Chain Lightning

                       for Michelle Stephen,
                      who didn't mind walking
                      out alone at night until
                           reading this.

"Working late is always such a hassle", she thought as she walked through the huge, empty parking deck. Her high heels TIPtapping the concrete, she noticed the humidity-laden air kept the echos down, so that the deck seemed slightly less cryptlike, even with the hint of fog swirling in the light breeze. She walked quickly, with a sense of purpose, glancing occasionally about her. More lights were out than usual, but she liked the gloom tonight.

A shadow detached itself from a pillar on the far side of the deck and moved towards her car at a pace similar to hers. She was cute, and she knew it; she had attracted attention all her life, but she knew how to take care of herself. She was merely annoyed rather than afraid.

She considered going back inside, just because she was tired. But this type needed to be run off the first time. So she walked at a normal pace, making sure he knew she saw him. Just in case. He came on, with a purposefulness that caused her a vague uneasiness. She reached into her purse, and got out her keys and mace. As she reached the car, he walked just a bit faster, enough to assure he reached her side before she got in. She unlocked the door, opened it, and spun around just as he reached her.

"May I help you?", she asked, her voice calm but strong.

"Yes, please. Start by getting into the car slowly, without making any sudden moves. Don't even THINK about using that mace", he said clearly, in a whiny voice that was somehow difficult to take seriously. The .44 Magnum he held was all too easy to take seriously.

She did as he said, her mind racing furiously. "What do you want?", she asked courteously, despite her inclination to scream and fight.

"You", he spoke clearly and slowly, "are going to die. You are going to pay, right now, for your evil deeds."

Her stomach knotted; her vision collapsed, until all she saw was his face, as if through a cardboard tube, with darkness all around. She stared straight at his eyes, hoping to find something there as a clue for dealing with the man in front of her. The eyes, coal black and harder than steel, stared relentlessly back at hers from the face now suspended, bobbing disembodied before her. As hope faded, she felt herself fighting for control of her bladder. A hint of warm moisture trickled down her inner thigh, but she otherwise held out. Why she made the effort, she wasn't quite sure.

"What are you talking about?", she queried, trying to sound pleading. This was actually easier than she would have expected, as fear was gaining ground moment by moment. She felt her heart like a runaway city road crew jackhammer trying to dig through her sternum.

"Society doesn't need your type", he spat. Suddenly, she sensed (vaguely) a motion in front of her - evil itself loomed in her face. Death in dark blue steel stared her between the eyes. Only that looming hole was real now. She started to bring up the mace, willing that it was not yet too late.

"You will never again turn left without a signal, you slut!"

There was light, like a thousand flashbulbs all popping off at once, but with a black hole, a looming train tunnel, in the midst of the light. And a train was bearing down on her. The light seared her eyes, burning away the retinas, and carommed frantically about inside her skull. Briefly.

There was thunder, huge roaring thunder as if all the storms in the world had converged upon her ears, throatily bellowing their power off the walls of the surrounding deck, to echo back and forth, building immediately to a mighty crescendo that threatened to carry her away (to safety, her thoughts pleaded?). Briefly.

There was pain, a giant snake biting her right between the eyes, releasing its horrid venom directly into her brain, the flesh searing away, the bones dissolving and splintering, her mind recoiling. Briefly.

There was darkness. Warm, enveloping, comforting darkness. Swallowing the light, the noise, the pain. It was her mother, her father, her lover, taking her to safety...

He knew the justice system well. Already he had beaten it four times. He was, after all, just a victim of a society that couldn't keep its drivers under control. If the courts wouldn't deal with it, he would.

One of them grabbed him by the collar, picked him up, and threw him violently against the car. As he was turned around and slammed face first into the hood, the bloodred paint job coming up fast, and busting his lips and nose, one of the uniforms began to retch. The other put his coat over the girl's head. He was frisked, but strangely enough, not cuffed.

The plainclothes detective spun him around. It was, as he had suspected, Charles, yet again, who had caught him. Too late.

"You PUNK!", Charles screamed, in too much of a rage to verbally tear his catch apart as he usually did so well. "What was it THIS time? Driving below the speed limit? Rolling stop? 30.002 in a 30 zone?" His fist came out of nowhere, and slammed Ray up onto the hood of the car. His stomach felt as if he had just been shot with his own gun.

The uniform that wasn't puking grabbed Charles' arm. "Lieutenant! Don't turn this into an abuse case!"

Charles backed off just one step. He spoke, with the fury of a mad dog, through clenched teeth. "Again. Again the courts let this slimebag go, and again he kills someone for no good reason. Again I'm too late!" His voice gained volume with each word. He was screaming, little flecks of foam flying from his lips in every direction. He loomed hugely before Ray, an avenging angel. The churning in his battered stomach gave Ray some idea of what his victims might have felt. He didn't like the sensation at all. Charles stood over him, breathing hard, and visibly calming himself before going on.

"The scum-sucking pig just gets off and gets off. Not a judge in this town will give him what he deserves. He whines about justice for the traffic offenders, but not ONCE has he received justice himself. He thinks he can dispense justice himself, and the damned courts won't argue with him!"

"So, what's left?" asked the uniform. Charles met his intent stare with a blank look. As comprehension dawned in his eyes, the uniform turned away, whistling tunelessly. Charles' face relaxed; the tension melted like a glacier under an atomic flame, and the merest hint of a smile played upon his lips.

Ray felt a cold wave, like an avalanche of snow, rush down his spine. His legs turned to jelly. He tried to speak, but his lips only bounced. He heard, far away, a blubbering sound. It seemed to come from someone in the grips of total terror. It mingled with the dry heaves of the cop who was still not over his first encounter with violent death.

Charles had moved out of his vision, but was back before Ray could think of trying to flee. He sensed (vaguely) a motion in front of him - evil itself loomed in his face. Death in blue steel stared him between the eyes.

"What are you doing with my gu...", Ray started to ask.

There was light...

Last updated: 29 Mar 1994

Copyright 1988, 1993, 1994 Miles O'Neal, Austin, TX. All rights reserved.

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