Read Online Mental Shrillness by Todd Russell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Todd Russell
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when he reaches her warm embrace he's actually dreamed it all and is back at the gallows, hanging dead as beef on a meat hook.
When Richard opened his eyes, there was a face. No tape, no black, a face. The ripping sound had been the tape. They were unshackling him!
The face was unfamiliar. An egg-shaped face with a short clipped beard. The face held the only expression he'd seen all morning.
Not friendly.
"Wh—what's happening?"
The man looked as if he were about to smile, but decided against it, "We have something better for you."
Something BETTER , he thought, that has to mean something worse. Because better in prison was a) you're getting put on shit duty or b) you've been selected to get slipped up the back door. However, Richard was beyond those fears now, he only feared the electric chair. Besides, what could be worse than frying until your balls fell off?
They led a shocked, confused Richard Templin out of the execution room, the room that even his worst nightmares couldn't top. And with loving, open arms something unspeakable took his hand...
* * * * *
PART 1
FRESH
* * * * *
~Chapter 2~
Something fresh , the strange-looking, salt-and-pepper bearded man in tattered clothes thought, fighting his way through the damp, dripping ravine to meet the morning tide. Last night, while the forces of Mother Nature descended upon the helpless island like blood-thirsty vampires, and ear-piercing screams echoed in the night, he dreamt of something fresh. Something fresh, he was certain, awaited him on the naked beach.
He made it to the clearing, his feet bleeding through rotted tennis shoes, his heart pumping. He turned and fixed on the setting behind him, sweat cascading down his bony cheeks, believing that there was someone or something there. But there was nothing. Nothing but his own trembling shadow in the creeping sun.
At last he turned, prepared to see what he'd only seen last night as a blur, a smoky haze, a shape entirely formless. Something fresh , he thought, not knowing if he was trembling in fear or anticipation.
At first he only saw the tide's usual disappointments: tree limbs blown into the water from the other side of the island, seaweed wrenched from the ocean floor, pebbles and tiny and larger rocks of innumerable configurations. And then he saw something else.
Something new and different.
Lying face-down in the sand, among a score of torn, soggy driftwood, was the body of a woman.
Something fresh .
He tore across the beach with sand irritating the exposed flesh in his rotted tennis shoes trying to slow his progress. Nothing could stop him.
He reached the woman and flung the driftwood aside. He picked her up in his arms, turned her, cleared the sand away from her face and felt for a pulse.
He felt her beating heart.
The strange man looked up at the scorching sun and smiled for the first time in ages. It didn't occur to him that the last time he'd smiled he had a full set of shimmering pearly whites, where now he held a mouth full of black rot and decay. Nevertheless, he smiled, and soon began to weep.
Five minutes later he carried the woman away as carefully as a five-foot, six-inch fragile mirror.
At the same time he vanished into the trees, something else washed ashore.
A severed hairy arm with a smashed, paper-thin hand, complete with five twisted digits.
* * *
The pictures in her mind never completely blacked out. She saw bits and pieces of her past strike out from a cold dark tunnel. Those memories had long skeletal-like fingers which grabbed and tried to wash her spinning body down the tunnel. But they let go. Somehow, as the black became an obvious destiny, the skeletal fingers let go.
And she kept floating and spinning.
Through the crest of violent, hungry waves, and bullet-hard raindrops fired from justice above. She floated.
Until, at last, she landed—or dreamed she had.
A place where dawn rose calmly and the lights were
When Richard opened his eyes, there was a face. No tape, no black, a face. The ripping sound had been the tape. They were unshackling him!
The face was unfamiliar. An egg-shaped face with a short clipped beard. The face held the only expression he'd seen all morning.
Not friendly.
"Wh—what's happening?"
The man looked as if he were about to smile, but decided against it, "We have something better for you."
Something BETTER , he thought, that has to mean something worse. Because better in prison was a) you're getting put on shit duty or b) you've been selected to get slipped up the back door. However, Richard was beyond those fears now, he only feared the electric chair. Besides, what could be worse than frying until your balls fell off?
They led a shocked, confused Richard Templin out of the execution room, the room that even his worst nightmares couldn't top. And with loving, open arms something unspeakable took his hand...
* * * * *
PART 1
FRESH
* * * * *
~Chapter 2~
Something fresh , the strange-looking, salt-and-pepper bearded man in tattered clothes thought, fighting his way through the damp, dripping ravine to meet the morning tide. Last night, while the forces of Mother Nature descended upon the helpless island like blood-thirsty vampires, and ear-piercing screams echoed in the night, he dreamt of something fresh. Something fresh, he was certain, awaited him on the naked beach.
He made it to the clearing, his feet bleeding through rotted tennis shoes, his heart pumping. He turned and fixed on the setting behind him, sweat cascading down his bony cheeks, believing that there was someone or something there. But there was nothing. Nothing but his own trembling shadow in the creeping sun.
At last he turned, prepared to see what he'd only seen last night as a blur, a smoky haze, a shape entirely formless. Something fresh , he thought, not knowing if he was trembling in fear or anticipation.
At first he only saw the tide's usual disappointments: tree limbs blown into the water from the other side of the island, seaweed wrenched from the ocean floor, pebbles and tiny and larger rocks of innumerable configurations. And then he saw something else.
Something new and different.
Lying face-down in the sand, among a score of torn, soggy driftwood, was the body of a woman.
Something fresh .
He tore across the beach with sand irritating the exposed flesh in his rotted tennis shoes trying to slow his progress. Nothing could stop him.
He reached the woman and flung the driftwood aside. He picked her up in his arms, turned her, cleared the sand away from her face and felt for a pulse.
He felt her beating heart.
The strange man looked up at the scorching sun and smiled for the first time in ages. It didn't occur to him that the last time he'd smiled he had a full set of shimmering pearly whites, where now he held a mouth full of black rot and decay. Nevertheless, he smiled, and soon began to weep.
Five minutes later he carried the woman away as carefully as a five-foot, six-inch fragile mirror.
At the same time he vanished into the trees, something else washed ashore.
A severed hairy arm with a smashed, paper-thin hand, complete with five twisted digits.
* * *
The pictures in her mind never completely blacked out. She saw bits and pieces of her past strike out from a cold dark tunnel. Those memories had long skeletal-like fingers which grabbed and tried to wash her spinning body down the tunnel. But they let go. Somehow, as the black became an obvious destiny, the skeletal fingers let go.
And she kept floating and spinning.
Through the crest of violent, hungry waves, and bullet-hard raindrops fired from justice above. She floated.
Until, at last, she landed—or dreamed she had.
A place where dawn rose calmly and the lights were
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