The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part V

by Steppen Sawicki

Novel: Horror

As he had spoken he had paced the room, hands flying as he raved, but as he finished he slid down the wall into a sitting position.  The story had been far more than I’d needed, in fact gave me none of the information I was sitting in this room for.  But for some reason, perhaps to learn what I was dealing with, perhaps just for Corrie’s sake, I had sat through it to the end without interruption.

As animated as he had been during the tale, just as still was he now, sitting on the floor and staring at no specific point across the room.

“That was an interesting story,” I said.  “But it doesn’t tell me where this…new man can be found.”

“You don’t want to find him,” Milo said in a voice like still water.

“But I do.”

“No you don’t!”  He leapt to his feet so forcefully that I was prepared to shoot him, but he slammed his palms to the wall behind him.  “You don’t want him inside your head, telling you what to do.”

“Then why were you going back to where you found him?”

Confusion crossed his face for a moment, and he sat down again.  “Because I had to,” he said in that flat dull voice.

“Because he told you to?  In your head?”

He shook his head.  He looked scared now.

“What?  Why did you go to Amnon’s apartment?”

“Because I could.  Because he had found me there.”

“But he didn’t tell you to go there?”  I was getting irritated now.  He had been so talkative about stalking and murdering Corrie but now I was pulling teeth.

“He told me to go somewhere else.”

It was my turn to leap to my feet.  “Where?”

“You shouldn’t go.”  He sounded weary, as if this conversation was draining his strength.  As if it was making him realize things he didn’t want to realize.

“Where, Milo?”

His shoulders sagged, his head was lowered between his knees.  He seemed to be thinking over some pros and cons.

“Where?” I pleaded.

“St. Patrick’s Church,” he said barely loud enough for me to hear.

I could have fist-bumped the air.  I walked over to the door, but then stopped.

“Milo, if you were supposed to go there, why did you come to Amnon’s place?”

He looked up at me, and his eyes really were tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days.  “I could go nowhere else.  I tried.  I started to go down streets and would find myself turning back.  I could have gone to see him easily.  But I tried to go back to Amnon’s and I could.  I think because I had met him here.  I thought maybe someone would be there, maybe someone would find me on the way.

“I can’t take seeing him.  He’ll make me do it again.”

A sudden commotion sounded downstairs – doors bashing open and boots trunching up stairs.  It was the cops.  Turned out people in big towns actually pay attention when someone walks down the street drenched in blood and wavering drunkenly.