Back to the future….

Brian's POV

The door opened onto a short hallway. I passed a small, dark room. I poked my head in. It was a bathroom. The walls were unfinished. Without the drywall and paint, it was a two by four skeleton. A brand-new unattached toilet sat in the middle of the room about a foot or two from a rectangular hole in the floor from which a 4-inch thick black pipe emerged and ran up to the ceiling.

I stepped back and continued down the hallway. A couple of feet past the bathroom, the hallway ended, opening onto a medium-sized room that was probably meant to hold a living room/dining room and kitchen. Half the floor was covered with the cheap thin tile used by slum lords and the Allegheny County Housing Authority and the other half the dirt, dust, and gravel I'd noticed in the bedroom. Quite a few ACHA buildings were like this. The two-year recession had led to deep budget cuts.

I opened the front door and hopped out. I nearly fell. My left foot caught on a body mid hop. Fortunately, before tumbling to the floor, I managed to catch myself on the far wall. I looked down. The hallway had no windows at the ends. The dawn sun, dim as it was, would have been kinder. The 40-watt light bulb illuminating the body I'd tripped on (and about twenty or thirty others) was buzzing and flickering and covered in so much grime and dirt that it cast an unflattering dark mustard yellow light. Every face looked jaundiced, and the owners' cold sores and abscesses stood out in greater relief.

The bodies didn't even look like bodies. More like piles of laundry. I was suddenly assailed by a fetid bouquet of odors. Of sweat (vinegar and nasty cheese), piss, and shit. I covered my nose and tried to push back the attendant wave of nausea. I barely managed to prevent myself from puking. I breathed as little as possible.

I hopped down the hallway, but more slowly, trying, but mostly failing, to dodge arms and legs. No one screamed or even moved when I landed squarely on a hand or a foot. I sighed. Heroin dealers probably manned every stairwell in this building during the day and most of the night. A minute later, the crunch of crushed glass verified my hypothesis. Empty vials.

Justin's POV

I awoke with a start. Someone was shining a bright light in my face. I muttered, "Wha? Sleepin. Leave me alone" and tried to roll over. But the someone shining the light in my face kicked me in the side. I groaned and opened my eyes. I looked up. Where was I?

I squinted and tilted my head, trying to see past the glare. To distinguish any details on the form looming over me in the darkness. It took all my concentration and a full minute of squinting to glimpse anything. Even then, all I saw was a glint.

I only figured out what that glint was when the form barked, "Up against the wall, dirt bag!"

Ah. One of PPD's finest. The glint must have been from his badge. I heard two loud clicks. Was he cocking his gun? That wrenched my consciousness very much into the present. I was suddenly wide awake and in a great deal of pain. My side ached, and my back was stiff. I knew I should stand up, do what the cop asked, but I couldn't move. I couldn't even speak.

"You know the drill. Up against the wall!"

The drill? I finally found my voice. It came out as a halting rasp. "Are you arresting me?"

"Get up on your feet, turn around, and put your hands on the wall! NOW!"

"What's the charge?"

The cop asked, "Are you resisting, dirt bag?" His voice was mocking, an almost gleeful hiss. I heard another set of clicks. The cop set the flashlight on the floor and holstered his gun. He grabbed my arm, pulled me to a standing position, and shoved me against the nearest wall. Then he yanked on my hair, grabbed a fistful, and shoved my face into the wall. Hard. Blood streamed down my face. I blinked a few times and tried to lift my hands up, to wipe away the blood, but the cop had grabbed both and was cuffing them behind my back.

"You are one sick fuck. Wasn't the shot in the head enough? Did you have to disembowel him?"

What?

"You're going away. For a looong time."

Author's note (in response to some confused and upset reviews): In My Beloved, Brian's mom is a crackhead and a hooker (who sells Brian's things, anything she can anyway, for booze or drugs) whose pimp/drug dealer knows about Justin, and she's shown really bad judgement in terms of dragging Brian into her world (she thinks Brian, too, should sell his body, and she's willing to extort money from Brian and Justin to give to her pimp/drug dealer). Drug dealers and pimps customarily administer beatings and murder people (as do 'regular folk' on occasion), so while I know that the last two chapters have been shocking, I don't think they are too much of a stretch for this story. I probably should have continued the narrative chronologically rather than jumping around...I wanted to shock you all...I thought this way would be more 'exciting.' I'm sorry if I chose wrong.