…

Step Four: An unexpected turn of events

…

My hand trembled something fierce, as if it were enveloped with an ice cold glove. “Who are you? What are you?” The demonic imposter laughed loudly, letting his now elongated tongue hang out of his mouth. “Don't you RECOGNIZE me, Genghis?! It's ME! LERoy BarRIS!” I held my breath, refusing to let my fear get the best of me. “What did you do to him, you sick sonuvabitch?!” Both his eyes and smile widened as slivers of drool began leaking from his mouth. “HEY, ComE ON! Don't you bE jUDGING a man for HOW he WaKES UP IN THE MORNING!”

I swallowed hard.

This was really happening.

This thing was really here.

Myra was locked and loaded.

My finger was itching to make the big squeeze.

But…

“Cut the bullshit, you freak of nature! Gimme Leroy back or I'm gonna seriously hurt you!” The grotesque bastard's upper lip rolled up, exposing his gums as well as the entirety of his gnarly fangs. “What? Are you going to shoot me? Are you going to shoot me, Genghis?!” I didn't like this. I didn't like this at all. He sounded less and less like Leroy with every word that left his mouth. He looked less and less like Leroy with every word that left my mouth. And to think that just minutes ago, this dude was out like a light in front of me. Though…I had to wonder if he was really sleeping. What if this thing already…no. He couldn't have! Leroy's stronger than that!

I relaxed my lungs long enough for a quick breath to escape through my nostrils. “Look, Leroy...I need you to wake up.” Terror laced my vocal chords as my trigger finger quivered, torn between both sides in the fiery debate between Fight-or-Flight and Necessary Compassion. “I doan know what this...thing has done to you, but I ain't an idiot. I know this ain't you!” While bold, my proclamation got me nothing but another horrifying laugh. “Don't be silly, friend! Use your eyes and you'll see that it's been me all along!” With a wicked shriek, the monster lunged at me like a ravenous cheetah.

…

Okay, Genghis—now's the time you make a choice.

Do you continue trying to talk some sense into your partner in crime?

Or do you shoot him dead?

Because shooting him is certainly the best option right about now.

Whatever this thing is ain't Leroy—hell, it may even be a mirage brought on from the hot desert air!

…

But you can't ever tell for sure.

You seriously can't.

…

And so, thanks to my hesitation, Not Leroy was easily able to make me drop my revolver by sinking his spiky whites into my forearm. He yanked me around like a ragdoll as I bit down on my bottom lip, refusing to give this sicko the satisfaction of hearing me scream. Remember when I predicted that I'd lose all my pain receptors by the time I was twenty-five? Well, guess what; I'm changing that sonuvabitch to twenty-three. And despite how hard I tried, I still ended up making a noise that kinda sounded like what you'd hear if you mixed a menacing growl of unbridled fury with a pathetic whimper of excruciating agony.

Needless to say, this wasn’t a mirage after all.

“Argh—mother...f-ucker!” Eager to make this pain go away as quickly as possibly, I frantically kicked the imposter any place my foot could reach. His gut, his kneecaps, his balls—fucking anywhere that might get him to let go of me! And go figure, my blows barely made him flinch while his bite was crunching my bones like a tasty meal—along with its own special drink tactfully named “The Bleeding Khan”. And lemme just say now, I must be a pretty delicious bastard if he was trying this hard to tear my arm off my body.

“Stop—fuck—stop!” Moving on to Plan B, I slammed him onto his back. Now that I had some level of control in this fight, I started bashing his head repeatedly against the hard tiled floor. “Getoffgetoffgetoffgetoffgetoff...” My actions sped up with each “getoff” that came out of my mouth. I was soon hitting him so quickly that the blood that was pouring from my arm was now splattering all over the place, coating both my and his faces. And wouldn't you know it, despite his skull popping the floor hard enough, the sonuvabitch still clung onto my arm like his life depended on it.

“Getoff!” With one final bash, he rolled his eyes to the back of his head. Now, I know that this usually means that somebody is either unconscious, asleep, or dead. But not this guy. Oh no—not this asshole. This guy decided to one-up himself on the Creep-Scale and started dragging his moist tongue all around the area of my flesh that was caught between his teeth, drinking up as much of my life essence as he could. When I say he dragged his tongue on my arm, what I really mean is that he slobbered all over it like a fucking dog watching his owner eat a medium-rare steak. In fact, he slobbered so much that a large portion of his drool leaked onto his neck and ran down his collarbone.

Now, you know me; I'm something of a freak when it comes to blood.

I admit that.

And hell, this situation might've even been unbelievably erotic if it were a beautiful woman bearing down on me like this.

…

But it wasn't—it was Leroy motherfucking Barris.

…

And yet he insisted on making things worse by emitting a startlingly feminine sounding giggle while he savored my taste.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Quickly running out of options as well as feeling in my forearm, I pushed my free hand down onto his forehead. “Pry those fuckin' molars right outta your kisser!” It was with these words that I attempted to force my arm out of his mouth. As I yanked back, his giggles started sounding less like a seductive temptress and more like a city park creeper rubbing his nipples while watching kids play on the swings.

It didn't take long for me to come to terms that pulling away from him was an incredibly stupid idea. How was it stupid, you ask? Let me put it this way; this motherfucker was persistent. The harder I pulled, the tighter his bite became. And as the seconds and milliseconds ticked by, I became increasingly more aware of the feeling of my bones and skin tissue being gradually ripped from my body.

That, ladies and gentlemen, was the point where my efforts to quell the urge to scream proved to be entirely in vain.

“Yahhh—arggghh!” The volume of his giggles heightened greatly, as he was no doubt pleased with the reaction he got out of me. So much so, in fact, that he finally let go of me so that he could bust his gut laughing at my pain. I instantly grabbed the gaping bite mark he left behind, applying pressure to both ends in the attempt to stop the bleeding.

Once the humor had died, the foul beast looked back up at me and licked the blood off his fangs. “IRONIC, isn't it?” He then placed his hands down onto the floor and raised his legs up, lifting his upper body with them. “FoR a man thAT LOVES BlooDSHed, you DON'T APPEAR to enjoy having YOURS shed!” Once he was completely upside down, he bent his knees so that the bottoms of his boots where now facing my direction. Meanwhile, as he performed this little trapeze act for me, I took the opportunity to look behind me and see where Myra had fallen. Thankfully, she didn't slide too far away from us. And she was still cocked, meaning she didn't misfire when I dropped her.

Hallelujah.

At least I still had that option...if left with no other alternatives, of course.

…

But shit, it's getting harder and harder to keep going easy on this guy.

I almost lost my arm, for crying out loud!

…

Then again, grabbing Myra with my good hand is a gigantic risk considering the blood flowing from my wound like an easy waterfall.

…

So really, what the fuck am I supposed to do here?!

Leroy—for fuck's sake, wake up!

Whether it was the hair-raising laughter that got my attention or the loud popping noise that came from him extending his neck far enough to face me from behind, I'm not sure. But regardless, I was met with the horrible sight of a badly twisted body staring at me while his feet hovered above his head and his hands held him in place on the white-tiled floor. “I guess that shoe doesn’t fit too well, does it?!” I gritted my teeth at the scary bastard, tightening my grip on my wound. “At least I can wear my own. I doan have to steal another man's pair!” He exposed his gums again, smiling a little too widely for my liking. “Such CUTTING words! You're obviously tired, FRIEND! Let's go back to SLEEP for a little while longer!”

I growled impatiently. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. Shit, this conversation hadn’t gone anywhere since it began! “Goddammit Leroy—snap out of it! We got a mission, remember?! Complete domination of Casa do Diaño! You and me on the top of the entire island! “Operation Armored Raccoons”, man! Any of that ring a bell?!” He emitted yet another grueling laugh, which served as the final straw to my dilemma.

Words clearly weren’t going to reach Leroy right now.

This thing has completely enslaved him.

So, as much as I didn't want to, I was gonna have to shoot him.

Whether it takes one or two shots to get the point across, that was up to him.

For Leroy's sake, I hoped that one was going to be enough.

Because anymore than that was gonna result in a phone call to both of his mothers.

“Alright,” I murmured softly, “you asked for it, you fuckin' asshole.” I dropped to my knees and hunched over as if I were seconds away from bleeding to death. Relax, I wasn't in that bad of shape already; it was just an act. However, I admittedly felt a whole lot weaker than I did before. My head was light and spinning, my arm was full of holes and, judging by how much blood was dripping through my hand, I made the educated guess that the evil bastard nicked an artery while I was pulling away from him. But you see, friends, Genghis Boy is a very hard guy to kill. Maybe not impossible, but highly improbable. He can take any and all obstacles life throws at him!

…

But for now, he admits to having seen better days.

Much better days.

Nevertheless, the stupid bastard fell for my bait and approached me, using his hands as his feet. “ThERe WE GO! Isn't it tHAt SO MUCH bETTer?! JuST dropping your wORRies like THEY NEVER EXISTED?! Just lETting your WEAK HEART rest?!” He pushed me over so that I was lying on my back. I looked up at him with half shut eyes, mouth hanging open slightly. Evil Incarnate smiled at my vulnerable state.

“Life is FAR TOO SHORT to always be running amuck. It makes the world too noisy. TOO LOUD! When the time is right, we just have to STOP LIVING and let the world move forward—much QUIETER than it was before.” The imposter took a few more steps, his hands stopping at my sides as he hovered over me like an acrobatic ghost. His face got close to mine, the smell of my blood still fresh on his breath. “And if you couldn't even save your own arm, I have little reason to believe you could save your own life—let alone your precious ally's.”

That's what you think, you fucking animal.

Time to cut the facade and open my eyes.

“That's an interestin' perspective, pal. But there's one major flaw with it.” I quickly grabbed his forehead with the hand belonging to my injured arm and shoved him onto the floor. As he rolled over to the right, I quickly grabbed Myra with the same hand and slid toward the left, still using my other hand to apply pressure to my wound. The monster got on his hands and knees just before returning to his previous stance—sickening contortions and all. Christ, what a horrifying creature this guy was. He reminded me of a spider—a giant, deformed, man-eating spider. No matter; I was already up on one knee, waiting to squash this freak. And when he faced me, he faced both me and my lovely Cattleman.

“My arm is still perfectly attached to my body.”

I squeezed the trigger.

With a loud “Blam!”, a .45 Colt hollow-point pierced through his left calf muscle.

The imposter wailed loudly as he once again fell to the floor. This time, however, he didn't immediately get back up. Actually, he didn't get up at all; he just started convulsing on the floor like an epileptic. I lowered my weapon and watched his body, waiting to see what this freak's next move was gonna be. As he jerked around on the floor, he began making noises that made this task much more nerve-wracking than it already was. It sounded like he was screaming, but every so often that scream would transition into yet another one of his awful laughs.

My heartbeat felt like a bass drum being ferociously kicked by a coked out musician. Was he gonna attack me again? Or was one bullet enough for him to get the picture? Was he actually hurt? Or was he just fucking with me? Surely he ain't done for already. One bullet to the leg? Really? Something ain't right here.

Ten seconds passed.

He was still jerking around on the floor.

Fifteen seconds passed.

He was gasping for air, eyes switching from facing the ceiling to facing the back of his eye sockets.

Twenty seconds passed.

“All HUManITY ENDS, GengHIS BOY! IT WILL BE OUR HANDS THAT MAKE YOU FALL!”

Twenty-five seconds passed.

Leroy's hands were slapping the floor hard enough for it to echo in the empty gas station.

Once thirty seconds passed, he rolled onto his stomach and stopped moving. Myra stayed firmly grasped in my hand, ready to come back up if necessary. Regardless of who I was looking at now—if Leroy was back in control or not— I knew the shot from my revolver wasn't going to be his undoing. Would it potentially cripple him, rendering his left leg completely useless from here on out? Possibly, yeah. But it certainly ain't gonna kill him; not unless he somehow bleeds out...despite being shot in his goddamn calf muscle and not, say, his femoral artery up in his thigh. I mean shit, I'm the one more likely to bleed out here!

After one of the slowest minutes I've ever experienced in my entire life, Leroy finally popped his head up with a loud gasp. I quickly got back to my feet and aimed the revolver at his face. He didn't notice me at first, instead frantically looking all around the room. Left, right, up, down, zig-zag left—basically every possible direction that wasn't directly in front of him all while breathing like he'd just dived fifty feet into the ocean and come back up for air. “Huh—wha...” He quickly wiped his knuckle against his lips...and then looked down to examine said hand once he realized that there was something red and wet there. “What—what's...” It wasn't until he looked directly behind him that the sharp pain in his leg finally registered with him.

“What's—oh god!” He tilted his head down a bit, letting out another loud gasp once he noticed the gaping hole in his leg. “My...god! What in Danu's name...” The panic in his voice was clear as his shaky hand reached down to touch his wound. “Wh-What in Danu's name happened?!” The psuedo-Irishman eventually turned to look at me as I continued to point my gun at him.

I stared at him intensely, pulling the hammer down with my thumb and resting my index finger on the trigger. Judging by both his voice and his reaction to his gunshot wound, I knew that I had defeated the monster that held Leroy captive. But for how long? And was the beast really gone? Because I don't know about you, but I find it very hard to believe that one shot from a .45 Colt was enough to kill a demon.

After being met with Myra's barrel, his gaze shortly returned to his leg wound.

Then he looked at me again.

Then back at his leg.

Once Leroy looked at me the third time, he yelped loudly—the realization finally dawning on him.

“Wha-What did you do, Genghis? What the fuck did you do?!” I continued to stare at him as my fingers pressed themselves harder into my forearm. “Are you here with me, Leroy?” He squinted at me, horror etched onto his face. “Wh—what?” I tightened my grip on Myra, clenching my teeth as a response to both the pain I was feeling and the overall frustration from this entire situation.

And unfortunately for me, my tone of voice meshed with my fear and anger all too well.

“I said are you fuckin' here, you stupid sonuvabitch! Are you here with me now, o-or do I gotta pop a bullet in that thick motherfuckin' skull of yours this time?!” Leroy's eyes shut tightly as a short wail of pain escaped from his mouth. “I-I don't e-even know what you're talking about! Just—sweet Danu almighty—why did you fucking shoot me?!” I took two quick steps closer to him. “Until you prove to me that you're the real Leroy Barris, I'm the only motherfucker that's allowed to ask any questions around here!”

His eyes opened again, his panting now slowing down.

“The…“real” Leroy Barris?”

Taking a chance, I let go of my wound long enough to show him the damage he caused.

“How do you think that blood got on your mouth, huh? Whose blood do you think it is?”

After witnessing my blood spurt onto the floor, Leroy began to furiously scrub his mouth with the palm of his hand, rubbing his fingertips against his tongue as well as his now normal-looking teeth. As soon as he pulled his hand away to examine the damage, his jaw dropped. “Ooo-oh my f-fucking...” A strong gag interrupted his moment of clarity and he quickly turned his head to the right so he could vomit all over the floor. As he did this, I quickly grabbed the wound again in the attempt to stall the bleeding. He spent a good minute or more purging my blood from his system, eventually stopping once the retching no longer made him feel better.

“So allow me to ask you just one more fuckin' time. Are. You. Here. With me?” Leroy stared at his puddle of puke, completely speechless. “Leroy.” No response. “Leroy.” I got back down onto my knee, but continued to hold my injured friend at gunpoint. “Tawlk to me.” My words came out a bit softer than they had been, though there was still a degree of sternness to my tone. Nevertheless, Leroy still didn't respond to me. His eyes just remained on the sick that escaped outta his body, his mouth apparently wiring itself shut to prevent anymore from forcing itself out. The look on his face was one that I could only describe as belonging to a man who has just realized that this has been the grand-daddy of bad days. I could only imagine the massive influx of thoughts swarming his head like a bee hive.

He lost control.

A foreign power stole his body—held his mind hostage.

It damn near cost me an arm.

It damn near cost him a leg.

And, had the demon decided to test the waters even further, it would've cost him his life.

…

But even with all of this in mind, I couldn't really tell where exactly his head lied.

Was Myra's kiss truly the deciding factor in whether or not he woke up?

Or was Leroy simultaneously fighting the beast deep inside his subconscious?

He didn't seem to know what I was talking about when I brought it up.

Of course, it's highly possible that he does know, but he's just too rattled from the experience to properly discuss it.

I'll know one day, for sure...but I know damn well that today ain't gonna be that day.

So for now, I'm just glad he survived through it all.

I sighed at the bittersweet sight before me and lowered my weapon. “This place is bound to have some first aid lyin' around somewhere. Lemme go find it and I'll patch up that leg of yours.” The second that I tried to lift myself back up, a sudden wave of nausea hit me—making my lingering dizziness even worse. C'mon Genghis, we don't need you upchucking too. Just take a deep breath, close your eyes, don't make any sudden move—

“With all due respect, I think it's you that needs the medical attention.” I shook my head and opened my eyes slowly to see Leroy looking my way again. “I'm fine, man. Doan worry 'bout me.” He raised an eyebrow. “Genghis, your complexion is looking more pale with each passing minute.” Honestly, I wholeheartedly shared his concern. I really wasn't feeling too good at the moment, and the fluid coming out of my arm was starting to run down my hand and muddy up Myra's sleek burgundy grip.

But I got this.

The worst mistake Leroy, or really anyone could possibly make is underestimating yours truly.

Like I said a little while ago, Genghis Boy is a very hard guy to kill.

“Wait here. I'll be right back.” I rushed toward the cash register at the forefront of the built-in diner, decocking Myra and stuffing her back into my waistband. “First aid, first aid...” Wasting no time, I slid over the counter-top and squatted down so I could search through every single drawer and cabinet that I could find. My luck, most of the shit I found was just that; shit.

Unopened packets of bubble gum scattered around a pair of headphones.

Batteries, most likely dead.

Wads of chewed up bubble gum sticking to the walls of each space.

Empty Coca-Cola cans.

More bubble gum lying around.

A couple Tootsie Rolls.

An entire bowl full of nothing but more bubble gum.

I punched the cabinet door, thoroughly frustrated by the heaping pile of bullshit before me. “Gotta be a goddamn fat, buck-toothed motherfucker runnin' this fuckin' shit sho—” Suddenly, a beautiful sight caught my eye. In the bottom right cabinet—all the way in the far back—something metallic shimmered behind a mountain of sugary teeth rotters. Hopeful, I shoveled the stale candy outta there like I were rowing a boat away from a hungry shark. And with each piece of bubble gum that came flying out onto the floor, the detail in my prize became that much clearer.

In no time, she was completely exposed to me. Her weathered, but clean metal coat. A forest green cross, front and center on her bosom. Her handle up high, as if she were waving at me—giving me a kind “Hello”. Angels sang in my ears. I could've cried if Leroy weren't waiting for me to mend his leg for him. Practically foaming at the mouth, I yanked the box and held it against my stomach.

“Ha—ha ha! I-I found it, Ler—”

“Interesting.”

…

My entire train of thought completely stopped as I heard the tell-tale voice of evil. My eyes widened and the first aid kit dropped to the floor with a loud “Clang!” I quickly whipped out my revolver and stood up. My eyes focused themselves on Leroy, who was still laid out on the floor. He didn't notice me, preferring to focus mostly on his own worsening wound pain. With a sickening laugh making itself heard loud and clear, I pointed the gun at him.

“Interesting!” The hairs on the back of my neck stood as I paid extra attention to my friend's actions. “For such complicated creatures, man sure is easy to disarm.” The voice sounded similar to the one Not Leroy spoke with, though it was less distorted and much easier to understand. “I should've known better than to question Sister on her wisdom, but my dreams made it too hard to resist!” I could hear the voice, but I couldn't see him speaking the words. His mouth was open, but his lips remained still.

Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

This voice...this voice wasn't coming from Leroy.

And, from the look of it, he most likely wasn't even aware that someone was talking.

No sir.

This track was playing exclusively inside my head.

The first time this has happened since I departed for Casa do Diaño one month ago.

“W-Who are you?” I whispered, still pointing the gun at Leroy. The demon laughed again, making the insides of my brain tingle. “Is that really so important to you, boy? Is knowing who I am really going to help ease your nerves?” My vision began to blur, head feeling light as a feather. The moonlight coming from outside the gas station made my eyes feel like they were being pricked with needles.

I was losing far too much blood.

My body was begging me to save myself.

If my prior experience dealing with Zombie Bastard taught me anything, it was that demons love wasting your time.

And I was fresh out of time that I could afford to waste.

So on that note, I made it point to ignore anything else the vile bastard had to say and I re-holstered my weapon. I grabbed the metal box, climbed over the counter, and rushed back over to the downed Leroy. Just as I reached him, I fell down to my knees with a pitiful yelp, dropping the box in the process. The sudden noise made him jump, his breaths now coming in slow and coming out fast. “Careful! There's no need to trip over your own feet for me!”

I coughed loudly, unamused by his attempt at humor. “Was intentional. Doan you wawrry 'bout me. Lemme just fix you up.” After a few breaths, I reached out to grab the first aid kit. However, Leroy decided to push my hand away and grab it himself. “Genghis, you've had to have lost at least two—possibly three pints of blood by now. We're not doing anything with my leg until that arm wound is properly treated.” I shook my head and yanked the box away from him. “Your leg is gonna have to be fuckin' amputated if you keep arguin' with me over this.”

He stole the kit again. “I'd rather lose my leg than lose my best friend.” I growled loudly, once again taking the box from him. “Fuck off, alright?! I ain't gonna die! I'm gonna fix us both up—get us both back in fightin' shape! You just gotta let me work!” He grabbed my face with both of his hands and pulled me close enough for the tips of our noses to touch. “Listen to me, you stupid oaf! If you continue bleeding all over this gas station, you absolutely will die. Yes, you will. You will die. And guess who's going to have to break the news to Heidi that the father of her children died because he refused medical treatment. Because he was too prideful to admit that he needed help—too selfish to consider how his death may affect the ones who love him!”

I bit the tip of my tongue.

He brought Heidi into this.

Reminded me that she was at the hotel, waiting for my safe return.

Counting on my safe return.

…

Fuck this guy.

I glared at him with gritted teeth and shoved the box into his chest. “Get on with it, then.” Leroy let go of me and nodded his thanks. “First, we have to stop the bleeding...somehow.” He opened the box and anxiously rummaged his fingers through the contents. “Once that’s done, I imagine we’ll need to clean the wound as much as we can so it doesn’t get infected.” He pulled out a number of objects, presumably in pursuit of finding something that he could use as a tourniquet like a thick cord. “Once we do that, we’ll bandage up the wound...” Suddenly, he turned the entire box upside down and dumped the remaining contents onto the floor. “I just hope I can...find something. Anything!”

The tone in his voice made me very nervous.

It was becoming clear to me that this guy ain’t ever treated a serious wound before.

Or he just wasn’t paying attention to all the bandages, tape rolls, and cloths that fell right next to us.

It’s okay, Leroy—don’t waste your precious time taking details into account or anything.

I’m just bleeding to death, is all.

“Dude—Leroy! There’s literally medical tape lyin’ right there beside the bottle of Tylenol!” “Shh. His goddess tried once before to teach him the importance of self-sufficiency and failed. He’ll never figure it out if people keep coaching him all his life.” Oh, fuck me running. I shook my head hard, trying to get the voice to leave me alone. “Self-sufficiency my ass! I’m dyin’ here!” “And what’s wrong with that? If it takes the death of cherished friend to teach him, then I say it’s what’s best!” I let out a pained cry, clenching my fist. “Fuck you! It ain’t your decision!”

“What isn’t my decision? What are you on about?!”

Leroy's voice.

Yeah, I'm sure that's who was talking to me.

“You need to calm down, boy. Too much stress is very detrimental to one’s psyche. Why don’t you just close your eyes and sleep?” I shook my head again. “I-I doan wanna sleep! Stop tellin’ me to go to fuckin’ sleep!” “Nonsense. Is the position you're in presently a comfortable one? Or would you prefer something easier on those legs of yours?” I shook my head one more time, this time much slower as my senses began to shut down one by one. Touch, sight, speech. “Never...I’ll never go to...go to…”

“Genghis?”

“That's it. Nice and easy. Rest those eyes and get the slumber you deserve.”

Everything around me was an abstract blur.

Just floating blobs of color.

…

It was like a painting, almost.

“Genghis, talk to me!”

Before I knew it, my hand that had been holding onto my wound released its grip.

My arms dropped to my sides, my body falling forward.

“No! Don't give up now! Just hang on!”

My face hit the floor, my consciousness barely hanging by a thread. All outside noises were shuffled somewhere within the obnoxious ringing in my ears. The extent my eyes were able to see was through my peripherals, which currently saw Leroy desperately scrambling to resuscitate me. He slapped my face and tried to shake me awake. I knew that he was doing this because I could still faintly see him in the act of doing it. But I couldn't feel any of it. No sting from his smack. No disorienting sensation from being shook.

Nothing.

I was a goddamn vegetable. It reminded me of back when I used to pop Lithium on a carefully scheduled basis. Yeah really; a carefully scheduled basis. Roy used to leave me little notes on the bathroom mirror every morning before he left to go to work. They'd always be addressed to “Our Fearless Ruler of Mongolia” and he always wrote the same thing on each note:

“Be sure to take your medicine at 1:00 sharp! We love you and don't want to see you tear yourself apart! We'll be thinking of you!

-Your Loyal Soldiers”

He used plural pronouns in all his notes, but I knew damn well it was just Roy. It was always just Roy. My own father didn't even care enough about me to make sure I was taking care of myself. Then again, to be fair to him, my mother cared even less about me; she was sick of me only after a few lousy months. Either that, or she died somehow.

Was it cancer?

Suicide?

Did my old man beat her to death and dump her body into the Hudson River?

I guess I’ll never know.

Guess I’ll never fucking know.

Leroy was now shoving his hands into my pockets. I don't know what he was searching for, though. What could my pockets possibly provide for him? All that was in them was my cigarettes, lighter, and wallet. Wallet...this bastard wasn't trying to loot my corpse, was he? Newsflash Bucko, I ain't dead yet. Maybe close, but I'm still alive and kicking.

Yes...alive and kicking like my kids will be in a couple months time. My babies...my precious babies. Daddy will be there the day you're born, okay? He'll be right next to your mom, holding her hand while she pushes you both out of her body. Your beautiful, wonderful mother. If you're girls, I hope you look just like her; have that same gentle soul she has. If you're boys, I hope you don't make the same mistakes I made. Just because your old man is a dirty rotten criminal don't mean you need to be, too. Of course, I'll understand if you feel like you must follow in my footsteps.

After all, nobody knows how much the world and life in general sucks more than I do.

I mean look at me.

I can't do anything but sit here and wait for my final breath to escape through my lungs.

…

…

No.

I can't die.

I won't die.

Not today—not ever!

You hear me?!

…

…

“We're almost there, Genghis. Please...j-just hang on a wee bit longer. I'm sorry about all of this. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.” My eyes suddenly widened, feeling finally returning to the muscles in my face. “Wha...I-I...h-hear?” Yes, I heard Leroy's voice. I could hear the subtle sniffling in his tone. Leroy Barris was crying. I heard it. The ringing in my ears was gone. Not only that, but I could feel him wrapping his arms around my torso in a rather tight embrace once I spoke to him. “Thank the almighty mother herself! Oh my God—I can't believe it worked! It worked!”

I sat there dumbfounded as I slowly eased my head back up. “Wh-What…” My eyes shifted downward, taking note of the large wet spot bled into the upper portion of Leroy’s shirt. Breaking a sweat over me, I see. Though I assumed the largest bulk of the sweat had rolled down his chest, as there was the unmistakable feeling of my wife-beater sticking to my torso. Or maybe I was sweating, too? I wasn’t too sure.

“What...you steal from...pocket?” He pulled away from me and gave me a confused look. His eyes looked like he had just chopped up a dozen onions in a row and his breathing was labored. I could tell he was still in pain from the gunshot wound in his leg. The injury had been open for so long that I feared I'd have to do the unthinkable and hurt him even more. That thought, plus the fact that he once again had to help me with something due to my lack of supernatural powers, made me want to go on a murderous rampage throughout the entire goddamn island. But I said nothing to him about it.

Instead, a brief moment of silence passed before he burst into heavy laughter.

“I stole nothing, my friend! I just needed your lighter for a quick moment, that's all!” I cocked an eyebrow, my expression otherwise unchanging. “Why? T-Thinkin' of stealin' one of my smokes or somethin'?” He shook his head. “Of course not! I needed it for cauterizing your wound.” I tilted my head, my eyes widening again. “You burned my arm?” He laughed again, slapping my shoulder. “Relax! It was the only way I could stop the bleeding.”

I looked at him for a moment before holding my arm up so I could examine the work he'd done. By the look of it, he had bandaged the entire lower portion of my arm—starting from the webbing in my hand that separated my index finger from my thumb and stopping right at my elbow. I gave the cast a few squeezes in various spots to see how many layers he put on me. Overall, it wasn't too tight on me, but I could definitely tell that he went a little nuts with the gauze pads around the area of my wound.

“Now quiet down and eat this.” Leroy handed me a granola bar, still in its wrapping. “It will help you regain the proper blood flow needed to get you back to feeling healthy again.” My tongue clicked the roof of my mouth, my taste-buds picking up on a particular taste. Tangy, crisp, hint of cranberry. I guess the dampness on my chest wasn’t sweat after all. And just one look toward the store portion of the gas station confirmed my suspicion. Shit was trashed from here all the way past the entrance—merchandise lying on the floor, opened cartons of juice sitting in pools of spill, and random blotches of life essence scattered on the floor. Needless to say, none of that was there before all this demon bullshit began.

Stupid, stupid bastard.

How long was I even out for?

“So no stitches, then,” I commented as I removed the wrapper from my snack, “No tourniquets, even. You just immediately resorted to settin’ my fuckin' arm on fire.” I took a bite out of the granola bar while he let out a quick sigh. “C'mon, Genghis. I was never really good at sewing up m'holes in m'trousers, let alone sewing up somebody's skin.” I snickered at his accent coming out so abruptly and took another bite. “Same. I'd stitch a fuckin' sailboat into somebody before I could actually close their flesh wound.”

Speaking of…

I quickly scarfed down the rest of my snack and tossed the wrapper over my shoulder. “Now do me a favor and shut the hell up while I treat that leg of yours.” Leroy chuckled nervously. “Are you...are you about to stitch a sailboat into my leg?” I shrugged casually, trying to keep my cool as I fished through the first aid kit. “As long as you've dicked around without any treatment, I'd try it if it means not havin' to deal with the responsibility of sawin' off your leg and replacin' it with a wooden plank.” I looked up at him, grinning weakly. “You know, like the pirates do. Call yah Captain Righty and give you a parrot called Lefty, named after the lovin' memory of your bipedal days.”

Leroy scoffed, though a hint of a smile was creeping onto his face. “Fuck you. You aren't funny.” I grabbed a pair of tweezers as well as the used bottle of hydrogen peroxide. “Yeah, well neither is getting shot in the leg.” I attempted to slide myself over toward his lower body, but stopped halfway as yet another wave of dizziness hit me. “Whoa, shit.” I held my head down, taking slow breaths. “Easy,” said Leroy—soft yet authoritative, “You’re still not fully recovered.”

No shit, Sherlock.

You act like I don’t know that Death just kissed the tip of my dick due to demons controlling your body.

I shook my head, grabbed the injured leg, examined the wound, and whistled loudly. “Damn, Leroy. That .45 round really did a number on you.” That, my friends, was a massive understatement. From the size of the hole I was looking at, he's lucky Myra was feeling merciful and didn't just blow the leg clean off his body! At least the tissue around the wound didn't have any discoloration forming, nor was there an exit wound on the other side. This was good news; it meant that if his bones did take any damage, it was very little. Either way, it appeared to me that amputation wasn't going to be necessary today. A quiet sigh of relief escaped from my nostrils.

“Will you be able to get it out?” I grunted a quick “Mmhm” as I unscrewed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and dabbed a small amount onto the tweezers. “The worst the bullet could've done is pushed the ripped fabric of your pant leg into the muscle. Once I pull it out, we'll clean the wound, close it, bandage you up, and viola! You're good to limp around the desert again.”

Leroy let out another nervous chuckle. “I-I meant the bullet, Genghis. Can you get the bullet out?” I stopped what I was doing and looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. “What bullet?” His eyes widened as he tilted his head in confusion. “The bullet you shot me with.” I shook my head, cackling in amusement. “There ain't a bullet to get out, dude! Revolvers ain't like standard semi-automatic pistols. They doan spit out brass when they fire. The cowboys from back in the Ol' Wild West used to save money by just ejecting the empty brass from the cylinder and reusing it for reloading.” He gave me an inquisitive look, but didn't say anything. I took that as him wanting to hear more, so I continued explaining as I leaned back down and held his leg in place.

“Besides, Myra's bullets are hollow-point. Meanin' the pellets doan scatter too much when they hit their target.” I lowered the tweezers into his open wound, gently pushing away the exposed tissue. “You see, hollow-point bullets are intended to be “kill shots”. They ain't like shotgun shells or rat-shot rounds. Myra's babies are meant to kill a man quickly and cleanly, not slowly and sloppily.” Once I located the torn piece of fabric bunched up into the fatty tissue, I inserted the hydrogen peroxide-laced tweezers deeper into his leg. “I purposely shot a non-fatal area of your body. So all the powder from that .45 round will probably be dug into...this thing.” I quickly clamped the fabric and pulled it from his leg. He yelped at the sensation, which resulted in him jerking his leg away from me.

I grabbed his leg again, this time tightening my hold on it. “Look, I know this shit hurts. But you gotta stay still so I can hurry this up.” Leroy bit his lip, groaning loudly. I took the opportunity to drop the bloody piece of clothing onto the floor and take out a couple cotton-balls from the first aid kit. “Alright, so that's done. Now we clean and disinfect your wound.”

Leroy turned his head around to watch me as I dabbed the cotton-balls with hydrogen peroxide. “I'm guessing you've done this before, Genghis?” I shrugged, not looking at him. “I dunno, have you ever tended to an arm wound before today?” He chuckled lightly. “No. I admit you were my first.” Yeah, I kinda figured. A covert smile formed on my face while I leaned down once again. “I know who to complain to if I start itchin' or if yellowish-green pus starts leakin' from my bandages, then.” I pressed the soaked cotton-balls against the hole in his leg.

He gasped loudly. “Oh my dear God! Oh...God!” I rolled my eyes. “Man, stop bein' a pussy. You didn’t see me cryin’ when you doctored up my arm, did you?” A few quick breaths escaped from his mouth and nostrils. His response came after beating his fist against the floor once. “I'm not dying at the moment. You were.”

I sighed heavily.

Here's hoping this sonuvabitch forgets about that within a few months time.

“Yeah, well I ain't dead. So you gotta quit jerkin' around so I can fix you up.” I removed the cotton-balls and looked into the first aid kit, where Leroy had apparently stuffed my lighter by mistake. The same lighter I've used on numerous occasions to enjoy a much needed smoke. The same lighter that I've used to light candles on nights where me and Heidi enjoyed each others’ company. The same lighter used to cauterize the wound on my arm. The same lighter that saved my life.

…

The same lighter that saved my life.

Saved my life.

Stopped Genghis Dillinger Boy from meeting his untimely demise.

Stopped him from dying.

…

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm my nerves.

My next words came out in a hushed whisper.

“Thank you for not lettin' me die, man.”

I remained silent and in thought for a moment before slapping myself once in the face and yanking the lighter from the box. Once I turned around, I was met with Leroy's gaze. His eyes were soft and his smile was even softer. I guess he heard me. Shit. Well, at least I don't have to make things extra awkward by telling him again.

“Anyway,” I said, trying to change the flow of the conversation, “it's time to close up the wound. You already burned me, so I gonna safely assume that you doan mind if I repay the favor.” Leroy shrugged slowly, a hint of reluctance in his body language. “It's either that or you stitch a sailboat into my leg, I guess.” Seriously, why do I even try to tell jokes around this guy? He either laughs like a jackass or starts repeating the same joke over and over again! But alas, I just grinned and clicked the lighter. The trusty flame stood tall and strong, never threatening to flicker out thanks to the tight hold my thumb had on the tiny wheel. I grabbed the tweezers again and held them directly inside the fire.

“You never answered my question, by the way. The one about you having done this before.” No, I didn't. And yes, it was completely intentional. “Why does that matter? You said yourself that you ain't ever treated a wound until today.” Once I was starting to see the tweezers light up a bit, I killed the flame on the lighter. “I know that. But you seem to have a...startlingly high amount of knowledge regarding gunshot wounds.” I bit my lip, lowering myself down again to make the big sizzle and crackle. “Sure. You seen my weapon, right?”

Before he could further interrogate me, I pressed the burning hot metal against his torn flesh.

As expected, he screamed loudly at the contact.

“Sweet mother of...fuck!” Leroy grabbed his short hair and tugged it, trying to cope with the agonizing pain. I seared the entire outer ring of his injury, gradually slowing the bleeding down more and more. As I did this, I gently tugged his skin to see if anymore blood would flow out. Once it got to the point where nothing else was leaking from the leg, I dropped the tweezers onto the floor and reached for the first aid kit again.

“Okay! Once we bandage you up, we'll be done here. Be sure to recommend Doctor Genghis to all your friends and family—and know that I take payment up front normally.” Leroy noticed my joke, but was only able to give me an incredibly weak, almost forced-sounding chuckle. Like his jokes are any better. I guess people tend to be critics when they've just had their legs scorched. He didn't say anything else while I wiped the remaining blood on his skin clean and pressed the gauze pads over his wound.

Unfortunately, this silence ended the moment I started wrapping the bandages around his leg. “Why don't you want to talk about your experience with gunshot wounds? You're always so trigger-happy and violent. I figured you’d be all for telling me stories about some close encounters you’ve had.” I looked over at him, grilling him harshly. “There's a difference between shootin' and bein' shot, Leroy. It's okay when you're the one bringin' the pain—not so much when you're the one receivin' it.” He sighed, turning his head to face me just before dropping the million dollar question.

“Who shot you?”

I swallowed my incoming breath. “Nobody, alright? New York City is just a very...very brutal city. Lots of violence all day, every day.” He continued staring me down, unsatisfied with my answer. “I grew up there, remember? I saw all sawrts of shit as a kid!” More intense staring. “What do you want me to say, Leroy?” His eyes remained glued onto me, expression never changing.

“I want you to tell me who shot you.”

I glared at him, completely silent. How on Earth could I word this so this conversation wouldn't get any more awkward than it already was? Why did he need to know this shit? What made him think for one single second that any of it was his business?

…

I sighed one more time before looking away from him and continuing to wrap up his leg.

“My old man.”

Leroy let out a loud “What?!” in response to the secret revealed to him. I nodded slowly and continued to work. “He's a lousy drunk. Always has been, always will be. He used to be much worse before Heidi and her dad moved in with us, though.” I reached down and severed the bandage tape with my teeth before fastening it to his cast. “He kept his old M1 Carbine from his boot camp days—considered it both his most treasured memory and his most disappointin’. He hated that he never got to fight in the war. Made him feel like he had nothin' else to offer his country.”

I put my supplies back into the first aid kit and closed it, bracing myself mentally for the retelling of memories I long since tried to bury into the deepest crevices of my mind. “The first thing he'd do after comin' home from work was crack open a cold one and sit down in his chair. I usually tried to avoid him when he was home, hidin' in my room—only comin' out when I absolutely had to.” I took a quick breath and tried to ignore the shakiness in my hands. “But some nights that didn't work. Some nights he'd kick my door in and yell at me. Call me a Dirty Red and throw shit at me, screamin’ for me to leave his country.” My breathing started coming out faster and unsteadier, the memory now clearer than a cloudless sky in my head.

…

Five year old me.

Standing in my room, back against the wall.

Charlie Brown kicking a football on my shirt.

Multiple Snoopys flying airplanes on my pajama bottoms.

Tears streaming down my face.

Urine trickling down my leg.

That fat sonuvabitch chucking silverware and plates at me.

Sometimes they miss and hit the wall—the plates shattering on impact.

Other times, they whack me and make me scream and cry harder.

I beg him to stop.

I beg him to stop…

…

“I...was just a boy. A little, helpless boy. I didn’t know what a Red even was.” I bit my bottom lip once the tell-tale sensation of tears began making its presence known in my eyes. “Most of the time he'd just grab me and beat me up, other times he'd pick up random objects lyin' 'round and hit me with those. Shoes, brooms, steel calipers—you name it. And a few times...” I shook my head, trying to keep my composure the best I could. “He'd t-take out that M1. A-And he'd...and he'd...”

Leroy laid his hand on my shoulder.

“It's okay, Genghis. You don't have to say anymore.”

His voice was quiet and irritatingly gentle. Seriously, why did this prick have to push his luck like this? Why? I continued looking away, refusing to look at him until the wetness rolling down my face was finished. I took another quick breath right before taking a longer, deeper one. “Neighbors complained all the time about the noise, even calling the law on him a couple of times. He’d just pick me up and toss me in the shower while the cops questioned him in the livin’ room. They’d let him go with a slap on the wrist and leave...only to come back a couple nights later.” I put my face down into my hands, trying to halt the intense sobbing threatening to come out in full force. “It was a neverendin’ cycle, you know? This shit didn’t stop until some time after my eighth birthday when Roy and Heidi moved in. Dad promised them he'd cut back on the drinkin'. Sure enough, he did. He cut back on it for them.”

But not for me.

Never for me.

“I'm so sorry. I shouldn't of pried.” I wiped the tears off my face, a single whimper accidentally coming out. “N-No. No you shouldn't of.” An unintentional crack in my voice occurred as I said this, making me instantly clear my throat and smack my face two more times. Calm the fuck down, Genghis. We don't need Leroy seeing you cry like a bitch. He'd never let you live it down.

Never.

“Oh well.” I quickly stood up, subtly wiping my face on my cast. “Shit happens, I guess. Nothin' I can do about it but move on, you know?” I looked up at the ceiling, took one more deep breath, and turned to look down at Leroy. “Let's get you back on your feet so we can get the hell outta here.” I held my hand out, forcing out a smirk. “Before you decide you tear another chunk outta my arm.”

Leroy stared at me, examining my face. No doubt he was focusing on the bloodshot texture of my eyeballs, taking note of the remaining dampness in my sockets that I couldn’t just wipe away—not with him watching me. I knew I’d been figured out, but still I insisted on holding my smirk. After all, I’d rather him see my face after a good cry rather than during. After a moment, he let out a subtle sigh through his nose. “I...deserve that.” He grabbed my hand and I pulled him up slowly, catching him when he accidentally used his injured leg to hold his weight down. I wrapped my good arm around his waist so he wouldn’t fall over and he threw his own arm over my shoulders. “We should consider bringing that kit with us. You know, for the next time we nearly ki—”

A sudden flash from outside the gas station stopped us in our tracks. It started out relatively dull, but grew brighter within seconds. Once the light was closer enough, my ears perked up as a couple distinct sounds made themselves heard. Rolling tires. A running engine being turned off. A driver's side door being opened and quickly closed.

Somebody was here.

At this gas station.

With a car.

A fully operational car, at that.

Over toward the entrance of the gas station, the front door swung open. Entering was some chubby, Hispanic motherfucker wearing cowboy boots, bell-bottom jeans, a leather biker vest, and a forest green visor. I couldn't help but snicker. This asshole either needed help dressing himself, or he didn't know what fashion style he was feeling tonight. Was he trying to be a Tijuana drug lord? An Acapulco tourist straight outta the 1970's? Maybe he was a smuggler from Juarez that was trying to fit in with the “white” crowd. Or perhaps even an El Paso native that thought he was going on vacation to a tropical island!

I'm telling you, it was the most amazing thing I've ever seen.

The first thing he did upon entering the gas station was stop dead in his tracks and slap his hands against his face. “Dios mío! Lo que pasó aquí?!” He frantically looked around the room before turning to look at us. His jaw dropped. “Dios mío!” I cracked a huge, manic smile. I could only imagine what this guy was probably thinking. He was out in the middle of the desert in the dead of night. He stumbles across this old, run down gas station. The inside looks like it was hit by a hurricane. Two strange dudes are staring at him. Blood blankets the floor as well as their bodies.

It was almost Satanic.

Hell, what am I saying—it was absolutely Satanic.

Everything about it.

“O-Oye, maricas! Tu trabajas aqui?” Me and Leroy looked at each other and back at him. “Say what, señor?” He made a noise indicating that he didn't understand what I had said just before pointing a finger at me. “Y-You?” I pointed at myself, cocking an eyebrow. “What? You talkin' to me, pal?” The poorly dressed visitor then pointed over at the cash register behind us. “Y-You work? Ah? You work?”

Leroy shook his head. “No, we do not work here.” Mister Broken English nodded and held a hand up to his face with only his thumb and pinky sticking out; likely representing a telephone. “Buddy, if there's a phone in this dump then it sure as shit doan work.” He gave me another look and shook his hands. “No! Necesito hacer una llamada, estúpido cabrón!” I sighed and gave Leroy another look. “Look. I've had a bad day. You've had a bad day. Can I just kill this asshole so we can take his wheels and get the fuck outta this desert?” Without hesitating, he jerked his head toward the intruder.

“Be my guest.”

With that, I whipped Myra out and shot a hole in the drug lord-tourist-smuggler-El Paso local's head and watched him fall to the ground in all of his mismatched glory.