Part 4 (1/2)

Homer's deep baritone voice played on the air as if it were being spoken from eight different mouths. ”They're in room 109/kill those b.i.t.c.hes/make them suffer/say it's for me/say it's for Homer Winch.e.l.l you're dead/those b.i.t.c.hes/those f.u.c.king greedy b.i.t.c.hes/they play the game well/how well will you play the game, Dr. Steinke?”

Exiting Homer's room, he entered a great cloud of yellow fog. He picked up his pace, searching for the nurses. The voices in the air increased. They teased, taunted, and encouraged him with every step he advanced up the hallway to room 109.

He refused to die. Dr. Steinke wouldn't give up the battle for survival.

I'll do anything to live that much longer. I'll even kill those two b.i.t.c.hes. I want to kill them so much!

Dr. Steinke charged into room 109. He caught Barbie Belle using a bone saw on Mrs. Allandale's ring finger to claim her wedding ring. The yellow fog was so thick in this room, he didn't have a chance to catch Jill Olson drag her scalpel across his ceratoid and jugular arteries. As Dr. Steinke gasped for his life on his knees, blood trickling heavily between his threaded fingers, Homer Winch.e.l.l's voice played on the air. Homer was laughing at his death. Then hundreds of voices of the dead erupted, covering up Homer's laugher. They dead were collectively amused, especially when Dr. Steinke's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he expired.

Jill and Barbie stepped over his corpse and continued on to the next room in search of more valuables.

Those who weren't dead were in hiding, Sheriff Reeds gathered, as he drove cautiously about Blue Hills in his patrol car with his shotgun in one hand and the steering wheel in the other. Dead bodies were bleeding on the streets or left on their property shot up, stabbed, or beaten to death. The casualties added up to more than half the population of Blue Hills, but that left a lot of locals alive who'd fight for their lives tooth and nail. Whatever that meant, Sheriff Reeds would keep patrolling town and hope he too eventually found what he needed to survive another day. The ache between his shoulder blades when he woke up with this morning had died down to a dull ache, but the pain would return again soon. When it did return, he'd have to heed his body's demands. The only consolation Sheriff Reeds could give himself was that he had plenty of shotgun sh.e.l.ls left to go around for anyone who crossed his path.

He would do anything to live another day.

BRANDY.

The Bingo game ended at eight-thirty on the dot. After talking to the ladies for fifteen minutes afterwards about ”America's Got Flair” and Hannah, Brock was on his way to walking home when Hannah's car pulled up to the curb. Taken by surprise, he loaded himself in to the pa.s.senger seat, and eying his lady, he was impressed by Hannah's red skirt and tight-fitting white b.u.t.ton up top. She drove the car two blocks before he asked, ”So what do I owe the honor of being picked up? How long were you waiting out there?”

”Ten minutes.” Hannah half turned to him, a smile creeping across her lips. ”Those ladies sure love you. I swear they were about to throw their Depends at you like you were Wayne Newton.”

”They were asking me about the TV show, and you.”

”You're their grandson.”

”I am.”

”No wonder you love going so much. You get showered with attention.”

”Who me? You're just jealous you didn't think of it first.” He realized they were driving back near his apartment, but then she pa.s.sed the turn off. ”Wait, are we going to your apartment?”

”Yes.”

The answer was too simple. It should've been a loaded response, and Brock knew he was in trouble.

”Brandy's going to be there, isn't she?”

Hannah had a way of staring off and pretending she hadn't heard him, and she was utilizing that ability right now.

”So we're seeing your sister. Did you tell her you asked me to marry you?”

She said softly, ”She knows.”

”Do you want me to talk to her?”

”Yes and no.”

”Yes and no, what does that mean?”

”It means she wants to talk to you, and I'm going to have to let her, because if we're going to be married, Brandy says she needs to set a few things straight for the record.”

”For the record.” Brock mulled it over. He caressed her leg, resting the flat side of his palm against her inner thigh. ”I'll do anything for you, Hannah, even take verbal b.i.t.c.h slaps from your sister. They're deserved.”

She shook her head. ”They're not deserved.”

”We have a troubled past together, so yes, I deserve some berating. I'm the bad boy who turned your life upside down.”

”Well, it's better now. We're sober. Brandy needs to realize that and start getting to know you. You're going to be family.”

Brock was suddenly so grateful for her just as he was grateful for his blue hairs at the community center. He was on the verge of crying, feeling like his life was finally coming full circle in a good way, but he kept his emotions in check, especially when he noticed how Hannah's eyes were teary from a long cry.

”You had an argument with her, and you came right over to pick me up, didn't you?”

”Brandy wants to clear the air right now, so I said I'd bring you to the apartment.”

”You stick up for me a lot.”

”I do.”

He kissed her cheek. ”Okay, I'll jump into the lion's den if it means making things easier,” he leaned in and whispered in her ear, ”when I marry you.”

Her smile was infectious. ”I want you to kiss me, Brock.”

He leaned in, kissing while she drove, their lips biting at each others with playful zest. The nice feelings would end when he had a talk with Brandy. When they arrived at the parking lot outside of Hannah's apartment building, he stepped out of the car. Hannah remained seated.

”Aren't you coming in?”

Oh no, she's not coming in.

”I reached an agreement with Brandy. She decided it was best you two had a one-on-one talk.”

He mouthed ”one-on-one” and looked on at Hannah as if he'd been captured in the harshest, brightest spotlight in mankind's history.

Brandy's going to let me have it good.

She doesn't want any witnesses to the crime.

'Oh Sis, he up and ran away. He disappeared. Who knows where they'll find your future hubby's body? I guess if they don't find the corpse, you can't marry him. Oh well, you'll find a better man. And I'll pick him out for you. This is a small b.u.mp in the road, Brock being murdered.'

Hannah offered him a sullen face. ”I know this is hard. I have a feeling this will win you into her good graces. Show your good faith by talking to her.”

I have to be a man about this.

I don't even know what the h.e.l.l that means in this situation.

Brock gave in. ”Well, honey, family can either be the warmest, nicest, most comforting thing in one's life, or it can be another four hours with the in-laws at Thanksgiving. If I want the better option, I have to take this walk.”

”Brandy will call me on my cell phone when you guys are done.” She blew him a kiss. ”Good luck, Brock. I owe you one.”