Midnight Shift

Midnight Shift (4) - Pineapple Express, Prison Style

Steve stared at the empty cabinets, unable to comprehend the fact that he was going to die within a few hours.

His wound was bleeding profusely once again and Petey's overcoat was thoroughly soaked. He slowly shuffled outside, trying his best to keep his balance as everything started to blur.

Steve caught a glimpse of the doctor's briefcase behind the desk and decided to check it out. He cautiously pulled two of the knives out of the doctor's corpse, eyes firmly closed, and grabbed the briefcase with his other hand.

Laying the briefcase on the table, he grabbbed one of the knives and started chopping away at the lock. Then he stopped, took a deep breath, and slowly pocketed the other, his injured shoulder hurting more than ever.

The lock shattered after what seemed to be his thirtieth try and the briefcase snapped open to reveal what his mother would have called heaven in a box. There was a small syringe cramped in a Colgate toothpaste box and next to it were packs of heroin, cocaine, and LSD.

Steve decided that his life was much more important than a little stain on his conscience - he had no desire to end up like his mother, who lived fo' tha drugs and died fo' tha drugs - but he knew of the numbing effects they had.

After hardly a small dose of each, Steve headed outside. His wound felt completely glazed over and he was the master of his universe, the king of the cockroaches, with all of them cowering with fear at his very presence. Any trace of fear left him the instant the effects sank in and was replaced by pure anger. Steve clenched his fists - had he not been high, he would've been on the floor crying in pain at this point - and strode over with full confidence to the prisoners' area.

Despite the fact that they were supposed to be asleep, Steve noticed more than just a few awake and jeering at him as he went. One of them was wanking and grinned and winked at Steve as he passed.

Steve pulled the knife out of his pocket and despite hearing his torn muscle squeal took careful aim, ignoring whatever traces of pain he could feel. The man in front of him was the cause of the pain. If Steve killed him, Steve's pain would go away to depths of hell.

He flicked the knife with ease- without the drugs that would've been impossible- and the prisoner suddenly found three inches of steel in his left eye and penetrating his brain.

The other prisoners instantly stopped their jeering at the sound of the wanker's body slamming the ground with a sickly crack.

Steve strolled over to one of them, feeling completely in charge.

'You. Listen.'

'W-what?' stammered the man, moving backwards.

'How long you been here?'

'Uhh...' he attempted to calm down, breathed inwardly, and counted on his scarred fingers. 'Bout nine months. Ten maybe.'

'So you know most of these dickheads?'

'Uh, yeah. That's-that's right.'

Steve leaned closer. 'Where can I find-' he stopped for a second, and mercifully recalled the number despite the chemicals coursing through his body - '027?'

The prisoner seemed relieved that he was not Steve's target and decided to tell him the truth, for fear of meeting a grisly end. 'Reese? He's in the next compound, second cell to your left when you - uh - enter. Yeah.' He tried flashing a smile on impulse, and instantly knew it was the wrong thing to do.

Steve gave him a little smile right back as he reached through the bars quick and stabbed the man in the stomach with the other knife. The unfortunate prisoner screamed in pain and Steve removed the knife only to ram it into the man's mouth, ripping his tongue to shreds and knocking out two molars in a spray of flesh.

The prisoner fell to the floor gargling on his own blood and choking on the remains of his torn tongue as cockroaches started to swarm around his mouth.

Steve walked steadily towards cell 027, bloodied knife in hand.

It was quiet and empty. The two cells adjacent to it both had prisoners sitting at the corners of their respective cells and making silent pleas to a God they had probably never believed in that Steve would just walk away.

Steve looked at the one on the left of Cell 027. 'Where'd this guy go?'

The prisoner's eyes widened and it took him a few seconds to calm down. 'Some... dude came and took him out. I don't know, man. The guard dude.' He resumed his pathetic whimpering.

Steve mulled this over. The only other guard on duty had been Petey. He spat at the prisoner and started the long walk back to the front gate.

The drugs were starting to take their toll as the walls of the precinct started bleeding in front of him and Steve stopped to gasp for air. They were now taking over his system and he vomited all over the floor as the pain returned with the force of a truck.

It was only when the world started to spin around him did he realise that he might never wake up again - he had lost too much blood.

And then the world was aflame, spinning on its axis at phenomenal speeds, going red... then green... then purple... then black, black, all-encompassing fucking black, just all over the place. And then he saw his mother, sitting in the hospital with an IV needle stuck in her arm, leading to a packet labeled HEROIN - there were balloons around her bed, with Happy Birthday, Steve! scrawled hastily on them, spinning and spinning like the whole fuckin' earth was not too long ago, when all of a sudden - pop! they all went, pieces drifting towards the floor, somehow leaving bloodstains in their wake. But then the pieces were on fire, and a face appeared; Tommy's face, that ecstatic little bastard that told Steve to go fly - all humans can fly... they just need to learn - his freckles bouncing in tune to his hearty laughter. Ha-ha, Steve! Tommy laughed, and laughed... we gotcha now! And then tears of blood spurted out of his eyes, and his face ducked into the fire, which flickered and died. The IV bag was now empty... his mother was choking, begging for a new lease on life... the TV flickered on and off, and the ward's electric white lights followed suit.

The hospital ward's bathroom started to emanate a skittle skittle skittle sound, and Steve knew there were cockroaches inside, yet he slowly stirred over to the door and swung it wide open. No... no... no cockroaches. Just Petey, dead, intestines dribbling, sitting casually on the toilet; offering Steve a cig. C'mon Steve, we ain't got all day, in a faux Humphrey Bogart accent. And then Petey was thrown off the toilet seat; and a swarm of cockroaches flew out, but they all skittle skittle skittled past Steve and straight to his mother on the bed - but she was not resisting, she was relaxed, calm, tranquil, at ease... soldier; ten-hut, forward, hahahaha Steve, Tommy laughs, that's a funny joke! hahahahahaHA. She opened her mouth wide and another spurt of cockroaches flew out - and this time they went straight to Steve. 

Then they were crawling up him, circling his boots, crawling up that shirt he was wearing, his favorite from when he was a child. It boasted I do all my own stunts in large, childish letters, and he used to wear it all the time, oh yes he did, it was so badass for a kid his age, right? The letters disappeared one after the other as the cockroaches swarmed around them and up to his face. He wanted to scream but then they would enter him, and he could never let that happen, never ever ever - that's the golden rule, ese. No breaky the golden rule, capiche? And so they swarmed all around his face, and the black was back, the old, familiar, loving black,  the pitch fucking pure ultimate all-encompassing blackblackblack - and he knew that this was the end; it was not a dream, and he was surely dead. Of course...

At the prison, Steve fell into his own vomit like a stone, losing consciousness the second he made contact with the ground.