He walked.
How long he walked, he didn't know. His mind was elsewhere. It was only when he realized he had no idea where he was that he stopped and tried to get his bearings.
There was nothing but wilderness on either side of him, trees and foliage for miles around. He'd passed the darkened stores and shadowy neighborhoods long ago, pondering over why he'd thought Lionel would understand. That sentiment now seemed a more distant dream than the nightmare he'd awoken from that morning.
Never was good at long-term planning, he thought glumly, reaching behind his glasses to rub his eyes. A headache was beginning to throb in his temples.
He looked around. The road was deserted. He could walk until he got to a road stop and call somebody, or find someone willing to help. Or try and hitchhike...
A brightening pair of headlights washed over his back, and a sleek black Pontiac drove past him, then pulled up on the side of the road just ahead. He watched as three figures got out of the vehicle. One was staggering, clearly drunk.
"Whatcha doing way out here, man?" one of them called out, walking toward him. He was the smallest of the three in terms of size, and sounded young.
"Car broke down," he lied.
"You're supposed to turn your flashers on and wait. Anyway, want a lift?"
"Depends on where you're going."
The kid glanced back at his companions. In the glow of the car's lights, Jeff finally got a good look at him. He was wearing a baseball jersey and looked only a little older than his brother David.
"Mike? Mike!"
"What?" the drunk replied.
"Where we going?"
"Fuckin' Chicago, man!"
The boy turned back to Jeff. "He says we're going to Chicago."
Before Jeff could reply, the third boy broke off from Mike and walked over. He was about eighteen, muscular, and strikingly handsome.
"My name's Jim. Where you headed?"
Jeff hesitated. "Milwaukee. My grandma's sick."
Grandma! Why hadn't he thought of her? And since her death on Christmas Eve had been part of the nightmare, here in the real world she was alive and well. He wished he'd gone to her in the first place.
Mike, smiling stupidly, had wandered over to join them. His long black hair was wild, and with the car lights shining from behind him, it looked like a crimson halo gone rogue.
Jim smirked. "Why don't you come with us, and we'll see about getting you to your grandma?"
Before he could answer, Jim reached out and grabbed his arm. Startled and wary, Jeff froze up.
Jim exchanged looks with Mike and the younger boy.
"Come on, now—don't be shy!"
They began to drag him toward the Pontiac. He resisted, but it was three against one. Even if he managed to break free, there was nowhere to go.
When they reached the car, they let go of him, but formed a semi-circle around the right side door, penning him in.
"Did you really think I was going to hear your little sob story and just let you have a free ride?" Jim said.
"I could pay you when I get there."
"We're not going all the way to Milwaukee. What's to stop you from forgetting about us as soon as you get there?"
"I promise I won't."
"That's not good enough!"
"Then I won't ride with you," Jeff said. He tried to squeeze his way out between Jim and Mike.
"Wait a fucking minute!" Jim took a step forward, blocking his way. "What's your name?"
"Jeff."
"Jeff what?"
"Jeff Dahmer."
"I'll tell you what, Jeff Dahmer. There's a way you can pay me back."
"I don't want—"
"Don't give me that, man." Jim's brow furrowed. "Fuck, how old are you? Fourteen?"
"I'm eighteen."
"I'm eighteen and I like it!" Mike slurred.
"God damn, you look just like a fuckin' kid. Just like a little boy. A baby." He hooked a finger on Jeff's belt. "Tell you what. I'll let you ride with us, if you get down on your knees and suck, baby."
"Got a baby's brain and an old man's heart—took eighteen years to get this far!" Mike warbled.
Jeff forced himself to meet his gaze. "No."
"But I insist." Jim smiled and tugged him closer. His breath reeked of alcohol. Jeff pushed him away.
"Oh, now you start to man up. I could've mistaken you for a faggot!"
"I'm not..." There was a tremor in his voice. He hated how weak he sounded. These idiots were just like the jocks that had attacked him in high school. Bullies, nothing more.
"I don't believe you. I think you're a liar. I think you'd love it!"
"Not anymore."
No sooner had the words left his mouth, Jim swung his fists. The first hit Jeff's left eye, shattering his glasses; the second struck his nose. He fell back against the car door, stunned.
Through blurred vision, he saw Jim tear off his belt. Then the leather strap was around his throat.
"How's that feel? You like that? Is it just as good on the receiving end?"
Lightheaded from lack of air, Jeff managed to maneuver his body around and aimed a kick at Jim's gut. The squeezing pressure around his neck immediately loosened. He gasped, then broke into a coughing fit.
Mike and the other boy stood there watching the scuffle, their expressions blank, their gazes devoid of empathy.
Still coughing, Jeff managed to prop himself up against the car, wiping at the blood trickling over his lips and chin. His left eye was swollen shut.
"Not looking so good now, are you?" Jim growled. His fingers curled like claws, eager to get his hands on his prey.
Jeff's weakened voice was slurred through blood. "I don't wanna fight you."
"But you gotta!"
A punch to the stomach doubled Jeff over. He waited for more blows, but none came. Jim was waiting for him to get up, so he could knock him down again.
Mike started singing the rest of "I'm Eighteen", off-key and mumbling. Jeff figured he was his best bet. He started to rise, then swiveled to the side, elbowing Mike in the face as he flung himself into the gap between him and the car.
The other two boys immediately took up the chase.
Jeff staggered, but kept moving, fueled by adrenaline. Curses and insults rained down upon him, a constant reminder that they were right on his heels. There was no place for him to go.
No place, except nowhere.
Trees flew past him, bleary silhouettes. He didn't get far into the forest before he slipped and fell.
The back of his head struck a jutting root. Biting back a cry of pain, he rolled over and crawled on his belly, dirt mixing with the blood smeared on his hands.
His hand brushed something wet. Directly in front of him was a small pond surrounded by sickly green moss and wild mushrooms. He reached out, hoping to wash away some of the blood, but his hand came away muddy.
The woods were eerily quiet, devoid of even the calls of owls or the chirping of crickets. He was alone.
Then the water began to bubble, sending up foul-smelling fumes. Dark shapes writhed beneath the surface. One rose higher than the others, emerging like the putrid bloom of a poisonous plant.
It was a human figure, or as close to human as the slime could get. He wore a black cape like the leathery wings of a bat, and he was old as a pagan druid, his face like the rough brown bark of the trees. His thin white hair was matted with muck, and when he opened his sagging eyelids, his gaze was clouded by scummy cataracts.
The old man's cape opened, and mummified hands reached out, the palms covered in wispy hair.
"All sin is theft," he said. His voice was like dead leaves scattered by a twilight wind.
Jeff clambered to his feet and tried to run, but couldn't go more than a few steps before a hand wrapped around his ankle and began dragging him back across the muddy moss.
His screams were weak and only made him cough, his throat still raw from Jim's belt. When he felt the cold water seeping through his shoes, he thrashed.
"I didn't do it! Leave me alone!"
"You stole them!"
"No! It was all a—"
"Liar!"
Struggling was in vain. He was going to drown, consumed by the mire.
The water climbed steadily. His sobbing pleas faded, replaced by frantic gasps as the cold sucked away his body heat. He couldn't feel his legs anymore.
"Take it all back," he moaned. "Give it back to them. If I could..."
"An empty promise!" the old man sneered.
His neck was wreathed in freezing slime, making even the hoarsest of whispers inaudible.
"I would... I would..."
