MADELLINE #3
FIRST STORY: MADELLINE: THE INTRODUCTION
SECOND STORY: MADELLINE #1
THIRD STORY: MADELLINE #2
FOURTH STORY IN THE SERIES:
When Patrick woke, his right hand was still affixed to Gabriel’s left. It just felt much stickier, crustier and seemed a wee bit looser.
“Do you speak French?” Gabriel asked. Patrick didn’t respond, he just blinked more and tried to move his oddly weak fingers. He grimaced. Patrick searched for his rosary with his left and he held it tight.
“Why am I here, who would want to hurt me?” Patrick protested, raising his rosary to the ceiling.
The door opened wide and not much light flooded in. It was enough however, to make out a silhouette. A rush of air swept by. It smelled foul. Patrick sneezed and the sound travelled out the door and echoed into the corridor. It brought steps, those you would expect from a stiletto on concrete. The two men pressed their cheeks on the floor then extended their necks. They stared at the doorway with strenuous eyes and a woman in a long dress appeared. The air blew again in a rush and it showed her form for a slight moment. Her hips, the tallness of her legs, the roundness of her small breasts. Something clattered and their attention was drawn to her hands. She had one of each item in each palm, fingers folded about the handles.
“Survivor gets food, first aid down the corridor,” she spoke.
Halfway through the sentence, Patrick had the cross of his rosary ready, between his thumb and index finger. He turned his body towards Gabriel, rolled and rose. His knees rested on the floor just beside Gabriel’s flanks. He loomed over him. Patrick stared and made out two hollows on the man’s face. He thrust the cross into one hollow. There was not much resistance. The cross sank as a knife into a cake. The rush of blood increased it as he got deeper. Gabriel wailed and threw punches at Patrick. But Patrick’s determination was adamant. The blood covered Gabriel’s other eye and he shrunk under the newly acquired blindness. The woman threw the items to them, one to Gabriel’s side and the other to Patrick’s. They rattled upon landing. Gabriel’s hand tried to reach for one on his side, scouting the floor with a flat palm.
Then the bulb flickered. Patrick’s spotted both blades. He reached for Gabriel’s with his left and dipped the end into his opponent’s hand. In, out, in… A crack of bones, a sudden release of air, a tightness of tendons disappears like the cords of a guitar cut in one motion. Jets of blood spill to the wall. Gabriel waved his right hand violently in the air, trying to hit a target with the tip sticking out of it. Patrick dropped to the floor to the place he had been initially. His left hand went for the other knife. The bulb flickered again. He grabbed it and jammed it into Gabriel’s side, just below the armpit. He twisted it and so did Gabriel in response, the knife and victim in synchrony. Patrick then rose to one knee, took the knife still in Gabriel’s palm and lodged it into his throat from the side. The bulb turned on. Patrick stared at the woman.
“I thought you were good Catholic,” the woman spoke. She observed what was before her. Patrick over Gabriel. A knife sticking out of Gabriel’s throat. Blood making a big bubble of exhalation on Gabriel’s mouth. It bursting and spraying the tiny droplets over his cheeks. Some blood still covering Gabriel’s good eye. A few scratches on Patrick’s throat. Even his eyes were no different from the devil’s. In a blink, Patrick, grabbed the knife from Gabriel’s throat, removed it and attempted to throw it at the woman. However, an electric current stemmed from the blade’s handle. He dropped it as soon as the current died. Patrick looked at the woman. She had a remote in hand, a red button was on it.
“Don’t be foolish. This is my domain. Be the last man standing and we might fight to the death. You’re a smart man Mr. Fitzpatrick. I believe you will make it.” She walked away and the stiletto faded. Patrick thought of his wife, his children and how he had ended up here. He thought of the confession he would have to tell Father if he made it out. He didn’t feel bad for what he did.
“I guess it runs in the family after all. Even my wife and her efforts couldn’t keep me from it.” He licked the blade and cut his tongue as he did.
