From Hell Blooms Chaos

The doorbell rang and woke me up from a strange dream. I opened the door and saw Officer Blake Harris, a cop with a hell of an attitude. His dark ruthless eyes glared through me as he swiped a thick hand through his tawny hair. He was tall and around thirty but seemed younger by the muscle overpowering all body fat in his arms and torso. He was in his blue and black officer uniform that he wore with annoying pride. A smile of self-greed appeared on his face. “Chase Lambert.”

I stared at him and made a sound that was almost a low growl as his smile never faded. I knew what this visit was for. “Yes, Officer Harris?” My voice had more venom than I intended.

“I’ve come to ask you about your parent’s unfortunate murder. Sorry to keep pestering you, but you are the only one who could’ve seen the murderer’s face.” I knew he wasn’t sorry—he really enjoyed pestering me.

He did this every month since my parent’s murder six months ago. Always came to my door, asked the same questions, and tried to tell his department that I was guilty. But that’s the thing; I wasn’t. If he could see that, I’d probably have less to stress about. It was bad enough that I had to get my GED and keep a job, and when I finally get a break, this bastard ruins it.

I took a step back, letting the officer in. His ask for coffee was expected as he walked in and sat on my mother’s light brown couch in the living room. My mother was very organized when it came to her home. The living room was painted a heavenly cream color with light brown drapes and a nice polished TV which was set up on the wall across from the couch. After I gave him the fresh hot coffee, the questions began. Again.

“What time would you say they were murdered?” He pulled out his same pen and yellow notepad and flipped a few scribbled-on pages.

I shifted a little and sat comfortably in my chair. “I would say around one-thirty to about two-ten in the morning. Like I tell you every single time you ask me.” He didn’t like my grin too much.

Officer Harris glared at me, daring me to say something smart so he could arrest my ass right here, right now. He went on with his questions. “You claimed in the report that you heard a scream from your parent’s room and rushed to them, only to be hit by a shadowed figure, correct?”

“Correct.” I answered, pretending to be interested in my fingernails.

“Please tell me what this ‘figure’ was wearing.” Officer Harris was writing this in his notepad. Again.

“It was a clown—you know, the ones from the circus?” Officer Harris didn’t take my sarcasm very well. I could tell he was becoming impatient. I sighed. “He was in dark clothing. I don’t remember the shoes or the pants but I remember the hoodie. It had the symbol of the band H.I.M. on it. His face was blacked out by a mask or something, but I could see blood on it.” He wrote this down. Again.

“When the police arrived, the first cop at the scene claimed that you were covered in your parent’s blood with a hunting knife in your hands, which also had your parent’s blood on the blade. How do you explain that evidence?”

“Officer, I believe it is time for you to leave. I’ve welcomed you many times, but you’re visits are getting old. Can’t I get a moment of peace to try and forget the death of everything I had? Shouldn’t putting me in jail for a night be enough? You ask the same questions and I give you the same answer every time. I. Am. Innocent!” Officer Harris jumped up to his feet and held my shirt by the collar, pulling me off my chair.

“Shut your mouth, boy!" Then, as if something clicked in his mind, he dropped me. I hit the ground with an aching thud. Something made him laugh; it was almost scary the way it seemed to roll out his chest. He stared at me and pointed his gun to my forehead while he stood over me. "Everyone in town knows that you like men. It’s not a secret. Is that why you killed your parents? They didn’t support you, did they?” He stepped on my stomach and pushed down extremely hard. I whimpered at the pain despite how much I tried not to. It wasn’t true, though—I would never hurt my family, no matter how homophobic they were…

Officer Harris removed his foot and chuckled once more. “I’m gonna enjoy throwing your ass in jail when I prove how guilty you really are. I already have a motive.” He bent over to look at me with that crazy smile. “You couldn’t stand hiding things from your parents. So you told them you were gay, and felt even worse when they decided to make sure you didn’t go anywhere—tell anyone. They couldn't even stand to see your disgusting face. Feeling abandoned and out of place, you grab a hunting knife given to you by your father, you walk into your parent’s room. Aiming to kill your father first.”

“Stop.” I pleaded when I could finally think and process what was happening.

“You slit your father’s throat and stab him in the chest until you feel some sort of relief. Then you turn to your mother, who has just rolled over and felt the moist blood spilling on their bed, hearing him struggle to breathe while he bleeds out. She screams when she sees you with a knife and you stab her until she finally stops squirming—”

“STOP!” I shouted, desperately holding back tears. Officer Harris laughed evilly to himself before he left, slamming the door shut. I looked at the ground, slowly sitting up. What was wrong with that guy? I shuddered as his words sunk deep inside my mind. He’s gone insane…

.....

Something in my brain processed an image of pure justice. Officer Harris was lying hopelessly on a cold solid table and his mouth was covered by a white cloth, blotched with blood. I could see hands, as if they were my own, grabbing a blade that glowed in the moonlight from a window nearby. It was so beautiful with such brilliant shape. It curved a little and it was sharp to the touch. I watched as the hands pressed the blade to Officer Harris’ chest and began slicing down the fragile skin, as a hot blade would butter. A strange voice spoke to Officer Harris, but the words were mumbled and I couldn’t hear them.

Officer Harris tried to scream, I smiled as I slept. Dreaming this made me blissful. I wanted to hear him scream. I wanted to see his body being torn by these hands and him begging to die. And so they did. One by one, his organs were pulled out, snapping as the hands yanked them out. The officer’s cries were muffled but the sound was music to my ears. The hands were covered in the sweetest red liquid that came from Officer Harris’ insides which were now laid out for display on the table. It was enough to scare the piss out of him, quite literally. I groaned as the bloody hands traced down its owner’s body, trailing blood over his chest and stomach. His hands slipped into his pants just as mine did. He moaned and it was a beautiful sound.

“Good morning!” My eyes shot open at the sound of my damn alarm clock. “It’s about eight-fifteen and the temperature is just a bit humid today, but it will most likely rain around noon. Get up, smell the coffee and turn on the news because a huge story will be revealed!” I slammed my hand against the snooze button and then turned off the alarm. I yawned and groaned when I could still feel the blood pulsing in my lower body. Damn mornings. When I finally got out of bed, I walked to my living room and turned on the news. The big screen television hung on the wall and just below it was my cable box and my DVD player which was barely even used.

The picture popped onto the screen and was at a reasonable volume as I slipped into the kitchen to get some sugar into my system. While I waited for the commercials to pass, I grabbed a glass and the milk jug then headed over to the plate of recently made cookies. The news popped up as I poured the milk into my glass.

“Today, an Officer was found brutally murdered in an old science basement used years ago for historical science events.” The anchor woman began with a hint of excitement in her voice. “Officer Blake Harris was the victim of this bloody murder.” The milk jug slipped through my hands and exploded on impact of the tile floor. My insides twisted as my whole body froze over. “Investigators are saying that this is the most ‘clean’ act of a homicide in almost all history. No finger prints or DNA have been found.”

No way.

“Detectives are stumped. Locals are petrified.” At this, an old woman began explaining how fearful she was of her neighborhood.

No way.

“It is scary.” A woman that sounded in her twenties declared. “I mean, this could happen to anyone and we never know when it can happen. I mean, who will be next? When will be next? You just never know.”

I cussed loudly.

“Wow! I can’t believe it.” The anchor woman went on. “Not a single trace of DNA. I’m still shocked!”

“Yes, Beverly, that is quite shocking.” A male voice began. “Investigators are still looking into it and we’ll have more on the story soon. In other news…” All the sound was replaced with a high pitched ring in my ears. Brutally murdered. Not a single trace of DNA. Blood trailing down his chest and stomach.

I felt the need to vomit.

…..

The walk to work was difficult. My mind kept wandering to the dream and the news, despite my tries of avoiding the topic. When I entered the restaurant, I immediately hit the staff bathroom, leaning against the gleaming white porcelain sink. My eyes gradually made their way to the mirror where a blue-eyed, pale-skinned boy stared with wide, scared eyes. His short sandy hair was slightly damp with sweat and he gulped before taking a deep breath. I closed my eyes for a second, taking in another deep breath. I fixed my red tie against my black long sleeved shirt, corrected my name tag, and walked out of the bathroom as if there was nothing wrong at all. I greeted the waitresses and waiters as I passed them and put on my apron, grabbing my server pad. Instantly, I was ready to work and my troubles were gone.

“Chase, can you get table sixteen for me?” My manager, Chelsea, called thirty minutes into my shift.

“Yeah, no problem.” Even if I didn’t want to, I still would have had to do it.

“They’re my regulars, so be nice to them. I have too many tables at the moment, so tell them I can’t see them tonight.” As quickly as she was in, she was out again with a huge order in her hands. I sighed and walked toward the diner, putting on a smile as I always did. Customer’s voices were ringing about the news this morning, but I tried to ignore them; I tried to push back that memory.

Blood trailing down his chest and stomach.

I got chills as the image appeared in my head again. Stop, I told myself when I arrived at table sixteen. It was a bunch of laughing boys around my age who looked like they’d just hopped right out of the musical Grease. “Hey, guys, I’m Chase. I’ll be your waiter for tonight.” I smiled and they each looked up at me. “Are you ready to order, or do you need a few?” My eyes glanced to theirs as they looked at each other for a response.

“Yeah, I’m ready. I don’t know about these bozos, though.” The boy closest to my right bumped his friend beside him with a chuckle. When he looked up at me, I was captivated by his hazel eyes. I had to snap myself away, looking down at my order pad to take his order. After him, it was his friend across and the rest of them took their orders.

“All right, I’ll be back with your food, then.” I started to walk away.

“Tell Chelsea she needs to get her pretty little ass over here!” One of them called and I pretended to laugh. Nasty pigs. I hated men like that. I hated most men, actually.

Brutally murdered…

I cursed under my breath when I got to the computer to enter in their order. The rest of the night consisted of many refills and even more annoying guests. The four Greaser boys stayed almost my whole shift, constantly asking where Chelsea was and what she was doing. Every time I would tell Chelsea they wanted her, she always told me she was busy. I knew she wasn’t, though. I’d catch her hanging out in the break room every now and then or sometimes she’d take a smoke break, despite the fact that she didn’t even smoke. I was getting irritated, but there was nothing I could do about it. “Here you go guys.” I handed the Greasers their separate checks. “If there’s anything else I can get you let me know.” After a few thanks, I walked away with that dumb ass smile on my face. Another table needed their check and another needed their drinks. I groaned more to myself. At least this was a distraction. After I finished the other tables, I saw that the Greasers had their checks ready and I walked by to pick them up. The boys carried on their conversation and I tried not to pay attention, but the boy with the gorgeous eyes looked up at me and I froze.

“What do you think of this whole…death of an officer thing?” He asked, his voice cool as ice. If he’d ask me any other question, I’d probably melt. But this question made my stomach twist.

“I…” I cleared my throat. “It’s kind of tragic, I guess. But Officer Harris and I never really got along well. So, I guess he’s one thing I don’t really have to worry about.”

“Yeah, he was the Officer who’d always bust us for dumb shit.” The boy across the hazel-eyed boy scoffed. He started out a story to the others of a time they’d been caught smoking in a no-smoking area.

“Yeah, that man doesn’t have many fans.” The hazel-eyed boy chuckled. His chuckle made me smile—really smile.

“I don’t doubt it.” I added as I started walking away. “I’ll put your payments in and be right back.” Even though I turned away, I could still feel his eyes on me.

“I saw that.” Gina, one of the waitresses who knew of my preference, popped up next to me as I was at the computer.

“Saw what?” I tried to stop smiling.

“You know what. He made you smile. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a real smile since—well, you know. I think you like him.” She nudged me and ran a hand through her frilly black hair.

“Please. He’s a regular here, if I wasn’t nice, Chelsea would kill me.” I rolled my eyes and switched to the next check.

“You know why Chelsea gave you that table, right?” Her lowered voice made me curious, but I didn’t respond. “She hasn’t even been busy all day.” I looked at her and she smiled, her dark eyes glinting with nosiness. “That boy at the end, the one that made you smile—he’s been requesting you for a while, but you’re usually not in as early as they are. There were probably three times you guys were in at the same time, but Chelsea had already waited on them and you were busy.”

“So? Maybe he’s heard I was a good waiter?”

“In denial.” She winked. “Hurry up; I’ve got tickets, too, y’know.” I rolled my eyes with a quiet chuckle as I started on my orders again.

I was back at the table, handing back their receipts. “All right, guys. Thank you for coming in and have a great evening.” More thanks allowed me to turn my back and help another table. From the corner of my eye, I watched the boys get up and leave, putting a fair share of tips on the table. After helping yet another table, I made my way to the Greaser’s table to grab the money they had left. As I unfolded the hazel-eyed boy’s money, I found a slip of paper. I raised a brow as I flipped the blank paper over, revealing a ten digit number and the word “Fix” underneath it. Well, this was obviously a phone number, but what did “Fix” mean? Did I need something fixed? Maybe he did and he accidentally left it here. I headed for the door and searched the parking lot. I was too late. The four of them were already on their bikes and driving away. Shit. Oh well. If he needed it, he’ll have to get it again. I put it in my pocket to give to him tomorrow.

Walking home made my mind wander freely. Once again, I could see the blood and the hands; the blade and the organs. I shivered and shoved my hands onto my pockets. Something crunched under my right hand and I pulled it out, remembering what exactly it was. “Fix”. Fix what? What did he need to be fixed? His bike? I groaned. If only I had a phone to call the number and figure it out. As I waited for the crosswalk, I saw a payphone across the street. I could probably find the number in the phonebook. I looked at the slip of paper again. It was a local number, not a business number. I wondered for a moment, maybe he’d just meant to write the number and “Fix” had nothing to do with it. I sighed as I reached the payphone. I didn’t even know what to look for in the phonebook. Just call it, my conscience poked at my brain. I shook my head and put the phonebook down, trying to turn to leave but I couldn’t. Something wanted me to call it. Something wouldn’t let me leave if I didn’t. In frustration, I yanked the phone off the hook and shoved money into the slot. I dialed the number and waited, realizing with a cold shock I had nothing to say. Instantly I felt stupid for dialing that number. Right as I was about to hang up, someone answered the call. “Yo.” My muscles froze.

“H-hi.” I cleared my throat. “U-um…”

“Chase, right?” My heart stopped. How did he know me? “Hello?”

“Y-yeah. Chase. Who’s this?”

The man at the other end laughed lightly and I recognized it. “It’s Fix. You called sooner than I thought you would.” My heart was thudding against my chest but a smile still crept onto my face.

“Your name is Fix?” I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. “I was wondering what that meant.” He joined me in laughter and it felt… It felt amazing. “Oh, uh… I called from a payphone…”

“Wow, you were that eager, huh?” His voice was so cool it made me want to never put the phone down. I felt a blush come along and bit my lip. “I understand. I’m hard to resist, I know. It’s okay.” I laughed and leaned against the payphone. “Well, what’s your phone number? Give me a call when you get home.”

“I… I don’t have a phone.” I admitted a little ashamed. Maybe I should look into getting a phone.

“Oh, okay. Well, what’s your address? Maybe we can hang out.” I hesitated for a moment. “Or will your parents be concerned with a Greaser stealing away their little boy?” That comment hurt a little, but I wasn’t going to ruin the moment.

“Are you making a gay joke?”

“Depends on if you take it seriously.” I could hear the smile in his voice and it made me need to take a deep breath before I melted against the phone.

“Why are you interested in me?”

“What’s your address? We can talk then.” He made me laugh again.

“What if I didn’t want to give you my address? What if I wanted to leave you guessing?”

He groaned on the other side of the phone. “Then you’d force me to wait. But let me warn you I am not a patient person.” This was going to be fun. I couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow.

“Well, I’ve got to go. Will you be eating at the restaurant tomorrow?” I hoped he couldn’t hear the eagerness behind my voice. I was trying very hard not to let it show.

“If you’re working, I will.”

And the phone cut off.