Kennedy fumbled to catch his drink before it fell completely from the table, splashing a good amount of alcohol on the poor woman standing with her back to him. She turned around and shot him a scowl, but Kennedy was already ducking back into the crowd with a laugh building on his lips. He scoured the bouncing heads and tried to steady himself. The music was loud enough to shake his entire body, and the lights were blinding. Kennedy had lost his footing when he'd started drinking and now he couldn't seem to find it.
His thoughts were drowning before he could reach them, and nothing seemed to matter except for the faint taste of alcohol on his tongue. He laughed aloud and bumped into another crowd, dropping his drink and leaving it there. He wasn't dancing but he wasn't standing still. He was a drunken, humiliated mess.
Kennedy swung around when something caught his eye. A shape barely familiar seemed to repeat itself against the crowd of dancing bodies, a short figure with neatly combed brown hair. It was the only person who wasn't dancing, unaffected by the lights, untouched by the music. Kennedy tried to stop moving, to get a better look at what appeared to be a child in the nightclub, but was tossed back and forth between the ocean of bouncing figures. Just as he managed to break free of their rhythmic jumping a strong hand wrapped itself around his arm.
"Party's over, bud, you're way past your limit," a husky voice started pulling him back into the crowd.
"Wait," Kennedy mumbled, staring back where he'd seen the child, "there's someone here, there's a kid in there!" His slurred words barely reached his own ears, let alone the bouncer that was slowly pulling him away.
The cold air outside the building was a much needed shock to his system. The large bouncer moved him onto the sidewalk before releasing him, letting Kennedy steady himself. The shorter man looked up at him and scowled. He had been extremely worried about something, but he couldn't remember what it was at the moment.
"Need me to call someone? You're in no shape to drive," the man offered, gesturing to his pocket.
Kennedy scoffed at him. "Ain't no one willing to get me. I'll walk home, thanks."
"Do you have a car here?" The bouncer took a couple steps after Kennedy, concerned for the stumbling drunk. Kennedy waved a hand at him and continued on his way.
Getting home was a dizzy blur of street lights and ringing in his ears. Kennedy managed to climb the stairs to his apartment and fish the keys from his pocket. It was much quieter here outside of his apartment than it was in the club, and the gentle clink of the metal almost sounded too loud. It was too dark to see if he had the right key, so Kennedy jabbed it into the door to try it.
"Damn," he grumbled, moving on to the next. He only had three or four to try, but with his luck there was no way he would have nailed it on the first try.
A quiet clicking came from his left like a chunk of gravel skipping across concrete. Kennedy glanced up without looking at what made the sound. The corner of his eye betrayed yet another familiar shape, short and humanoid in nature. Kennedy slowly turned, and sure enough, the same little boy from the night club was standing at the edge of his apartment. Half of his body stood in view, the other half obscured by the brick detailing.
"What the fuck," Kennedy mumbled, twisting the upper half of his body to face him. "Did you follow me home?"
No answer. The kid just stood in silence and glared at him. His eyes didn't move, he never blinked, his chest didn't seem to rise or fall. Kennedy felt uncomfortable looking at him, an uncanny valley effect enveloping him. Instead of addressing the kid again, he fumbled for another key.
The second one hit the lock and didn't go in. Kennedy took a deep breath to keep his cool and shifted to the third. Something dragged across the concrete beside him. He snapped is gaze back to the kid. The half of its body concealed by wall was slowly starting to show itself. It was hard to make out the state of the child from where he stood, but Kennedy could clearly tell that the kid's left half was badly mangled. Bits of clothes or flesh hung from his arm, he couldn't tell which. The light from the wall behind him cast an odd halo around the boy. Kennedy stared for only a moment longer before it started moving again, dragging it's left foot behind it as it continued to approach him.
Kennedy quickly returned to the lock, a primal dread filling him with urgency. He clicked the key into the lock, but it wouldn't turn. He yanked at the small piece of metal to jiggle it free again, but it wouldn't come loose. He'd pushed it hard enough to wedge it into the lock and now it was stuck.
He whipped his head back to the kid. It was closer now, still dragging its decaying leg against the dirty concrete.
Panic slowly mixed with the dread in his body and made his hands shake. He continued to pull at the key, twisting it around and yanking in a desperate attempt to get it free. At last it seemed to come loose, the teeth of the key scraping the mechanisms of the lock on its way out, and Kennedy pulled it up to his face. His eyes narrowed. The end of the key had broken off into the lock and it was now impossible to open the door.
The shuffling noise was only growing louder as the kid approached him. The smell was growing more and more rancid. The silhouette was growing in his peripheral vision. Finally, the scrape of rotting flesh against the rugged concrete became so loud it sent Kennedy into flight. He ducked away from the door and ran.
The alcohol had not yet left his body, and the trip down the stairs was difficult. His feet didn't land where his eyes said they should and he slipped more than once. The railing proved his best friend as he clung to it with all his strength. He didn't stop until he reached the bottom, and then he made a run for the only familiar door on the ground level.
The landlord jumped in her seat as someone crashed into her front door. The sound was followed by rapid knocks, and a frantic, familiar voice calling out to her.
She lifted the curtain and glanced out her window, already knowing Kennedy was there begging her to let him in. She dropped the fabric and went to the door, sliding the lock out of place and turning the knob. Kennedy came tumbling in, thanking her between breaths. He smelled sour, like alcohol and sweat.
"Kennedy, what the hell is wrong with you?" She barked at him, watching him stumble onto the ground and stay there.
"Lock the door," he huffed, "please."
She did, more concerned for her safety than his, then returned to Kennedy. "What's going on?"
He glanced over his shoulder. There was no shape outside the window. Kennedy sat up and held his arm. He'd banged it pretty hard on the floor when he fell and the adrenaline acting as a painkiller was starting to wear off.
"Kid chasing me. I don't…" Kennedy tried to catch his breath. "I can't do this anymore, I just want it to stop."
His landlord blinked curiously at him. "What are you talking about?"
Tears started building at the edge of his eyes, his blurry vision only getting worse. "I keep moving, but he keeps following me." Kennedy sniffed. "It was an accident. The courts ruled it an accident, why won't he leave me alone."
The woman looked out the window, but there was no one there. "I'm confused. Who's following you?"
Two years ago Kennedy had been with friends, doing as he always did. They drank and laughed, tossing the keys around to see who'd be saddled with designated driver. Eventually they fell into Kennedy's lap. But he was young, selfish, and as the evening went on he became more and more tempted to join in on the party.
He gave in, grabbing a bottle and taking a long swig. His friends cheered on his reckless behavior, laughing about how bold he was to drink even though it was his turn to drive.
As Kennedy got settled into his seat and started the car he reminded himself it was just one drink. He was still perfectly capable of driving his friends home, it was no big deal. He put the car into reverse and started on his way.
The streets were illuminated only by the lights hovering over them. The lines of the road weren't too blurred, and Kennedy was doing well. His friends laughed and hollered at one another, teasing Kennedy and fighting over the music. His confidence grew and his caution disappeared.
A sharp turn took him down a street belonging to the closest house, and Kennedy started to speed up, eager to have one less troublemaker in the car.
The headlights barely caught the figure before he slammed into it, the entire care flying a few inches into the air and crashing back to the pavement. Even over the music he could hear the crunch, followed by the gut wrenching sound of something warm and wet hitting the ground. The momentum carried them forward, causing the back wheels to run over whatever he'd hit as well, kicking the car into the air once more.
The police were called, but it was too late. The little boy was dead. Kennedy still had nightmares about the sound the kid's leg made as it popped beneath his tire, and the sight of dark red blood pooling on the asphalt. And no matter how far he ran the specter followed him, reminding him of the life he'd stolen on that grim night.
Kennedy held his head in his hands and wept. Not for himself, but for the little boy who barely got a chance to live, and for the memory that would follow him no matter how far he ran. His landlord, still confused, did her best to comfort him.
His thoughts were drowning before he could reach them, and nothing seemed to matter except for the faint taste of alcohol on his tongue. He laughed aloud and bumped into another crowd, dropping his drink and leaving it there. He wasn't dancing but he wasn't standing still. He was a drunken, humiliated mess.
Kennedy swung around when something caught his eye. A shape barely familiar seemed to repeat itself against the crowd of dancing bodies, a short figure with neatly combed brown hair. It was the only person who wasn't dancing, unaffected by the lights, untouched by the music. Kennedy tried to stop moving, to get a better look at what appeared to be a child in the nightclub, but was tossed back and forth between the ocean of bouncing figures. Just as he managed to break free of their rhythmic jumping a strong hand wrapped itself around his arm.
"Party's over, bud, you're way past your limit," a husky voice started pulling him back into the crowd.
"Wait," Kennedy mumbled, staring back where he'd seen the child, "there's someone here, there's a kid in there!" His slurred words barely reached his own ears, let alone the bouncer that was slowly pulling him away.
The cold air outside the building was a much needed shock to his system. The large bouncer moved him onto the sidewalk before releasing him, letting Kennedy steady himself. The shorter man looked up at him and scowled. He had been extremely worried about something, but he couldn't remember what it was at the moment.
"Need me to call someone? You're in no shape to drive," the man offered, gesturing to his pocket.
Kennedy scoffed at him. "Ain't no one willing to get me. I'll walk home, thanks."
"Do you have a car here?" The bouncer took a couple steps after Kennedy, concerned for the stumbling drunk. Kennedy waved a hand at him and continued on his way.
Getting home was a dizzy blur of street lights and ringing in his ears. Kennedy managed to climb the stairs to his apartment and fish the keys from his pocket. It was much quieter here outside of his apartment than it was in the club, and the gentle clink of the metal almost sounded too loud. It was too dark to see if he had the right key, so Kennedy jabbed it into the door to try it.
"Damn," he grumbled, moving on to the next. He only had three or four to try, but with his luck there was no way he would have nailed it on the first try.
A quiet clicking came from his left like a chunk of gravel skipping across concrete. Kennedy glanced up without looking at what made the sound. The corner of his eye betrayed yet another familiar shape, short and humanoid in nature. Kennedy slowly turned, and sure enough, the same little boy from the night club was standing at the edge of his apartment. Half of his body stood in view, the other half obscured by the brick detailing.
"What the fuck," Kennedy mumbled, twisting the upper half of his body to face him. "Did you follow me home?"
No answer. The kid just stood in silence and glared at him. His eyes didn't move, he never blinked, his chest didn't seem to rise or fall. Kennedy felt uncomfortable looking at him, an uncanny valley effect enveloping him. Instead of addressing the kid again, he fumbled for another key.
The second one hit the lock and didn't go in. Kennedy took a deep breath to keep his cool and shifted to the third. Something dragged across the concrete beside him. He snapped is gaze back to the kid. The half of its body concealed by wall was slowly starting to show itself. It was hard to make out the state of the child from where he stood, but Kennedy could clearly tell that the kid's left half was badly mangled. Bits of clothes or flesh hung from his arm, he couldn't tell which. The light from the wall behind him cast an odd halo around the boy. Kennedy stared for only a moment longer before it started moving again, dragging it's left foot behind it as it continued to approach him.
Kennedy quickly returned to the lock, a primal dread filling him with urgency. He clicked the key into the lock, but it wouldn't turn. He yanked at the small piece of metal to jiggle it free again, but it wouldn't come loose. He'd pushed it hard enough to wedge it into the lock and now it was stuck.
He whipped his head back to the kid. It was closer now, still dragging its decaying leg against the dirty concrete.
Panic slowly mixed with the dread in his body and made his hands shake. He continued to pull at the key, twisting it around and yanking in a desperate attempt to get it free. At last it seemed to come loose, the teeth of the key scraping the mechanisms of the lock on its way out, and Kennedy pulled it up to his face. His eyes narrowed. The end of the key had broken off into the lock and it was now impossible to open the door.
The shuffling noise was only growing louder as the kid approached him. The smell was growing more and more rancid. The silhouette was growing in his peripheral vision. Finally, the scrape of rotting flesh against the rugged concrete became so loud it sent Kennedy into flight. He ducked away from the door and ran.
The alcohol had not yet left his body, and the trip down the stairs was difficult. His feet didn't land where his eyes said they should and he slipped more than once. The railing proved his best friend as he clung to it with all his strength. He didn't stop until he reached the bottom, and then he made a run for the only familiar door on the ground level.
The landlord jumped in her seat as someone crashed into her front door. The sound was followed by rapid knocks, and a frantic, familiar voice calling out to her.
She lifted the curtain and glanced out her window, already knowing Kennedy was there begging her to let him in. She dropped the fabric and went to the door, sliding the lock out of place and turning the knob. Kennedy came tumbling in, thanking her between breaths. He smelled sour, like alcohol and sweat.
"Kennedy, what the hell is wrong with you?" She barked at him, watching him stumble onto the ground and stay there.
"Lock the door," he huffed, "please."
She did, more concerned for her safety than his, then returned to Kennedy. "What's going on?"
He glanced over his shoulder. There was no shape outside the window. Kennedy sat up and held his arm. He'd banged it pretty hard on the floor when he fell and the adrenaline acting as a painkiller was starting to wear off.
"Kid chasing me. I don't…" Kennedy tried to catch his breath. "I can't do this anymore, I just want it to stop."
His landlord blinked curiously at him. "What are you talking about?"
Tears started building at the edge of his eyes, his blurry vision only getting worse. "I keep moving, but he keeps following me." Kennedy sniffed. "It was an accident. The courts ruled it an accident, why won't he leave me alone."
The woman looked out the window, but there was no one there. "I'm confused. Who's following you?"
Two years ago Kennedy had been with friends, doing as he always did. They drank and laughed, tossing the keys around to see who'd be saddled with designated driver. Eventually they fell into Kennedy's lap. But he was young, selfish, and as the evening went on he became more and more tempted to join in on the party.
He gave in, grabbing a bottle and taking a long swig. His friends cheered on his reckless behavior, laughing about how bold he was to drink even though it was his turn to drive.
As Kennedy got settled into his seat and started the car he reminded himself it was just one drink. He was still perfectly capable of driving his friends home, it was no big deal. He put the car into reverse and started on his way.
The streets were illuminated only by the lights hovering over them. The lines of the road weren't too blurred, and Kennedy was doing well. His friends laughed and hollered at one another, teasing Kennedy and fighting over the music. His confidence grew and his caution disappeared.
A sharp turn took him down a street belonging to the closest house, and Kennedy started to speed up, eager to have one less troublemaker in the car.
The headlights barely caught the figure before he slammed into it, the entire care flying a few inches into the air and crashing back to the pavement. Even over the music he could hear the crunch, followed by the gut wrenching sound of something warm and wet hitting the ground. The momentum carried them forward, causing the back wheels to run over whatever he'd hit as well, kicking the car into the air once more.
The police were called, but it was too late. The little boy was dead. Kennedy still had nightmares about the sound the kid's leg made as it popped beneath his tire, and the sight of dark red blood pooling on the asphalt. And no matter how far he ran the specter followed him, reminding him of the life he'd stolen on that grim night.
Kennedy held his head in his hands and wept. Not for himself, but for the little boy who barely got a chance to live, and for the memory that would follow him no matter how far he ran. His landlord, still confused, did her best to comfort him.