PULSE
BY HORNS
for Brett Chalice and his sort

 Richard told me not to worry. He told me a lot of things just to comfort my—what he liked to call, overactive imagination—troubled mind. But this time I couldn't help it; I couldn't calm the pounding contractions of my heart and the intense throbbing of my arteries.

            "Why do you do this, Bai Ling?" he asked; I could see it in his face that he didn't believe me.

            As I watched him adjust his body in the driver's seat, I lifted up my pink summer dress and exposed my thigh revealing the spot where there were a few cuts in my flesh. There wasn't much blood, just a dot or two. I tried not to look at it again; It would make me sick to my stomach.

            I studied the change in his face when he happened to glance over and notice. "My god! You're cut!"

            He took his hand off the wheel and reached for my leg.

            I twisted in the seat and pulled the dress back down before he could touch me. I let my head hang and I began to cry. Fresh tears rolled down over dry ones and bled makeup. I felt him lovingly move away my straight, black hair, that was shielding my face from his view, with his fingers.

            "It'll be okay, Bai Ling. I promise."

            I crossed my arms tightly around myself.

            Richard was the only person I could turn to. Richard, my half-brother, was all the family I had left. He could always be counted on, even though I knew that I pestered and burdened him more than anyone should. This time, I came to him at three in the morning with one of my problems.

            He started the Ferrari 360 F-1 Coupe's engine and brought it out of his driveway in reverse. I stared at the light in one of his house's downstairs windows until it was out of sight.

            "How many times have I told you about this kind of thing happening? Shit," he said, and beat his fist on the door as he drove.

            I looked at him without words.

            "What is his name?" he asked looking ahead at the road.

            Still crying, I said, "You think I'm a whore."

            I envied him, his wife, his marriage.

            He looked at me honestly and replied, "No, Bai Ling. I don't. But I think your lifestyle—Well—It's—It's—" He shook his head and looked away. "Sex with strangers. Men that you just meet but haven't a clue about them. Well, it's very dangerous. That's all."

            I got angry with him for saying it, but I shouldn't have.

            "Well, Richard, I'm not like you. Not everyone can be so fucking righteous all the time!" I shot him a mad look, but only for a second. I knew in my mind that he was right and that I was wrong.

            He wasn't going to play along with my posturing. He knew me too well.

            "So, who is he?"

            "Just some guy," I answered, and saw him—out of the corner of my eye—make a disapproving nod. "Some guy named Christopher. Christopher Swain, or at least that's what he told me." As I spoke about it, my head spun with the disturbing images of what had taken place in my apartment. I got sick. My lungs felt as though they were being squeezed and my chest and head began to burn with stabbing pains. I quickly struggled with the window, lowered it, and then barfed into the night wind. I heard it splatter the passing roadway and knew, more than likely, that some of it had gotten on his car. I gasped and wiped my mouth, and the area around it, with my hand.

            Weakly, I asked him, "Do you have any wipes?"

            "Yes, in the pocket there," he answered and pointed to a small, dashboard compartment. I recognized the fatherly concern in his voice. After our parent's death, Richard had taken on a protector-role, and as much as I made a stand against him for behaving that way at times, in truth, I needed it . . . I wanted him to look after me, to safeguard me, now, more than ever.

            We stayed silent for a while, and he drove toward the city. The moon flashed in and out through the surrounding trees. I let my head rest back, trying to forget, trying to clear my thoughts.

            I must have dozed off because his voice caused me to jerk my head forward. Soon I realized that we were parked on the side of my street, in the exact spot: two buildings down from my apartment complex where my car had been parked before I'd driven it to Richard's house.

            "Bai Ling are you sure he's—"

            Richard couldn't say the word.

            "Yes," I said and nodded. I glanced in the side view mirror; I looked wrecked. I fiddled with my hair. "Yes, I'm sure he's dead, Richard. I'm sure of it."

            I could no longer contain my fear. I grasped his arm and cried out, "Richard, I'm in trouble! You have to get me out of here! I have to fly to Japan! I killed him, Richard! I killed that pig!"

            He embraced me, attempting to stop me from shaking and losing control. "Calm down. You must calm down. Listen." He forced me to look at him, lifting up my chin in his strong hand. "Self-defense. They will understand, Bai Ling. It was self-defense. You won't go to jail. You won't." His eyes were consoling.

            "Oh, Richard," I muttered, and fell into him — emotionally drained.

            After a moment, he gently pushed me away. At first, I resisted a little.

            "You're cold. I think you're sick. You stay here. I'll go have a look."

            "No! I want to go with you . . . I have to go with you!"

            "Bai Ling, I don't think—"

            He must have seen the horror in my eyes because he stopped talking, got out of the car, walked around to my side, opened the door and helped me out. He held onto my arm and led me down the sidewalk. I heard a dog's bark and instantly knew that it was Miss Miller's rowdy pet bloodhound. Miss Miller was one of my many uppity neighbors who lived on the first floor. I knew she'd probably be spying on us through her curtains.

            "Okay, let's go," he said, gesturing for me to take the lead. Richard had only been inside of my apartment once before.

            I climbed the creaking stairs, at a snail's pace, to the fourth floor with Richard following close by. The hall light was out, as always. At the end of the shadowy passage was a closed, bare window. My door was at that end. I stood, knees trembling, locked into place at the top of the staircase, unable to go any further.

            Richard touched my shoulder. "What's the number?"

            I looked blankly at his darkened face.

            "Your apartment number, Bai Ling. Come on." He shook me.

            "Um . . ." I shivered. "Four-E."

            He walked normally down the hall. I took baby steps.

            "Is it unlocked?" he asked, standing before the door.

            "Yes, " I whispered. Halfway down, I froze. I couldn't go back inside.

            "Stay here," Richard said.

            He opened the door and walked in.

            It only took a few seconds of aloneness to give me the creeps. I reluctantly edged my way toward the door. When I came to it, that's when I heard Richard call to me.

"Bai Ling come in here."

Fear and confusion tussled inside me.

"What—What is it, Richard?"

I stumbled forward into my apartment, looking desperately around to see what was the matter.

"Over here," Richard said standing just past the archway in the middle room, next to the bed. He had switched on the bedside lamp and I saw him waving me over. He was looking down at the floor.

"No, Richard! No!" I protested.

"Bai Ling," he looked up at me, "there's no one here. I checked each room. He, whoever he was, is gone."

I was stunned, completely baffled. I knew I had killed him. I just knew it. I rushed over to where Richard was standing. I looked down and on the carpet saw a dark pool of blood. Above it, on the blanket, there were splotches of the same — some of it was still dripping off the end of the material.

"Richard, he was dead!" I held my hands in front of my mouth. "I swear to you he was dead! I stabbed him, Richard! He was trying to kill me and I stabbed him! Oh, Richard!"

Richard grabbed me and held tight.

"I know, I know, it's gonna be alright. It's gonna be alright."

"Maybe he's still alive," I said in a shaky, sorrow-filled voice, "but I don't know how—"

"Hush. Let's just get out of here for now and talk it over. We need time to think clearly."

As he escorted me toward the front door, a shadow fell from the ceiling directly above us. Something blocked our way out. Richard and I both tumbled backward. I fell against the loveseat. I heard Richard scream my name. Dazed by the sudden turn of events, I clutched on to the furniture and managed to pull myself up into a kneeling  position.

"Richard!" I shrieked.

"Leave her alone!" It was Richard's voice. I followed the sound of it and located him, rising to his feet, a good distance away in the middle room.

Then I felt someone standing over me. I looked over my shoulder and saw the unbelievable. It was him. Christopher Swain. The guy I'd brought home with me from the party. The creep who'd attacked me. The creep I'd stabbed in the chest. The same guy that didn't have a pulse when I'd checked before. Terrorized, I looked at his face. I saw his crazed eyes focusing in on me. He was bearing a maniacal smile. Incredibly so, the broken, wooden hammer—whose split wood had refused to support its head that I'd carefully attempted to tape into place a month or so before—was still piercing his naked, muscular chest. Still penetrating deep into his body, jutting out like some weird appendage.

I screamed.

"Bitch! You're going to pay!" the attacker growled. The sound of his voice was frightening.

I cringed in absolute horror. There was something about him, something about the way he looked, that wasn't natural.

I felt him grab my hair and yank. Fear numbed the pain.

"I . . . said . . . leave . . . her . . .alone!"

It was Richard. I turned just in time to see him rush past me. I felt the sudden release of the hands that held me and I knew that Richard was trying to save me. I jumped up and scrambled to the middle room. I heard a horrible groan. I prayed fervently that Richard would be alright.

There was motion.

I had to get closer.

I had to help him.

"Bai Ling."

My prayer had been answered; Richard spoke my name. He was okay.

I ran to him and we hugged.

The strangest sound came from the unmoving figure that Richard had protected me from.

"What the hell—" Richard exclaimed.

I looked to see what it was that he saw, and found myself staring down at a spectacle that I knew there'd be no logical explanation for. The wooden hammer had almost been pushed into the guy's chest far enough so to break out through his back. The guy's body was changing. The flesh was bubbling and fizzing. Smoke swirled into the air around it.

We took steps back.

Strange activity continued to ravage the body, until nothing but a quickly, drying slime remained. Minutes later, the last trace of it would vanish into the carpet. Nothing but the headless hammer lay in the spot.

We stood there what seemed like forever.

Eventually, we did leave.

Richard decided that he wanted to take me back to his place, wake his wife, Felissa, and then take me to the hospital. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. As we rode back out of the city I thought about how much trouble I had been to him over the years. Richard was the best. It was during that ride back that I made a promise to him that I'd change. I was going to make a better life for myself. I was happy; I still felt sick though. And that was just the problem now. I was really sick.

With my fingers I touched the side of my neck and closed my eyes.

I wasn't about to tell him that I didn't feel a pulse.

I'd promised him no more trouble.

The End.

©2001 Horns

Horns was born in Cincinnati, OH on December 29, 1969. His stories have been featured online at:Dreadful Dreams, The Writer's Hood (No-Wolf Publishing), Short Scary Tales (includes an interview), The Writer's InkWell, Dr. Casey's Cabinet, Death Grip Ezine, The House Of Pain and more.

He is the editor of "The Devil's Mouth", an on-line 'zine and his personal site can be found at: http://www.angelfire.com/in2/hornsweb