Nocturnal

The Eagle

The snake-face man lifted Dr. Metz up high, one hand curving up under the old man’s ass, the other cupped around the back of his neck.

Guilty! Guilty!

Pookie couldn’t draw a breath. It felt like he wasn’t taking in air at all. He closed his eyes again — he couldn’t watch this.

Rex’s horitzontal thumb lifted, then pointed down. “Sly, execute the sentence!”

Metz screamed, but it was a short scream that ended with a sickening snap.

The crowed roared in bloodthirsty approval, a passionate chorus that hurt Pookie’s ears and shook his body.

He heard and felt the masked men brushing past him to remove Metz’s body, then felt them brush by again as they returned to wherever they had come from.

“Next criminal!” Rex’s every word was a hoarse-throated scream, every syllable thick with madness and psychotic lust.

“Him! Bring me that one!”

Open your eyes, open your eyes.

But Pookie could not. He just couldn’t.

Hands grabbed at his body. His eyes opened of their own accord as panic gripped him, pulled at his heart and kicked his stomach, and when he looked forward he saw only one thing.

Rex Deprovdechuk, pointing his way.