Bailing Out

And… it's late. Again. I even had this one outlined in advance, I just didn't write it. I'll be honest with you, I'm kind of getting bored with it. I feel like it's not going how I want it to, and I can't pull it back and divert it. So, I think this is a sign that I should wrap it up. There will probably only be a few more installments, and then we'll move on to something new. I just need to get to a good stopping point, that's not like a bullshit cliffhanger.

So… Part Six:

"I thought of angels choking on their halos…"

The room spun. The ceiling warped like a heat mirage. The light fixture threatened to blink out of existence.

Patrick tried to raise his injured arm. It didn’t cooperate. He picked it up with the other hand and brought it up where he could see it. Besides the crusty bite marks, he could swear he saw something moving under the skin, crawling through his veins.

The front door opened. Patrick dropped his arm, wincing when it landed on the couch. Someone walked through the haze of the room. He expected Bryony, and thought it was her until he saw its face.

It wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t a vague smudge of a face. As it moved out of the distorted middle distance, he could see all the details of a face. Or, rather, what had once been a face, before someone had stripped all the skin off, leaving just meaty sinews and bulging eyes.

He rolled off the couch and tried to slip past the thing toward the door. A noise erupted from it, a staticky gurgle, like a garbage disposal over the phone. It turned and grabbed his useless left arm at the shoulder.

Patrick punched it in its skinless face. It seemed surprised, and let go.

This was his chance. He could run, or he could fight. Unfortunately, the demonic infection in his bloodstream slowed his cognitive abilities, and while he was making the decision, the thing bent low and lunged at him, catching him at the waist and throwing him to the floor.

It was going to eat his face, he was sure. He tried to push it away with his good arm. It grabbed his arm, and forced it down onto his chest. The thing knelt on his chest, both pinning his arm down and preventing him from taking too deep a breath.

From somewhere, it produced an object, which it held over his damaged arm. Patrick willed his eyes to focus, to determine what manner of torture was about to befall him. It was…

A water bottle?

The thing poured water over his arm, sending an icy shock up his arm. He looked back up at the creature. Its demonic visage flickered and faded, leaving only Bryony, with a scowl and red mark on her cheekbone.

Patrick stopped struggling. “Oh. It’s you.”

She smacked the side of his head. “Yeah, and you punched me, you dick.”

“Sorry.”

“You’d better be! Are you done freaking out?”

“Yeah.” He paused. “You’re kind of crushing my ribcage.”

“Oh, right,” she said, releasing him. “How’s the arm?”

He tested it out. It still didn’t quite move when he wanted it to, like it was half asleep, but it no longer felt like it was on fire. “Better. I think.”

“Good. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you.”

“Now get out.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I want to be involved with your freaky demon shit. This isn’t my fight.”

He nodded and stood up. “Yeah, okay. I get it. I never meant to drag you into all this.” He walked to the door.

“Oh, and Patrick?” she said.

He stopped and turned. “What?”

“Good luck.”

To be honest, I could stop it right there, but I feel like it needs some more. I've got a few more ideas that never really got fleshed out. I feel like I set up several plot threads, and I can't just leave them dangling. So there will probably be a few more episodes, but who knows?

I'll see you Wednesday.