Dead Men (and Women) Walking (8 page)

They searched the black,
murky swamp waters for his body. The divers said they could only go
down a few feet before they couldn’t see their lamps in front of
them. The only thing I could think when I heard divers had gone in
there is that they were probably just feet away from being pulled
under by all of those dead people.

I guess I can live with
being in this old, dusky jail cell. As long as they keep those
bodies away from me. All those dead bodies. All of those rotted out
dead bodies that are at the bottom of Coachi Swamp. Though, I wish
they could do something about the nightmares I have. And those
screams. Those horrible screams I hear at night.

Buster’s out there
somewhere. He’s out there calling out my name. He’s at the bottom
of that swamp just like the rest of them. And he’s waiting for me.
I can hear him at night. I can see him when I close my eyes at
night. His torn asunder body, limping toward me as I run from him.
His right arm is always missing, his left arm is reaching with bony
fingers. The snake bites on his face drips blood and black swamp
water.

I can see him.

Hey, Buster, why are yah
scaring me, huh, Buster? I didn’t mean to leave yah. I tried to
warn yah, Buster. I tried to tell yah. . .”

Ahh. . . shut-up.

Ka-pow. Ka-thump.

Yeah. . . sure, Buster.
That’s Buster. He’s my hero. He’s not afraid of anything. He’s
dead, and he’s waiting for me.

By Shawn
Westmoreland

Part 1: Awkward
Silence

The door to the
interrogation room at Scotland Yard shut, leaving Eric Hicks in a
room with a detective and a legal aid. Hicks, an American with
sandy blonde hair and a lean muscular 5'10'' build, had been
arrested. Looking around, Eric could see this was the interrogation
room they used for potentially violent individuals. The very chair
he sat on was actually bolted to the floor. The metal grate over
the glass in the door was nothing more than decoration really, as
no regular-sized man could really get through the hole anyway. The
walls were a pale charcoal color that matched the suit of the
detective whom just sat in front of Hicks. The female legal aid was
wearing a forest green-colored business suit. It wasn't quite up
Hicks' street, but it was a damn site better than the rest of the
room.

At first, Hicks was hard
pressed to see any fear in the legal aid's eyes, but after he paid
her a bit of admiration, those big blue eyes looked away. She was
about the only thing even worth savoring in the room. It was the
color of her beautiful lips and fingernails that caught his
attention. Both were the same luscious red that he'd come to know
so well over the years. That color excited him and stirred his
lascivious little mind. Then the detective had to ruin the moment
by slamming a flesh-toned folder down, creating an audible slap on
the metal table.

Having been in such
situations before, Hicks wasn’t worried too much, though
admittedly, this was the first time he had the pleasure of meeting
the English police. The detective overseeing the investigation, Mr.
Graham Wilson, just came back from the murder scene and he wasn't
very happy. Mr. Wilson leaned forward and, putting his large hands
on the table, made his presence known. Wilson was a black man with
a presence about him that wasn't too far off the mark from most
bouncers in professional clubs. Even when sitting down, his broad
shoulders dwarfed the chair the detective was sitting in. A strong
chin and a prominent brow bone made the face of the detective a
hard one. Hicks was asked how his day had started. His sweet
velvety voice almost single-handedly changed the atmosphere of the
room, but since the detective already had everything stacked
against Hicks, it wasn't worth putting it on too thick.

"I rode the train again
today. No, I rode the Underground again. If I'm going to live here
in London, I'd better start talking like it, eh? I caught the
District Line at Dagenham and switched at Mile End as usual. It was
raining today as well, so the humidity brought up all the smells
from the concrete that everyone would rather forget about at the
stations. Piss, vomit, and blood –you name it. What's with people
just pissing where they want anyway? Do they have any idea what
they're doing to the rest of us?" "Just get on with it Hicks." The
detective's voice was a rough deterrent to the almost sensual voice
of the killer in front of him. "Yeah ...anyway, the walkway was
packed with people. I couldn't swing a cat in there, truth told.
…Ok look, I didn't mean to start a fight down there. Yeah, I
should've ignored those guys, but don't you people always teach
others to not let bullies get away with their crimes?

"I thought you only came
over here a week ago Hicks? We have the plane ticket information.
So you tell me, how do you know what we teach and don't
teach?"

Completely ignoring the
detective, Hicks carried on talking. "I was on the platform. I had
my earphones in to enjoy a little bit of music …Dog eat Dog, ok?
Suddenly, my ear popped. All the noise of the Underground station
came flooding in my head. I turned to see who did it, and this big
sporty prick was laughing with his mates, pointing their grubby
little fingers at me. I asked them what their fucking problems
were, and one of them spat on me." "Was being spat on what pushed
you over the edge?" "Well, yeah, I mean, I was just minding my own
business when they had to start something, so I figured I'd teach
one of them a lesson." "Why did you believe you had to teach one of
them a lesson?" Eric gave pause at that question. The police
detective in front of him wanted to judge Eric's reaction, but the
cop wasn't completely prepared for the answer he received. "Because
justice had to be done -I think, anyway. When you think about it
detective, none of those guys will ever laugh again. I think it was
a fine lesson for them to learn. Ok, sure, what I did was somewhat
harsh, but really, since they started the mess, I figured I'd show
them what a real mess was so they wouldn't victimize someone else
later on."

The detective looked at the
legal aid next to him for a moment. Both of them realized they were
in a room with a man with serious problems already, but the
suspect's demeanor was very off-putting. He was rationalizing one
hell of an atrocious act in front of them and he seemed to be fine
with it. The investigation continued.

The legal aid asked, "Mr.
Hicks, what do you believe gives you the right to punish others,
specifically the deceased Mr. Taylor in the way you did?" "I think
being born gave me all the rights I needed to deal out a bit of
justice. Free will is actually about exercising your right to do
what you will, how you will, even if its expression through
...color." Those fleshy red lips where tantalizing, almost
quivering for Eric's touch, his lick ...his bite. Yet again the
detective interrupted Hicks' staring. "Not when you break the law,
no, Mr. Hicks. Let's get something straight here. You're not just
going to be charged with murder. We have witnesses that can account
for your actions after you pushed Mr. Taylor down by the tracks,
specifically, what you did afterward with his fingers."

“
Oh do tell, Mr. Wilson,
what did I do with his fingers? Put them in my pockets? Save them
for a rainy day? Ship them to your wife, perhaps?" "…You ate them,
Mr. Hicks. You stood there with a man scared out of his mind, and
you ate his fingers while you dangled him over the live rail."
Hicks' face broke into a smile upon hearing his crime spoken aloud.
A single bead of sweat fell from the detective's ear and the lovely
lady in red was swallowing more than a normal person usually would.
"Hmm ...I suppose I did, but not all of them, god no. The thumbs
you see, they get caught in the throat."

Mr. Hicks was amused that
the detective was able to keep his cool so far. He wondered just
how long it would take to break the cop's will for a moment, and
decided to test him.

"Oh, by the way Mr. Wilson,
I have something to submit as evidence in the investigation." "What
would that be?" asked the detective. "“It's a small reminder of our
poor late Mr. Taylor."

Hicks spat out a half-chewed
fingernail onto the table. The pink tint of the violated protective
object had almost faded away now, leaving a pale opaque shell
behind. The fingernail had been bitten off halfway through and was
chewed everywhere. It landed directly on the legal aid's paperwork,
which caused her to charge out of the room, vomiting as she did.
Mr. Wilson took a deep breath and collected his nerve. Using a pair
of gloves, the detective collected the fingernail for evidence into
a small plastic bag.

"You haven't done yourself
any favors, you sick bastard."

"Why, Mr. Wilson, if I
didn't know any better, I'd say you were making this personal.
Surely you don't care for all of your suspects this way, do you?
Please be careful, I might claim favoritism." The face of the
detective was full of disgust and grew tired of this little
game.

"What drives you lunatics to
do these things? I mean, do you suddenly wake up one day and decide
that you want to become a cannibalistic reject or what? I know its
pretty pointless asking you, but just for the hell of it, tell me
why. What's it like to say to yourself that you're going to eat
someone on any given day? Tell me why you feel the need to feast on
someone else's flesh."

Hicks felt the pull of the
abyss, of the frenzied stirring of his inner being. He caught
himself about to say something he would immensely regret in such a
place. Instead, the cannibal looked around nervously for a minute
and calmed down again. If the corpse in front of the detective
could blush, it would've at such a personal question. Silence
filled the room for a minute before he finally decided to speak.
"I'm flattered, detective, that you care. I can only do my best in
answering your question with the utmost of enthusiasm.

Wilson waited while Hicks
stared at him. Neither man blinked, but eventually, Wilson's
agitation got the better of him and he exploded. "Well?!" yelled
Wilson.

"Oh no detective, you see,
it doesn't work like that. I can't exactly tell you here, can I?
You'll know when its time. We have plenty of time."

The detective's face was
pure acid and his hands, where once they cupped each other, were
now balled into fists. "You'll have it where you're going, and
you'll have as long as you need to eat yourself to death,
Hicks."

"What an utterly interesting
prospect you raise, detective. I'm beginning to like you
already."

Hicks make a kissing motion
as Wilson left the room. Hicks felt sad that he couldn't see those
curvy red fingernails and lips again. They were so intense that he
barely contained himself.

Part 2: The False
Knot

It was dark inside the cell.
Hicks could barely see his hand in front of his face, but he knew
it was sometime early in the morning. He'd been thrown in this dank
little hole to await his court date. Even if he did get bail, it
wouldn't help because there was no one at present to help him out
anyway. The small cot was rather uncomfortable to Hicks, but he'd
only have to suffer another night or two before he could be back in
action.

Devouring the flesh of the
living drove Hicks, but it didn't make him a less passionate
person, at least not in the sense of caring for others who deserved
it. He thought about the night before when Mr. Wilson asked the
question. "What's it like," Wilson asked. If only he knew. If only
the detective knew what sensational pleasure could be had from
chewing on someone's body, to consume a part of another's very
essence, then he may well answer that question for himself. Hicks
decided that he would indeed adopt the detective. The man had an
inner curiosity that drove him above the average person on the
street and to harness that quality could only be a good thing. To
exalt the quality in someone else of Hicks' caliber was even
better. The curious always made for such passionate people, at
least that's what Hicks believed.

The cell that Hicks had be
thrown into on the other hand were so utterly devoid of passion
that he was surprised more people didn't kill themselves just
because they had to stay in such a place. The walls were rough
where multiple coats of light tan colored paint were layered upon
one another. The cell was no larger than a bathroom and Hicks found
himself staring into the dark, wishing he could just have a nibble
of something. Those lips, actually, yes, the legal aid's lips.
Hicks would give almost anything to kiss those lips, to suck and
savor them -even if the woman had no other redeeming features,
those tender fleshy lips could satisfy Hicks. Alas, they were gone
forever -or at least, until he got out, but she'd have to wait. He
needed to get out of the police station first.

Hicks was pacing back and
forth quickly in wait of his signal. He wasn't long in waiting.
Movement could be heard down the end of the hallway. Three cells
down, the guard flipped the light switch on in the main hallway.
The blazing light from underneath the door illuminated a chilling
picture inside the dark room. Hicks' eyes were glowing in the dark.
Large yellow eyes with large black pupils jerked slightly back and
forth as Hicks rushed to tie his shirt around his neck. A black
ichor oozed out of his mouth, his throat convulsing and pushing the
liquid up and out as his dead body oozed his very essence from
within. Finally, Hicks lay down and shut his eyes just as the
sliding view holder on the door was pushed aside by the policeman.
Shouting could be heard outside the cell. Hicks, forcing his life
force deep within him, became limp. His mind drifted into
nothingness as medical staff examined him. Hicks was pronounced
dead early Wednesday morning, though from what was under much
speculation.