The Permutation

Apex (Part 13) Paul

"Hey, you're paralyzed you fat fuck, and don't you forget it."

Paul read the message loud and clear, and he screamed a scream so loud it would have put an opera singer to shame. It was so loud that Paul didn't hear the sound of bare feet slapping against the ground as the figure rushed towards him. He didn't sense the predator until it was on top of him. Its knees dug into his stomach, propelling a fine mist of his breath into the air. Paul's mouth gaped open like a fish gasping to breathe.

A flounder. I probably look like a pale flounder. A pale mass flailing around on the ground, a creature not designed for anything other than the softest of environments.

In his oxygen-deprived state, Paul still had the mind to raise a flabby arm to his mouth, remembering how the predators chose to spread the parasite. Instead, teeth sank into the flesh of his him. The predator's teeth had punctured his skin and buried themselves up to the gums. When the predator relinquished its grip, it took a chunk of Paul's flesh with it. Paul heard a retching sound and a sickening plop.

He felt another hot flash of pain, but this time, it was much closer to his wrist. Paul didn't know what a severed artery felt like, but he assumed it was something like this. He could feel the hot blood spray onto his shirt and drip into his eyes and nostrils. Instinctively, Paul closed his eyes, trapping the blood in his corneas. It stung way worse than soap in the tub. When he opened his eyes again, he felt blood and tears streaming down his face.

Paul's vision was blurry, and his attacker's face was a fuzzy outline, but Paul knew with a sinking feeling that the Superfriends had failed. There were still more of those fucking parasites out there.

Gathering the last semblance of his composure, Paul shaped his only tendril into a tentacle with a blunt spherical tip, spikes jutted from it like a mace. He swung it with as much force as he could manage and was greeted with the sound of eggshells cracking underfoot. The force of the blow knocked the predator off Paul's chest. Where it landed, it looked like a limp pile of flesh on the ground. Paul probed the creature and found the black worm wriggling out of the man's ear. Paul wrapped the tendril around the worm and constricted. Black juices dripped to the ground.

Paul summoned all four tendrils when he was sure there wasn't any danger. It took a lot longer this time, and he needed more concentration. It was like he was beating them into shape with a mental hammer instead of sculpting them.

Note to self: My powers are limited by exertion. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He moved at a quicker pace than before. The cutting night air dug into his wound, reminding every second of the open wound. Paul knew how grimy and disgusting people's mouths were and how easy it would be for it to get infected. There was no telling what was in that monstrosity's mouth and he didn't relish the thought of losing an arm to infection. Losing his legs hadn't been a great loss, but the thought of losing the feeling of food in his hands was too painful to consider.

Quilt, then hospital.

In the distance, Paul could see the porch light of his duplex shining like a lighthouse guiding him home.

Why would the light be on? Mom's fast asleep and the brat is dead.

Paul had a nasty mental image of the reporter coming back to get her due, but it wasn't that. Joyce Neiman had a sixth sense for Paul's needs. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought she would be in the kitchen cooking him up a meal. It would have been one of her most admirable traits if it wasn't so pathetic. He wasn't complaining though, the night had felt endless and nothing sounded better than a nice, warm meal.

Paul's impromptu legs carried him to the front door. He knocked and waited for his mother to answer the door. He realized that she would find out his ability, and he also realized he didn't care. Paul smiled. This would be a perfect time to introduce her to the new and improved Paul Neiman. Knowing Joyce, she would look at him with a new sense of wonder and pamper him, saying shit like, 'I knew my boy was special.' She would truly appreciate his gift and not treat him like some two-bit monster.

Heavy footfalls sounded in the living room of his house, and Paul felt a twinge of anxiety. Joyce usually tiptoed around her own house like her mere presence was a burden, but now she was clomping around the house like a wildebeest?

She must be flustered about my disappearance. Yeah, that must be it. I mean how often do fat paraplegics go missing?

She fumbled with the doorknob. It twisted and rattled in its housing. The door shook as if she were yanking on it with all her strength, but the door still didn't open. Paul heard a growl of frustration, and the door shook with a renewed fervor.

The door shot open, and Paul had to thrust himself backward to avoid being hit.

"Jesus Christ M-" Paul shouted.

A creature that was no longer Joyce Neiman had answered the door. Sure, she looked like the woman who had taken care of him his whole life, but all the things that made her the woman he knew and loved were no longer present.

The timidity that defined her had been replaced with the confident, lithe movements of a jungle cat. The eyes that had always looked on Paul with unconditional love now looked at him like he was an all-you-can-eat buffet. As she stepped into the light, the glow cast shadows across her face and Paul was able to imagine this thing wasn't his mother at all, but an imposter. However, when the creature lunged at him, Paul was unable to defend himself.

A deep part of his subconscious could not raise a hand, or a tendril as the case may be, against this abomination. His mother was somewhere in there, and suddenly, Paul understood that moron of a millionaire. He would have done anything to try and get the parasite out of his mother's head. Paul knew the human body forwards and backward. He could probably operate on his mother with a precision that would make a surgeon green with envy.

It's the least I could do for her.

That thought flew from his head as her slight form slammed into Paul's gut and sent him tumbling backward. The tendrils dissipated into the air like the water vapor of someone's breath on a cold day.

His mother looked down at him, and Paul thought he saw a different expression on her face. It was the look he saw every night before his mother put him to bed. The expression of the predator was gone, and Paul's fluttered with joy. Tears tracked down his cheeks.

It's her.

The expression looked painful like it was a struggle to keep it on her face, and Paul knew that it was. Joyce was fighting back the parasite to be with her son, but her love surpassed even evil brain parasites. While she looked on him with compassion, she still did not get off Paul's chest. It was like she was waiting for something.

A kiss. I could use one of those. I didn't want to kill anyone, but she gets that. I had to do it.

Paul puckered his lips in anticipation. Joyce's hands put pressure on his shoulders, with a little more force than Paul was accustomed to. Her head leaned towards his. She opened her mouth, and hot, rank breath spilled over his face. Familiar lips closed over Paul's own.

Wriggling, tasteless warmth slid down Paul's throat.