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SO HERE WE GO--------
CHAPTER 4:-
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I inspected the macabre symbol. Apparently somebody had stamped the image onto the wall. Like it was a calling card, the mark of someone who wanted it known that it was his (or their) handiwork that I had come across in my own house. I couldn't comprehend the meaning of the phrase that was printed in a semicircle inside the red border surrounding the skull. 'Immortalis mos sceptrum'- I wondered what that meant. It was all Greek and Latin to me.
I examined the wooden flooring. Near the threshold of a couple of the doors, I found scrape marks tracking in the general direction of the main door. I also discovered several gashes in the wooden framework of the doors, implying that whoever had removed the furniture had to negotiate quite a bit and was sloppy as well.
A thought crossed my mind. Could it be possible that whoever had ransacked my flat was also responsible for the murderous assault on me in the alley? It was plausible. The reason/s ? There were none that came to my mind.
With nothing else to do, except lodge a complaint with the authorities, I moved out of the flat, shutting the door and leaving it as it was. Now if all my stuff had been taken away, presumably by at least 3-4 people, my neighbours were bound to have noticed. I rapped on the nearest door. No answer. I tried the knob and the door swung open. Now why wasn't I surprised?
The apartment was crammed with comfortable and well worn furniture. I picked up a telephone directory from the center table, parting a few fashion magazines, and looked up the emergency numbers. For some reason, I couldn't remember them, even though they were not personal info. I had figured out that whatever amnesia I had, it was restricted only to that gen which was related to me. I raised the receiver of the telephone beside the sofa and was about to punch in 911 when the absence of a dial tone stopped me. Tracing the wire, I found it severed near the socket. Great.
I was about to leave when my eyes fell on the 42 inches Hi-def plasma television set on the opposite wall from the couch. "Sweet !" I said appreciatively. The owner had good taste. I decided to see if I could find out what was going on in the town from the news, and in extension, in the rest of the world. To my disappointment and frustration, the set did not start up. While fiddling with the remote, I checked the electric supply. No, the lights did not come on.
"Damn it!"
I banged out the door, barged into the other flats on the floor and tried the phones and televisions and music systems with radio in each of them but to no avail. There was no electricity in the entire building and telephone wires had been cut or uprooted. Cordless phones and mobiles had been smashed. Other than these acts of vandalism, nothing else was out of place, except that in one flat there was uncooked food on the gas burner and in the microwave, and in another flat, a few beer bottles were left open in the living room in various states of consumption.
One flat was a bit trashed, as if a struggle had occurred, and the living room was a partial mess. I moved around the kitchen, carefully side-stepping broken plates on the floor. I saw a few dark stains on the kitchen counter but dismissed them as part of the general disarray.
A creak above my head made me jerk my head up.
An overhead cabinet door was ajar, with a series of knives and forks jutting out.
I was a statue in awe as the shiny instruments moved. My feet were momentarily paralyzed as I stared at them.
Then they dropped down, one after the other, directly on my head.
I jumped out of the way in the nick of time, overcoming the temporary paralysis.
The cutlery clattered all around me, joining the broken plates.
My heart was racing fast. I grabbed the counter for support, pulling myself up.
"Who the hell in their right mind leaves knives and forks in such a dangerous position?" I fumed, my hands shaking.
Ten minutes later I peeled out of the parking lot, my mood overcast and my thoughts ominous. Something very wrong is going on here. A sixth sense sort of foreboding began to nag me. My throat was dry. I drank a beer and tossed the can with more force than I had intended.
I consulted the map and determined the way to the police station. Perhaps I would get some definite answers there (I hoped).
I glanced at the fuel gauge on the dashboard. The indicator was approaching the empty mark. The map told me to deviate from course and take a couple of turns in the other direction. I reached a gas station and filled up the car. The beers that I had consumed were having their effect on my bladder. I entered the store adjacent to the pumps and sought the restroom. My bladder evacuated, I started walking to the exit. I grabbed a huge packet of chips from a rack.
As I munched on the crispy contents, I heard a cackle. I almost dropped the chips in alarm.
I put down the bag of chips and grabbed a mop from beside the counter. The mop positioned in front of me, I turned into the aisle from where the sinister sound had emanated. I tip-toed down the aisle as silently as was possible, ready for an ambush.
"HHRRRROOOIII !!!"
I was so startled that I jerked back, crashing into the left-hand side rack. A brief shower of cookie-bags hit me. Again I heard a mirthful cackle, from somewhere above me.
"UUNNGGHHH!"
Perched on the top of the right-hand shelf was a multi-hued parrot with predominantly red and yellow and green plumage and a sharp peach-yellow beak. The vibrant bird was observing me with its head cocked to one side. I glared at this sadistic bag of bones and feathers that derived pleasure by scaring unsuspecting people out of their wits.
"You stink!" It screeched. "You stink!"
"What?" I was flabbergasted. How dare it say such a thing to my face?
"You stink!" It reiterated. Then it let out another of its devilish cackles.
"Ya, I know, you pest! You don't need to remind me!"
It was the first living being I had encountered all day in that deserted excuse for a town. What if it was just an annoying bird? I could take a break from talking to myself.
"Here, bird, come to me, come to papa," I said, clicking my fingers.
The parrot seemed to be mocking me. It flew to a different shelf and called out, "Uunngghh, you stink!"
I opened a pack of cookies and offered one to the feather-head. "Here, have a cookie, it's delicious. You must be hungry. Come to me, I have more."
The parrot eyed the cookie in my hand. But instead of flying down and taking it, it simply said, "You stink! Hhrrrooii !!!"
"Why you cheeky rascal, can't stop making fun of me, can you? I am gonna call you 'Stinky'- since you like to repeat that word again and again. Now Stinky, be a good bird and come get this cookie. I won't hurt you, I promise."
In the blink of an eye, the parrot swooped down and snatched the cookie from my fingers. Before I could react, it flew away over the shelves.
"Hey, come back! Don't fly away, you birdbrain!" I yelled.
The bird had vanished. I found an open skylight at the rear of the store. I glimpsed a blur of colours and heard the flapping of wings.
"Yeah, go away, disappear like the rest have. Leave me behind, alone."
I was mighty peeved. Guess I was not accustomed to be left alone for prolonged periods of time.
I was soon on my way to the police station. Before I left, I doused myself with a strong deodorant acquired from a rack stuffed with cosmetics. I was fed up with my unpleasant odour. It would have to do till I took a long, cleansing shower.
The part of town that I entered was a wreck. Vehicles were smashed up, with tyres lying around, some of them burnt like a cake job gone wrong.
Electric poles, sign posts and signals were uprooted, some precariously hanging wires still spewing iridescent sparks, and shop display windows and fences were broken and cracked. Several houses had blackened walls and blown out windows. Jagged and brittle shards of glass lay everywhere. A hot-dog trolley lay on its side, its metallic side battered.
A storm must have ravaged this part of town, I thought; but I couldn't fathom how the rest of the town, especially where I had been through, was spared. Was this an indication why there was nobody left in the town, because they had all run for their lives?
The stone building housing the JVPD, or the Jacksonville Police Department, had three floors, with a short flight of stairs leading up to the grilled main entrance. I parked the convertible on the curb behind a badly dented police cruiser and headed up the steps.
The ground floor was vacant, with not a soul around. I went up to the first floor taking the stairs.
A wave of putrid smell assailed my nostrils. I was overwhelmed by the sheer foul stench as I stepped into the working area.
The scene before my eyes reeled me, almost making me puke.
The walls were splashed with gory streaks of congealed blood and the floor was covered with garnet puddles!
----- DEEP
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