Drains

Some things might seem a bit odd to you but this isn't really all that strange.

I booked a motel room. It's a nice place. Like a cabin. Separate buildings spread out in a lightly wooded area. Really just about perfect. My baggage was beginning to smell, and I need to keep my word to Sam.

Spencer I have laid on the bed. He doesn't look good. The bruises on his neck and chest are deep and dark and I think he is dead. I think he should be dead. If Sam wasn't needing him he would be.

'Fix him Sam or I won't fucking help you.'

I know he can.

I know behind those beautiful eyes which are no longer rich and hazel but dull and clouded, I know Sam can fix it. He has to or I won't fix him.

He said a couple of words a few days back, but that was it. Nothing since and though rigor hasn't set in, and it wont if Sam keeps his heart going, though its not set in, it should have. His skin is white with these nasty bruises and I lick at them and kiss them and hold him close but it's not Spencer anymore. He is Sam and I want my Spencer back again.

It is raining hard today. I have placed a blanket over Spence and I have kissed his cold blue lips and I'm standing in the door way looking out over the woods to where there are cars parked up in the parking lot. I can see the different colours shining in the wet and the rain is hammering down on the roof and it's pouring down the side of the building. I can smell Rosa. I need to dispose of her.

I turn my back on the open door and the rain. The smells of the wet on the earth are filling the room now. I take a deep breath and then walk to the hammer and axe I'd nicked from some van a day or so ago. I walk with them to the bathroom and look at the mess in the bath. There was no helping her. I tried. I asked. It went something like this.

'I need my Rosa back.'

'Fuck off.'

'You can mend her.'

'Sure, but I'm not going to.'

'You have something to do with this don't you?'

'Sod off Flanders before I put your pathetic head on a spike over my front door.'

'You don't have a front door you stupid goat headed fuckwit.'

'And you don't have a daughter. Sod off.'

And that really was it. No room to argue with a demonic goat. I have to accept the fate and get Emily up the duff or something. She'd carry a fine sprog. The thought of it makes me smile for a very short while. Last time I used a thing I got from a cooking utensils store. I'd have to do something like that again. It's something to consider.

Now though I have to get rid of Rosa. I put the hammer down for now and stand looking at the rotting remains in the bathtub. I've checked out this place. The flushing system is amazingly strong. I think I could flush a whole cow down that pan. It all gets taken to some tank where it sits and bubbles and turns to sludge for a few months before the tanker comes and sucks the mixture up into its belly and takes it away to the sewage place. A fitting end for a little girl?

Not really.

A fitting end for Rosa?

Very probably.

Sorry sweetheart but you really weren't very nice where you darling? And so I begin the task of dismembering her. The head is already off which makes it easier. The axe is nice and sharp and I only need the hammer to make the skull small enough to put in bits down the toilet.

I make a dreadful mess and an even more dreadful smell and I keep glancing around to make sure Spencer is still there. Not that he can go anywhere. I flush the last little bit of my little girl down the john and go back into the bedroom. My form is a bit out of place in this world of chintz. I am leaving drips of blood behind me. I walk out of the door and stand in the rain. Slowly I strip off my clothes until I'm just in my boxers and I let the rain wash it all away.

By all –

What I mean is….

The bits of brain stuck in my hair and on my face. The tiny bits of Rosa under my fingernails. The final last bits of the little girl I made with a Turkey baster and a dirty whore. Then I pick up my stuff and go back into the motel room and hope the drains don't over flow in the rain. I leave the door open. It's night time. No one will come on by now. No one. I have the final bits of the puzzle ready but is Sam ready?

For now I want to lay here and just hold him. I'm cold and wet and pissed off with the world and with Sam and with the goat and I just want to relax. I've not relaxed it feels in months. Every time my guard drops just a little, shit happens. I roll Spencer onto his side and curl up with him under the blanket.

'Sam – get him fixed and I will take the pair of you to the family. They can tidy up the ends…you know? Just do this and I'll get you sorted as soon as I find them.'

The thought of going to the family here, somewhere maybe, I don't even know what sodding country they are in right now, but I'll get us to them, or them to us. They owe me. They told me to fuck off and I did. They owe me at least for that.

-o-o-o-

It's the morning and Sam and I have come to an agreement. I will fix his head back on his body…he will get Spence working again. There is a condition though.

He wants to stay with the family until he is fully healed and he wants Spencer there too. I know it's going to take a while for them both to get better, so until then I need something to hold his head on, thick twine and a big needle will do the trick, and then I need to contact the family. I roll Spence over onto his back again and run my thumb over his lips and my fingers over his neck.

'I won't be long.'

I tell him.

No.

I tell Sam. This isn't Spencer anymore. I don't know where he is. I pull the blankets up over him and I pull on my blood soaked wet clothes and make my way out of the cabin. This time I close the door and lock it with the key in my hand and slip the key into my pocket and make my way over to the reception area. It's still pissing it down with rain and now the drains are worrying me slightly. No – worry is too strong a word, I have a slight niggling concern. Not that it matters really. In the end. It never matters in the end does it? What are they going to do to me?

I think back of the corpse lying on the bed and the other headless one wrapped up on the floor. I think of the head I've placed in the gap under the bed and then I wonder if fucking Spencer would be classed as corpse screwing. He's not really totally dead, but I don't know if they will see it that way. I don't want to leave him there too long. I've already said I don't want maid service. I've already said don't want them coming round poking noses in where they're not wanted, but people don't always listen, and today is going to be a bitching long day.

The rain is dripping down my face and my boots are making a fine wet sound as I enter the cabin used as the reception. The guy behind the old stripped pine counter is reading a newspaper and smoking a long black smoke of some kind. He's middling in age and balding of head. He looks up through thick specs with a ripe red face.

'Can I help you?' He folds up his paper and places it on the counter.

'I had an accident. With my – luggage. I need something to repair it with. You might have something in maintenance I could borrow?'

He sniffs and scratches at a fat neck and I sniff and wipe the back of my hand across my nose. 'What sorta thing you meaning?'

'Big.' And I use my hands to indicate the huge size. 'needle and' this time a twirling motion with my finger. 'twine.'

'For to sew with?'

I nod slowly. Wondering if he is a retard and then wondering again if nodding slowly is the same as talking slowly when it comes to retard like this thing here.

I got what I needed though and I asked about the drains and was assured that 'this aunt nuffink boy – our drains is da best.' And so with that small comfort I return to the cabin. Obviously nothing has moved or changed. I lock the door this time and quickly check on Spencer. Some of that deep blue has gone and when I press my lips against his I am sure they respond slightly. Sam is working his magic. I place a hand on his chest and I can feel the slow rise and fall of a breathing almost living almost person.

Her though is my next dilemma. I need to firstly replace the head. Then I have to extract Sam from Spencer….then I have to place him back in his own host. To do this, well I have to do it like I did before. In a manner. Not quite the same way, so because of that I'm going to have to get down and dirty with by babe here.

I won't go into the details of how I stitched that head back on again, but it wasn't too hard. I don't know how much you remember about me, or how much interest you take in what I've done in the past but be assured that sewing bits of people together, not necessarily to the original owner, I can do something like this with ease.

'Ready when you are Sam.'

I check the door. I check the drapes. I look out at the rain for a while and rest my forehead on the wet glass. The room is cold. I don't want it too warm yet. I can still smell Rosa.

'I need to clean up.'

And I look at my spawn on the floor.

'I'll do this first if you're ready.'

The bed is big. It's very big. Plenty of room for this. I crouch and slide my hands under Sam's back and carefully lift his body onto the bed next to Spencer.

I wonder what they would think if they came in now. I wipe the hair off his face and then slowly start to strip off again. This isn't something I normally like to do, but this is different. This here is special and I have to show respect if this is going to work. Nothing is ever certain. Least of all this sort of shit.

I sit astride Spencer and talk to him. No…I talk to the thing inside of him. 'He will be able to cope alone?'

A slight nod. I think. I might have imagined it.

And so we start the transfer. Firstly, in the manner I gave it to Spence in the first place he has to return it. Now this is odd, cos I know that this isn't really Spencer. It's just his face and body, but not his mind or lust. If it is lust. It's just a job that needs doing, and he does it well.

He does me well.

I have to let a lot of barriers down to let this happen. I have to relax in a way I don't usually. I concentrate on the matter in hand – not literally – but I concentrate on it – on him – on this – and I watch Spencer's face carefully. I watch for signs that his body is too broken to cope with this. I think it might be. I have a feeling I will be asking for more than shelter from the family.

A hand reaches up and presses on my knee. 'Get off me.' Spencer says. Or is it Sam? No. I am looking at those clouded dead eyes and it is Spencer. I reach with my hand and touch his gently.

'I'm going.' I tell him

and move away to the side so that I am kneeling on the bed between the two of them. I can feel the icy cold form screaming around inside me. It's pushing and struggling to escape so I look over at Sam and quickly I turn him over so he is on his stomach.

Now you need to know that his isn't actually having a go at my child, as he's not actually my child. He is more like he is me. So I'm just doing what people are often telling me to do….

'Go fuck yourself Flanders.'

Job done.

I move back away from both of them now. I need everything to happen. So I pull my clothes back on again and rubbing the places it actually hurts I pull a twist of cellophane from my pocket and make my way to the bathroom. I sit on the floor in the shower tray and snort my good shit up my nose until I am flying and floating and ….

I need my family to come and get us.

I need to call them to us. It's not just me. It's Sam too and I lay there and slide slowly to the side and curl up in the tiny space and I can smell Rosa.

And I can smell the drains.

-o-o-o-

'Wake up.'

Someone is shaking me and I try to open my eyes but everything seems foggy and I don't seem to be able to focus properly.

'Where is he?'

I manage to frown but that's about all.

'Where is Floyd?'

The voice is strange. I'm not sure if it is my hearing or if this person has this. I think though that he has clown's make up on. Smudged and dripping and pealing and old….the red of the mouth smeared and wrong.

'Where is he?'

But I don't know. I can't tell him and really it doesn't matter because no one is that tall and monstrous. Not ever so he can't be lifting me off the bed and throwing me over his shoulder. I get a quick glimpse of Sam and the dwarves.

Hang on. I want to rub my eyes and try to see that again. Two dwarves – with beards and summer dresses and they are saying.

'Oh Lemmy be careful of that head.' And the other is saying. 'Such lovely stitching that Floyd does. So lovely.' And their stubby fingers are moving over Sam's torso, but I don't get to see more as this thing like Andre the Giant in Clown's kit is carrying me out of the door and into the rain.

But this has to be an odd dream. I can feel that Sam has gone though and as I am carried through the woods and to the parking lot I can hear howling like a dog and screaming like an injured animal and it's not until I am told…

'Shut the fuck up bozo.'

That I realise it was me.