AN: The only way to survive here is to be an asshole. NO HELPING.
Johanna Crane-We fascinate people. Jack the Ripper, the Boston Strangler, Jeffery Dahmer...it's human nature to wonder 'what makes them tick?' So they interview us. They interview you. They're not allowed to interview you. Because you kill them! I killed one. Jonathan, when they found him, three cops puked. Scarecrow got out of hand. He didn't even do anything to me! He stayed too long. Men...
Christineoftheopera-Perhaps you should come in for an appointment...and a prescription. We've discussed killing the reviewers. I never said it would be fatal. They usually turn out to be. Accidentally. The last twelve were accidents! What can I say, I attract people with bad luck. Anyway, I'll schedule you next time I'm out...probably around Easter... Don't come. Trust me, you won't leave.
Just-Me-and-My-Brain-Scary says it was. I hated that book. You haven't read it since college. It was scary. You're not frightened of the tooth fairy, are you, Kitty? Screw you. I'll take over from here, Jonny. I did not mean that literally. Aw, c'mon, it'd be fun. I'll protect you from the tooth fairy, I promise. I hate you both. I'm not the one that put the dentures on your nightstand. It was your idea and you know it! We-ll...
The young man is lying in an alley, one hand pressed to-or, rather, stuck to-his left side. He's apparently unconscious and he looks like he's taken a bit of abuse-he's got bruises and cuts on his face and hands, for one thing, and his breathing is painfully raspy.
"Mister?" He bends over him, fumbling for his phone. "Mister, you okay?"
The man's lips move but there's no sound. Phone! Light. Okay…yeah, he's bleeding. Probably a knife wound or something.
"I'm gonna get you to a hospital, okay? Just…um…Jesus Christ…"
"No…no 'ospital…"
"Are you fucking crazy?"
"Mm…"
Okay. 911 first, then he'll see what he can do.
He's just opening his phone when a spindly hand shoots up, the fingers closing tightly around his wrist.
"No hospital." He speaks clearly, but his voice is still thin.
He closes his phone and the fingers fall back, their owner gasping with the effort.
"Okay, man. Okay. Look, um, you're bleeding pretty bad…"
The fingers twitch and the man's eyes flutter open. Yeesh, they're creepy. Hopefully he'll pass out soon…
"Please…" He coughs wetly. "Please…"
For Christ's sake, he offered to call an ambulance!
The man's voice weakens further, forcing him to lean over him to hear him.
"Breathe deeply."
What?
The strong, spindly fingers shoot up again, this time outstretched…reaching…no. He catches a glimpse of something mechanical inside the sleeve a second before it goes off, releasing a white cloud. It hits him in the face, the bitter taste making him cough.
The man gets to his feet, shaking liquid off his hand. Some of it gets in his mouth and he gags before tasting…ketchup?
"A mild sedative." the man informs him. "Wouldn't want to draw too much attention, would we?"
He's already feeling drowsy, but he still reaches out to snap the scrawny bastard's neck. His hands are batted away with ease and he gets a firm SMACK! with a briefcase that had been lying a few feet away.
"Hands off. I don't need another bout of pneumonia."
Ow…broken nose…
His environment was starting to spin, spin, spin, spin, spin, spin, spin…
Nothing.
THE END