Twenty-two

Silence. The feeling was different, but the thing that stood unmoved, unchanged, was the silence. He was alone, and cold. But the light was different. Carl blinked slowly, painfully and his eyes hurt. They couldn't adjust to the light. He sighed subtly and would have screamed if he could have moved. Something deep inside him seemed to shift unnaturally, something cracked. An exhale squealed from him and he allowed himself to drift back to sleep.

As he warmed deeper inside, his sleep grew more vivid. Dull, foggy images became clear pictures, and with the pictures came pain. The beating, he remembered the pain of punches. Steel slamming him in the back. His spine ached where the door's handle had dug into him. He was crying, it was as dark as night, and he was crying in the cold.

The dark remembrance of his dreams flashing through the nighttime exploded beneath his eyelids.

"Gah! Warn a guy!" he screamed sitting bolt upright shielding his eyes from the blazing bulbs above him.

Two young doctors stood in the doorway and a cup shattered on the floor. Both women turned and flew out of the room screaming. Carl looked around, blinking. Small steel doors lined the walls in rows and medical supplies surrounded him.

"Out of the freezer, into… the fridge?" he jested to himself.

He flexed his fingers and stretched his legs, wiggling his toes. After a few quick breaths to be sure he wasn't dying, he slipped lightly off the counter and snatched a white coat as he strolled out the door. The halls were empty, and he followed the same direction as the doctors had run. They probably were heading for the nearest exit; he knew what a morgue looked like and that he wasn't supposed to be walking right now.

Barefoot, he skipped through the halls with a joyously new "spring in his step" today would be a special event. He thought of things that would have shocked himself before, he was such a whiny thing. Scared little Carl Simmons, shaking at the slightest challenge. Whatever had changed was going to stay.

Samuel Evans, Danny Vaughn, Benny peters, and Andrew Large. Those boys were in for a special kind of game. Thoughts whirled through his icy brain, how best to handle the problem of their continued existence. He turned left. Waking up with a knife in their chest is just… too quick, too easy. Where was the pomp, the exhilaration, the fear in their eyes?

This last thought had brought his bouncing steps to a halt; murder is the first thought that comes to mind? Oh well… if madness was to be his method, then the cat truly did say it best- "We're all mad here." One last turn and he strolled casually out the double doors, squinting into the light. Heavy mist hung in the air waiting to be banished by the early morning sun. he took a second to turn up the collar on his coat, the mornings were still painfully silent and cold.

"Shoes, clothes, and a few weapons to get me started." He muttered to himself, "maybe a couple things to bang out a bit of chaos."

Why should he be afraid of anyone here? Because he's small? Brilliant things come in small packages, he wasn't an exceptional physical force, but those who are can be manipulated easily. These things rolled through Carl's thoughts as he made his way across campus to his locker.

"43-18-27? 48-23-17? What the hell is my combo?" he yelled, "stupid locks!"

He gripped the steel and pulled furiously. His whole arm ached, and his hand paled as the hook snapped. He threw it down, to shatter on the floor, without a thought and yanked the door open. Everything was still folded neatly, as he had habitually left it. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Useless waste of time. He threw the coat into a crumpled pile on the floor and pulled clothes on, finishing with his laces pulled tight.