RedBone Issue #3
“BFRRRRRRT!”
Muller whipped his head around to identify the sound. A white-hot pain shot through his neck and face. He saw nothing.
“Is someone there?” Muller yelled. “Hello? Anyone?”
“Sorry,” a woman answered sweetly. “I used a meal credit at Taco Bell. In retrospect, not a great move. Enchiritos are nothing but fart fuel.” She laughed.
“Who are you? Where am I?” Muller frantically inquired. His head rung and his cheeks pulsed.
“My name is Kim,” she replied, “and you’re home… well not home home. Welcome to housing unit 813C, your assigned residence.”
“Why can’t I see?” Muller asked. Trepidation clung to every syllable.
“Oh, one second,” Kim replied.
Muller felt a pair of nimble fingers massaging his right and left temple. The throbbing pain dulled. “Click… beep… beep… beep,” A sudden blur of color and light overwhelmed him. Slowly the blurs began to focus.
A face materialized in front of him. He saw a sharp nose, then a pair of bushy eyebrows, pink cheeks, and a pointed chin. She smiled. Her lips were full, her mouth was small and her dreadlocks fell to her shoulders. She reminded Muller of every girl he’d ever met at a Phish concert, with a couple glaring differences. Her pupils were the size of pennies and her eyes lacked irises. Instead, the circumferences of her pupils were lined with razor thin piping that would have been invisible if not for the violet hue they emitted.
“How’s that?” she asked, but continued before Muller could reply. “I’m over shitty roommates. Respect my space, clean up after yourself and don’t fuck with my vibe.” She snapped. “If you can do that, we’ll probably get along fine. Oh, also don’t use the…”
Muller sat silently, half listening to Kim’s rambling monologue. The room began to take shape. It was small. Three matresses lay strewn across the floor. Two had sheets, one sat bare. Light trickled in through a pair of crumpled shades. Dust specs danced in luminous beams. The walls were a collage of yellow, beige and grey paint flakes.
“Snap! Snap! Hey, you listening?” Kim demanded. “See that closet over there. The left half is mine. Talk to the other CE about splitting space. The bathroom’s on the first floor. There are only three showers for whole the building so get there early if that’s something that’s important to you.”
“CE?” Muller asked.
“Cast extra,” Kim replied flippantly. “You’re probably starving. I’d get some food before the lunch rush.”
Muller felt his stomach rumble. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but the commotion in his gut was indication enuogh.
“There’s a decent place two blocks down. It’s across from the coffee shop on Hillhurst,”
“Thanks,” Muller replied.
His legs trembled as he made his way to the door. A mirror hung beside the exit. Muller froze. His face was puffy and his skin was pale. His eyes were gone. In their place sat a two white orbs, each spotted with one large black dot bound in glowing violet ribbon.
“Hey,” Kim began, her voice suddenly solemn. “Be careful. They can see everything.”
The sun beat down on Muller’s neck. He wore Jeans and a ratty, black “Empire of the Sun” tee-shirt. He squinted as he walked, trying to make out his surroundings.
“Woosh, Woosh, Woosh,” the street was cluttered with luxury vehicles. Tesla’s, Porches and Mercedes filed along the curb. The block was teeming. Women with long legs and flowy dresses giggled as they clung to square jawed men in fitted button-ups.
“It’s all who you know,” Muller overheard one of the barrel chested men explain to his floppy hatted female companion. “Like, I know I’m better than Chuck. He just gets more airtime cuz his aunt’s a producer. And I’m pretty sure he’s putting something extra in his protein. That fuckin’ hack can’t even…”
Muller turned the corner onto Hillhurst. Silence. No birds chirping, no chatter, no vehicles. The trees whispered, but only a soft whisper to oblige the breeze.
Muller spotted the coffee shop at the other end of the block, and across from it, the restaurant Kim had mentioned, “Gouda’s Deli.”
A black sports car with tinted windows skidded around the corner, screeching to a stop in front of the coffee shop. The door flung upwards and a pair of white, Nike Air Maxes stepped onto the asphalt.
Muller recognized the woman sporting them instantly. Her creamy skin and gold streaked hair were iconic. His heart began to race. His pace quickened as he made his way towards the coffee shop.
She became more definite with every step. His hands sweat in anticipation.
Then he saw it. a sudden paralysis took him. He could only watch as she pushed through the door, a shotgun at her side.
“CRACK!” a flash was visible from across the street. A second flash and “CRACK!” quickly followed. The door to the coffee shop flew open and two men with tall hair and fitted shirts sprinted out, both screaming,
Seconds passed. Curiosity eclipsed fear and Muller made his way to the coffee shop window.
He saw blood, and two lifeless bodies. On second glance he noticed four empty eye-sockets, each one discharging a disjointed flickering of sparks and an oozing stream of crimson sludge.
He backpedalled frantically, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuck”
The door swung open again. The woman stood feet from him, radiating delight.
Her eyes were hazel.
“Roaches” she said as she pointed the weapon at Muller’s chest.
His heart pounded against his ribs. He collapsed.
