Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 53

If he was going to die, so be it, but he had to go knowing his work was done. If he could warn the boy, at least it would be something. Not many like him were left, breathing bridges between what had happened and what was about to.

He had to get the boy alone and snoring, which usually wasn't hard in the middle of the afternoon. But too much commotion was present with the other kids.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

"Stop it, Lord Vader!"

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

"I mean it! If you don't stop barking you can't play with us anymore."

Growl....Growl....Growl....

Dog Vader trotted toward Desmond, standing at the front of the lobby. The black things were outside, but had moved back a bit, making the people less afraid that the things would storm the hotel. Dog Vader watched the things, then watched Desmond watching the things. He didn't want to interrupt Desmond. He could tell that the man was figuring out something. Desmond could smell stuff better than the rest of them, even Will, at least in his own way. They both stood there for nearly 10 minutes. He could sense that Desmond was close to discovering what Vader already knew.

He wondered if Desmond could understand him. He was the most intuitive of the group, other than Luca.

If Desmond could understand him, then Dog Vader would be willing to tell him everything he needed to know. He couldn't wait any longer; he had to get Desmond's attention.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

"Not now, boy," Desmond said.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

Desmond moved his gaze from the window to the dog, then dropped to one knee. "What is it?" he said. "What do you know?"

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF...THE SOFT MAN IS AN IMPOSTOR, A PLAGUE THAT WILL RUIN EVERYTHING. HE IS A STARLESS NIGHT THAT WILL SLOWLY FADE UNTIL THE SKY IS AS BLACK AS HIS INSIDES!...BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF.

"You smell something," he said, then stood and shook his head. "Me, too."

"Lunch!" Mary called.

Desmond walked toward the bar and Dog Vader followed. They were halfway there when the impostor and Jimmy entered the lobby.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF RUFF.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF RUFF.

"Maybe we should put the dog in one of the rooms," the impostor said.

"No, he's okay, right, boy?" Luca tried to soothe him.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF RUFF.

BARK... RUFF RUFF...BARK... RUFF RUFF RUFF.

Desmond said, "Maybe John's right. Just for lunch. Okay, buddy?"

"Okay" The boy looked down, then over at Dog Vader. "Come on," he said.

The impostor turned to the group, "I'm going to keep watch on the second floor if you don't mind. I'm a bit worried about what's happening outside, and not too hungry."

"Sure thing, John," Desmond said.

Luca led Vader to the far side of the kitchen, opened the door, gently ushered him inside, patted him on the head and said, "See you soon!" then closed the door behind him.

This couldn't be it.

This couldn't be the end.

Vader barked, hoping Luca would come back.

The impostor would be coming soon. Dog Vader had to stay alive, at least long enough to get to the boy's dreams, where everything would be okay and he could finally tell him everything; finally finish what he'd been brought along to do.

Vader pawed at the outside door.

Maybe he could get everyone's attention if he could get outside and circle back to the front of the hotel. He never should have let Luca lock him inside the kitchen. It was only a matter of time before...

The doork.n.o.b turned and the door swung wide.

He smelled the air, but nothing was there.

No... something was there: faded... tired... dehydrated... rotten.

The impostor entered the kitchen and leaped at Dog Vader, before he'd even had a chance to growl.

Dog Vader's world went dark.

CHARLIE WILKENS.

October 19 Morning Pensacola, Florida "Who the f.u.c.k are you?" Bob said, rising from the floor, b.u.t.toning his jeans.

"Boy, you ain't a good listener; I already told you my name was Boricio. I know cla.s.s was in session, so that must mean you were staring out the window. I sure hope you don't get held back, but rules is rules, and your attention span might not leave Mr. Boricio with much of a choice."

Charlie stared at Callie, on the ground, sobbing. Bob had tried to rape her, which made Charlie wonder if he saw what he'd thought he saw in the pool. Perhaps Callie wasn't a willing partic.i.p.ant, after all. It wasn't like he hung around long enough to get a good look. He'd been so disgusted by the thought of a girl he liked being with Bob, he ran. Now, as he looked down and saw the look in her eyes, he felt horrible. If Bob was raping her then, Charlie could, no should, have done something. Instead, he fled like a p.u.s.s.y.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on here, Charlie?" Bob said, face red and eyes aflame.

"Why don't you tell me?" Charlie said, his voice a third as confident as he wanted to sound. He imagined returning to slap Bob into place, armed with the barrel of motivational speeches Boricio delivered over several hundred miles.

"The only way to get power," Boricio had said on the ride to Florida, "is to step to the f.u.c.kin' plate and swing your bat in its fat f.u.c.k of a face. That's how s.h.i.t's done on Team Boricio. f.u.c.kers who don't like it, get squashed."

Charlie agreed. He'd been scared of bullies his entire life. Now was his chance, to take control of his life, courtesy of Boricio. He felt like he could do it, felt brave all the way to the house, through the front door, and even up the stairs. But now, seeing Bob again, some part of him fell into the familiar role - where Bob was the man of the house, and Charlie, the b.i.t.c.h. A familiar, and Charlie realized with some sickness, comfortable role. After all, if someone else were responsible for keeping you down, you couldn't blame yourself when life was s.h.i.t.

"Take your little friends and get the f.u.c.k outta here," Bob said in an annoyed voice, pointing at Charlie, and completely ignoring Boricio.

"I'm not leaving without Callie," Charlie said.

Bob laughed.

"Ha! You think she likes you? The minute you were out the door, she was on my c.o.c.k like a dirty wh.o.r.e."

"That's not true!" Callie cried, "He drugged me."

"Drugged you?" Boricio said, mock indignation on his face, "Bob, Bob, Bob, I'm shocked. A big stud like you needs to drug a lady?"

Bob said nothing, probably hoping he could will Boricio from existence.

"Come on, Callie, we're getting out of here," Charlie said, holding out his hand.

"She's staying," Bob stepped between them.

Callie stepped around him, then rushed toward Charlie. Bob reached out, grabbed her by her hair and yanked her back. She screamed out as she fell to the ground, still in Bob's grip like a dog on a leash.

"Let go of her," Charlie said, stepping forward meeting Bob's enraged eyes. He wished Boricio had let him bring a weapon, but he said he had his reasons, and it wasn't like Charlie could argue.

"Or what? You're gonna have your goons beat me up? I've got a better idea; why don't you and your little b.u.t.t buddies go back to whatever queer little f.u.c.k fest you got going on."

Boricio laughed, "Goons? Hey, pardner, I resent being called a goon. I'm f.u.c.king captain of this team. Besides, I'm pretty sure Charlie can take care of you just fine. Us boys are just here to watch. You know, though if you're interested in some b.u.t.t buddy s.h.i.t, I'm sure we can accommodate you, handsome."

Boricio winked playfully at Bob.

"Don't make me tell you again," Charlie said, trying on a bravery that felt five sizes too big. "Let go of her."

Bob stared, then glanced at Boricio and Adam, who hadn't budged. "f.u.c.k you, kid. She's not going anywhere."

Callie pulled away, this time successfully, stood up, and ran to Charlie. "f.u.c.k you!" she screamed.

Bob came at Charlie.

Charlie, recognizing Bob's intent too late, dodged, but not quickly enough.

Bob's fist slammed into Charlie's forehead, sending a bolt of thunder between his temples, though Charlie was sure it would have hurt far worse if knuckles had landed on his nose.

Bob fell forward with the momentum of his swing. He regained his balance then scurried out the door and toward his bedroom. Charlie raced after him, seeing Bob's target a moment later: a pistol on the dresser.

No!

Panic ignited the fuel in Charlie's veins. If Bob got the pistol, Charlie was done for. He could hear Boricio and Adam following behind him, but he was the only person who could stop Bob in time.

He reached out, grabbed the collar of Bob's shirt and yanked back, causing them both to roll to the floor.

Bob cried out as he hit his head on the dresser. His eyes met Charlie's, full of a fiery hate Charlie had only glimpsed before now. If any doubt had been in his mind that Bob wanted to murder him, it evaporated that second.

Bob kicked out, hitting Charlie in the chest, clearing his lungs of air and sending him reeling back into the bed.

Bob stood quickly, grabbed the gun and took aim at Charlie, who closed his eyes and waited for death. But instead of a gunshot, he heard a thunk followed by a scream.

Charlie opened his eyes.

Bob had dropped the gun.

Boricio's bat was on the floor beneath him.

Boricio had thrown the bat at the gun. "Okay," Boricio said, looking down at Bob, "I lied. I helped him just this once. Now you're on your own, Charlie. Take that f.u.c.ker out."

Bob's eyes narrowed on Charlie as he bent over to grab the gun.

Charlie dove to the floor, grabbed the bat, and without thought, swung at Bob's knees. Hard.

Bob fell to the ground in agony, but still held the gun in his quivering hand.

Charlie rolled over and swung again. Harder. As the bat connected with Bob's right wrist, a sickening crunch preceded the gun's descent to the floor. Bob cried out, left hand now cradling his broken right hand.

"You f.u.c.ker!" he wailed, threads of saliva stretching across his wide-open mouth.

Callie, who had just entered the room, ran past them, then grabbed the gun and aimed it at Bob, who sat, hunched over, crying, "I'm gonna f.u.c.king kill you, you little brat."

Charlie looked back at Boricio and his giant grin. Adam was staring next to him in the doorway, in wide-eyed disbelief.

"You hear me? I'm gonna hunt you down and f.u.c.king kill you!" Bob cried out, head down, staring at his broken hand.

"You're not killing anyone!" Callie said, as she marched forward and put the gun to the top of his head.

Bob looked up, stared at her, his eyes equaling the hate he held for Charlie. A sick smile spread across his face. He turned. "Gonna let a girl do your job for you, Charlene?"

Why the h.e.l.l is he goading us? Shut up, Bob. G.o.ddammit!

Charlie couldn't understand why Bob was pushing his b.u.t.tons. Didn't he realize what was happening? How much the odds were stacked against him? He was backing Charlie into a corner, forcing him to respond. Though Charlie had come here seeking revenge for all the s.h.i.t Bob had ever done, now that he was staring down at the crippled version of a pathetic man, his hunger for vengeance had soured.

If Bob would just shut his mouth, Charlie would be happy to leave with Callie, even if it meant disappointing Boricio.