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skonen_bladesIt was night-time in Nebraska.
Out in a recently-harvested cornfield, I stood with Colligan watching the man tied to the chair in front of us. All three of us were framed in the glare from my truck’s headlights. We were far away from the city. So many stars.
"I don't think he's going to talk." said Colligan.
I looked down at Perkins. He chuckled wetly up at me through split lips and missing teeth. He was beyond beating and he hadn’t given up any secrets. I had to think about unpleasant options.
“Perkins,” I said to the man in the chair, “I like you. This is just business. You’re a tough son of a bitch and I like that. You’ve taken a real beat-down here and you haven’t given up any information at all. Hell, I wish you were on my crew with moxy like that. But I really need that information, you understand?”
Perkins put his head down and whispered something. I leaned forward to hear what he was saying.
When I got close enough, he cobra-snapped forward and spit blood all across my white shirt and new suit. He laughed and laughed.
I could feel anger taking over. I breathed through it and wiped the blood off of my face.
Fuck him, I thought. Perkins brought this on himself.
“Okay, bring out Page.” I said.
“What?” said Colligan. “Hey, listen, I don’t mind torturing this douchebag but there are some things I’m not into. I have my limits.”
“Okay Colligan. Do me a favour, alright? Bring out Page and then get the fuck out of here. Start walking. Don’t bother calling me again. You’re not a part of the organization anymore.”
“Hey, hey, hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. Jeez. Calm down. I’m just saying Page freaks me out, that’s all.” Said Colligan.
“Objection noted. Pull out the crate.” I said. My pulse was even.
Colligan went to the back of the pickup truck and pulled out the crate. It had originally held a cannon in the cargo hold of the Mayflower. A sturdy box.
As big as a child’s coffin.
Perkins wasn’t laughing anymore.
Colligan brought the box close to Perkins and I, the crate kicking up dust in the headlight’s beams. I heard a shuffling rustle from inside the box. Colligan dropped the crate. Dust billowed up.
I knelt down and took out my keys. The key I wanted was large, made of iron and older than the United States. I put it into the ancient lock holding the chains around the crate.
“Last chance, Perkins.” I said.
“G-go fuck yourself.” Perkins retorted. I could tell he was scared now, though. Good.
I unlocked the crate. The chains slithered back and the lid flipped open.
Page stood up and sniffed the air. Page looked like she was about six years old. Her white hair hung straight over her pointed ears. Her golden eyes glowed under the night sky. Her dress hung in rags off of her skinny body. The black body tattoos of her clan stood out sharp against her porcelain skin. Her lips peeled back from her pointed teeth when she smelled the acrid tang of Perkin’s blood flowing freely from his split lips and broken nose.
She shimmered underneath the moon. She glowed. Her fingertips twitched like they were snake tongues tasting the air.
Perkins pissed himself. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything.” He said.
“Yeah. You will.” I said. “She’s out of the box now, Jenkins. She doesn’t go back hungry. You brought this on yourself. Scream as much as you want. I won’t think you’re any less of a man if you cry.”
Page looked back at me for permission, the twin scars of the lobotomy making quotations marks between her eyebrows. I nodded. Smiling and drooling, she turned back to Perkins with a horrible smile on her face.
Faster than any human, she flickered forward into Perkins and took her time.
He screamed a lot. He told us everything.
Page went back into the box full and happy.
We buried Perkins there in the field with wood and iron through his heart. We buried his head in a separate grave just to be sure.
tags
Out in a recently-harvested cornfield, I stood with Colligan watching the man tied to the chair in front of us. All three of us were framed in the glare from my truck’s headlights. We were far away from the city. So many stars.
"I don't think he's going to talk." said Colligan.
I looked down at Perkins. He chuckled wetly up at me through split lips and missing teeth. He was beyond beating and he hadn’t given up any secrets. I had to think about unpleasant options.
“Perkins,” I said to the man in the chair, “I like you. This is just business. You’re a tough son of a bitch and I like that. You’ve taken a real beat-down here and you haven’t given up any information at all. Hell, I wish you were on my crew with moxy like that. But I really need that information, you understand?”
Perkins put his head down and whispered something. I leaned forward to hear what he was saying.
When I got close enough, he cobra-snapped forward and spit blood all across my white shirt and new suit. He laughed and laughed.
I could feel anger taking over. I breathed through it and wiped the blood off of my face.
Fuck him, I thought. Perkins brought this on himself.
“Okay, bring out Page.” I said.
“What?” said Colligan. “Hey, listen, I don’t mind torturing this douchebag but there are some things I’m not into. I have my limits.”
“Okay Colligan. Do me a favour, alright? Bring out Page and then get the fuck out of here. Start walking. Don’t bother calling me again. You’re not a part of the organization anymore.”
“Hey, hey, hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it. Jeez. Calm down. I’m just saying Page freaks me out, that’s all.” Said Colligan.
“Objection noted. Pull out the crate.” I said. My pulse was even.
Colligan went to the back of the pickup truck and pulled out the crate. It had originally held a cannon in the cargo hold of the Mayflower. A sturdy box.
As big as a child’s coffin.
Perkins wasn’t laughing anymore.
Colligan brought the box close to Perkins and I, the crate kicking up dust in the headlight’s beams. I heard a shuffling rustle from inside the box. Colligan dropped the crate. Dust billowed up.
I knelt down and took out my keys. The key I wanted was large, made of iron and older than the United States. I put it into the ancient lock holding the chains around the crate.
“Last chance, Perkins.” I said.
“G-go fuck yourself.” Perkins retorted. I could tell he was scared now, though. Good.
I unlocked the crate. The chains slithered back and the lid flipped open.
Page stood up and sniffed the air. Page looked like she was about six years old. Her white hair hung straight over her pointed ears. Her golden eyes glowed under the night sky. Her dress hung in rags off of her skinny body. The black body tattoos of her clan stood out sharp against her porcelain skin. Her lips peeled back from her pointed teeth when she smelled the acrid tang of Perkin’s blood flowing freely from his split lips and broken nose.
She shimmered underneath the moon. She glowed. Her fingertips twitched like they were snake tongues tasting the air.
Perkins pissed himself. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything.” He said.
“Yeah. You will.” I said. “She’s out of the box now, Jenkins. She doesn’t go back hungry. You brought this on yourself. Scream as much as you want. I won’t think you’re any less of a man if you cry.”
Page looked back at me for permission, the twin scars of the lobotomy making quotations marks between her eyebrows. I nodded. Smiling and drooling, she turned back to Perkins with a horrible smile on her face.
Faster than any human, she flickered forward into Perkins and took her time.
He screamed a lot. He told us everything.
Page went back into the box full and happy.
We buried Perkins there in the field with wood and iron through his heart. We buried his head in a separate grave just to be sure.
tags