One Blood

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

Monday

Angola, LA

 

 “Wake up, Lincoln. Rise and shine.”

Lincoln crawled out of the darkness as if he’d been buried alive under six feet of nightmares and confusion. His head throbbed and his hands and feet were strapped into a chair of some sort. Strange voices spoke in hushed tones near him.

There was a mask over his head, the kind of mask placed over an inmate’s head just moments before he imitated the “this is your brain on drugs” commercial from the eighties. Judging from the echo in the room, he knew he wasn’t in a holding cell.

Where the hell am I?

Rational thought gave way to adrenaline as fear bolted to the surface of his psyche.

I’m strapped into the electric chair!

His breath grew raspier as the mask stuck to his sweat-soaked skin.

Suddenly, it was ripped off his face.

Lincoln blinked as he tried to adjust to the bright lights. He heard snickering and laughter all around him. A tall figure in a dark suit stood before him. Lincoln immediately recognized his captor.

“You? You’re responsible for this?”

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Lincoln,” Kristopher Lafitte whispered. His sharp blue eyes shimmered crazily. “Did you really think they were just going to let you walk out of Angola?”

“This ain’t happenin’.” Lincoln squirmed against the rough wood of the electric chair. “This ain’t real. You’re dead!”

Kris stared back at Lincoln. “Death is relative, Lincoln. You should know that better than anyone. Remember? You killed me.”

“Why…how…is this happening?” The smell of formaldehyde flooded Lincoln’s nostrils. The last time he’d seen Kris, his best friend had been laying at the base of the lone tree in Simmons Park, clutching his stomach, blood blooming between his long pale fingers.

“Maybe I’m just a figment of your imagination, Lincoln. Maybe I’m your guilty conscience. Or maybe this…is…real.”

“I don’t understand,” Lincoln mumbled. Suddenly they were back in Simmons Park. Lincoln leaned over Kris as his friend bled to death from a bullet wound in his stomach. Lincoln inched forward so he could hear what Kris was trying to tell him between his wheezes and gasps.