Razor Burnby O. J. Anderson |
Table of Contents Chapter 11 Chapter 14 appear in this issue. |
| Chapter 12 |
Spit flies from his mouth.
He slides across the floor of the abandoned warehouse. Nails, slivers of wood, bits of concrete and broken glass claw at his skin, though he can barely feel them anymore.
He can’t even scream for help.
The world’s closing in on him. Crushing his bones. His body has turned against him. Feels like he’s being pulled inside out. Twisted agony.
The only solace is knowing he will be dead soon.
Chapter 13
The day’s headline reads:
VOODOO MANIAC ON RAMPAGE!
Razor and Kate lean over Doug’s shoulder, who is working the keyboard like Mozart buzzing on a fistful of cheap maggots. Files and mug shots flash on and off the screen faster than Razor and Kate can keep up with. It’s making Razor’s brain hurt. He hates computers.
Doug points to the monitor. “Here he is. Gavin Voelkler, also known as the Candyman. He was busted for dealing xenocylibin at the Fort Law Hospital eight years ago. Did five years in the Bunker. Then he was hired at the Bikharmer Drug Treatment Center across town.”
“Only in Garden City,” Razor says.
“Apparently he was still having trouble keeping his hands off the goods.” Doug leans back in the chair, leaking out the information slowly, hoping to revel in his research glory as long as possible. “I called over to the center and talked to some of the social workers and treatment specialists. They all said the same thing: Voelkler was nuts. Guy claimed that some curse was coming. One that was going to change everything.”
Kate asks, “What kind of curse?”
“He wasn’t that specific. But he told everyone to get out of the city soon. They all pretty much kept their distance from that point on. They were scared of him. Even some of the junkies refused to go near him to get their xenocylibin fix. He is currently being treated for schizophrenia, among other things.”
Razor goes to the mini fridge for a muffin and a bottle of purified water. “This could be our guy,” he says.
“I don’t know,” Kate says. “A doped up ex-con dealing xeno to addicts from a clinic? I doubt he would have the knowledge or the means to re-create a resistant strain of the Dalls-Crik virus. Just doesn’t sound plausible.”
“Less plausible than fifty-year-old dormant bat crap from a cave in Borneo coming all the way to Garden City on the bottom of someone’s shoe? This guy’s in there with full access to whatever he wants. And who knows what he learned or who he teamed up with out there at the Bunker. That place is full of freaks of all kind. He’s popping pills like breath mints on a first date, got a bone to pick with the world, and, boom, there’s your virus.”
“Who knows?” Kate says. “Let’s check him out.”
“Where do we find this Candyman?”
Doug says, “The Shady Brook Wellness Center, up in Whitefield.”
“Nice work, Doug. Maybe one of these days I’ll take you out and teach you how to kick some ass.”
“Really? Okay. Great. I’ll look forward to that. Yeah.”
* * *
Only a few miles outside the city and things start turning green and blue and white. Countryside. Clean air. Open roads. Trees. Animals. I should get out here more often, he thinks. Maybe a long run.
An old man in overalls getting his mail waves at them slowly as they drive by. The old man can tell they’re from the city. The truck has that grayblackish color like everything else there. Like it’s been chewed up and spit out as Garden City waste. Been through the mill. Seen some things.
Kate is saying, “I mean, no offense, but, I’m not surprised you’re alone. The whole time I’ve known you I’ve only seen one emotion: choke him!” With her hands Kate strangles and imaginary person. “That’s no way to live, Razor. You need to spend some time exploring your emotions. Contact your feelings. See what they’re like.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about not being afraid of your feelings, Razor.”
Razor nods toward the cooler between them. “Why don’t you have some fruit.”
Frowning, with nothing better to do, she opens the cooler. “Ah, why am I not shocked to find this?” Kate pulls out a nice, plump star fruit. “Star fruit! The prima donna of the produce section. Look at me, I’m a star! Love me, adore me, I’m a star. Pay attention to me me me me.” She drops the fruit back into the cooler and says, “Oh, give me a break.” Next, she takes out a large plantain. “Come on, plantains? I don’t get these. I mean, turn green or yellow or something. What is this a defense mechanism?” Kate drops the plantain back into the cooler. “It’s working.”
“Why don’t you have a bran muffin? Sounds like you could use it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
* * *
The Shady Brook Wellness Center is a large farm-style campus with white buildings and fencing tucked in amongst rolling green hills under puffy white clouds. Razor drives past a welcome sign and up a tree-shaded road. He parks the truck in the visitors’ parking area near the large white farmhouse and notices the baffling array of signage and arrows pointing in all directions to places such as the fish pond, nature walk trail, dorms, psychosomatic obstacle course, shoppette, activity fields, and so on.
As they walk to the main office, Kate says, “Let’s try to do this one without choking anyone. Okay?”
“I’m not planning to choke anyone. I find the best way to deal with mental defectives is to treat them like pinatas: the harder you hit them, the more candy you get. No pun intended.”
Copyright © 2006 by O. J. Anderson
