The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 28

With two other people getting off before him, Charles hobbled off of the city bus and onto the pavement. He stood for a few seconds and looked to his left and to his right before eventually making up his mind to turn right. With his trusty cane the man carried on down the sidewalk without the comfort of a jacket on such a cool morning. He was being compelled to move forward as fast as his crippled legs could take him. His large girth carelessly bumped into one person after another; and being as big as he was no one seemed too brave to even turn and reprimand the forceful man.

Charles was nearing a location, he had its sights locked in like a finely tuned target, all he needed was to carry himself a few more yards ahead and he was there. Everything and everyone was collapsing in on him to the point where just thinking of Isaac became a labor. For the first time since he had died, Charles no longer wanted to even remember his son. He wanted the boy completely erased from his psyche as soon as possible. And as a matter of fact, he wanted everyone to be out of his range. It was such a pulsating tidal wave of emotion that even the pain in his legs was gradually dissipating.

Charles had arrived. Before him was the abandoned women's shelter. Its dark front section made the building appear as if it were well over a hundred years old, even though it hadn't been used since the summertime. Charles stood at the front steps and just studied the stained painted writing on the boarded up front door. His face was a picture of total concentration and defiance. He couldn't even grab hold of one single thought inside his head without balling up his fists in rage.

Giving the passing sidewalk dwellers one last glance, Charles carried himself along the side of the building until he met up with the alley. He then turned to see the backdoor that had only a heavy chain wrapped around the double locks. With a brooding glare gracing his warm face, Charles stepped forward and gripped the steel chain as tight as he could before twisting its links until a portion of it broke loose.

Then, with his strong right hand he grabbed hold of the door's handle and pushed until the door flung wide open. Making sure no one was roaming about in the alley Charles made his way inside before

shutting the door behind him. The kitchen area was cold and dark despite daylight shining through the misty, cobwebbed windows. Charles looked all around and took in a whiff of air that resembled both must and something burning.

Once he had had enough of the kitchen both he and his cane went for the front gathering area. Beyond the threshold he emerged to find only a large, empty space where women and children all once assembled for shelter. The passing noise outside from the vehicles and people had pretty much vanished by that point inside his ears. Charles' focus was solely upon the place in which he was standing. From the four, bare walls to the wooden floor where spots of blood could still be seen in various places, he made sure not to miss one detail. As Charles turned around and around out of nowhere he spotted a small cross still nailed to one of the walls. How he managed to miss it the first time was beyond him, but he was long over questioning the mysterious. Instead, he stood before the symbol and looked at it in such subdued awe that it appeared as though it were the very first time he had ever laid eyes upon such a thing before.

With quivering jaws Charles drew closer to the cross before uttering, "So...here I am, once more. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Both his right hand and the cane that was secured in it began trembling before the cross. "I haven't heard a word from you in months, and now...now here you are?" His voice grew intense. "Here you are, of all places. I have been asking and begging and pleading with you to guide me. I have served you for all these years, and yet and still I hear nothing from you. I know you're there. Now more than ever I believe in you, but I don't believe for one moment that—

At that very moment, right in the midst of his rant, something began creeping towards Charles from behind. The man spun around to see a figure in all white coming around a corner all hunched over. The person stood for a second before lifting its head and revealing a set of shiny, white fangs and painted white face. Charles had seen the person before, and spotting her at that juncture didn't seem to

surprise him all too much. She stood and smiled at him from just sixty feet away clear on the other side of the room.

Charles held his ground before the cross that was nailed to the wall behind him came flying at the back of his head. The man turned around and held his head in agony before looking back at the cackling fiend before him.

She was such a hideous thing that just looking at her caused Charles to want to turn away in revulsion. She was bent over but for a reason, and that reason was becoming more apparent as she began to lurch closer to Charles. Attached to the back of her all white gown was what appeared to be half of something; half of a man to be exact. Charles took a closer gander before recognizing the person to be none other than the late Leroy Cummins whose face looked as if he himself were in utter anguish.

Charles turned back around and reached down to the floor to pick up the cross. He then twisted and pointed the symbol back at the woman.

"In the name of Christ Jesus our Lord and Savior, I bid you be gone from—

But the cross ripped right out of his hand before he could finish his sentence. The thing landed clear past the woman. Charles looked down at his bleeding left hand before he noticed the entire room growing ominously red right before his eyes. From one corner to the other was nothing but dark red, like someone had screwed in a crimson light bulb and allowed it to shine ever so brightly. Charles couldn't tell if he was imagining the scene or living in a reality, but there was one thing that he was sure of, he was still alive.

"Who in the holy hell are you?" He screamed out loud at the woman.

But all she did was continue to stand and smile before taking her pointy right index finger and directing it straight at Charles. Instantly, the man went down to his knees in pain and began hollering his lungs

out. He looked at his own two hands to see them grow into claws. Fur soon began protruding from them as well before he could feel his teeth extend inside his mouth.

Charles yelled so hard that blood began to shoot right out of his mouth and onto the floor. "God...help me please!"

The ghoulish woman laughed and carried on without saying a mumbling word at the poor man's expense. Charles tried in vain to crawl towards the woman but his efforts were halted by the excruciating pain of his face that felt as if it were on fire as it stretched outwards.

The agony was so overbearing that Charles only desired death to take him, even if it meant that he had to bring it about much sooner upon his own self.

"What the hell is going on in here?" A white, male police officer rushed in through the kitchen with another officer taking up the rear.

Charles was lying on the floor holding his face while both officers attempted to gather the man. "Please help me!" He continued to scream.

Both of the men looked at each other strangely, but all Charles had to do was open his eyes and glare around to see not only the evil woman gone, but also the red in the room vanish away as his hands went all but back to normal.

He touched his sweaty face to find it only unshaven, as it was when he first awoke earlier in the day. "I...I felt it!" He stuttered and stammered like a madman. "Let my boy go, Satan!"

"Looks like we got us another transient," one of the officers rolled his eyes as he helped Charles to his feet. "C'mon, buddy, you can't be in here. We'll take you down to the men's shelter where you belong."

But Charles was in too much of a rage to be contained. Even though he couldn't see the woman any longer, he could still feel her ghastly presence within the room.

"Let me go, motherfucker!" Charles wrestled and tangled with both men in an attempt to free himself from their grip.

"Cut that out or we'll have to take you in!" One of the men ordered.

Charles continued to fight until he was able to turn and backhand one of the officers. And that was all they could take at that point. Immediately both men wrestled Charles back to the floor before managing to secure his hands behind his back and lock them in a pair of cuffs.

"Free my boy!" Charles sobbed so loud. Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

"You have the right to remain silent!" One of the men struggled to recite as he and his partner hoisted Charles back to his feet.

Out the backdoor and back around to the front where a cruiser was already waiting was where they took him as onlookers gawked and gazed at the desperate man who wouldn't stop crying his eyes out.

"Let 'em go, Devil!" Charles yelled at the crowd. "Let my son go!"

The Miranda rights continued to be recited as Charles was placed inside the back of the cruiser. He laid himself down on the seat as the officers climbed inside and took off down the road.

He couldn't stop wailing; even the officers that had arrested him had to take notice of the man every so often just to make sure he was alright.