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+---- Thread: When cleaning, it's the residue that's the killer (/showthread.php?tid=24090)
When cleaning, it's the residue that's the killer - Dillinger - 06-17-2016
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
I've had a corpse laying face down on my living room carpet for the better part of a month. Rotting. Decaying. Secreting various fluids. There weren't any fans or air conditioners on the entire time I was gone either. The smell was intense. Yet I didn't notice it until I actually entered my place. Common sense tells me that might not be the case for others sharing the same ventilation system as me. I wonder if my neighbors would have reported the stench if they weren't riddled with dirty little secrets of their own. My landlord changed the locks on me because she was worried about what might've happened to me while I was gone, when in reality, she should really be worried about what I do to other people. Mrs. Mathers, the screwball who runs this shithole masquerading as an apartment building. Blind to the things that go on and dumb to the people she rents to. Her place is at the far end of the building so it's doubtful she would have caught wind of things but the folks directly above and below my apartment sure did. Lucky for me, they're both addicted to the heroin that's sold out of the apartment two doors down from my place. And that's just the tip of the iceberg of sin that exists within this building. This apartment complex is a variable wonderland of depravity. Maybe that's why I feel so at home here.
Disposing of the body was easy enough. It was the clean up after that was the issue. Starting with your basic garden variety lemon scented cleaner and working my way up to bleach and eventually ammonia, I think I finally got rid of the lingering odor. The only problem now is that my lungs are on fire, I can barely see and I'm dizzier than a kid who just discovered spinning. Nothing a trip to the roof won't cure while I leave all the windows open so that my place airs out. The tragic aftermath when the solution becomes the problem, I wonder if the junkies are plastered to their vents trying to get high off my fumes or if they scraped together enough change to score the real shit tonight.
Dillinger steps out onto the roof of his apartment building, taking a deep breath he staggers to the side, eventually finding stability against the outside wall of the bulkhead. With his back pressed against that wall, he drops into a sitting position and takes another long deep breath. In the distance a soft roll of thunder permeates the air as a slight drizzle of rain starts to fall. Fatigued, Dillinger closes his eyes and rests his head back against the hard comfort of brick and mortar. Hey, if you weren't almost asphyxiated by toxic chemicals at least once in your life, were you really living?
"Trying to fumigate yourself, boy? You're liable to wind up dead doing a thing like that and then everything you've done will have been for nothing."
A long, deep sigh emanated from Dillinger, he recognized the voice well as impossible as it was to be hearing, the sound still practically bled with familiarity. Deep and guttural like an opera tenor, it was imposing and orotund.
"You're dead."
Dillinger croaked, his throat scratchy and raw from the chemicals he inhaled during his intense cleaning session.
"That's right, I'm dead. You saw to that. Yet here I am. What do you suppose that means?"
"I'm exhausted and hallucinating from the noxious fumes I inhaled."
Dillinger coughed, eyes remaining shut this whole time, he pulled out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter from his shirt pocket and placed a cigarette between his lips.
"Oh yes, that'll fix your lungs right up. You're just oozing smarts lately, aren't you?"
"Shut up."
"Make me. Come on. I'd love to see how you plan on doing that. You can't hurt me anymore... I'M DEAD! You saw to that and now I'm here as a specter or a hallucination, I don't know which but then again, neither do you, so it looks like you're stuck with me until you figure out a way to change that."
"Go away."
"Say please and maybe I'll consider it."
"Why are you here?"
"To poke fun at your growing lack of intelligence and basic common sense skills, why else? You could have killed yourself in that attempt to clean away your mistake. A mistake that you made because you rushed off without a second thought in order to deal with me and the possible threat I presented and why did you do that? Because you were afraid. Thought I was going to crush your little world in one fell swoop. So you left a body on your living room floor to deteriorate and hurried off in the night. If that doesn't fit the bill for stupid, I don't know what does? Why did you kill that man you left on your living room carpet to decompose? Lovely carpet by the way, shame you had to ruin it with your careless stupidity and sloppiness."
"He kept getting the mail wrong."
Dillinger replied softly, his head sinking forward until it rested on his knee.
"What was that? I'm sorry I didn't catch what you said."
"He kept getting the mail wrong. Delivered it to all the wrong boxes, forgot most of it, was late, didn't show up at all, you name it he did it, he was a shitty mailman."
"So you killed him?"
"Yes."
"You killed a mail carrier and left him to rot on your carpet. Unbelievable. The hits just keep coming. I guess you're very fortunate you live in this dive and your mailman was a drunk that no one would miss because you'd be in a heap of shit otherwise. Better hope you took a greater heed to precautions when you handled your business with me. I wasn't exactly an eyesore the community wished would disappear. I had an impact on people's lives, I was an important member of society and a pillar to my industry. People will notice when I don't turn up and if you didn't do everything in your power to safeguard yourself from the backlash, not even this silly cover you've got going in the XWF will matter. You'll be put away for good. For life. To wither and waste away like the growing number of corpses you've been accumulating, except you'll be alive and fully aware, getting to experience and witness it all. You'll watch your life slip away and the only person you'll be able to blame is yourself."
"That's not going to happen. The mail guy was a fluke, I'm normally way more cautious than that."
"For your own sake, you better be right."
"I am right. I may have messed up but that was a one time incident and it doesn't reflect on anything else. I was beyond careful when it came to you. Trust me. No one will ever know that I offed you."
"Um... what?"
There was another voice, this was low, soft and silvery. The drastic change in sound caused Dillinger to immediately open his eyes and pop up from his spot on the roof, quickly lighting up a cigarette as he turned to face the source of the new voice.
"Sorry, I thought I heard someone talking out here, like they were in a heated argument or something."
She was short, about 5"3, slender but not at all bony or underweight, with shoulder length auburn hair and warm, clear, luminous honey brown eyes. Dillinger met her gaze briefly and then turned away, focusing instead on the city and the cloudy night sky.
"Yeah, that was just me, arguing with the voices... again."
A laugh; bitter and ephemeral, Dillinger took a pull from his cigarette and the woman chuckled. She thought he was joking. Good. It's better that way. Dillinger snuffed out his cigarette and rushed back inside, leaving before the lady could get chatty or friendly or whatever she decided on as an appropriate interaction given the circumstances. Based on her attire she didn't appear to be one of the "ladies for hire" from apartment 4B, so that meant she was a new tenant and if she moved into this dump, she was either trouble or naive. Two characteristics Dillinger didn't have time for.
"Jacob Davis."
"The man that's taking part in the Rumble because his daddy is forcing him to."
"Really?"
"That's what you willing admit to when you're fresh on the scene? I'm only here cause my pops made me sign up. Now that's a solid choice for a career statement. Shit. Your old man sounds serious too. That man said he was going to beat you if you no-show the Rumble. An optional fight that's open to anyone. All you need is a desire to fight and you're in. There's no obligation whatsoever and your participation is completely up to you because no one is actually scheduled for this battle. Yet your dear ol' dad is going to put his boot to your ass if you no-show it. Fantastic. Just one quick question though. How exactly does one no-show this sort of match? You aren't booked to fight, no one gives a crap if you show up or not, so how does one ditch or skirt their responsibility in this scenario?"
"Don't bother answering that. There's no way you can play hookie here, it's an open contest of combat and you're just as dumb as your dad if you believe you can."
"Your old man is a drunk though, so at least it makes sense for him to be this fucking stupid and unaware. The man passes out in unfamiliar places and has to play detective when he wakes up in order to figure out where he is. What's your excuse? Oh yeah. You're a spineless imp who follows his orders. From what I've seen though he seems like a solid person to boss you around. Just got the taste for gambling too. That's spectacular. I look forward to seeing him squander what little money you accumulate from the XWF."
"You deserve every shitty thing he does to you too. Seriously. Anyone who is pathetic enough to get shoved around by a piece of shit like your father, deserves every awful, terrible, fucked up thing that comes their way."
"You're in the XWF for fuck's sake. How are you going to last one second in the ring with someone that's worth a damn and still be a little shit stain that follows daddy's commands? You can't, you're going to get in the ring and die, that's how your story plays out. There's no happy ending for you here. When you signed your life away to the XWF, you really signed your life away and this job will kill you. Hey but if you set up a good life insurance policy, your pops should be straight, he can drink and gamble to his heart's content even after you're gone, at least for a few years anyway, so there's that silver lining, right?"