The Skin Show (23 page)

Alexia
walked away, the clicking of her heels like hollow thwacks in the breezeway.
Each one caused Karen to flinch. She looked at Vern, seeing the desire salivating
down his chin. “You’re skin’s gonna look good plastered around Alexia.
Especially those legs…can’t see them now from those stupid sweatpants, but I
did earlier. And damn they’re sexy.”

“Oh…?”
She said, taking a step closer. “These babies?” She patted her thigh. “Want me
to drop my pants so you can see them?”

Vern
licked his lips, glanced at the doorway, then wiped his mouth with the back of
his hand. “Go ‘head.”

“Well…”
She held her hands up, showing him the wounds. “I’m covered in owies. I might
need your big hands to do it for me. Maybe you can even rub them.”

“Yeah?”

Karen
nodded. “Mmhmm.”

“Okay.”

He
hobbled his way to her, holding out his hands. Karen waited until he was close
enough that she could smell the stench of old sweat radiating from his clothes.
One more step closer, and she could kick him.

Vern’s
fat fingers took her by the waist. As she was about to thrust her knee up, Vern
shoved. She flew back, slamming into the drink machine. She heard the crumble
of the plastic paneling as it gave under her back. Then she dropped on her
rump, moaning.

Laughing,
Vern wiped his mouth again. “You really think I’m
that
gullible. Get
real.”

Karen
started to cry.

“Stop
that shit and get up.”

Karen
balled harder, louder.

“Dammit,”
he shouted. “I said get
up
!” He stomped to where she sat, bending over
to grab her.

And
Karen punched him in the testicles.

Vern’s
eyes rolled back in his head as a puff of air dispelled from his thin lips. His
body tilted to the side and dropped. When it fell out of her sight, Hoffman was
there, his pistol brandished and ready to fire.

“Good
shot,” he said.

Vern
groaned beside her.

“What
are you doing here?” she said.

“Came
to check on you. I see you’re fine.”

“But,
Alexia, she went to get you…”

“I’m
not there.” He smiled. “I imagine right now she’s checking my room.”

“But,
Miles…”

“He’s
not there, either. He knows what to do if something goes wrong.”

“This
asshole has cameras in the rooms…they know about your plan…”

“Shit.”
Hoffman offered her his hand. “Come on.”

“O-okay…”
She took his hand and was hoisted to her feet, surprised by his strength. “What
are we going to do now?”

“We
have to improvise.”

Karen
started to step over Vern, and froze, foot in the air. Vern was gone. The
section of floor he’d been on was vacant. She and Hoffman shared the same
quizzical expression. She figured Hoffman was thinking the same as her: How
could someone Vern’s size sneak out without them realizing it?

“Forget
him,” said Hoffman. “Come on.”

 Hoffman,
pistol ready, led Karen to the doorway.

An
imp appeared, blocking their way, roaring through its cavernous mouth.

Standing
behind Hoffman and too scared to move, Karen felt the heat of its breath. Smelled
the decaying stench gusting from its lungs. Hot sputum spattered her face in
gooey clumps.

The
beast flung its arm in an ascending swipe. There was a dense smacking sound,
and Hoffman was off his feet and soaring backward, arms outstretched. He crashed
into the drink machine, shattering the blue Pepsi emblem in a rupture of sparks
and shards. As he fell to the floor, chunks of the machine’s door rained down
with him.

Hands
pawing both sides of her face, Karen stared in a wild panic as the creature
entered the room. Its head knocked against the frame, tearing through it as
effortlessly as a football team would a stretched banner at game time.

The
creature roared again. Karen felt the deep vibrations in her chest, rattling
her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

A
series of explosions filled the room.

Karen
ducked, arms slinging wildly as if trying to keep her balance. Dime-sized holes
appeared in the creature’s head as blossoms of red burst out the back. Cupping
her ears with her hands, hunched over, she staggered back. The ice machine
bumped her back, stopping her retreat. She saw Hoffman had gotten to his knees.
Leaning forward, he had both hands gripping his giant chrome pistol.

She
looked at the creature. Saw it stumbling backward, its back striking the wall. Then
the creature slid down, leaving smeary black trails on the wallpaper. Legs
stretched out, its feet bowed limply to each side.

The
swarming colors fluttered a few times before fading out entirely, leaving
behind a hollow shell of gray. The skin began to crack. Starting like a small hairline
rend, it quickly spider-webbed across its body.

Then
shattered.

“Get
to the car!” shouted Hoffman, trying to get up. His voice was muffled through
her hands over her ears and the constant buzzing inside them.

Surprisingly,
Karen found herself at the door in a flash. She looked to her left, to the rooms.
Another creature was outside Hoffman’s door, and Alexia was walking away from
it, heading toward Karen, her hair flowing out to the side from a heavy breeze.

She
stood in Karen’s way of the car.

Tempted
to run for the road, Karen knew she wouldn’t get very far.  

She
screamed. There was nowhere she could go.

Then
she felt hands grab her, spinning her around. Alexia’s face was within an inch
of hers. Alexia kissed her on the mouth, squishing Karen’s lips as she rolled
her head side to side. Karen bucked and writhed to break the tight grip holding
her. She couldn’t. Although the hands only held her shoulders, she couldn’t get
free. Then she was twirled around, Alexia’s arms wrapping around her body in an
inverted hug, strong and tight, making it hard to breathe.

“Get
the old man!” ordered Alexia. 

The
imp was already on its way into the room with the soda machine.  

Karen
started traveling in reverse. The parking lot snatched the slippers off her
feet. Her bare heels scraped the asphalt as she was tugged backward. The chomp
of metal came from her left. Aiming her eyes in that direction, she saw Vern
bashing Hoffman’s car with a giant crowbar. The weapon looked to be half the
length of him. His flabby face was pink and sweaty as he brought the crowbar high
above his head with both hands. He slammed it down on the hood, caving in the
black metal.

This
was the first time Karen had seen it in the daylight. An older model muscle
car. She wasn’t sure what kind, but it was the kind of car she imagined any guy
would like.

Vern
smashed it again, caving the hood in even more .

Alexia
shrieked, “Stop fucking with that damn car and find the boy!”

Huffing,
Vern held the crowbar at his pudgy waist, the curved end sticking straight up.
He shook his head. “He won’t get far!” He hurried around the front of Hoffman’s
car, his black tie flapping back like a drooling tongue. He revved the crowbar
back and jabbed the pointed tip into the tire’s sidewall. The crowbar recoiled
back, throwing the overweight Drew Carey lookalike onto his ass.

The
tire remained fine.

Karen
laughed overly loud, making sure Alexia heard it.   

“You
dumbass!” shouted Alexia. “If you wreck the car, how do you plan on moving
it?!”

Vern
grimaced. Obviously he had no clue what the hell he was doing.

Alexia’s
hands moved down to Karen’s waist and heaved her sideways. Karen’s hip hit
something firm. The impact threw her legs out from under her, and she fell hard
onto her side. She felt dingy carpet on her face. More hands groped her, yanking
her back.

Darkness
above her. She fought to roll over, managing to get on her side. She saw an
opening of bright light in front of her and realized it was an open sliding
door.

She
was in a van. From the boxy look of it, she guessed it was an old work van.

Alexia
hoisted herself up into the van and plopped down next to Karen. Leaning over
Karen’s shoulders, she dug her elbows into Karen’s upper back. The pointed jags,
tilling deeply, hurt.

Hoffman
crashed through the window beside the office, and fell out of sight, the car
blocking Karen’s view. A moment later, the imp stalked out from the room.
Walking hunched over, its elongated arms draping by its knees.

Hoffman
had been thrown through the glass. She hoped the collision hadn’t killed him.

Why
isn’t anyone coming to help us?

Looking
around, seeing the hotel was nothing but a speck of buildings on an empty road,
she realized no one was near enough
to
help.

By
the time the creature scooped up Hoffman and hung him over its shoulder, Vern
had gotten to his knees. Wincing, he held an arm close to his stomach. “You’re
going to pay for that window! I’m not covering it for your idiotic monster’s
carelessness!”

“You’ll
be well compensated for you obedience, don’t you worry. Just make sure you
bring that car and put it with the others.”

“Have
I ever let you down before?”

Alexia
shook her head. “Never!”

Vern’s
already flustered face turned a darker shade of red.

“But
don’t you dare show your face at The Skin Show unless you have the boy with
you.”

“But…what
if I can’t find him?”

“You’ll
have to answer to Victoria for that.”

The
red drained from Vern’s cheeks. Even from this distance, Karen could see him
gulp.

The
creature lugged Hoffman’s limp body to the van and tossed him inside without
any effort. He landed on the other side of Karen. The imp climbed into the van,
and Alexia tugged the door closed.

Alexia
leaned over Karen, blocking her point of view. “I believe you know my friend
here.” She patted the imp on the back. “I believe at one time, you called him
Danny.”

“Wha…?”
She looked at the monstrous face, the foaming jaws and pointy teeth.
That
was
Danny?

It
ran its serpentine tongue across its lips.

And,
Karen screamed.

Laughing,
Alexia moved to the front, sitting in the passenger seat.

The
van’s tires squealed as they fought for purchase on the asphalt. Catching, the
van shot off. The Danny-imp crouched in the back with Karen, glowing like a
colorful statue. He was steeled in that position, as if a switch had been
turned to off. On her elbows, Karen crawled over to where Hoffman lay on his
back. She put her hands on his chest, dropping her ear down on his right
pectoral. She felt the steady thump of his heart through his shirt. A gush of
relief flowed through her.

Karen
knew her high spirits would only last until they arrived at The Skin Show. She
prayed he would have a plan because she was starting to slip away, wild panic
seizing her like a shark’s mouth and trudging her down to the oily-black depths
of her mind.

Vern
slammed the trunk lid, shrouding Miles in darkness. But, he wasn’t scared. He
was happy to be in here because he knew where everything was located. The
hidden guns, the knife, the secret compartment where Hoffman kept additional
ammo—even the machete unseen underneath the spare tire under the carpet flap he
was lying on.

Miles
had a small, secretive arsenal within reach.

He
heard the engine rumble as it came alive. His body shifted to one side when the
car backed out of the parking space. It braked, filling the cramped space with
a malicious red tint from the light shields, rocking Miles, nearly making him
roll over. He landed on his stomach once the car sped forward.

The
wheels made whirring noises on the blacktop.

Vern,
the pink-faced hotel manager, had only bound Miles’s hands, leaving his feet
free. And, he’d used bungee cable to do the job. Easy for Miles to get out of.

During
the commotion, Miles had climbed out of the bathroom window and hidden in the
bushes, not even taking the time to put on his shoes. He’d wanted to help when
he saw Karen being dragged into the van, but remembered Hoffman demanding he
not interfere if anything went wrong. And plenty had gone wrong. But, still
he’d hesitated. Evaluating their situation, he’d figured it would be smarter to
back up Hoffman first. Together, they would have a better chance of rescuing
Karen.  

When
he saw Hoffman being carried into the van, his stomach dropped. He’d looked
dead, dangling limply over the creature’s shoulder, arms bouncing with each
heavy step the beast took. It was like a scene out of every monster movie Miles
had ever seen.

My
monster movie.

His
real-life monster movie.

He’d
heard Vern’s orders. He was supposed to bring Miles back to The Skin Show.
Miles’s original plan had been to run. He had no idea where he’d go, but as
long as it was away from the motel, he was happy with it.

Thinking
about Hoffman being taken, most likely to be tortured, Miles couldn’t leave. And,
his second plan had come to him quickly.

Let
Vern catch him. That eliminated a lot of his problems. He needed a weapon and
the ones that weren’t in the bag in the motel room were hidden throughout the
car. He’d simply allowed himself to be captured since Vern was supposed to
bring Hoffman’s car with Miles back to the club. Later, he could take Vern by
surprise and leave him somewhere. Then he would go and help Hoffman.  

After
Vern had turned the vacancy sign to show
No
Vacancy, he’d escorted Miles
to Hoffman’s Chevelle. Miles had noticed the damage on the hood and had
wondered how it happened.

He’d
figured Vern would make him ride up front so he could keep his eyes on him.
Thankfully, Vern was as stupid as Miles had figured him to be, and put him in
the trunk instead.

Now
he needed to get out of these restraints.

Lying
on his side, Miles squirmed, bringing his bunched hands under his butt. He
continued wiggling until they moved beyond his back pockets and reached the
backs of his thighs. He took a short break to catch his breath, then slid the
tops of his legs into the bend of his legs. What was making it such hard work
was the lack of room he had to move. Sweat trickled down his forehead. He
blinked his eyes to free them of the burning salty drips.

The
hardest part came next: bringing his hands under his feet and over so they were
in front of him. It took some time, but he managed to do it. The cord snagged
on the tips of his shoes. Jiggling his feet got it loose.

Raising
his tied hands to his mouth, he bit down on the bungee underneath the spiral
grip of the hook. It reminded him of chewing on his rubber snake toy when he
was a kid. He could hear Mom yelling at him to stop or he might choke while he
leaned his head back, tugging the hook with him. The hook raised up, pulling
away from the coiled cord. He opened his mouth. The released end shot back, twirled
around his wrists, and lashed his face, leaving a kiss of fire on his chin. The
pain made him dizzy, and very mad.

Cussing,
he shoved his nose into the bundled cord, pushing the curved tip around his
wrists until he felt some slack. He moved his hands back and forth, freeing
them.

He
took turns rubbing the tight stings out of his wrists. Knowing he couldn’t
spend time making them feel better, he let them throb. The nearest compartment
was under the flap behind the backseat. Hoffman had said he’d added it himself
by cutting a hole into the carpet with a box cutter and inserting a casing into
the opening.

A
pistol should be in there.

Miles
folded his body into a ball, squirming his way around until the top of his head
pointed at the backseat. Then he rolled onto his stomach. Elbows out on each
side of him, he reached up and pushed the flap, pinning it under his right arm.
The silver of the gun’s steal, buried in shadow, seemed to glow. Seeing its
twinkle brought tears to his eyes. What he saw in the brick-sized chasm was
encouragement and a much-needed boost of bravery.

When
the gun was in his hand, he felt unstoppable. It was strange, and a little
daunting, how much having a gun changed his attitude.  

Miles
got on his left side. Using his left hand, he gently pushed against the
backseat. Being a bench seat on the other side, the back padding was a solid
stall across the back of the car. He felt the back rest move inward a little.
Pausing, he waited to make sure Vern hadn’t noticed. If he had, he wasn’t
letting on.

Miles
took a deep breath, then pushed a little further. Light dropped in, hitting
Miles’s eyes. He quickly looked away, squinting. Little splotches danced in
front of him in a variety of bright colors against the dark of the trunk.

He
turned his attention back to the matter in front of him. His skin felt crawly
and though he was drenched in sweat from the struggle to free himself, he was
shivering. The sweat sliding down his sides felt like the arctic tips of ice
cubes. Heart drumming, his stomach felt each beat like a punch.

You
need to do this. Push the stupid seat down and crawl through. Hurry!

After
a short pause, he pushed, widening the space above him, bringing in more light.
The noises of the car became much louder as they were sucked through. He hoped
there wasn’t a noticeable shift in pressure inside the car. And, he didn’t know
why he was even worried about that. Would there be any kind of change? He had
no idea, and that worried him. What if there was suddenly a subtle whistle from
behind Vern that brought his eyes to the rearview mirror? Surely he’d see the
half-opened seat and know Miles was the reason behind it.

And
that’s why you need to move your ass!

That
barking order had come from the voice of his father. Sounded like every
Saturday morning during his summer break when it was time to mow the yard.

Miles
pushed the seatback down with extreme care, holding his breath. There were soft
squeaks of the hinges as it lowered, but he doubted Vern could hear it from the
front. Hopefully he couldn’t
see it.

The
back of the seat touched down on the bench. Miles lay part way out of the
trunk, arms in front of him, gun in his right hand. He blinked more sweat out
of his eyes, gazed to the driver’s seat, and wanted to sigh with relief.

In
the rearview mirror Miles could see Vern’s eyes. And, they were trained on the
road, not leering into the backseat.

The
cool air of the A/C blowing from the vents licked his sweaty skin with chilly refreshment.
He noticed goosebumps breaking out across his arms. The soothing temperature
made him want to lay there for a while longer. He knew he couldn’t, so he
slithered forward.

Reaching
the end of the seat, he dangled his left arm over the edge. Placed his hand
flat on the floor. Felt small slivers of debris jabbing his palm: tiny pebbles,
some dirt, and flakes of broken leaves. He took the pressure off his hand as he
cautiously scooted crossways on the seatback, bringing his legs out and around.
The back area of the cab was spacious, so Miles had some room to operate
without worry of bumping Vern’s seat.

As
long as he could do this quickly, without making any noise, he should be set.

The
tires dropped into a pothole, bouncing the car. The seatback sprung upward like
a diving board, launching Miles into the air.

Everything
happened in seconds, but to Miles time seemed to stand still: Glancing at the
rearview mirror and seeing Vern’s bloodshot eyes sneering back at him, the
seatback snatching back like a triggered mousetrap, landing on the backseat,
hand flinching, finger squeezing the trigger unexpectedly, the recoil when the
gun went off, the wet burst of brown goo and blood and skull fragments
spattering the ceiling from the bullet traveling at an angle through the head
restraint and through the back of Vern’s skull and out the top. And the fresh
hole that appeared in the ceiling as the bullet made its exit from the car.

Then
the car was spinning, tires squalling, pinning Miles to the floorboard. He felt
the back tires lose traction a moment before the rampant spiral came to an
immediate jarring halt.

Then
Miles felt his back depart the floorboard.

The
rear windshield came to meet him very fast.