Bits and Pieces
Ch. 2: Vos Mos Teneo Haud Sileo
A/n: Chapter title is Latin for "you will know no rest". I just realized that this is the second story that I've written where Buscemi's turned into an otherworldly ghost/demon thing. Why do I keep killing off my men?! I've killed John, Tony and Steve in The Life of the Mind. Steve's already dead here (Thank you Joel and Ethan! I can't blame myself for this one!) God prohibit the day I marry… (gets odd stares from readers and proceeds to dance in glee.) There's a lot of 'flipping' here…
"You mean to tell me," said Grimsrud slowly, "that you've come back?" He shook his head, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Grear opened his eyes and spoke again. "What for? To avenge your death?"
"It's a little more complicated than that," Carl replied, putting a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it. When he inhaled, the smoke oozed out of the stitches that made up most of his face. The fact that he was covered from head to foot in blood and thick, crude black stitches didn't help much. He looked like a ghoulish scarecrow or rag doll. Showalter sighed, audibly cracking his jaw (or what was left of it). Carl now fought to maintain the iron mantle of control over himself to prevent the mortal man's death. Grimsrud didn't like the look in the ghost's eyes. It was the look of a man who knew how easy it was to become his own lynch mob.
"I am FLIPPING SICK of having to deal with your flipping—!" Carl swallowed, not even able to convey what he had felt when he died. "You did nothing," he said in a deadly earnest voice. "You wouldn't help me with the trooper, you go and cap two civilians for God's sake! Flipping mute! I go and get flipping shot by some flipping broad's father trying to get the money, and what do you do? Eat TV dinners and watch Johnny-flipping-Carson!"
Grimsrud gave the ghost a sardonic smirk.
"You done?" he asked. Carl made an angry scoffing noise.
"Oh, I am far from done, Grimsrud. I won't kill you, not yet. I will make you feel all the physical pain and I anger that I did when I died. Unfortunately for you, it will be three times as bad. My death could have been kinder, but I'll make damn sure that yours is ten times as worse!" Showalter leaned against the wall and slowly slid down. Blood stained the wall, forming a trail of sorts above the blood-soaked ghost. "Your grave might one day read 'rest in peace', but I swear to you on my own grave that you will know no rest, be you dead or alive!"
Grimsrud suddenly felt the temperature the room drop. His breath was visible and he saw that Carl's blue eyes were as cold as the temperature in the room.
"You think I'm flipping kidding?" Showalter breathed. "Well?"
The mortal man locked eyes with the ghost, shivering. He knew that Carl meant what he said. Even in death, he was a man of his word.
"D—damn you!" shivered Grimsrud. "Damn you to hell!"
Carl chuckled grimly.
"Look at me, man! I'm already thoroughly damned, so you may save your breath."