Lombardus: The Trident Clown

Chapter 13 ☬

A voice. A Monster.

A masked boy not a hero
Monster, don't shoot yet

WITH EVERY STEP MONSTER TOOK, I could hear his derisive laughter echoing inside my skull. The laugh of the Clown.

Ha-haha, you ran a red light and it's too late to turn back. You're trapped! No one's coming to rescue you. My freedom is nigh.

Why am I hearing this same voice over and over in my head? What's with the strange visions and delusional illusions? What is my connection to the Clown? What freedom was he talking about?

All these questions flooded me like the Great Molasses disaster - entrapping my conscience like flies on sticky flypaper - when it floated into my mind's eye again.

It was the ugly head of the Clown. This time without a body. It was turning as if suspended on an invisible stick and roasted like marshmallows by a campfire.

When it revolved facing me, the Clown cackled, showing his fangs. The very sharp fangs. Then, the head would turn away again.

A bang outside the dark stall caused me to slide back into reality. Goodness, I got rescued by the cleanup crew of my flooded mind.

"I know you're in there kids." Monster said, a little uncertain like he wasn't sure whether he saw us or it was a trick of his cigar - which must've made him high.

We didn't reply.

He heaved an exasperated sigh. "Why don't you allow us play a friendly game?"

He sounded far from friendly.

"Y'all open up and I grab and beat the heck out of you brats!" His voice jumped four octaves higher than normal at the tail of his last sentence.

Lucy panted. That was costly.

With the kick of a black, hard boot, the door flew open. The silhouette of Monster loomed over us, his shotgun's silhouette materializing right before our eyes. Also, he wasn't playing monkey in the middle with it anymore, he was pointing it straight into my very soul.

I felt naked, even though I was cladded in Dan's jersey. Luke and Lucy wore a twin mask of terror. I thought the expression wouldn't look nice on their obituaries at all.

Monster cracked his shotgun, probably feeling trigger-happy. The evil gleam in his eyes told me he doesn't like children. His hand curled around the trigger when a far-off voice came to our rescue m

"You have to go through me first before you go through them," the far-off voice said. It sounded tinny and weak, like it was struggling to let out those clichéd, heroic words.

☬☬☬

"WHO THE HECK do you think you are?" I heard Monster said to the far-off voice, pointing his gun at it.

"I am a nobody," the voice replied offhandedly. It was a male voice. A familiar one too.

"You're right there. A bloody nobody," Monster affirmed what the man had said.

"And I can make you a nobody too, short devil," the voice challenged.

Bigelow, I grasped. He can't do without adding, devil, into his words of violence.

"What?" Monster was thrown aback. Nobody ever challenges him with such temerity, it seemed. "Do you wish for death so badly?"

"Speaking about a death wish, how about I grant you one. Like, right now. Here," the voice bluffed.

Maybe it was buying us some time. Maybe... I took the cue right in time.

"Let's go," I muttered.

"You crazy?" Luke rubbed his hurt foot.

Without another word, I pulled Luke out of the stall. As if connected by chain links, Lucy followed, holding his hand. We snuck out without Monster noticing and slipped behind a table flipped to its side.

"Get outta here, before I pop a shot in your head, fool." Monster threatened. "The battlefield is no place for an old man like you."

"Guess who's the fool now?" Bigelow chuckled, shifting his gaze to the direction of the stall.

Realizing his folly, Monster turned away from the voice back to us. His eyes widened and his heart must've skipped a beat. No one was there again!

Judging from my recent experience - tricking him into looking somewhere, I had a feeling he disliked being fooled. And even if he doesn't before, he hates it now. You see, I'm winning him two to nil? No one like being won two to none.

He almost tore the stall off it rickety roots searching for us. I must admit he looked like a drunk Middle East dead broke, destitute searching for a dropped diamond diadem worth dillion dinars in the desert.

Angrily, he turned back to the voice, saw Bigelow limping away and got a little trigger-happy.

There was a sudden flash of orange; a masked guy dove in time and stabbed Monster's ankle with a broken whisky bottle

I couldn't see the guy's full face - which was bandanaed - but there was something familiar about the eyes. Like, knowing Tom Clark personally until that moment he remove his glasses and you suddenly can't discern whether he's Superman or Clark or perhaps, Tom, Dick or Harry-not-Potter!

"Arrgh!" Monster's airy voice did not sound airy again. He let out a painful guttural growl.

Without even a bit of a warning, his angry finger released the trigger and the world went, Boom Chicka Chicka.

Don't Forget To VOTE ꏿ﹏ꏿ Reeders ☬

Thoughts?

Who do you think was shot?