(A sample from Crawlspace.)
© 2009 asotir.
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
Saturday – May 14
7:02 AM
Bright Dayz Motel
TOMMY opened his eyes. He blinked against the bright sky. The sun hung high up overhead. The men of the Team stood all around him.
Trickman roared. ‘Hey, look who’s back! Hey di do, pal.’
The Professor never smiled. But now he grinned and said, ‘Tommy, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
He pointed to the motel. In the door to Room No. 9 a kid was standing.
The Kid.
Tommy blinked and squinted in the sunlight. Was he really standing here, or was it another one of the flashes? He looked back. The Kid was about twelve years old with short hair and an institutional uniform. He held himself back in a shy way.
The Professor said, ‘Tommy, this is Eddie. The newest member of the Team.’
Papers said, ‘Duh, doesn’t he look like Tommy did when he first joined us?’
Styles patted the Kid on his head. ‘A real Gift they say he’s got.’
Eddie, the Kid, said, ‘Hi.’
He held out his hand to shake.
Flash—
The warehouse on the river at night.
Flash—
Blood draining into a white sink under a naked bulb.
Flash—
TOMMY was shaking. His eyes were rolling in his head. It felt like he was in the middle of a seizure, only the others didn’t seem to notice.
Weren’t they going back to their rooms? Why were they all dressed different? Why was the sun so high in the sky? How long had he been standing here, anyway? It was later. It had to be later. How much later?
Styles opened the driver’s door to the Ford. He glanced dubiously at Trickman who was climbing in the other side. ‘Looks like I’m stuck with you in the front again – did you really eat three burritos for breakfast?’
‘Every beanful, pal.’
Eddie asked, ‘Burrito?’
Styles made a bad face and said, ‘Great. You’ll get used to it, kid. We all had to.’
Flash—
The open muzzle of a Burner was aiming dead at him. It was starting to blaze.
Flash—
TOMMY twisted up and crumpled to the ground. His face landed next to an anthill on the pavement. The ants marched over him. The members of the Team stood over him like stern pallbearers around an open grave.
And it seemed to him as though he lifted off his own body, and flew up like a moth out of its cocoon, high and far away.
What was happening to him? Something to do with Miss Quinn’s Jelly. Would it never end?
A final flash of white light blinded him. And then there was blackness.
