mad_docs_of_lit

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2.

Kurt's head jarred against the pavement, hard enough to make him see stars, as the thing slammed into his chest. Dazed, he struggled to catch his breath as small, strong hands clamped over his shoulders.

He fought, twisting and shouting, as the strange face leaned in towards him, but the thin fingers held fast. Startlingly cold lips mashed up against his neck, a dry tongue swabbing over his hot skin and making him shudder. A scream jammed in his throat. There was a pinch against his throat, pressure, and the strength drained out of him like water from a punctured canister.

Reality fled as Kurt went utterly limp. The shadows grew blacker than black. Around him, the wind whipped the dessicated weeds fiercely, raised their hissing voices at him. Inside he could feel himself screaming along with them, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate, his throat wouldn't work, his body grew heavier and colder. He felt like he was sinking into the ground, like he was floating above it, like the dark was wrapping him up and squeezing him to death.

His heart was the only part of him that seemed capable of struggling, racing and pounding in his chest. It was a funny, futile struggle; in the end, all it did was pump the blood faster out of him.

The weight on his chest shifted and Kurt felt the death-grip on his shoulders relax. He smelled the scent of his own blood on the thing's breath as it moved away. Unwillingly, he met its gaze. It smiled at him.

Kurt saw his blood, black in the dark, between its teeth. The creature's hands moved to his cheeks, cupping them, almost tender. They felt weird, damp, fleshy. Warm where Kurt was now cold.

He shuddered.

The wind moved through the dead grasses. "Close your eyes," Kurt heard, and it was too easy for him to obey. He wondered if he was going to die.

And then the clammy touch on his face was gone, the weight on his chest absent. He opened his eyes and saw nothing but black sky, pierced here and there by tiny distant stars.

Kurt felt empty. He stood, walked without considering, drawn forward as if he were dreaming. One foot in front of the other. The fog was almost gone, now, and somehow, teetering on the edge of passing out, he made it to his car, got behind the wheel, drove himself home. He managed to make it up the stairs, nauseated and shivering, and into his apartment.

It wasn't until he had stripped down, taken a shower, and climbed into bed, that he began screaming. He screamed until the neighbors banged against the wall, and then he stopped. He stopped and he just shook, until sleep dragged him down.

***

When he woke it was almost noon, judging by the sun coming through the blinds, and his cellphone was ringing. He touched his throat, bracing himself to find the scabbed-over bite, but he found nothing but a slightly raised spot of skin just below his jawline. It could have been just a mosquito bite. Kurt itched at it.

Just a nightmare, he tried to tell himself. Sometimes he mixed up memories and dreams. He couldn't be the only one. Things like that didn't happen to people. There weren't weird white things waiting in the woods.

The phone rang again. Kurt rolled over and retrieved it from the rumpled pile of his jeans next to his bed.

"Yeah?" It was hard to talk. His tongue felt furry, glued to the roof of his mouth. He felt like he'd been drinking.

"It's Anne."

"Oh. Hi."

"Kurt, I've been-- I--" Anne cut herself off and laughed, a sharp, abrupt bark, like she had saved herself from being an idiot. "Never mind. How was work yesterday? Anyone miss me?"

Kurt didn't want to talk about work. But he said, "We all did. Jon screwed up the Alba job again."

"Again?" Anne laughed, but half-heartedly.

Kurt's whole body hurt. His joints hurt, especially. And he was thirsty. Hungry, too. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, glad to find he wasn't dizzy. He hobbled through the bedroom into the kitchen. "Yeah." Kurt gritted his teeth as he reached for the orange juice, but couldn't entirely stifle a groan.

"You all right?"

It didn't even occur to Kurt to tell Anne the truth. "Yeah. Just. Out too late. I'm not feeling too great."

"Oh. Sorry. I just--" Anne stopped. Her breath came in a little hiccup. "Kurt, the other night..."

Kurt stopped the orange juice carton halfway to his mouth.

"I can't stop thinking about it. That person. I keep thinking they aren't all right."

Kurt filled the silence because he felt obligated to. "Oh."

"You forgot all about it already."

"No, I--." Kurt looked out the window. The light was the bland, pale brightness of a noon not yet as cold as winter, but no longer golden and autumnal. He took a swallow of orange juice, barely tasting it. "Yeah, I guess."

"I've been dreaming about it," Anne said, in a soft voice, like she was afraid of being overheard. "Stupid, isn't it? I turn the-- the body over and it's Pete--"

Kurt grunted. Pete was Anne's ex. He'd been killed in a car accident a little over a year ago.

"--telling me it's my fault, I should've helped." She gave another forced laugh. "Stupid. I know. It's just guilt. But." She breathed into the phone and it made Kurt shiver, the way the static sounded like the stirring of dried-out leaves against each other. "What's wrong with us these days, huh? Why didn't we stay, help?"

Kurt wanted to say, You saw it too! You said it wasn't a person! He said, "I dunno."

Anne sighed. "Did you drive by there yesterday? Was it all cleaned up?"

Kurt gulped orange juice before answering. He put the empty carton back into the refrigerator. He itched at the bump on his neck, traced the not-quite circular shape of it with his fingertips. "Yeah," he said at last. "Nothing there."

Anne took another deep breath. "What are you doing today?"

"Dunno," Kurt said, honestly. It felt like the first honest thing he'd said during the entire conversation, which made him feel bad.

"Can... can you take me by there?"

"What for?" Kurt scratched harder at his throat.

"I just need to see," Anne replied, in such a small, tired voice that he immediately regretted his tone, fought down the startling urge to swear and bite and yell. "Please," she said, and all his anger melted away. This was Anne, his friend for years, his co-conspirator at the office. His--whatever. He should just take her by. Let her see nothing. He could lead her into the woods and show her nothing. Leave her there. He could--

Kurt shuddered, so violently he almost dropped his phone. He squeezed the rounded plastic edges until they dug into his hand.

"No," he said. "Sorry. I'm just not feeling good today."

He hung up before she could say anything else, without even saying goodbye.

Lump: Part Two

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