The Man From Mars - Episode Eighteen

   All I could think of, inside my head, was to say, oh shit.
   But worrying about a dire situation, or panicking because of it, won't help my circumstance. It would hinder my chance of survival.
   So I took a deep breath and slowly let it out, while he once again asked, "I would like your necklace now. The one with that nice gold bobble hanging from it."
   My fright subsided enough inside of me to where I could scan my assailant for flaws.
   Fingerprints? He didn't have to worry since he could easily explain those away by being the proprietor of the Inn.
   Residue from the gunpowder? He is wearing shabby old clothing with his gloves tucked inside the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
   Explosion of the gunpowder? The noise from the Beretta. Everyone in the complex will hear the noise!
   "Mister Backman. Are you not afraid of the neighbors hearing the gun shot and calling the police?" I wryly said to him.
   Keeping his finger on the trigger, he points the muzzle of the gun towards his face, looking down the barrel.
   "You know, you are right," he said bluntly. "That is why I brought along this."
   He sits forward slightly on his chair, giving him enough room so his left hand can reach into his pants pocket, pulling out a silencer. He holds it between two fingers for a second looking at, then quickly pops it on the 9mm Beretta.
   "There," he says. "That should make you feel so much better since you where so worried that I might get caught. Thank you for the reminder."
   Sometimes, I should keep my big mouth shut. But I kept on talking.
   "What about the mess? Your cleaning lady won't like all the blood everywhere." Was my comeback.
   "Again, you are right on the ball." Alfred Backman said smiling. "But I have been doing this for a long time Jeffery. I'm prepared to do it myself. Yet, I never had to. You want to know why?"
   "Sure," I said. Stalling for as long as I can.
   "Because I inject a syringe full of Quelicin into my prey." He said, like he was teaching me something.
    The look on his face is what scared me though. He looked like it didn't matter if he was killing people. It was just part of his business. And that business was relieving criminals of their cash.
   "Quelicin is a depolarizing muscle relaxant. It works by keeping muscles from contracting, which causes paralysis of the muscles in the face and those used to breathe and move."
   He was saying it like he was reading from a medical dictionary or web-site, while standing in front of class.
   "Without anesthesia, the people I inject it with, slowly stop moving, stop breathing, and stop living." He was really enjoying himself now, telling me his deeds of terror.
   "I can watch their eyes, as they realize they are about to die. And once death reaches them, the eyes become empty."
   If I had been closer to him, now would have been the time to make my move. He was in a slight trance. Looking upwards, like he was seeing his victims now, as they died.
   "Now you, Jeffery Povlich, are a different story." He abruptly looks at me, saying, "You still haven't told me how you've done it. How have you, in this day and age of the computer, manage to keep yourself off the grid?"
   It was a legitimate question. So I answered in a way that I hoped would scare him.
   "I am wanted by the Secret Service. They are circumventing the usual protocols, like getting a warrant for my arrest, and hoping to put me away in the deepest darkest cell they have, in some god-forsaken forgotten hole."
   He watched me for a few seconds, then said, "You're so full of shit. I'll find out who you are, later, when you're dead. By your fingerprints."
   "Well, that's if the Secret Service doesn't get here first. To arrest you for my murder." I said. Still trying to stall. "You've probably set off all kinds of bells and whistles at the Homeland Security fusion centers while searching who I was on the internet."
   "Please. Do you think I'm stupid?" He said flatly. "If you've been on the run from the Secret Service, and you haven't been caught yet by using the name, Jeffery Povlich, how would they put two and two together and say that is our guy?"
   "You used the facial recognition software at the police station." I replied. "Don't you think if they completely erased my identity from the public record, and some way-back, hoboken, hick of a town in Ohio is inquiring about my face, that the Secret Service isn't already on their way?"
   "You could be right Jeff. So, I guess I'd better make this short and sweet, and get rid of your body quickly."
   So much for stalling by talking. I just talked him into killing me quickly.
   He opened, with one hand, a glasses looking case sitting on the table behind him, that I hadn't noticed before. He pulls out a half full syringe, stands up, and starts to walk over to me, saying, "I won't hesitate to shoot you Jeff if you try anything. I'll take my chances with killing a fugitive in any court."

   Smiling, he came at me with the syringe leading the way. In case I went for his gun.
   If he stuck me with it, anywhere on my body, I would slowly be paralyzed, and stop breathing.
   Panicking, I yelled, "Halt!" holding up my right hand.
   He immediately froze in his tracks. But it didn't stop him from talking.
   "What is happening to me?" He looked confused when he said it. "What is happening?"
   He stood there, when I lowered my hand for a second, he took a step forward.
   I raised my hand up again saying, "Stop."
   He did.
   "I am going to kill you! He said, with less confusion in his voice and more with anger.
   "I am going to kill you, you piece of....
   I didn't let him finish. With my left hand, I pushed up, like I was pushing up on his hand with the gun, high into the air.
   It fired. Twice.
   Luckily, this Inn was a one level type of motel. So he shooting holes through his roof and not into another room full of occupants.
   Sweat was beading along his forehead and running down the sides of his face. His glasses started to steam up and his roundish head began to turn red.
   He looked at me with such hatred and anger that I thought his head would explode. But he kept on saying, "I am going to kill you, you piece of shit!"
   I couldn't think of anything else to do. I was still holding him in place with my right hand, so with my left, I maneuvered it like I was actually holding onto his hand with the syringe, and I started moving it towards his neck.
   The gun went off continuously until the clip was empty, and a few times more just to make sure I guess.
   Thank goodness the silencer was on or the police would have been here by now.
    I moved the syringe right next to his neck and paused. He again looked at me with so much hatred, I knew I couldn't leave him here alive. He would hunt me down.
   I knew it, but still I waited. Until he said it again.
   "You piece of shit. I am going to kill you.
   So I gave my left hand a little shove and the needle went deep into his throat. I squeezed my hand then and he pushed down on the plunger until all the fluid was out of the syringe.
   His mouth just dropped. There wasn't any anger in his eyes any longer, just fright.
   I let up on him and he collapsed. He knew he was going to die.
   I ran into the bathroom and started throwing up.
   I never killed anyone before.

To Be Continued...

Next Thursday,

This is,

Oh Man,

I Can't Even Wait Until Next Week With This Exciting Cliffhanger Keeping Me Hanging,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“For a storyteller, an open ending leaves much room for imagination; for the inquisitive reader, however, it is a source of great anxiety.”
- Joyce Rachelle -

 

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

 

Like what you are reading?

Set up my Blog as your Homepage,

or Sign up as a Follower,

or Leave a Comment,

or a Suggestion,

and I will answer you in a Post.

 

Thanks for reading.