The Spread of Darkness

I don't know why I can't write this on time. I'm terrible. I'm sorry.

Here's Part 5 of "Just One Yesterday."

Patrick could try to get his job back, and work for a soulless hell-monster. He could try not to stare at those abysmal eye sockets. But Frank would know. Somehow, they always knew that he could see them.

He wanted to be a badass and do a tactical roll out the door to escape from danger. That wasn’t going to happen. Instead, he awkward shuffled out the door, still crouching and hoping the booth shielded him from the view of the kitchen. He didn’t look back.

He crossed the street and kept on walking. He wasn’t going to deal with this right now. His arm hurt where that thing had bit him, like little pinpoints of fire. The job search would have to wait. For now, he was going home.

The first six blocks were fine. The next six, not so much. The pain in his arm was spreading. Darkness creeped in from the edge of his vision. He crossed the last street in front of his apartment building. Off to his left, a car screeched to a stop, coming close enough to give him a rough nudge. He patted the hood and kept walking. Someone was yelling at him, but he had to get home. He just needed to lie down, and everything would be fine.

He made it across the parking lot and to the bottom of the stairs. Shit. Stairs. He dragged himself up a few steps and crumpled down. This was fine. This was close enough.

A hand descended from behind him and rested on his shoulder. A hell-beast, no doubt, come to finish him off.

“Are you… drunk?” a familiar voice asked. Neighbor girl.

He had a whole explanation prepared about how the monster in his kitchen had taken a bite out of him and probably given him infernal rabies, but he hadn’t really noticed it at the time, and maybe the long walk to the diner wasn’t the best idea, especially considering how his old boss was apparently a demon.

None of that came out.

“No,” he mumbled, and pathetically held up his arm, hoping she would fill in the blanks.

“So your arm’s all messed up.”

He nodded.

“I can drive you to the hospital.”

He shook his head.

“So this is a monster thing, then? Great.” She sighed. “Well, we should get you inside.”

He found himself once again on her couch. She unwrapped his arm. His skin reeked of creosote. The teeth marks had grown a black crust that left a sooty residue on the bandages. The rest of his forearm looked sunburned. The redness crawled up his arm like a lightning strike, branching its way up to his shoulder.

“Okay, Patrick,” Bryony said. “I need you to be coherent. Are you coherent?”

He blinked a few times. Lying down seemed to be helping. “Yes.”

“I don’t know what to do with this. I’m going to need something to go on, here.”

“I don’t… nobody told me about this,” he said. “No ‘don’t let them bite you.’ It would have been helpful.”

“Well, what works against hell monsters? Holy water or something?”

“Couldn’t hurt. Got any?”

She held out her arms and looked around her apartment. “Why would just have that on hand?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know you.”

“If you think it might help, there’s a Catholic church down the road. Just… stay here, and I’ll go get some.” She paused at the front door. “And please don’t die on my couch.”

“Once today was enough,” he mumbled as she closed the door

It wasn't quite as much or as exciting as I wanted, but I'd rather put out a short section that no section at all.

I'll see you Wednesday.