On the third floor of the hospital, behind a locked door guarded by an overweight corrections officer who was busy reading the paper in a not-too-comfortable chair, lay Colten. His leg was immobilized and bandages covered most of his face. His eyes were sunk in black tar pits of bruises, his lips swollen and stitched.
He spent most of his time pulling at the leather arm restraints that held him down until his energy was gone. Once rested, he would start pulling again, convinced that with enough effort he would be able to free himself. But with each tug, the restraints would grip tighter, digging into his wrists. Torturing him.
His mind raced through his life. All the girls he had taken up to the cave. All the great times he had had.
His thoughts zeroed in on that one fateful turn of events. The second-guessing when he had his hand to Molly’s throat. All this was because of that. His mess-up, his rash reaction. If he had just killed her, he would not be here. He would be sitting behind the counter at the gas station, smoking a cigarette, basking in the aura of another soul snuffed out.
But no. He had hesitated, as if some unseen hand had slapped him in the head, filling him with doubt. He hated himself more and more because of this.
Colten pulled on the straps again. More out of frustration over this thought than the idea of escaping.
“You know you can’t break those, don’t you?” Seth said. He was standing by the closed door. His black shirt, his jeans . . . looking no worse for wear after his encounter on top of the mountain.
Anger filled Colten when he stared at the man. “You left me! Where were you?”
“I had my own business to take care of.”
Another pull on the straps. “This is your fault!”
Seth laughed. He walked over to the bed, grabbed a chair, and sat down. “My fault? Really?”
“You told me to go after that woman. In the cabin. You set me up!”
“I did no such thing.”
“You knew what would happen. You knew that Red would follow her back!”
Colten thrashed in the bed. The gunshot wound in his leg burned with intense pain and he stopped.
“Calm down, Cole. You need to settle down. It’s over.”
“Get me out of here.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Get these off me!” Colten screamed, pulling once again at the restraints.
Seth stood up. “No, Cole. Your part of this is done now. You served your purpose. You messed it up, but you still did what I needed from you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You stirred the pot up. Got folks thinking they should get back in the game. Can’t get things done if folk don’t want to cooperate. Yeah, you did enough to get ’em riled.”
“You used me? You used me!”
Seth ignored the question as he made for the door, leaving Colten shouting behind him.
“You can’t leave me here!”
“Yes, I can.”
“I can’t go to prison! I can’t sit there and wait to die!”
“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” Seth whispered, as he walked toward the door and dispersed through it.
Colten pulled yet again at the restraints. It was then that he saw it. Two black little legs reaching up to the sky over the white blanket covering his feet. They flexed, feeling the air, grabbing on to the cloth and pulling its body up. A spider, bigger than anything Cole had ever seen. He gasped, but his voice had left him.
It crawled slowly up his leg, feeling its way across crisp hospital linen. Inching closer with each stuttering heartbeat. The insect’s eyes staring into Colten’s, staring into him, licking its fangs. It crept on, up his thigh, his waist, onto his chest.
Colten flexed his arms, every muscle taut like Samson against the pillars of Dagon, but to no avail. The creature walked deliberately, up his neck. Its legs searching for Cole’s mouth, feeling their way, following the hot breath of his gasping lungs.
He could feel it pull itself into his mouth, clawing at his teeth, digging down inside him. He could not scream, he could not move.
He could no longer be.