Haven: Collapse: 6: Reality Deviance

 

I'm sitting on the table of the picnic bench in the park, laced cigarette in hand, reading the time on my phone: ten minutes to go before contact but then someone else comes over from behind and to the left.

“Duke?” female voice, recognition is slow. Officer Parker.

I turn, suspicious. She looks confused and concerned. This is unexpected.

“You're...out of hospital, already?” she's looking me up and down like she hasn't seen me in years.

“I wasn't in...hospital?” I point out, adding in tones of why the hell are you talking to me? I start texting contact meet blown cop here change loc change time update soon. Of all the bullshit. She's probably just talking out of her ass to be talking and making things awkward.

“You—you...really don't look well. Are you sure you should have been let out this? Where's--”

“I don't know what your game is but--” I slide off the bench and down to the ground, finishing the cigarette and stomping it out.

“And since when do you smoke?”

I ignore her and continue my sentence, “but I don't have to talk to you. I have things to do. Go harass someone else.” I pick up the bag I had under the bench and leave. She doesn't ask to check it, which is also unexpected but I'll take it. Whatever weirdness is going on with her she can have it. I watch as she heads back towards the P.D and head down towards the general area of the docks myself but only a block before texting contact again so that we can meet down the road I'm at. There's a bakery at the end that had a fire and hasn't been rebuilt yet good chance they'd be coming that way. They approve. Exchange is made. Arrangements for next batch and different location. Move on actually back towards the docks and on board the Ursa to stash payment and check for messages. Nothing at the minute.

The thing with Parker was weird—that she showed up right then. Did someone leak something? I make a few accusatory phone calls and nothing seems to shake loose. We'll let that fall where it does. Then I offer myself some de-stress from the stash in the wall panel behind the couch.

%%%%

“Crocker!” Wuornos' voice jolts me up. Needle still in my left arm. I'm leaning against the bathroom wall. I finish the rest of the push. Everything rushing quiet through my ears. Things disjoint. The wall blurring.

“CROCKER!” it makes me jerk, and the needle catches, busting scabs, blood spurting. Fuck.

“Just a fucking minute!” I yell back, tossing the needle into the toilet, flushing, and grabbing a towel to wrap around my arm.

“Hurry your ass up! We need to talk to you!”

We. Well, he wouldn't be about without Parker, I bet. She probably realizes she screwed up not searching things. Well, too late.

I pull myself to my feet using the sink. Dizzy. Puking. Fuck. That was too fast. Rinse things out. Readjust the towel and meander outside holding it. I was right. We is Wuornos and Parker. Though they're on ground level not right outside.

“What do you want?” I demand.

“What happened to your arm?” Parker has that weird concern in her voice, again. Head shape moving up and down slow movements studying me over and over.

“I was making food. My hand slipped when you yelled. It's fine. What do you want?” I stare down at them, blurring in and out like that.

“To talk to you.” Wuornos.

“Okay? About what?”

“Do you--” Parker starts, then sighs, “Can you come down here?”

“Fine.” I amble down the gangplank onto ground level.

“Are you sure you're alright?” Parker says, “You seem unsteady.”

“I'm fine.”

Wuornos scoffs, “Maybe we should bring you back to the P.D to repeat that. I doubt you can pass a sober test.”

“If I was high. You can't—you can't detain someone based on something in their system, only—only things on them, which I...do not have.”

Wuornos exchanges a look with Parker, “What about on the boat? We can search that.”

“I do not give you permission to go on board.”

“You're hurt,” Wuornos continues, “Looks like self-harm to me. I'm gonna say that gives us probable cause to go aboard, who's to say we didn't go aboard earlier to check on you out of concern for a Haven citizen when you didn't answer the first two times we called.”

“The hell, Wuornos?”

“Parker?” he asks.

“I concur,” she says.

He grabs hold of me, and she goes ahead, as he drags me up back onto the boat and into the cabin and shoves me down onto a crate that's just inside the door.

“Wow,” Parker says, looking around the main cabin, “This is just...this is not my Duke.”

“The hell you talking about your Duke?” I demand.

“It's a Haven thing,” Wuornos replies, “Which takes us back to what we were here about. You piss anyone off lately, more than usual, I mean?”

I snort at him, “Business has been fine despite her best efforts to get in the way.”

“Who do you do business with?” Parker asks.

“Really? I'm just going to roll over and tell you that.” This is annoyingly ruining my buzz. Noise crashing the brightness out of the walls.

Wuornos moves around in front of me and starts tugging at the towel wrapped around my left arm.

“The hell are you doing now?” I pull my hand back.

“Let me check what damage you've done to yourself,” he mutters, “we wind up bringing you in you don't need to bleed out in holding.”

There's a strange noise from Parker's direction when the towel gives way. She comes closer and looks at my arm too, “Oh, Duke,” she says. Is that tearfulness? What the fuck? Why is she upset about me? “What happened to you?”

Wuornos looks over at her too, “Parker, come on.”

“I told you, Nathan. This time line is wrong. Simon Crocker was supposed to be dead as of 1983. The Rev should be dead too, but a little more recently. There's...and Duke should definitely not be like this. I've never even seen or heard of this boat. He owns the Cape and The Gull and he works with us and he's not...” she trails off.

“The Gull?” I ask her.

“It's a bar. Right over there,” she waves, “and yes I know that's just the dead Second Chance. I'm not even going to try to explain again. This time line is wrong and we need to find the Troubled person who caused it and put it back.”

My father...in 1983. He wouldn't...he wouldn't have been able to...

“Where's Julia?” she asks, “I can't believe that she would want this for you.”

I hit her in the face.

%%%%

The sunlight glitters and sparkles through the windows of the truck. Lights blur and trail by and there's music in the rumbling tires.

“That was stupid, Nathan,” I hear Parker.

“He hit you,” his voice is distorted. It sounds funny. If I'm actually giggling out loud they don't seem to notice.

“Yes, but I can't believe even in this screwed up time line--,” there's a long pause, “You knew about the Crocker Trouble, didn't you?”

“Yeth. We've been—there's been times...” he shakes his head, “Thith not the firth,” he pulls the thing away from his face, “first time we've been in a fist fight.”

I crane around trying to see. Parker is driving. Wuornos has something held to his face again. Details filter through in shards of light. Him hauling off at me. Me punching him too. I must have got him in the mouth. Then the brilliant glow of the tazer, making everything shine and Wuornos coming at me again because it did nothing. I'm cuffed now though and a dull ache is starting spreading from knees and elbows throughout the rest of my body.

“That's why it was a stupid idea. You should have just tazed him in the first place if it pissed you off that badly. What did happen to Julia that—that brought on that reaction?”

“She wath murdered,” he says.

“Oh, God,” Parker says, almost breathless, “When?”

Wuornos pauses then, mental counting I'm sure. September 1994. Sometime overnight the 9^th, a Friday. My mouth won't work, probably just as well. I close my eyes. My head is starting to hurt and the sparkling from the sunlight is turning into daggers.

“Thixteen yearth ago,” he answers, “Almotht theventeen now,” he pulls whatever it is away from his face, “Of course, there were tons of people in town who were wanting to point the finger at him, but...but I was with him when we found her. I knew it wasn't him. It was too—there was no way.”

“Oh, God,” Parker says, again, as she's pulling to a stop, “Did they ever find out who did?”

“From what Chief said there was a good bit of evidence pointing towards Simon Crocker...but he disappeared before he could be brought in for questioning.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yeah...”

Oh, fuck my limbs hurt and my head feels like a tiny gnome is playing the steel drums inside my sinuses. I'm gonna hurl. Please let this stop have been the actual P.D I daren't open my eyes the lids hurt too much. The door opens next to me.

“Come on, Crocker--” Wuornos tugs at my arms. Moving my body is tricky. It's like my limbs are syrup, pins and needles and breaking sticks. I get to the edge of the seat though with bare minimum of eye opening, “Crashing now, are we?” he inquires, without sympathy, until his yanking me the rest of the way out of the car causes me to vomit way too close to his shoes. Parker helps him get me all the way into the department.

“Crocker...” one of the cops in the department says as I lean against the wall, “back again? What's it this time?”

“Assault on a law enforcement officer, three counts,” Wuornos remarks, with tones of 'this should be obvious' considering the bruising on both his and Parker's faces. I got her cheek and below her right eye. His lip is busted and by his nose has bruised up too. I can't tell where I might be hurt, everything hurts. It's taking everything not to slide down the wall.

“The fuck? You son of a gypsy crack whore.”

“If...you're gonna insult my mother do it right...” I mutter, “Spic...Taco, say 'tu madre es una puta con una concha sucio'. My father was the gypsy.”

I'm yanked off to holding and lay down on the bench after the handcuffs are removed. Parker stays standing outside the cell. Wuornos disappears.

“You said 'was',” she says.

“Mmpfh?” I close my eyes. The lights are too bright in this room. My mouth is drying out but I know better than to ask for a drink.

“You said “My father was the gypsy”. Nathan told me Simon Crocker disappeared—skipped town. What happened to him?”

I cautiously open one eye and shift on the bench as best I can so that she's blocking most of the light, “Aren't you a smart police officer? Why don't you use your imagination?”

“Duke...”

“Stop talking to me like you know me. I'm apparently not your Duke? Or whatever the hell you keep going on about...”

“Right,” she says, “Sorry; but yes. You do know about the Troubles, don't you?”

I snort. This feels like deja-vu, “You were just asking Wuornos about The Crocker Trouble that I obviously have and thus I'm Simon Crocker's son. Simon Crocker—the man whose zealotry turned the Rev into a Troubled people sympathizer. Yes, I know about the fucking Troubles.”

“He what?” It seems like her brain shuts down for a moment, “How?”

“Why don't you ask the Rev?” I mutter, rolling slowly onto my back and using one arm to shade my eyes. There are three gnomes in my head now and they're having some sort of drum war. Unfortunately there's no way for me to wring their asshole necks.

“That still doesn't answer what happened to Simon,” Parker presses.

She's not going to let it go, is she? “I was lead to believe had an unfortunate meeting with a sledgehammer.” He ran into it a dozen or so times...

“Lead to believe?”

“Trustworthy source.”

“Who?”

“That'd be saying, wouldn't it?” He shouldn't have gloated. He shouldn't have fucking gloated.

She sighs and looks away for a short time. Go on. Go the fuck away.

“Anyway,” she says, “This Trouble—the reason I was asking. This...world...time line it's wrong. I was explaining about it a bit when we were on your boat. Do you remember?”

“Gulls? Capes? Something?” Not that I don't know what the hell the Cape Rouge is but really? Me living on Simon's boat? In what fucked up universe?

She sighs, again.

My arms are so fucking itchy. I have to sit up. The room goes sideways. I fall off the bench on to the floor. Man, the floor is so cool.

“Duke!” she's crouching down level with me.

“Can't you just leave me alone?” I mutter in her general direction.

“No,” she says, “No, because this is wrong. I know you don't trust me in. You have no reason to. Everything has screwed you over; but in the proper time line Simon dies when you're a little kid. He isn't around to do whatever he—I can only imagine what growing up with him your whole childhood must have been like, and just before is the most I've ever heard about your mother—if she's even like that in our time line, but he dies, and Julia,” I feel my fists clenching, “Julia is alive. You and she, anyway, but you work with us, like I said, and she—you and she, you're together. You're very much in love. You're sickeningly adorable, actually. It's kind of annoying.”

“Don't fuck with me.” I tell her.

“I'm not,” she stands up, and unlocks the cage door, steps inside and then closes the door behind her and locks it again.

What the hell is she doing?

She sits down next to me, “It's the truth. You—the other you was telling me and Nathan, just the other night from your hospital bed how if it wasn't for her you wouldn't have gotten off heroin when you were working together fixing up the Cape Rouge when you were twenty or so which I know you apparently didn't get in this time line, but I mean, gah...you are so cute and I was rooting for you guys, I was, and you'd gone and gotten together without my help or interventions, despite the drunken poker thing.”

“Surrrrre,” I drag it out even though it hurts my jaw.

“Parker! What are you doing in there?” I hear Wuornos.

“Hush, Nathan!” she calls, “There was this whole thing about trust and respect and stuff which is, you know, understandable and OH! Because, I mean, you knew she had a crush on you when she was just a “wee lass” but she didn't know you actually liked her too.”

I feel my chest go cold. How the Hell would Parker know about this shit? She wasn't in town when we were kids, and even though Wuornos—there's no reason he would have told Parker about the “wee lass” he doesn't give enough of a shit.

“And you guys have all these weird nicknames for each other, wench, Boss...there was some talk of a pitchfork allergy or something.”

I pull myself up carefully into a sitting position.

“I take it I hit on something,” Parker says.

“You have my suspicion,” I tell her. She's unfortunately shorter than me now so she can't block the bright light and I need my hands to scratch as well. Annoyances.

“You're going to make things bleed!” she says, sharply, trying to grab my hands I pull away from her and she flinches back at the same time.

Wuornos is at the door, “Parker—get out of there!”

“We're making progress, Nathan,” she retorts, “on the whole this is not the right time line issue.”

“But--”

“Duke might have an idea of who has done this...” Parker continues, “Don't the Crockers keep records of Troubled?”

“Of Troubled we've killed.” I snap, “I thought you know things.”

Parker sighs, “Simon Crocker being the zealot you say I thought he might have had a hit list plotted out somewhere with Troubles written out. Stop scratching!” She reaches for me again, “Do I have to hold your hands?”

“Don't touch me,” I pull back. My hands are clammy, but I feel overheated and cold, “It's possible, I suppose, but I haven't seen anything like that.”

“If whoever it is extended Simon's life maybe they showed up and sucked up to him?” Wuornos suggests, “Does—did he have any weird friends?”

I snort.

“Well, if it's someone who got themselves sent back in time by...” she clicks her fingers, “Stuart Mosely then that might be the case but then—there'd probably be something in the records. In our proper time line Vince and my former incarnation Lucy killed Simon because as Duke put it he was a “murder monster”. When Simon and the Rev came back as ghosts--”

“What?” both Wuornos and I say at the same time.

“Just—just—it's easier if you just go with it, okay? Please. There was a ghost Trouble, and Simon and the Rev both came back to chit chat and cause problems and it was clear they had both been very buddy buddy during their time alive. You say that's true now or was, at least?”

“When I was a kid, yes...” at least the stupid bed bench thing digging into my back is keeping me awake.

“Has there been anyone super pissed off that the Rev has started advocating for Troubled people?” Parker says, “I would imagine if they wanted Simon to stay alive longer it would be to be working with the Rev to keep doing what they were doing...and if the Rev isn't doing that I bet they're very unhappy. Duke, has anyone pestered you to take up your father's mantle?” she hesitates, “Ha-have you been--?”

“You really think I want to be doing things he did?” No matter that I am. That I have to for the damn Guard but not going at it independently like dear old Simon did.

Wuornos makes a coughing noise. I ignore him. Parker scolds him.

“I was tempted to burn or bury all his shit but...” but the gang of Guard in the house that I'm not getting in to.

“Stan!” Wuornos calls, “Who did we pick up for vandalizing the Rev's house?”

“Just a minute!” a voice calls back.

I curl my head up against my knees trying to keep all the excess light and noise away and if I keep my hands under the crook of my legs maybe I'll stop scratching and Parker will stop bitching at me. After a few moments I hear footsteps approaching.

“Andrew Pearson,” the “just a minute” voice says, papers rustling like rocks grating together.

“Thanks,” Wuornos answers. There's the sound of papers being handed off. When I look up he has a two pieces of paper that he's looking at, “Come on, Parker. Get out of the cell. We have work to do.”

“Nathan--” she says.

“In this other world Julia is alive and my father died eleven years earlier?” I ask Parker, lifting my head cautiously.

“Yes,” she says.

“Then I want in.”

“Hell no,” Wuornos says, “You're in--”

“What does it matter what I'm in here for?” I demand, “If this Trouble gets fixed it all goes back to Parker's other time line, right? I'm not on the hook for anything I'm this other Duke with this...other life...”

“That's not...”

“Nathan. Shut up.” Parker says, “The more help the better, and he is right.”

“What use is he going to be though? In this state?” He does have a point in the fact that right now I could barely stand.

“I can fix that too,” I point out, “You just have to get me back to my boat and besides if you let me at him...then he can never do this again and if any of his other relatives feel the same way they can't either.”

%%%%

I keep my eyes firmly shut on the drive back to the Ursa. Wuornos is driving and has been told to keep his mouth firmly shut too. Parker apparently has him well in line because he does as he's told. She, however, keeps talking to me.

“Are you sure you want to do this? My Duke he goes through hell when he absorbs a Trouble...”

“Time line reset, right?” I repeat to her stiffly, sitting on my hands.

I can feel her chewing on this, “Yeah...I suppose so. I just...I don't know what this...how this...”

Ugh. I have to open my eyes and give her a glare, “What are you going on about?”

“If the time line resets...will the Trouble still be gone? And if it is what will that do to him? He's in hospital in the proper time line...because of a whole horrible mess with a different Trouble.”

“Hospital?” This is an interesting thing.

“Yes!” she snaps, “Didn't you just hear me about Trouble absorbing hell? I was under the impression you knew about your family Trouble.”

Wuornos does that throat coughing thing he did earlier when I was talking about not wanting anything of my fathers but Parker doesn't do anything more than wave a hand at him. I would shake my head at her but I don't want to start trying to heave up bile.

“I don't--” Parker starts.

“I never saw--” It's my turn to start but she cuts me off.

“You never saw your Dad dealing with Troubled people, well, then I suppose that makes sense.”

Oh, she's so so funny, “if you let me finish. I never saw “Dad” go through anything but immense pleasurable joy after something like that. He was always pretty damn pleased with himself. It was one of the few days I could be guaranteed not to get beat over something. He was pissed as Hell when the Troubles ended; but then he found out he could go around outside Haven and keep at his Mission so things eased up a bit in the Crocker house, because he wasn't here or he was happy still.”

Wuornos stops the truck by the docks and the doors click unlocked. I carefully drag myself out of the back seat and up to the deck the promise of an end to the pains spurring me forward and making me ignore Parker's offer for assistance. I do hear her following me up on deck but I slam the door in her face and push the internal bars across so she can't come inside. She calls my name but I hear Wuornos saying something to her outside but not what it is. I had at least remembered to lock everything behind the couch back up earlier otherwise her poking around would have gone a lot worse.

I find a couple of knives and a gun to bring along and a pack of cigarettes, before I go to the other supplies. There's a moment of what am I doing believing in this bullshit of another universe where things are different, but what is there to lose? If it's wrong and the guy is killed for nothing he was murdered in front of two cops. I leave the panel open behind the couch. I write a confession to murdering my father because of things he did I ramble about on the paper connecting my thoughts to Andrew Pearson and how he also needs to die and leave that there too. It's only then I mix the dose, strap off my arm and stand up to lean against the wall and put in the juice; but then it doesn't matter I'm back in everything being shiny. I pull out the needle and drop it, unstrap my arm and head back top side.

Parker looks at me nervously when I open the door, that sparkling golden halo all around here. Wuornos is more severe more blues.

“Hey,” I tell them, “Good to go?”

“If you are...” Parker says.

“I'm fine,” I pat her shoulder, “Let's go,” I lock the door behind me and follow them back down to the truck, climb in the back and stretch out along the seat.

“We'll go up to the front and talk—see if we can find anything out.” Parker explains, as we drive there, “You okay with snooping?”

“Fine with it,” I wave a hand.

“Call for back up if you encounter him.”

“Yeah, I'll do that.”

“Duke--” Parker has this scolding, warning tone.

I glare at her.

“I mean it. We don't know exactly how this thing works. He could reset the universe and make it worse.”

I have to scoff at that, because sure.

Wuornos stops at the beginning of the street and lets me out and they continue on up to the house which is four down. I walk around the back of the first house, casual, lighting up, following the yards behind. They're small, postage stamp shaped gardens. The Pearson one has a plot of strawberries in among the flower beds and a small shed. I wonder if they have a sledgehammer or a spade. It's harder to get away when you have no use of your feet. I remember that with Dad.

I jump the fence of the neighbor's yard and then the in between fence so the shed blocks my view from the house. I almost spill over into a pile of limbs the second time, unsteady. They're the type that leave their shed unlocked I can tell and the front door is not at an angle that anyone could see from the house, but I'm not sure if anyone else is in the house—I try to listen. It sounds like it's a woman talking to them out front. So, if I am seen and dude comes out all the better. I open the shed door.

The shed is anally well organized; long handled tools hanging on a rack on the left side by the door, shorter ones on several racks by the window. A tool bench with drawers that I imagine are full of nails and screws, and then other things: nail gun, chain saw, hedge clippers on the right hand side. There are two bags of soil and a stack of plant pots as well. This is...

Noise!

“Who's there?” a man's voice.

I don't say anything. I should have asked to look at a picture of Andrew Pearson but if his blood—then he has a Trouble which is a good indicator. If he thinks the world isn't right like Parker does then that'd be a good sign too, right? Man, my head's getting fuzz. I start tipping out drawers, rifling through things.

“Hello?”

I spin around putting up my hands. People tend to lower their guard to fearful pity when confronted with a junkie and just chase them off with threats of cops, “I—I'm not doing anything...”

“Oh, shit. Duke Crocker...” he shakes his head, “Damn...”

“What?” it's not hard to be pissy with whoever this is, “Who are you supposed to be?”

“You're on my property,” he counters, “And I—what are you doing?”

“Nu—nothing I just--” I shift around, and scratch the back of my neck, stumble back towards the door and the area where the spades and things are, “I needed something.”

“God, shit, and here I was hoping to find you and you would be useful.”

I take hold of the handle of the spade to steady myself, “Wha? What do you mean? You--” I point at him with my other hand, “You know me? Who are you?”

“Yes, I know you,” he says, “I was a friend of your father's. Andrew Pearson? Have you hear--”

I hit him in the head with the spade.

%%%%

There are so many things that could be done, oily rag, duct tape drag him off to Wuornos' truck—throw him over the fence and away with him...but I don't see these things working. People will see—could I even get to the truck in time? Besides does he even need his voice to use his Trouble? Too many factors. Too many things.

He's stirring already anyway it's not like in the movies. They wake up quick, son. Always have to remember that, and when they're awake they're going to scream. If you're not going to kill them right away, you have to have other methods to subdue them. There's times you're going to need to get information. Remember that pain is always good for that. Pain and fear, do so much better than just asking politely and work a lot faster too. I have my knee wedged firmly against his chest. Gun out. Knife against throat.

“Grmpgha?” He spits blood, but well in the opposite direction to me. I shift forward on his chest a little changing pressure and he sounds annoyed, pained. Good, “The hell was that about? If you were gonna rob me why are you still here?”

“Why indeed?” I ask him.

He notices the gun and the knife then as I lean down closer to his face, “How did you know dear old Dad? Were you—were you good friends? I was going to hobble you with the spade, but I have the gun out now, though I—I'm kinda twitchy as you might gather so I might not hobble you...I might shoot off something else...”

“What is wrong with you?” his breath is hitching, “You just broke into my shed are acting all—what drugs are you on?”

Fuck. Bad idea. If I shoot the gun the super cops are gonna come running right in here, but—wait a minute...

“Look--” I rub my forehead with the back of my left hand and then lean down on him getting in close to his face, “You haven't yelled out for help. Why is that? You have a fucking crazy junkie molesting you and you're not shouting for the cops...and they're right—they're right over there at your door. Were you trying to run away from them? Did you do something naughty, Andrew?”

“Please, Duke,” he says, softly, “For the love our families bear each other. Help me get out of here.”

I close the knife more to his throat, “What love? I don't know you. You say you know my father. How do you know him?”

“We worked together. I—I saved his life. Now, please, save mine.”

This is a different type of shaking. I must not cut him. I must not cut him. I must not cut him yet.

“He never said anything about you,” I say, careful, “but he was kind of arrogant, probably—probably didn't want anyone else getting credit. What did you do?”

“That's Simon,” he says, nervous, trying to move my hand away so the knife isn't pressed into his throat so tight, blood is beading there. I can smell it, like baked bread and—and—and cinnamon, and brown sugar. This has to be him, “I...it's hard to explain. I don't...but he should have died when you were a kid, and I got him out of that. It makes Haven, better, him and the Reverend but—” I dig the knife in more but not all the way, just deep enough to make him yelp, and then I lean in when he's stammering from confusion.

“So, Parker was right? This isn't the real world?”

“It is now!” he snaps, and then lets out another yelp as grab hold of his hair and pull his head at an awkward angle, with the hand still holding the knife. Sweet blood from a person so sour, “What the fuck are you doing?” I lick it, and then as that rush hits I pull his right arm out of it's socket before I bounce up quickly to grab the spade.

Hopped up it doesn't take much work to cut off the feet, but I know those screams will likely bring someone from the house. He's crying, but as I've told him, it doesn't matter. He tries to explain why. Something about the Crockers and the Driscolls and I'm not following his blood is roaring against my temples and with the hack and scream I drop down on top of him again.

“Please, please, please,” he says, “please.”

“Please, what? I just don't want to have to chase you. Running sucks, and I told you I don't trust my aim with the gun. It just—well, it looks cool.”

I can hear other people running though and a loud clatter as the spade falls over.

“Simon was a legend. He knew—he knew what to do with Troubled people. You—you don't do that. I thought if he was alive he would teach you—the Rev and he...and then things...and fee and...”

He's trying to push me away with his arms but it's rather feeble and he's coughing more blood from his mouth as I put my hands on either side of his head.

“Duke!” Parker's voice.

“Please--” he says, again.

“You know what Simon Crocker taught me?” I ask him as I put my thumbs on his eyes and start to press in. His left hand grips against one my wrists and tries to pull me off but he doesn't have enough strength left and then when the eyes pop back into the sockets and the blood pools across my thumbs that second bounce of rush gives me enough to completely crush his skull.