Chapter 7: He's a Killer
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There was absolutely nothing, repeat, NOTHING on the face of the Earth that would possibly be able to compete with the disturbing smile that Arch now gave. Not a single thing about it was natural, from the way it slowly spread across to how it seemed to nearly stretch beyond his eyes.
It was the only thing that shone through in Albert's partial blindness. Shuddering, he took almost stepped off of his captive's back, and only Candace hissing for him to stay put stopped him from doing so.
"My goodness, Albert, dear boy," Arch chuckled in the disgusting, slimy way of his, "What are you trying to pull?"
"Knock it off." Albert grimaced, grabbing Arch by the scruff of his sports coat, which was the same bland shade of beige, and hoisted him off. "What was in that syringe, and why were you aiming for Candace?"
"Candace?" The smile would've broadened if it were possible. "Is that this pretty little jewel's name?"
As a reply, Candace made her hand into a fist and swung, getting Arch directly in his throat. The force of her impact was so hard that it forced both Albert and the ever-grinning man to stagger backwards. The teenaged captor's jaw slightly dropped in awe at the fact that the sweet, sarcastic girl next door would have such courage...
Excellent.
"What was it?" She cried. "You better answer that right freaking now..."
And here there was the god-awful laugh. It started off so softly for just a second, right before just rocketing into a painful, hoarse, vile sound that rang throughout the neighborhood. As he did this, Archdale's head slowly tilted back...to glare up at Albert with the no-longer-gentle blue eyes.
The boy's elbows were then hooked into his opponent's. Now that the captor was the conquered, Archdale whipped Albert clean over his head with a single clean swing, causing him to crash against the concrete walk with a sharp crack. Quickly, Arch slammed his elbow into the chest of the teenager, knocking the wind straight out of him.
"You're one special kind of idiot, ya know?" The man sneered while Albert struggled, his voice drastically and horrifyingly changed. He whistled sharply now, and the man that had been seen outside of the library window now appeared. He was very tall and thin, and yet, he seemed to have an odd shape to him. He seemed to be thicker at the top, getting thinner as the body descended. While his neck was no thicker than a piece of piping, his shoulders were as wide and broad as an open field, and he had a chest like a barrel. From that point down, however, he was like a slim cone balanced on its tip. It was almost a wonder how he stood upright.
Like Archdale, he wore a suit of a single color, in this instance being white. Now he seemed to be a pale, ghostly thing, from his terribly fair complexion to his bleach-blonde hair, which was composed entirely, it seemed, of sparse, thin wisps. His mouth was clenched shut, lips together forming a purely straight line.
The beige-suited man gave a quick nod to the stranger, who then tossed into Arch's hand an unusual object.
By the base, it resembled a flash drive. However, sticking right out at the top were two short, sharp prongs. Archdale twirled this object in his hand, in the stereotypical way a cowboy would rotate his gun, and Albert suddenly sensed that this...suitor of his mother's...was wielding that object with a deadly accuracy.
And that, whatever it was, it was potentially going to end his life right there.
"I'll ask your little twerp how his stains are doing." Arch jeered, aiming to take the points right through Albert's chest.
And then, his wrist was grabbed, twisted all the way around, flung back to him as he was kicked right into the air.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?" Albert hollered. He now stood to his full height, eyes burning with an unpredicted fury. Archdale, on the other hand, had landed perfectly, well-balanced and on both feet, and his only show of discomfort was the way he clutched and twisted his wrist.
"I said…" He hissed, "And I quote: 'I'll ask your little twerp how his stains are doing'."