mirror of https://github.com/nealey/Horrors2
113 lines
4.3 KiB
TeX
113 lines
4.3 KiB
TeX
\chapauth{Baron von Eevl}
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\chapter{The Horrid Realization}
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I stepped from the glare of traffic. The time had come again. I was
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in the police station on 42nd street in New York. My hand shook
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slightly with the bic pen I held in my hand. The matte white pen
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had leaked in my pocket. Another shirt ruined. I am a desk jockey.
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My name is Detective Luke Bavarious. I dislike this work.
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People had been complaining about a drunken officer in their
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neighborhood on his beat. I was transferred off the streets because
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of these disturbances.
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I edged into the Sergeant's office. I saw the tall, handsome figure
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of the man I once respected sitting in his chair, facing towards
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me. He was sighing. I raised my finger and slurred a series of
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vulgar insults at the sitting figure.
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``Bavarious, you drunken fool.'' The captain bellowed.
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``Turn around!'' I shouted.
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``Beggin' your pardon, Detective,'' he said, ``I'm already facing you.
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If I turn around I would be facing a wall.''
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``Sure I do. I'm a better cop than you could ever be, McClenaghan'' I
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replied.
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``Okay, that didn't even make sense,'' the sarge mumbled as he began
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to turn red.
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Fabian McClenaghan was my Sergeant. He and I joined the academy
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together years ago and quickly became friends. He and I would share
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all our secrets together at the shooting range and promised when we
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died we'd be buried together there with our trusty barettas, shiny
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sleek and deadly.
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``Give me your badge, Bavarious.''
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I inched forward and began to sweat all over. My ductile muscles
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clenched and began to shiver. First my feet, deep in non-uniform
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combat boots. Then my legs. Then my chest. Then my head. If you
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call it a head. My head was so clouded with liquor I could barely
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think. Was that what you called it? A head? It's that thing on top
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of your neck. The one with all the holes.
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I took a step back in astonishment. I gritted my teeth to keep the
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vomit down.
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McClenaghan stared at me with unbridled hate and shame. Ashamed of
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hate.
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``You look like you're going to be sick, Bavarious'' he grumbled,
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concerned. ``Do you need me to grab my trashcan for you to throw up
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in?''
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``Hey buddy!'' I screamed. ``I don't need no trashcan from the likes
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of you!'' I then vomited. The horrid cocktail of blood and last
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night's spaghetti dinner came up and spilled all over the
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Sergeant's floor, looking like some alien had died and it's guts
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were spilled all over the floor of the Sergeant's office on the
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floor.
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``I told ya,'' he said.
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I screamed and began to run away from him. He waved his hand high
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in the air and screamed after me.
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``Bavarious, give me your gun and badge, you drunken fool!'' He
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screamed.
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``McClenaghaaaaaan!'' I screamed right back at him.
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It was too late. I was running through an endless maze of cublicles
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each as similar as the last. I ran faster. As I ran, I vomitted a
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horrid smelling liquid of putrefaction all over my pen-ruined
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shirt. Pen and vomit ruined. And spaghetti sauce. As I ran, others
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began to run too, running from the awful weird vomit. The first
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person ran faster than the second. The second person ran faster
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than the third. The third person was not running very fast because
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she was a woman and I'm not comfortable describing her further. The
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second person slipped in the vomit and the first person easily
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outpaced him. The third person was elsewhere at that point. Maybe
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vomiting.
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Being drunk, I began to see horribly awful images. A spider. A
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person who is also part spider. A butcher's knife. A young boy, to
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be respected and listened to, lit from below and looking very much
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serious and respected. These were the typical hallucinations I had
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when drunk, which causes horrible hallucinations.
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My head smashed into the door terribly powerful. Muscles were
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strained and torn as my head jerked to the side, smearing the
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glass. I fell and landed on the hard linoleum flooring. Dazed I
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vomited again and again. I felt the surge pushing back
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rhythmically. I ran outside but continued to vomit. Spaghetti
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hitting the pavement. Splatter hitting my shirt. Blood showering
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me. I felt my own blood from the side of my mouth fall and drip. I
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kept vomiting. My stomach was empty. I staggered. I tasted my
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dinner and blood mixed into a horrid cocktail. It tasted like
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vomit. My badge sparkled on the side of my waistband.
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Bavarious.
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I picked myself up and stumbled over to a mirror. Suddenly, I was
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in my apartment. Suddenly, I was sobbing.
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