Station, стр. 2
"How did you find your way here, you little shit?"Shirley asked, his tone a strange mix of anger and fear tickledwith notes of bewildered curiosity. "And don't you dare fucking lieto me. Lies begat eyes here. You give me one, I take theother."
Hadder's mind began to spin. How could he explain tothis hillbilly interrogator the bizarre series of events, bothimagined and bafflingly real, that brought him to this place? Aplace that seemed suitable only for horror movie villains andfailed backyard wrestlers. How many sentences would he get inbefore that shaky blade pierced his eye and plunged deep into hisbrain? What did Shirley want or need to hear?
Pieces of responses, starts and stops, tore throughHadder's head like tornadoes of razor wire, faster and faster,turning his thoughts to mush until there was nothing, just an emptywhiteness that blanketed the world. It was then that Hadder spokewithout thinking, words that were not his own.
"I had a dream where I met God. He reached in toshake my hand, and I punched him in the throat. For this betrayal,he showed me a door. That door led here."
When the white blanket tore free, revealing realityonce more, there was no longer a knife swaying dangerously beforeHadder's face. Instead, it was buried deep into the damaged bar,just a few precious inches from Hadder's suddenly delicate lefthand.
Shirley had pulled back a bit but was still wearinghis scowl like a boa. Slowly, he let it slide off his shoulders,turned his head, and sent a foul-looking brown substance spinningtowards the dirty floor. Wiping his mouth with the back of onehairy arm, the smirk of a hunter who had just bagged his quarry litup Shirley's weathered countenance. It was enough to make Hadderlean back slightly; he hoped imperceptibly.
"Well, shit, that wasn't quite a dream now, was it,boy? Decisions were made, and now consequences need to be dealtwith."
"I don't understand," Hadder said truthfully.
"Yes, you do. You just don’t know that you do."Shirley began to limp back towards Hadder, his face brandishing asmile that was surprisingly more imposing than the knife he heldmoments before. "You were given a path, and you rejected it."Shirley's dirty finger was now acting as the blade's proxy, soclose that Hadder could smell that morning's Marlboros radiatingfrom it. "You were then presented with another path, and yourejected that, as well." Shirley's pointing finger transformed intoan upheld palm that flashed more than a few pale scars. "Now you'vebeen gifted one more. A last one. Show it to me." Desperationcurled up at the corners of his words.
Hadder almost asked. Almost played dumb. Almostinvoked the wrath of this relic of Americana. But they both knewwhat Shirley wanted to see. And they both knew that it laid at thecenter of this burgeoning relationship. So Hadder did the onlything he could; he reached into his pants pocket and retrievedit.
Hadder's right fist came up to hover over Shirley'spalm. He hesitated for just a moment before painfully opening hishand, letting the object drop into Shirley's possession, away fromhim for the first time since it came into his being. Shirley lookeddown but was unfazed by what he saw there, expecting it to appearno less than he would expect another cigarette to grace his lips inthe coming minutes.
Shirley limped over and held his hand under one ofthe few working lights, studying that which he now held - a smallkey. He ran his fingers over the dark, pitted metal. Brought it tohis nose for a deep inhale. Traced the crude etchings that adornedone side. Tongued the key's rudimentary teeth.
Slowly, Shirley turned back towards Hadder, thelight causing deep shadows to dance across his ragged face, fallinginto the ravine of a wide smile. "This is the real thing, son." Hisvoice had softened noticeably. "Please, tell me how it came toyou."
Disturbing memories rose to the surface. An ache inHadder's stomach like he subsisted on a diet of glass. A fountainof bile pours from his mouth, the toilet only partially catchingthe spray. A lump carried on the foul river lodges itself in histhroat, cutting off his access to sweet oxygen. A panic. Adesperate act. He slams his sternum into the corner of the sinkrepeatedly, bruising some ribs and cracking others. A release. Agrotesque ball of blackish, brownish, yellowish biomaterial swandives into the empty sink, rolls around like a salted slug beforecoming to rest. Hadder leans in, horrorstricken, to get a closerlook. He pokes at the ball with a trembling finger. It surrenders asickening sound, like a bullet being torn from meaty flesh, as arapid meltdown commences. An acrid smell of sulfurous vomit crashesinto Hadder, sending him back on his heels. He raises his hand todefend himself against the specter, foreign gases bending the lightin front of him. It dissipates quickly. Hadder inches forwardagain, hesitantly peers into the sink, where he sees it for thefirst time.
There is nothing special about the key, except forits biological origins. It's small and aged like it endured athousand thunderstorms. It's not fanciful, could very well comefrom a 1982 Civic or someone's backyard shed lock. Hadder picks itup for further inspection, emotions flashing too quickly toregister, from revulsion to curiosity to disappointment. He raisesthe key closer to the lone bathroom light, turning it slowly in anattempt to unveil all possible mysteries. None appear, save sixcrudely hewn numerals, one set of three atop the other.
Shock wearing off, Hadder begins to shiver, droppingthe key to the tiled floor. He turns on the sink's hot water, andsteam quickly fills the bathroom. Hadder forces his hands under thescalding water, cupping hands to splash his head, face, and neck inan attempt to cleanse himself of recent events. He rinses out hismouth and takes giant gulps, convinced that the liquid fire willconsume any alien residuals.
Several minutes pass, and Hadder is spent. Headstill buried in the sink, he turns off the water, collects himself.Hands holding onto opposite edges of