The Reincarnation

Melvin Waters was a big man. And his body hurt in a big way. He wiped his brow and his fingers came away with flecks of dry blood. Damn tattoos, he thought, they take so long to heal. The pain from his forehead was the least of his troubles though. Never should have drank tequila like that, he thought as he shifted his large frame in his bed, thinking about the night before.

Melvin was a bouncer at a local bar called Hell’s Cellar. He frequently wrote 666 on his forehead with a magic marker when he was sitting, bored, on his barstool outside the tavern’s doors. The time between checking the ID’s of college students coming in was tedious and he had thought up a number of ways to amuse himself. Writing on himself was one of those ways.

Dressing in black leather and chains was another. If he had a few minutes to kill, he would whip a chain around with his hand, watching the silver metal links etch a circle in the air. His boss had taken to calling him the Beast Master for just this reason. “You keep those brutes in line,” his boss had joked. “Besides, it sure beats the hell out of a name like Melvin.” Melvin laughed along with him, thankful for a job he was too young to legally hold. He didn’t think his boss even knew about that, though. Melvin looked twice his age, partly due to his stature, and partly due to his copious facial hair.

So last night they finally got me, he thought, pondering the ceiling of his bedroom. Filled him up with tequila, and tattooed right over that magic marker. What was he going to tell his mother? he thought, irritated by the permanence of the numbers on his forehead. He had always worn long sleeve shirts around her, so she didn’t even know about the tattoos up and down and around his arms, his torso.

Melvin lifted his bulk from the bed and walked into the bathroom. The vision staring back at him in the mirror frightened even him. His skin was ghostly white. Maybe that marker had given him an infection. Damn it all, he thought, walking back to the bedroom and pulling on his leather pants.

He went outside, the light hurting his eyes. That’s what you get for working at night, he chided himself, getting into his car. What the hell was he doing up anyway? He usually stayed in bed for another six hours. He figured he might as well get some coffee.

Pulling out of the parking lot that surrounded his apartment building, Melvin decided to abandon the coffee idea. He suddenly felt a strong need to get somewhere fast. Where that somewhere was, he could only guess.

He felt a slight but compelling pull in his chest, and he followed it.