Crimson Ripper Chapter 2

After looking at the box Jack gave me, it occurred to me that it was some sort of projector. Part of it was removable and had the typical buttons one would expect to find on a DVD remote and in the front was a small lens. I placed it on the coffee table in front of the couch and pushed the power button. A stand pushes out beneath the projector, elevating it a few feet upwards. A white screen then descends from the ceiling. The door slides open as Edi chimes in through the intercom outside, “Yer welcome.”

A light shines from the lens to the screen, showing a man get out of bed and getting dressed for work. It took a little bit to recognize the man as Jack. The only visible similarities were his facial features and his black hair. It’s now obvious that he was Caucasian with pale skin, suggesting that he rarely went outside the house. His eyes didn’t have that shining quality he has now, instead they were dull brown. Of course he was nowhere near as tall as he is currently, in fact he seemed shorter than you would expect, standing a little under five feet. He wasn’t muscular in the slightest either; he looked slightly pudgy from lack of exercise. Needless to say, he was a little less than average. Jack went about his morning as you’d expect anyone would; he made his bed, ate breakfast, and then went to his car to go to work. Nothing worth noting happened until he got to his place of work.

When he got there, he was immediately intercepted by his boss. “Jack, can I see you in my office?” His voice had the same tone a father would have when saying “Come outside,” with a loose belt tightly gripped in his hands. Jack complied with slight irritation. In the office Jack took his seat in front of the Boss’s desk. Judging from his expression, it was clear that he was just about to ruin Jack’s day. “I don’t need to tell you that the company has been going through hard times lately, cause we’ve all been hit by it one way or another. You are no exception, Jack-“  “Can you just cut the bullshit and get to the bad news.”

For a moment, the boss looked offended; a flash of appalled agitation sparked in his eyes and his frown became sterner, but he quickly regained his composure. As he spoke, though, he couldn’t hide his indignation, “I’m afraid you can no longer work here as of today.” Jack nodded, “That wasn’t so hard was it?” His boss grimaced and grumbled, “Just get the hell out.” Jack rose from his seat and headed for the door. He stopped just before he left the doorway and turned to his boss, “I’ll just leave the stuff on my desk where they are, do whatever you want with them.”

With that, Jack left the office building and went straight to his car.  Inside the car, Jack sighed heavily as rested his head on the steering wheel. A low, “God damn it,” escaped his lips, almost blending with his sigh. For a while he kept his head perched on the wheel, muttering to himself in a hushed, distressed tone. When he finally lifted his head up, he put the key in the ignition, started the car, and drove away from the office building, presumably going back home.

On the way home, Jack pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. He put it on speaker and set it on the middle console. The phone rang for a few seconds until someone answered. “Jack?” “Yeah, it’s Jack.” The voice on the other line became excited and frantic, “Holy shit! Where’ve you been?  I haven’t seen or heard anything from you for over a month and Paul-“ “Hey calm down! Calm Down!” Jack asserted. The voice hushes. There was a short pause before Jack spoke, “I’ve… I’ve been dealing with some stuff. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Shit, man… You could have least called and let me know what’s been going on. You can’t just keep stuff to yourself. I mean I’ve called at least fifteen times and you never answered.” “Yeah I’m sorry about that…” There was a long silence before Jack broke it with, “How’s Paul doing?” Another period of silence, when the voice spoke the tone was very solemn. Very much like Jack had reopened a healing wound. “Paul…” said the voice on the other line, “Paul’s dead, Jack.” Jack’s eyes widened with shock and disbelief. “W-what!?” He shouted, “When!?” “H-he passed away four days ago in the hospital.” Jack’s driving became erratic as he spoke, his face turning to the phone as if the man on the other line could see his expression. “But he was doing fine a month ago! What happened!?” Jack turned his head back to the windshield only to see a car speeding in his direction.

The cars collided violently. Jack’s windshield shattered as he flew out the car and into a ditch at the side of the road.  His mangled body laid there, covered in glass shards; many of them had dug into his flesh and left trails of blood trickling into a pool under him. There was a rather nasty gash on the left side of his face; the window must have torn open his cheek as his teeth were visible and a strap of flesh hung down to his jaw. Jack’s right forearm was bent backwards behind his back, and through his right pant leg some bone can be seen trying to poke through it.

Nevertheless it was obvious that Jack was in critical condition. His body lay still in that small pool of blood in the ditch. He must have been unconscious since he neither made an attempt to move or make any sound whatsoever. I say unconscious because I know he’s not dead, I’ve seen that proof not too long ago. Still, it was a gruesome sight and I try not to look at him for too long.

The road was surprisingly desolate, so it makes sense that the scene stayed unnoticed for as long as it did as well as to why Jack was left neglected in a ditch at the side of a road for hours on end. Only after that period did a man wearing khaki cargo shorts and blue striped t-shirt show up walking down the road. He looked above average in terms of height with a lean, but somewhat skinny body. His short hair was a light blond which complemented his also light skin tone. He stops at the scene of the wreck and immediately looks at the ditch where Jack lies. A slightly disappointed look appeared on his face; the kind of look someone would give when they’ve stumbled upon a particularly clumsy friend in a bind. It’d be kind of funny if the situation wasn’t what it was. He walks over to Jack nonchalantly and, as if to chastise him, says, “You really need to be more careful.”

The man then bends down to pick Jack up onto his shoulder and starts walking in the direction he came from. After a while they came across a lone trailer by the road where the man brought Jack inside. He set Jack on his kitchen table and studied him for a few minutes. His shirt was now almost completely stained with blood which dripped onto the floor leaving a red trail on the tile. The interior of the trailer was surprisingly neat and tidy aside from the man bleeding to death on the kitchen table, contrasting the rough, somewhat trashy exterior.

The man’s face looked partially satisfied as if he’d just solved some sort of puzzle. He flicked his hand upwards and suddenly all the shards of glass that had dug into Jack jolted upwards onto the ceiling. Before they all fell, he motioned his fingers in a circular fashion and the shards revolved around the air above Jack. He then directed a pointed finger to a trash bin to the right of the table and the shards floated in a trail down into it. The man walks over to Jack and examines the left side of the face and presses his hand against what’s left of his cheek. The hanging strap of flesh folds into place, hiding Jack’s previously exposed teeth, then fuses with the rest of the skin. For a moment there was a hideous scar, but in mere seconds it looked as if nothing had even touched Jack’s face; no scars, no hint at all that suggested he was very recently in an especially violent car wreck.

All the wounds from the dozens of fragmented glass knives have closed up as well, once again leaving no trace of injury. The man then directs his attention to Jack’s broken arm. He grabs the upper and forearm with enthusiasm, only to hesitate.  He looks at Jack, “Let’s see if this wakes you up.” Like pulling a lever he yanks Jack’s arm back into place, making a loud popping sound causing me to shutter in my seat. Jack sprang up, his eyes wide as they can possibly get, and screamed at the top of his lungs in complete agony. The man looked pleased with himself, taking pride in his work. Jack writhed on the table, painfully moaning as he tries not to scream. This confused the man until he looked at his leg. “Oh, sorry about that, this’ll take a few seconds.”

The man lifts the pant leg up to reveal part of a broken bone sticking out from the calf. He puts his hands on it, much to the protest of Jack’s pain filled wailing, and forces it back into place. Jack screams once again, though this time it’s much shorter as the wound mends itself rapidly. Relieved of any more pain, Jack relaxes on the table, his blood stained face very pale from the massive loss of blood. “There you go, all better,” said the man.

Jack tries to speak, but instead of anything comprehensible coming out of his mouth he just ends up mumbling to himself until he goes unconscious. “You just go ahead and rest.” The man then starts cleaning out the blood from the floor, this time without using any fantastical powers. Oddly enough he made no effort to take Jack off the table or wash his clothes or even clean scrub the blood off of him. Content with cleaning everything else, the man takes a chair from the table and pulls out a small book from his pant pocket, which he read until well into the night.

A clock indicates it’s a little before one in the morning once Jack slowly and groggily wakes up. The man, having noticed Jack’s awakening, puts away his book. “Oh, good morning sleeping beauty.” Jack sits himself up and massages the back of his neck. “Where am I?” “My humble abode.” “Why am I on a ta-“ Jack notices his blood-caked clothes, horrified, confused, and completely sober in an instant. “W-why am I covered in b-blood?!” “Well, your dumb ass got into a car wreck. I took care of all the cuts, gashes, bruises, and broken bones, but I didn’t feel like cleaning you up.” “What?!” “If you don’t believe me, you can walk about a mile down the road and see for yourself. Your car is still there, but so are the police and I don’t think the other guy fared too well, so I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Jack stared at the man, his jaw slowly dropping. “I-I got in a wreck?” he said, completely staggered by the man’s claim. “You don’t remember?” Jack, looking as if a million things are going off in his mind at once (and there probably was), struggles a bit to find any memories of the wreck. “I… I-I don’t know. I remember talking to a… a friend on the ph-phone… but I can’t… I-I can’t-“ “Alright calm down.” The man had a very authoritative, yet disarming tone, “It was a pretty bad wreck, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you got a concussion. Just stay calm right now and relax.” Jack nervously nodded and shut his mouth; his eyes still had that thousand-mile stare. The man studied Jack for a good ten seconds. After a dissatisfied “hmm,” he asked, “Are you hungry?”

Jack breaks his stare and looks up at the man, surprised, “What?” “You hungry?” the man repeats. “…Y-yeah, yeah…” The man promptly got up from his seat and walked over to the kitchen cabinet. “Name’s Mormon by the way.” Hanging on the door as he searched, Mormon mumbled to himself, “… ah shit.” He swung himself off the cabinet and proclaimed, “I don’t have anything for to you to eat uh… There’s a diner not too far from here, I’ll take you there. My treat.”

Jack shook his head “Uh no-no thank you I’ll just get a ride home and fix something up myself.” He climbed off the table and started for the door, but is stopped by Mormon “Come on, let me help you out.” Jack awkwardly declines Mormon’s insisted offer “Again, thank you but I need to get home.” Mormon looked at Jack as if he were a mouse challenging an elephant. “Now, Jack, don’t be an idiot.” Jack immediately locked his eyes with Mormon’s. Suspicion evident in both his eyes and his tone, he said, “How do you know my name?” Mormon dismisses Jack’s question and presses further “That’s not important, you’ve lost a lot of blood and you need something to eat.” Jack maneuvers around Mormon and starts again for the door. “I feel fine. Look, I really need to go.” Mormon’s expression flared with frustration at Jack’s attempt to escape his “offer”.  He directed his middle and index fingers at Jack and flicked them to the floor.

Jack was thrown onto the floor by an invisible force, the back of his head hitting the floor with a loud *thump*. Mormon opened his hand and all of Jack’s healed wounds erupted violently and gruesomely. Jack screamed in agony as blood poured onto the floor, forming a small puddle around him. Then, as quickly they had opened, his injuries mended themselves. Mormon arrogantly sauntered to the bloody and pale squirming man, leaning into his face. “Looks like you lost a little more blood,” he said with a hint of cruel satisfaction, “care to indulge me by letting me take you a nearby restaurant out of my sincere hospitality?” Jack stared at Mormon like a deer at headlights, shivering where he lay. With a tight lipped smile, Mormon sneered “I’ll take that as a yes.” He picked Jack up and leaned him against his shoulders, leaving the house immediately afterwards. Mormon walked Jack aside the road in the dead of night, presumably in the direction of the particular restaurant he had in mind.

I decided that would be a good stopping point for today. My eyelids had long regained the feeling of being weighed down by dumbbells and I don’t know exactly how much longer I can keep them open. Though I think I can stay awake just long enough to write down what happened today before I collapse of exhaustion. I’d best get off the couch I’ve been on since I came here, it has a nice arch to it and it’s as soft as a pillow. It’d be too easy to get comfortable and slip out of consciousness, so I’ll sit on the floor and use the coffee table as a desk so I can concentrate better on my work.