Lucky: No Save Point
Some realizations come far too late. And even those realizations are as they should be. Lucky, a fragmented star, attached to a boy long before he was born. This merging was seamless, initially. But a traumatic incident caused him to split, in order to protect the boy. Now, decades later, they both come to the realization that Lucky was never meant to protect him at all. But there is no undoing the horrors that brought them to this point, nor what will happen next.
Rating: R - violence, strong language, death
POV: 1st person, present tense
Characters: Unnamed + Lucky (fragment of Star)
Setting: An old, quiet house in Pensacola, Florida.
Genre: Psychological thriller
Can't save 'em all. Can't save me. I gave up a long time ago, like Lucky always says. Hard to hear from my best friend, but he's right.
Damn, I wish he wasn't. I wish he'd try more. I wish I could feel whatever kinda love he said he feels, but what good would it do? I put him through damn-near everything, and I'm still askin' for more. Just like me, ain't it? A "weeping puta on life's sagging tit. Your feet are touching the floor, so why don't you stand on your own? Walk your ass to the light, chamo." Some way with words, the ugly fucker. But I think I'm gonna finally take that advice.
That look in his eyes says he knows. Dry. Cold. I'm used to seeing fire and cruelty there. 'Did you have fun with her?' He's askin'. My throat tightens, and my heart sinks right into my stomach. I should be used to the guilt — same old tactic he's been using for close to three decades. He knows I can't remember shit; he's the one with all the memories, and he won't let me have a single one. But it doesn't matter anymore.
He's lookin' a little different, today — fresh red stripes on his face. Must be her blood. And those red ribbons on his pigtails came from that dress she was wearin' when we...
'We?' He says to me. Right. When I...?
'You don't get to know, chamo.' By now, he woulda bashed my face on the table for tryin' to fish out the details. But he's still sittin' on the floor, by the sofa. He hasn't left that spot in two days, so where'd the blood come from?
'Come in here.' That's his voice in the bedroom. I must have taken too much again, because I'm looking right at him on the floor, still. But even so, why can't I move? Why's he staring at me like that? It's got my stomach in fist-sized knots.
'I said come in here, bombón. Stop talking to yourself.'
Bombón. That damn word is like a parasite on my spine; it can only mean one thing. And even still, my curiosity gets the better of me. By the time I get to the hall, there's a flicker that wasn't there before. Candles. Red candles, everywhere. On the floor, in the sconces, on the console, all leading to that room. If I didn't know better, I'd think he's being romantic.
I guess I don't know better, because I see him through the doorway. He's layin' on the bed, naked, covered in blood. If he's makin' a move on me, it wouldn't be the first time. But this time, ain't no rage in his eyes. No contempt. Just sadness.
'I'm not gonna hurt you,' He's sayin' to me, voice quiet as a mouse. All my life, he's concealed the truth, but he never told a lie. I appreciate him for that. And that's what gives me the courage to walk forward — to lay next to him and look him in the eye.
They're misty. Eyebrows pulled tight as a drawstring. For once, that sneer on his face ain't one of disgust; he's verging on tears. Haven't seen that since the first time I took a life. I was 18, then, and he still looked the same. Same tribal paint on his face. Hair parted right down the middle with those two long braids. Olivia's silent screams were a punch in my gut, but I couldn't stop. Her little face twisted in agony, until her eyes went still. The moment she stopped breathing was the last time he ever smiled at me with any kindness or warmth. And before that, he stopped laughing with any real joy; that got lost in the family basement. In the end, I'm just like Daddy.
I always wondered what happened down there. But now I know. It's in all those sad, empty eyes of green, just like mine. Etched in every 'just kill me,' soft or shrill, high or low. Sometimes, they didn't say anything. Sometimes, they made no noise at all, when I pushed the blade in. Dying was better than going back home; anything was. That's what they all said. I remember now. Why is that? And why can't I remember what happened to Daddy?
'He burned up,' Lucky's sayin' to me. That's right. He burned up... from the inside. How the hell did he burn up from the inside? When they dug him out from under the rubble, he didn't have a visible mark on him, save for the ash. But his insides were powder — no weight to him at all. What happened to Daddy?
Lucky, what did you to Daddy?
'You get to know everything, except that.' His voice is shaking. It's faint; I know he's at his breaking point. For years, I waited for this. I thought I'd relish in his tears, but I can't bear to see it — not now that I know...
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. My touch corrupts, yet even so, I touch the marks on his cheek with the backs of my fingers. His skin's soft and smooth against my banged-up knuckles. Even covered in blood, it's like he's got nothing on him.
His lips must be cold, the way they're tremblin', so I warm them up with mine. Who knew they'd be so sweet? If I did, I would have kissed him sooner. But no time's better than right now — holdin' onto each other like two ends of a shoelace. Is this all he ever needed? Support? Love? Every hit he took in this life was meant for me, and all I did was add body to the punches. Just like me, ain't it?
There's a crackle out in the hallway; it keeps gettin' louder and louder. The louder it gets, the stronger that rough, burning scent. Wood. Rubber. Plastic. It would be unbearable, if Lucky didn't smell so nice. The room's getting hot, and the fire's climbing the walls, but with his arms around me, I don't feel a thing, except safe. All my life, he tried to protect me, but I was always determined to run straight to the flames of a harsh, bitter truth I couldn't handle. Now here we are, wrapped in black smoke and tears. That dark grip squeezes my lungs like nothin' else. But I don't mind. It's about time I'm the one chokin'.
It's gettin' real dark now... real... quiet.
But if I close my eyes, there's a bright light. All this time, life's left nothin' but a sour taste in my mouth. But the kiss of death is sweet as honey. It's time to stand on my own two feet and walk my ass to the light.
Ain't that right, Lucky?
... Lucky?
Oh, Lucky. . .
. . . . . . .
Tonight, State Police have identified remains found in the rubble of a burned-down Pensacola home now linked to one of Florida's most notorious serial killers. Authorities believe ***** ***** to have been noneother than the Evergreen Killer, a man responsible for the kidnapping, torture, and murder of of 98 people across the state, 47 of whom were under the age of 12.