So I sneak across that foyer just like I was a cat cuttin’ through a pack of sleeping dogs. I’m almost walkin’ on tiptoe, not really putting my full weight down for fear of my footsteps being heard or some shit. Maybe taking two, three steps every five seconds or so.
I get to the stairs, and I start goin’ up, but I’ve got my body sidled up real close and tight to the railing. See, steps aren’t anything more than pieces of wood laid across supports. You put your weight down in the very center and that sucker might bow a little. Might pop and creak. But you keep close to the edge and you’re walking right on top the framework, see? The steps are nailed down to that sucker and since there’s no give when you place your foot down, there’s no noise either. And that’s the way I ascend, one at a time, so slow that grass could grow faster.
Part of me keeps expectin’ her to appear at the top at any second. I mean, that’s the way it always plays out in movies, right? Be standing up there with a baseball bat or fire poker or something. So I’ve got my eyes glued to that little rectangle of hallway up there and my gun, which seemed so damn light when I first pulled it outta the bag, now feels like a fuckin’ brick in my hand.
The entire time, that water is still running. I figure maybe she was getting ready to take a hot bath or something. Always makes me feel a little better when I’m not well, so why the fuck not? She started a bath but then got too sick to actually take it. Too sick to even go back and turn the water off.
But that’s fine by me, because I’ve got the duffel slung over my shoulder, right? Even as careful as I was bein’, it still thumped up against the railings every so often. I mean, I was doin’ okay for a layman, but I’m not exactly a burglar by trade, ya know? That water was helpin’ to mask all these little sounds that seemed so loud to me. My breathing. The swish of the Tyvek suit every time I’d move.
I started feelin’ a little light-headed. To tell the truth, I’m not really sure if that was from adrenaline, the Vicodin I’d popped earlier, or from breathin’ in my own carbon dioxide ‘cause I was wearin’ that damn mask. Fuckin’ thing had started itchin’ like hell, too, and the metal band was pressin’ against my nose like some CIA torture device.
All told, it probably took me about ten minutes to climb that flight of stairs. That’s how sneaky I was bein’, see? When I finally get to the top, I’m standing in this little hallway. Nice carpet, looked like maybe it’d been replaced not too long ago, more pictures on the wall, some little shelves with vases and doilies on them. Typical chick shit.
About halfway down the hall, there’s a door off to the left. It’s shut tight, I figure it was probably a second bedroom or office or somethin’. Hell, coulda been a closet for all I knew. I mean, it was directly across from another other door, only that one was open and I could see white linoleum that kinda shimmered with water.
But this is all peripheral, dig? ‘Cause the hall ends in yet another room, the master suite or whatever the fuck they’re callin’ it these days. Through that doorway, I can see Ms. Clarice fuckin’ Hudson. She’s got her back to me and she’s standin’ in front of this little vanity, the kind women sit at to do their makeup and hair and shit.
First thing I notice is that the bitch is bare-ass naked. So I think I musta been right with my whole bath theory and all, right, but as I creep down that hallway with Steel’s pistol leveled out in front of me, I begin to get this sour feelin’ in my stomach. Somethin’ just ain’t right, ya know? For one, she’s clawing at the air like a little puppy who has to pee scratches at the door. She standin’ there, nude as the day she was born, pawin’ at the air.
That could be explained away. Rule number six: muddled thinking. I’m thinkin’ the bitch probably doesn’t even know why she’s doing what she’s doin’, they’re almost in total control of her now.
As I get closer, it begins to look like maybe she’s painted herself with lipstick as well, which was just bizarre, man. Almost looked like splotches of red camouflage pattern. All over. But when I looked closer there were also thin, dark lines everywhere, like she’d taken an eyebrow pencil and drew road maps all up and down her body. I’m talking from the shoulder blades all the way down to the soles of her feet. Only those feet? They were dark, man. Like she’d stepped in paint or some shit.
Then it hit me. Sign fucking seven: bleed out. That wasn’t lipstick, man, it was the blood that had seeped outta every pore on her body and dried on her skin. That meant the network of lines would be veins, and her feet were so dark because without the heart to pump it, gravity had pulled the rest of the blood in her body to the lowest point.
Fuck yeah, I’m sayin’ she was dead. Haven’t you been listening? I’ve been tellin’ ya this all along, man. How many different ways do I hafta say the bitch was already dead for you to get it through your thick skulls?
Now you can probably see why I really started gettin’ scared at this point. Felt like pissin’ my fuckin’ pants, man, and that damn running water wasn’t helping matters any.
About the same time I realized that Clarice fuckin’ Hudson had left the building, so to speak, something else dawns on me. The little vanity, I mentioned? Women don’t just have this God given knack for slappin’ on makeup, they’re careful with that shit, right? So it wasn’t the air this thing was scratchin’ at… it was a damn mirror. And I woulda realized this a lot sooner if that bathtub hadn’t masked those sounds as well.
I guess that bitch caught my reflection or something, ‘cause she spins around like a ballerina on meth. I’m just standin’ there, literally shakin’ in my boots, ‘cause I didn’t expect it to be so fast, man. I mean, the thing wasn’t nothin’ but a blur. The ones in Ocean’s world, they just kinda shamble along, right? They’re slow and lethargic, but they’re also all fucked up and shit. Got muscle decay in the worst possible way. But this bitch? She’s fresh, man.
She comes barreling down the hall like a wild animal on the attack. She’s snarlin’ and got her teeth bared while her fingers have formed into claws and I don’t know, I mighta screamed or something, but then I’m pullin’ that trigger like my finger’s got a mind of it’s own.
There’s this little sound, almost like a puff of air, and I see that first bullet just slam right between her tits. One moment, smooth flesh—next there’s this little dark hole. But it doesn’t even phase her man. Doesn’t slow her down at all. She just keeps runnin’ at me without so much as a growl or nothin’ and this constellation of wounds appears on her torso as I unload the fuckin’ clip.
I damn well knew better, but I was terrified, man. You don’t think so clearly when you’ve got a fuckin’ corpse racin’ down the hall and piss tricklin’ down your thigh. You don’t have time to line up a headshot. I mean, it almost seemed like it was happenin’ in slow-mo but this shit went down quick, man. Couldn’t have been more than a few seconds from when she spun around that her body was crashin’ into mine.
And she hit me hard, cats, like a damn linebacker. Plowed right into my ass and sent me sprawlin’ backwards. The gun flies from my hand and it seems like I remember the sound of breaking glass, so it musta hit a vase or some shit.
All I know for certain is that I’ve fallen back into the bathroom. I’m layin’ in all this pool of water and I’ve got this naked, dead bitch scramblin’ over top me. She’s pulling at that Tyvek suit and now I know I’m screamin’ because my throat feels all raw and burning and that mask traps the scent of fear right in there with me. I can breathe it in through my nose right as it comes outta my mouth.