Tag: timothy rienford

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Zemblanity Eradicated ++++Bonus Chapter++++

Manda Kay

            The first thing he noticed was a steady beeping noise surrounding him. The second thing: the gradual tremors he told himself time and time again were all in his head. Addiction was mind over matter. That’s what Rebecca told him when he was kicking the habit in her house. It was all mind over matter, and if he told himself he didn’t need it, well…

            And it was all easy to say when you put it like that but in practice it was hell. He stopped sniffing blow and drinking whatever had the strongest proof two years ago. It should be over. The need should be done.

            As he seeped seamlessly into consciousness, his other senses kicked in, namely his sense of pain. Aches ranging from dull pounds to sharp stabs here and there ever changing and intermixing. He felt like he was literally hit by a sixteen-wheeler and thrown off other edge of a cliff into the spiky rocks below and God did not have the mercy to let him slip away.

            His vision made it all worse. He was dizzy. Again and again he reached at wires and cables, confused, more confused than afraid. The lights were bright, and he was plugged in. He was a computer. They were pumping his mind for knowledge only he had. They were stealing his life force. Soon Allyson would come and spirit him away from this world and into the next with her dark, dark mind and her dark, dark monsters.

            He blinked hard, then reopened wide. Repeat. Each time the world got a little clearer. Wires and cables were no more than tubes and needles. Same thing but different implication. He wasn’t a computer. That was the main thing. Clear bags hung above his bed filled with God only knew what. Screens with lines and numbers he didn’t understand. Antiseptic and infection scents wafted through the stale air.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

            Little by little, the whys and hows came back to him.

            Rienford walked Allyson back to her place. He remembered feeling a little more than discouraged but wasn’t ready to give up yet. He remembered she was different from what he imagined. He remembered that he almost liked her, or at very least a piece of her. He remembered that he understood why Rebecca was so reluctant to partake once she knew who she was, and he planned to call her just as soon as he got to the park bench he was considering calling home for the next few days. Rebecca gave him a nice wad of cash to get him a room and food, not that she had the means necessarily to afford it, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wanted to hold onto the bills a little longer. Just in case of an emergency. Just in case the need arose where he was in a dark alley and was threatened at gunpoint to empty his pockets.

            There was no use lying to himself.

            He kept the money because he liked the option of stopping by the convenience store for a bottle of liquor or in the dark ally to score packets of powder. He told himself he’d be strong and he wouldn’t do it, but he liked the option in case he changed his mind.

            When he left Allyson’s apartment, it was the middle of the afternoon. The sun should have been shining in the sky. The forecast said a high of seventy and clear, so there was no reason for it to get as dark as it did. Rienford shrugged his shoulders and chalked it up to the weatherman once again not knowing what he was talking about. He thought he could do the job better, just like every other person in passing, meaningless small talk.

            He happened upon not a dark alley, but a lamp post on a street corner. A stocky man with skin the shade ofo caramel left over an open flame for a second too long leaned against it wearing a jacket too heavy for the weather and a cigarette in his mouth. They eyed each other, both recognizing the other for what they were.

            “You look like you could use a pick-me-up, amigo.”

            Oh, did he ever.

            But instead, he shook his head and walked on, hesitating only in intervals.

            “Alright. But when you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

            He ignored him, almost, only checking over his shoulder occasionally, watching this golden opportunity pass him by. He’d been solicited drugs before, even before he started using them, but never in someplace as open as a busy street corner in broad daylight. Either the man was incredibly stupid, or more likely, felt safe enough to do business this way. Was there some sort of dealer/police buy off going on? He didn’t know. He didn’t care to know (another lie). He told himself he didn’t need anything the guy was selling, and that he wouldn’t consider it an option unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t need anything right now, but if he bought some for later, he’d use it before he needed it for sure.

            He needed to call Rebecca and get his head on straight.

            The wind didn’t pick up until he was at least two miles away from her home. A slight breeze changed to gusts so hard he stumbled along with it. He thought of his plans with the park bench and changed his mind. As he walked, he tried to remember where he had seen the cheapest looking motel and decided south.

            When the rain poured down, he concluded he didn’t care where he stayed anymore. It could be a couple hundred a night and that would be fine by him so long as he could find shelter from the rain coming down like needles. Heavy and parallel, it nearly knocked him off his feet.

            Quickening his pace, he sought refuge from the oncoming storm at the side of a building. He didn’t bother trying to pen the doors to what looked to be a little tourist trap namely because he didn’t think he’d be able to get them pried open against the wind, but also because he needed a chance to catch his breath.

            He couldn’t see, but he could feel the darkness all the same. Darkness beyond the surface. This wasn’t a normal storm. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he knew deep down that she was to blame for this. Things connected too perfect to be coincidental.

            All roads led not to Rome, but to Allyson. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was playing a very dangerous game.

            The wind howled against the side of the building so loud, he almost didn’t hear the person knocking on the window from the inside. They motioned for him to come around to the front door, and he nodded, clinging to his messenger bag as he braced himself once more to brave the storm in favor of somewhere dry and welcoming. He rushed almost in slow motion against the wind, trying to get to the person at the door as fast as possible. The person on the other side pushed against the door, giving it their all, and he pulled with all his might.

            And then it happened.

            He couldn’t remember what it was, and he didn’t know if he would have even had the time to make it out when he was there in the moment. He looked toward the sound of something as loud as a gunshot next to his head, and it struck him in the face, something either blisteringly hot or freezing cold, too extreme to tell the difference.

            Everything went dark.

            Rienford tried to reach for one of the tubes connected to the back of his hand, and the first couple of times he missed. His depth perception was gone. The beeping machines twittered faster as he struggled with the tubing before a team of people appeared from seemingly nowhere. They took hold of his arms and legs, holding him down to the bed, restricting his flailing appendages. Panic rose in the back of his throat, a bitter, almost metallic taste, and he fought them harder.

            Little by little, the adrenaline pumping through him lessened, despite the fight or flight mindset still engraved in his desperate bones. His attempts to shake the hands from his body felt heavier, more sluggish. Drugged.

            “Sir! Sir! You need to calm down!”

            The face above him appeared to be shouting, but her voce sounded far away. Her perfectly groomed eyebrows were furrowed, making worry lines. She almost looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her.

            He gave up fighting, favoring how his body felt heavy and light simultaneously. Completely relaxed. Rienford tried to focus again on the woman’s voice, but it was so quiet that he couldn’t make out the words. Sleep welcomed him with open arms, and he fell into them unashamed and unafraid.

My Work

Zemblanity Eradicated +Bonus Chapter+

Manda Kay

          Timothy Rienford did not sleep. He tried. He tossed. He turned. But the fact of the matter was that the couch wasn’t even a fraction of the comfort that his bed would provide. He couldn’t bring himself to lay with his wife, though. It didn’t matter that his dick didn’t end up in another person this time. She wasn’t going to believe him. He was stupid to think otherwise.

            And, honestly, who could blame her?

fun fact: rienford was originally going to make up half the book. i loved him and his arc. cutting him until the bitter end hurt me more than you could imagine. Photo by Collis on Pexels.com

            No marriage was without its problems. That’s a phrase he liked to repeat to anyone who cared enough to listen. Nobody was perfect. Everyone made mistakes. What he didn’t like to acknowledge was the fact that some mistakes were bigger than others, and his was near the top of the list.

            He didn’t think of himself as a cheater. Cheaters had motives and plans and schemed their way into other people’s beds. Rienford did none of the above. Every time he woke up next to another woman, it was after something out of his control. He’d go out with the guys and have a few too many. He’d weigh his options through the haze of smoke and strobe lights, and ultimately make the wrong choice. The music flowed through him and their perfume awakened something inside himself that could not be tamed. That was the difference between him and other men, though. Other men hated their wives and girlfriends and were scoping out the playing field. Rienford always loved his wife.

            When they started out, sure, perhaps he took advantage of her young love and planted a few lies here and there, never imagining they would grow. He was faithful for seven years and counting, but to Tish, it didn’t matter. It didn’t stop the doubt festering in the back of her mind.

            Rienford wiped the tears from his cheeks impatiently. This whole thing didn’t hurt as bad as he expected. A little weight on the chest and nothing more. For now, he was feeling fine. A little sad, a little distracted, even, but fine. The hurt hadn’t absorbed yet.

            Normal would have to find a new normal.

            He smiled to himself, to the ceiling. What was he talking about? What was he thinking? This was just a fight, just like any other they’ve had and just like all the ones they would have after today. They’d get over it and move on with life. Come morning, she’d crawl up next to him on the couch and whisper how sorry she was, or he would give her a hug while she gave him the cold shoulder in the kitchen until she broke down and accepted his apology. All he had to do in the meantime was get some rest before work and wait the tide out.

            His thoughts wandered on and on like this, until at last his eyelids were too heavy to possibly keep open any longer. He closed them, then peeked back open; one long blink. Again, the same motion. He stared at the popcorn ceiling, watching the way the lights from the street flickered and moved as cars drove by outside the window. Again, the same motion. But this time, he faced not his ceiling, but something big, something black and hooked and pronged, its fleshy throat wet and exposed, its teeth lining the sides of the open hole, and a long, purple, almost black tongue hanging down, almost touching his hand.

            Rienford jerked his hand to his chest, sitting up and scooting away from the thing that loomed over him as fast as he could manage. He blinked, faster this time, and found nothing there. Nothing but the empty room.

            It was his imagination, nothing but an overworked brain after a long, stressful day at work. All he needed to do was get the images, the hallucinations, out of his head. Just think of something else. That easy. Like watching a funny movie after a horror flick before going to bed. Same exact thing. That was all it was, just one big bad dream.

            He stared at a fixed point on the ceiling, not letting his eyes dart this way and that, because every time he did he swore there was something moving just out of the corner of his vision. Happy thoughts. He stared and thought back on when he graduated college. His mother stood in the crowd, trying her best to blend in with everyone else even though she couldn’t have felt more out of place. A big black woman in a sea of California diet blondes. When the rest were busy snapping photos of their sons and daughters, his mama looked only at him; the only thing blocking her view was her own tears running down her plump face. He’d steal glances her way while he walked up to the podium to get his diploma. Only glances, lest her pride seep into him and make his heart swell just as much as hers. He’d never seen her so happy in his life. The cancer took her six months later. God rest her soul.

            Rienford smiled as the tears ran down in little streams to the shell of his ears, gathering there until they runneth over onto the fabric of the couch. He closed his eyes, and saw a snake thing with a dripping tongue. It licked the man on the ground until nothing but bone fragments remained. He couldn’t smell the death initially, but it wafted his way in due time. A mix of scents, like when his wife threw a few different wax melts into the warmer. But this was bleach in hot water, burning hair, something acidic, something a little like sour milk, an underlying sweetness. It made his stomach churn.

            Rienford’s eyes shot open. The room was dark. Quiet. His heart pounded behind his eyes. Again, he closed them. And again, he saw it. It slithered here and there with its crescent moon head, its empty eye sockets. Its tongue, long and flat, moved in and out of the hole in its neck. Every drop of saliva left a burning hole in the ground.

            And Death stood before him, not draped in black robes and a scythe, but in a plain sundress and army boots, extending a long, bony finger in his direction.

            He opened his eyes once more, sitting up fully, swinging his feet around to the side of the couch so they rested on the floor, trying desperately to ground himself. There would be no sleep tonight.

            He wanted nothing more than to walk to the bedroom he and Tish normally shared. He wanted to touch her shoulder, to shake her gently to consciousness. He wanted to confess everything; everything he saw, or at very least thought he saw. 

            Would she believe him? Not a chance in hell.

            Had roles been reversed, would he have believed her?

            There was a card in his deck he could pull if he wanted to, but Rienford had a gut feeling that it would only make matters worse. Bringing another woman into the matter would only seal his fate as a cheater and conspirator. It’d be best for all three of them if Abbigale remained a secret.

            He should have called her. Plain and simple. He would have come home a hero instead of whatever this was. Instead of being banished to the couch, he’d be in bed with Tish, worshipping her body like when they first got married and the getting was still good.

            Rienford’s dreams were all the same that night. Restful sleep did not come, and would not come ever again. By morning, he was shivering and soaked with sweat.

            He walked to the bedroom, quiet lest he wake Tish. She clung to his pillow tight, eye makeup dried against her cheeks and fists and sheets. Her mouth, even in sleep, was set in a frown. He sat at the bottom corner of the bed and just watched for a long while, letting his thoughts roam between his marriage and that skeleton girl in the alley. Death punctuated everything.

            Rienford got up from the bed and went to the shower, setting it to something just shy of scalding. On one hand, it upset him to make her so upset. On the other hand, there was this grim sort of satisfaction in seeing that makeup smeared everywhere. He didn’t like the feeling, but it was there.

            He’d let Tish have all the space she needed. She’d come around eventually. When he was done, he wiped the steam from the mirror, smiling at his reflection. He didn’t do anything last night, and sooner or later, she would have to accept it. She’d either get over it or die angry.