I Am Marcus Fox by Bryon Cahill

Author:Bryon Cahill
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Purple Dog Press
Published: 2019-05-07T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

11

Charlie was a likable enough fellow, for a psychopath. He lived in the bowels of a broken-down building in Bed Stuy, Brooklyn, just two blocks from the 3 Line. Upon entering a tight alley through a wrought iron gate, he led me down a short path to a pair of heavy, rusted red doors protruding out of the ground.

“Are you coming?” Charlie asked, unlocking the giant doors and throwing them open. I followed him down the stairs into the dark. The smell of mold was everywhere. Charlie flipped a switch, and the room filled with light and noise. It took a few seconds for my sixteen senses to adjust. (It was going to take some time to rebirth the other 1,644.)

“Welcome to the bat cave,” he said, all traces of humor lost.

“What is all this?”

“This, my newfound friend and companion, is my control center.”

It wasn’t terribly impressive. Several walkie-talkies lined up on a shelf were tuned to emergency channels. A small television set was tuned to News 12. The weather was on.

“Looks like no storms for at least a week,” he said. “That’s good.”

He went to the ratty, broken couch in the corner and took a seat. He didn’t offer me one.

“Why is that good?” I asked him.

“Less accidents when the skies are clear. Safe weather doesn’t necessarily mean safer drivers, mind you. But on sunny days, folks’ angels can watch over them better.” He winked. “Catch my meaning?”

Was he saying he was my angel? First he was my savior, now he was a soldier for the Lord?

As whacked out as I still was, I was at least able to see now that the man before me was unstable. I turned to go. I didn’t make it far.

“Where you going, Marcus?” Charlie crossed the room and impeded my path. I sensed a danger. Late. But at least there was still a part of me left — a glimmer of the hunter’s sharp acuity.

“Clear the road,” I said, ready to strike.

Charlie was too fast for me. At that point in my life, anyone would have been. He swung his left as a diversion and it worked. My fist shot up and stopped his punch. But as my better half struggled with his worse, his good arm flew out and wrung around my neck. He managed to twist me around and clasp me good.

“You need help,” he said as I withered away to nothing under his sleeper hold.

When I woke, I found myself a prisoner in a cage. It was immediately clear that my splitting headache was boss, and the boss was unrelenting. Pieces of my skull were throbbing to an unheard tune, and I felt every last thwomp.

I stumbled, slowly, to my feet. The bars held my balance. Through them, I saw my captor, sitting on a stool and smoking, not five yards away. Through the haze of pain, I tried to calculate how I could kill him. No plan came.

“This is your idea of help?” I asked. He was unmoved.

“It’s detox, Marcus.

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