The Reincarnation

Melvin decided he liked the boy. He had the same spirit Melvin remembered having at his age. As soon as the thought was in his head, though, Melvin couldn’t remember what his childhood was like. He searched his mind for the memories, but came up empty. He found he couldn’t even remember recent things, like the name of the bar he worked at. It was either Hell’s Kitchen or Hell’s Basement. He suddenly became certain that his coworkers would never get to see their handiwork on his forehead, and for some reason he didn’t think it mattered.

He pulled the car up to the drive-through window. “I’d like four...”

He was cut off by a metallic and distant voice coming through a speaker. “Let me guess, four meat burgers – raw.”

“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”

“Popular item today – if you can afford it. Drive through.”

After paying, they drove to a motel. Melvin paid for the room, not even asking the boy to contribute. Hell, it was a cheap room anyway.

Wow, he thought as he and the boy feasted, that tattoo healed faster then he ever imagined it would. It hadn’t bled at all today, despite all the times he had picked at it.

Father Dante had feelings for the girl. She was only sixteen, he knew – or at least that’s what she had told him. Still, he felt the lust in him creeping up and making him hot under his starched white collar. He had excused himself to the bathroom at least fifteen minutes ago and figured he had better get back before his absence became suspicious.

He stared at his body in the bathroom mirror. He was so young, he thought. Why had God called to him so early? He pulled his pants back up, realizing that either God or years of neglect were going to keep him from any release.

Rudy Johnson relaxed in his car on the side of the road. He thought to himself that he had actually tried to hit the raccoon – aimed for it, in fact. As for stopping, picking it up off the road, and tearing off its fur in clumps with his bare hands, he had almost forgotten those actions. He knew he had eaten it, though, because there was a pulpy mess of blood and fur coagulating on his chin. He stretched his arms behind his head out of habit, his muscles not relaxing.

Hell, he thought, this was more comfortable than that pile of blankets at home he called a bed.

Juliet Ward lay down on the covers of her motel room bed. She always slept on top of the covers simply because all her pounds acted like a furnace whenever she slept. Even in the middle of winter, not that winter was very cool anymore, she had to run the air conditioner just so she wouldn’t wake up drenched in a pool of her own unctuous sweat.

But she wasn’t sweating now. Hadn’t all day, in fact, despite the heat. She had felt her energy ebbing away from her, making her tired, and had gotten the cheapest room she could find. She fell into a state she couldn’t call sleep.

It was more like a little death than slumber.