Face your Demons

Chapter 6: The Centennial building and DJ Booth

Chapter 6: The centennial building and DJ Booth.

I’m beginning to hate this thing. I need some feedback.

He crept into the building and looked around, the second floor balcony had collapsed and lay in a sad heap in the middle of the first floor library. Sewell groaned and threw his cigarette to the ground in a huff and crushed it with his heel. He was getting tired of all this bullshit. After he climbed over the dusty balcony his eye caught a person sitting near the desk. Cautiously he limped over and called out. It didn’t move, when he finally approached it he realized that it was a plastic blow up entertainment doll. Frustrated he punched the plastic doll and screamed. He was frustrated, in pain and confused. It was almost like the town itself was tormenting him. Dropping to his knees he caught his breath, and his eyes caught a small rectangle of plastic. It was an ID card. Thinking it might be useful Sewell put it in his pocket and slowly rose to his feet.

He lit a cigarette and slowly, cautiously wandered the quiet ground floor. Trees has grown through the windows, blocking some of the hallways. Boxes and desks were stacked in front of doors. With pain Sewell inhaled his smoke and exhaled with an ache, it hurt, but he couldn’t stop. He needed it, needed the nicotine to calm down and grasp his surroundings. Finally he flicked his cigarette away and stomped it out. Calmly he looked at some of the books and admired the paintings. He needed to go slow to allow his body to recover. His injuries didn’t just go away with a health pack, it just made it tolerable for him to move around for a short while. Anymore damage and the man might not make it to see the next day. He ran his leathered hand through his wild, unruly and now dirty hair. There was dried blood and dirt on his face, and on his uniform. He had gone through hell, and it was visible, but hell wasn’t over. It had barely just begun.

A chuckle erupted from his throat when he found the elevator. He stepped in, slid in the id card and picked floor 18, the only floor available to him. His stomach dropped when the elevator lifted and his heart jumped briefly and he chuckled at his sensitivity. He was definitely rattled, and his walls were shaken but he was still strong, he reasoned. Soon the lift dinged and opened and he limped off with one hand on his gun. He heard talking and limped forward. Through a dusty glass window he saw a black man talking to Murphy. Quickly he swung open the door.

“On your knees Murphy, and I need to use your phone sir,” he demanded. Just seeing the convict made the corrections officer furious. He drew his night stick and was ready to strike Murphy if he didn’t cooperate.

“Hold on, we might have a way out of here,” Murphy reasoned with his hands above his head.

“Sorry, calls come in but don’t go out, just because you want to be heard doesn’t mean someone’s willing to listen,” the dj said. Sewell picked up the phone. There was no tone at all, angrily he threw the phone down and turned back to Murphy.

“Get on your knees cupcake, we’re leaving. You have been pissing me off all damn day,” George grunted.

“Ricks has a boat, we can get out of here,” Murphy rambled as he knelt down. Then there was a noise outside, a low screech. Sewell looked up to see some distorted female creatures break through the window. They grabbed him, their nail like claws pierced his flesh, and they dragged him off. He struggled but eventually passed out from the pain he was experiencing. They were taking him to a place where he would be forced to confront his mistakes, his sins, and what turned him into a monster, but it would only be a small piece of his puzzle. He would still have to experience the crimes he committed against the inmates in prison. However, before that he would have to face his other demons, the ones that cracked his soul before his other sins led him down this path of self destruction. The Screamers dragged him through the town to the High School and laid him in the gymnasium.

When George woke up he could barely move. There were blood pierce marks through his shoulders and thighs, dangerously close to his arteries. He needed a painkiller, water, and possibly food. He did not know how much more damage his body could take. On his knees he crawled to a first aid kit. He wrapped the gauze bandages around his thighs without even removing his pants. The other roll of gauze went around his shoulder. He used the Bactine and sprayed the wounds. Underneath the ice pack he found a bottle of pills. Hydrocodone with Acetominophen. Anxiously he took two and put the bottle in his pocket. He lit a smoke and waited for the edge of the pain to be taken away by the pills before he moved on.

George Sewell was slowly beginning to understand what happening to him. He knew he had to face his past and the hell he had created. He just didn’t want to face it, because he knew how bad he was, he knew that he was going to suffer for everything he had done. He was a monster and there was no way around it. He blew smoke out of his nose and sighed. He grumbled unintelligibly and took another puff from his smoldering cancer. It would all come crashing down on him soon.