficulty and several more painful bites they managed to shackle the teenage monster and pin it to the wall. The FBI and local militia arrived and, after injecting the only living Flanders child with enough morphine to stun a sperm whale, hauled him from the house. Skinner had to be taken to the hospital for his wounds, and Edna went with him to make sure he was alright, and to have her eyes examined.

Todd was handcuffed, placed in a straight jacket, had his legs shackled, and was gagged with a ball gag. He was placed in the Overkille Wing of the unnecessarily-secure section of Springfield General Hospital.