Dastardly Bastard(43)

The corridor smelled of piss, vomit, and trash. Sickly, jaundiced rays came in from the opposite end of the alley, pouring off a streetlamp with a broken cover. He stopped halfway down and did a complete three-sixty, hunting for Sunne.

Donald heard her muffled whimpering and found the two beside a dumpster. He’d ran right past them in the poor light.

Lazy-Eye had Sunne’s pants down around her ankles while he worked between her legs. The hood’s ass was pale in the yellow glow coming from the streetlight.

Scar-Lip stumbled into the alley. He was laughing—a gurgling, bubbling sound—as ropes of viscous fluid poured from his shattered face. In his right hand, the blade of his knife gleamed.

“Get back here, Midget!” Scar-Lip growled.

“Keep him… away,” Lazy-Eye grunted as he pumped. He had his hand over Sunne’s mouth. Donald could see the fear in her bulging eyes.

Ignoring Scar-Lip and his blade, Donald rushed the rapist, punching the man in the back of his head. The skull shattered, and broken pieces of porcelain-like flesh clattered across the floor of the alleyway.

Donald fell back against the brick wall. His knuckles were bleeding where the glass head had cut him. The insanity of the situation infected him. He was rooted in place, flush with the brick wall.

“I don’t know, but I’ve been told,” the headless hood sang. “Chinese pussy’s mighty cold!”

The alleyway tilted in Donald’s vision. The world had become unhinged.

Donald watched helplessly as the headless rapist shoved his jagged neck into Sunne’s throat. It dug around, widening the wound.

Donald snapped his eyes shut and screamed until his throat was sore.

When he opened them again, he was back in the cave.

“Remember me, you small, useless man!” the dead-Sunne thing roared, its hands still around Donald’s neck.

“Plea… puh… pee…”

Donald…

The thing’s head snapped to the side with a low growl.

Donald’s head swam. The damn fish had returned.

I’m right here, Donald…

“No!” the dead-Sunne thing raged.

Donald wondered who it was screaming at, but the thought was fleeting. He would be dead soon. Very soon.

Sunne’s grip on Donald’s throat loosened. He sucked in much-needed air in harsh, burning gasps.

Follow my voice, Donald…

Dead-Sunne thing roared, “You have no power here!”

Donald saw the creature raise its rotted hand and bring it down.

Everything went dark.

Donald heard a boy’s voice. “Cops!” then, quick footsteps running away.

He looked to the left. He was back in the alley.

“Why the fuck did you cut her? I didn’t get my turn.”

The words crashed in Donald’s ears like tangible objects full of weight and crushing gravity. He fell to one knee, slid in a mucky puddle, and landed on his face. The asphalt was cold and slimy. Donald threw up twice before he was able to push himself to his feet.

He leaned against the brick wall, his breath hitching in his chest, throat burning from his voided stomach. When he had his bearings again, he went to find Sunne. He hoped for the best, but expected the worst. He got the former.

Sunne was still fighting for what was left of her life. Crimson hands slid around on her neck as she tried to hold the tear closed. She saw Donald and reached for him with a bloody hand, but before he could get there, she returned the hand to her slashed throat.

Donald collapsed just two feet from Sunne and crawled the rest of the way to her side. He came to Sunne, supporting the nape of her neck in his palm. The action caused her torn throat to open further, and her fingers disappeared into the wound. Donald felt nauseous again. He laid her head down so he could vomit.

Sunne’s eyes begged for help. He couldn’t tell if she was able to breathe, but didn’t think it mattered, considering how much blood she was losing. He put his own hands over the slit and pressed down hard.

For the fourth time that night, Donald lied. “You’re gonna… be all right.”

Sunne kicked violently, gurgling on her own blood, slapping at Donald’s chest. She wasn’t trying to push him away. She only wanted help. Donald figured Sunne knew she was already gone. Her brain just hadn’t caught up with the fact.

Out of the corner of his eye, Donald saw someone watching from the mouth of the alleyway.

The black kid pointed out into the street. “Help’s on the way! I’m sorry! I’m really sorry.” Then, he ran away.

Donald wished he could do the same. When Donald looked back down, Sunne’s eyes were wide-open, and she had stopped moving. It was over. He leaned over and kissed her blood-soaked forehead.

What do you say to the dead? That you’re sorry? Does it really matter? Donald didn’t think so.

Donald…

“What?” he managed. The voice wasn’t exactly a stranger’s, but he still couldn’t place it.

You have to come back, Donald.

“Fuck off.” There was no anger in him. He didn’t have the strength to be mad. He was growing dizzy.

This isn’t real, Donald. Not anymore. They’re just memories.

“Who cares? It was real. A long time ago, it was very real.”

Donald…