Road Kill - Part 4: The Good Doctor's Ghastly Secret

Nikki stumbled breathlessly through the thicket.

She had no way of knowing how long she’d been running or how close Everett Burns was.

But he was coming.

And if he found her, she would not get another chance.

Where would she go?

Everett had a van, and all she had were her feet.

And there was nothing out here.

Not a single sign of intelligent life. And she didn’t think hiding from Everett Burns would work.

She’d listened to the whole exchange between Everett and Tina. He had not chosen them at random but targeted them. And his knowledge of them was terrifying.

What was that he had said about it not being his original intention to kill Tina?

Nikki couldn’t get past the idea that she’d seen him somewhere before. She didn’t know where. He had flat-out killed Misty and tried to kill Tina as well. Why had he only drugged her?

What did he intend to do with her?

She was certain that she didn’t want to find out.

All at once, the swamp disappeared and she found herself standing in a small clearing. And in the center of this clearing was an old, rock house that couldn’t be more than a two-bedroom with a ‘70s era GMC truck parked to the side.

Her legs found new strength.

She charged over to the truck, threw the driver’s side door open and jumped in.

When she fingered the ignition, she found that there were no keys.

"Goddamnit!"

She jumped out of the truck and cast a fearful eye back toward the woods.

All was quiet.

She stumbled over to the front door of the house and banged on it with the heel of her palm.

"HELP!" she cried.

She heard footsteps within.

She glanced back at the woods.

Nothing.

The door in front of her cracked.

She shoved the door open and barged into the house.

The man inside – a tall lanky man with a goatee that drooped half way to his adam’s apple – leveled a rifle at her and dropped it as quickly as he raised it.

"What the Sam Hell were you thinking? I could’ve blown . . . ."

He realized that she was naked accept for a diaper.

His greedy eyes found her breasts, traveled down to her waist, and then settled on her breasts again.

"He’s gonna kill me! He’s right behind me!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down."

Nikki sank to her knees crossing her arms over her breasts and bawled.

"What th’ hell?"

"He fed two of my friends to the alligators!"

"What!? Who?"

"Call the police, you goddamn idiot!"

The man’s face darkened. He snapped out of his breast-induced hypnosis.

"Call the police for what? I don’t know what the hell’s goin on!"

"Keep up! A man is chasing me with an axe!"

"Ain’t got no phone," he said.

She buried her face in her hands and cried.

he man shuffled his feet and sighed.

"Ain’t got no phone, but I c’n take care of this real quick like."

She looked up to him to find him loading his rifle.

"If you go out there, he’ll kill you, too."

He smirked and locked the bolt on his rifle. "He have a gun?"

"I don’t know."

He rolled his eyes. "You said he had an axe. If all he’s got is an axe, he ain’t gettin close enough to swing it. This thing’ll drop a grizzly."

Then he turned, swung the door open, and stepped outside.

* * * *

Everett saw her go to the truck to see if the keys were in it, and then he watched her bang on the door and shove her way inside.

He was worried, now.

The hovel was very old. The river rocks comprising the walls were covered with moss. The old tin roof was practically rust. He didn’t see any phone lines or power lines. It looked as though all of the power to the house was supplied by three Honda generators.

But he had no way of knowing if the occupants had a cell phone.

He had to work fast just in case, and the leg wound was slowing him down. He felt as though he had a shard of rusty metal jammed in his right thigh.

And then something happened that further complicated matters.

A man emerged from the front door of the house who looked like he might be a charter member of a state militia

A goatee of ratty, brown hair that hung halfway down his neck.

A sleeveless, gray tee shirt with white letters over a Confederate flag on his chest proudly proclaiming "The South will Never Die."

A pair of faded and holy blue jeans that looked like they hadn’t been washed in months.

And propped on his shoulder was a Remington Rifle – powerful enough to cut a medium-size tree in half with two shots.

He had no rifle. He’d thrown everything he had in the swamp.

He’d taken a look around the house with a pair of binoculars, and found the remains of alligators. This man was a poacher and probably accustomed to confrontation.

And judging by the alligator skin boots he wore, he was probably successful more times than not.

This was going to be tricky.

The man stepped out of the house and peered through the scope of his rifle near where Everett waited.

Everett felt naked.

The stitched-together suit he made for this occasion out of two old tarps wasn’t exactly camouflage. And his poacher friend had a hunter’s eye.

He hunkered down low behind the foliage.

The man scanned the woods through the scope three times, and then started around the left side of the house slowly.

This was his chance.

Everett crept quickly and quietly out of the woods and pressed his back against the left side of the house where the poacher had just passed.

* * * *

It must have only been moments now, but it felt like hours since the man had went outside. She’d crawled up against the bed and listened hard.

She heard the sound of the man’s footfalls around the side of the house – the crunch of gravel on the driveway by the truck – the sweeping of the grass blades on his shoes behind the house.

No struggle.

Everett was no fool. He would not directly challenge a rifle with only an axe. He would sit and wait for an opportunity.

The door swung open, and the man dropped his rifle to his side.

"Ain’t nothin out there. You must’a lost ‘em."

What happened next was so swift that Nikki only had time to suck in her breath for a scream before it was over.

Everett sprang forth into the doorway swinging the axe simultaneously.

The man saw the look on her face and started to spin around, but it was too late.

The axe sank deep and hard into the back of his neck severing his spine. The man yelped like a wounded dog and fell to the ground.

The dying of the broken nerves caused him to go into convulsions.

Nikki scuffled to her feet and skittered toward the door.

Everett caught her by the hair of the head.

She screamed and bawled.

Everett held her head in place so that she had to watch, raised the axe again and split the man's skull. Brain matter and bone flew across the room. Then he dropped the axe, ripped his mask off, and she was face to face with him again.

He looked different now. He had a day’s growth on his beard and the way he looked with a beard and no hair on the top of his head rang another bell.

She had seen him somewhere before.

"Do you see?" He snapped.

"This is the fourth person who has died senselessly because of you in two days."

"Why are you doing this to me?" she screamed.

He smirked.

"You were a bitch, and God was paying attention."

"You son-of-a-bitch."

He shook his head. "Takes one to know one."

She opened her mouth to retort, but she felt a sting on the side of her neck again followed by the cold rush of fluid entering her jugular. She was out less than a second.

* * * *
The low hum of an engine somewhere far off.

Faces spinning around her head.

Tina's blank stare as the two alligators dragged her back into the water.

Misty's dead gaze at her from the back of the van.

Everett Burns with a day's growth on his beard staring into her face.

His face inches away from her own.

Peering at her through gold, oval spectacles. A sweet, clean smell coming from him like breath mints.

Staring into her eyes.

She knew who he was now.

* * * *

The closer she came to Clear Perception the angrier she became. First, they had advertised a year’s supply of disposable contact lenses for under $200.00 with an eye exam. When it came time for her to pay, she’d found that her bill was almost $600.00.

When she inquired, they’d told her rather smugly that she required toric lenses that were much more expensive, and that she’d requested a number of tests that were not included in the normal service. Also, she’d requested color contacts which were pricey,

They had her by the balls.

She paid up.

A week later, when her lenses arrived, they were wrong. The right eye seemed perfect, but the left eye was so bad that it had no affect at all on her vision.

Her father had picked them up for her, so she didn’t know until she put them on.

By the end of the day, she had one hell of a headache.

She was furious by the time she marched into small establishment.

She threw the blister pack of lenses at the geeky-looking guy behind the counter with the name "Gary Pert" stamped on his nametag.

The pack struck him in the forehead, and he looked at her like she’d shot him.

"What the hell are these?" she snapped.

"If you’ll calm down, I’ll be happy to help you."

"Don’t tell me to calm down. I spent almost six hundred dollars of my vacation money on these worthless contacts! I want it fixed, now!"

He shook his head. "Unless you stop yelling at me, I’m not going to do. . . ."

"Who's your supervisor?"

He frowned at her. "We’re owned by the Optometrist."

"May I speak with him?"

"He’s out to lunch, but if you’d like to wait. . . ."

She leaned over the counter and stared into his face. "Look at the damn contacts and find out what’s wrong with them."

He nodded, stood, and took the contacts somewhere. He returned in a few minutes with her file and the contacts.

"I checked the torque on the lenses, and they are exactly what your chart calls for. If there’s a problem, it’s with the prescription. We’ll do another eye exam."

"And how the hell long is that going to take? I don’t want to waste any more of my time."

Gary huffed. "Dr. Burns is on lunch. He’ll be back shortly. If you’d like to wait, we’ll redo your exam."

"Fine," she snapped, and she stomped back to the waiting room.

* * * *

It had been more than an hour, and the waiting room was packed with people.

But they weren't just people – they were sub-humans.

One man, a mechanic, sat beside his butch wife covered from head to toe in grease. His wife, who seemed to have more facial hair than him and a nose long enough to smoke a cigar in the shower and never put the cigar out, held a baby that simply would not stop crying.

She wanted to get up, snatch the baby out of her arms and throw it on the blue tiled floor.

A Hispanic woman sat behind them with her five hell-spawn-brats paying chase around the chairs. Three times, they’d knocked tables over, and they’d completely disregarded their mother’s protests.

A man with a black, leather jacket sat beside her who smelled suspiciously of fish oil. She’d caught him more than once looking over her shoulder and trying to catch a peek of her cleavage. It was gross. He had to be at least twice her age.

She was just about to scream when the Optometrist walked in and pulled the first file folder from the plastic wall-mount file holder beside the door.

He was tall – at least six feet. He wore gold, wire framed spectacles with circular lenses. His head was completely shaved on top, but he had a neatly-trimmed white beard. He looked a little like a Russian Tsar.

He opened the manila file folder and read the name "Anita Vasquez."

She jumped up and stomped over to Gary’s desk. When Gary saw her coming he had a sinking look on his face as if he were watching his car smash into wall.

"What the fuck is wrong with this place? I’ve been sitting here for over an hour because of your mistake among some of the stinkingist filth that has ever clawed its way across the face of the earth. Why am I not first?"

"Is there a problem here?" said a calm voice behind her.

She spun around and glared.

"Because you screwed up my prescription and overcharged me, I have to waste my life in that chair over there while fish-man in the leather coat tries to cop a peek at my tits!"

The doctor didn’t seem the least bit taken aback. In fact, an amused glint surfaced in his eyes.

"I apologize for your inconvenience. Ms. Vasquez is already in my chair, but if you’ll bear with me a few moments, I’ll be my pleasure to help you."

She shot a glare over her shoulder at Gary who seemed to shrink under her scrutiny.

"It better not take long," she barked, and then she went back to her seat eyeing the man in the lather jacket who gave her an innocent look.

It was him.

Not Everett Burns, retired from the Marine Corps, but Dr. Everett Burns, Optometrist.

The only remaining question was why.

Why had a customer complaint, even a nasty one, invited so much wrath?

This man was certainly insane.

* * * *

(Part 5: Reaper)