Beat 73: The Path to the Future is Paved with Podiatry
“Hey, old lady! Ya wanna warn a gal ‘fore ya go tossin’ guns
all over the place?” Trixie considered
herself -- and the others, by proxy -- lucky that she’d made a decent catch;
otherwise the room would need a deep scrubbing and a few body bags. But by the looks of things, no one had
bothered paying attention to her or the threat of death. “Y’all just keep on ignorin’ me then…I don’t
even care…”
And they did. Mrs. Overdose in particular; with a few
swings of her legs, socks and shoes went flying through the room. She folded her arms tightly across her torso,
and took a seat on a Lloyd statue with a thunderous drop. With the proper positioning assumed, she
dropped a foot atop Sheila’s lap, and looked up at her with an intense glare.
An intense glare, and
an excited smile. “Let’s get this party
started.”
“Yeah, and you’re about
to do more than just see it, Elsie. Now
get --”
“Elsie?” Lloyd
asked. “The reference is lost on me.”
“It’s the name of a
cow. Jeez, what’re they teachin’ you
kids in school these days?”
“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been.”
“Excuses,
excuses…you’re all just lucky I’m in such a good mood.” She tapped her foot against Sheila’s
lap. “Get to work, girlie. I’m itchin’ to see what you can do -- and now
that I think about it, I got an itch between my middle toes. Start there.”
“B-b-but your feet --
they’re so -- they’re NASTY! Oh GOD, I
can’t get them out of my head!”
“Oh, hey, guess
what? I don’t give a crap about your
head. You got workin’ hands, right? So work ‘em.
I could go for a woman’s touch here and there; the kid’s good, but until
he gets some practice in I wanna see what others can do. Especially if it means taking care of this
here --”
“NO! DON’T DESCRIBE IT!”
Mrs. Overdose slid her
reed back into position. “Got some pipes
on you.”
Sheila started to
squirm, but thanks to her bindings she was lucky to move even an inch from that
chair. And even if she did -- even if
she found a way to crawl to freedom -- Trixie still had a gun aimed at
her. Not threateningly, of course (she
still looked more than a little regretful), but just enough to make her
presence known. “This can’t be
happening. This can’t be happening! Lloyd, help me!”
“I am helping you, Miss O’Leary,” said Lloyd. He lifted his head, bringing it a few inches
away from the back of Sheila’s. “I came
here to help you. I remained here to
help you. And I sit here now,
orchestrating this situation, to help you.
It remains to be seen how effective this will be, but I’m confident that
the revolution we both need starts here.
This is the birth of a new art…and with it, a new star!” Lloyd couldn’t hold back a smile. “This is my secret technique! Sonnet of Un-Logic Number One: The Shotgun
Foot Rub!”
“The what?!”
“Aha, so the confusion
has taken you, I see. Excellent;
everything is proceeding as planned. Now
then, I’d recommend you start with the foot rub; otherwise, milady may become cross
with you. To say nothing of the threat
of violence you may face -- from a frontal assault to an attack to your
flank.” He gasped sharply. “Flank?
Oh, now I get it -- she’s Elsie the Cow because of flanks! A clever joke indeed, milady!”
“You’re one hell of a
trip, kid,” said Mrs. Overdose. She
glared at Sheila, the cheer of a potential foot rub giving way to a hardening
eye. “Hey, you. Better get on with it. You may have some big airbags, but one kick
from me will leave you all crumpled up.”
“Wha- you can’t
be…!” Sheila tried turning back toward
Lloyd. “Y-you’re not serious, are you?”
“Miss Walters? Start taking aim, if you would.”
That got a yelp out of
Sheila, but not much else -- likely because she caught a glimpse of a rising blob
of gunmetal. She lifted her hands up to Mrs.
Overdose’s foot, but kept them at bay as they started to chill and quiver. She couldn’t see the foot at all -- much less
describe them -- but she figured that was for the best. The memory of that foot burned its way
through her brain already; she could only begin to imagine what sort of
nightmares she’d endure if she --
“Yup. Pretty
sure you’re supposed to be givin’ me a foot rub right now,” said Mrs.
Overdose.
Sheila took a deep
breath, and took hold of the foot. And
almost instantly, tears started pouring down her face. It only took a minute for a sheen of fluids
thick enough to stop a bullet to cover the bottom two-thirds of her face, and
the leakage that followed looked primed to give her a suit of sticky armor. But through the sobs and snorts she tended to
the foot, running her fingers across whatever she could (thankfully not)
see.
“You’re not bad,
girlie,” said Mrs. Overdose. “Don’t be
afraid to press a little harder, though; that’s the only way you’ll be gettin’
deep enough for a good rub.”
Sheila gave her a
mechanical nod, and as told she dug into the blurred abomination. For minutes at a time it looked as if her
face started peeling from the bone; at the very least, it sagged and sank in
tandem with her tears. But even then,
she kept on rubbing that foot; she shivered, and sniffled, and sputtered out
the occasional half-muted mantra, but she just kept on rubbing.
“Uh, Lloyd?” Trixie
asked. “Sheila here ain’t lookin’ too
good. How long’re ya gonna let her go at
it?”
Mrs. Overdose jerked
her head at her. “What do you mean? She keeps goin’ for as long as it takes.”
“I wasn’t askin’ --”
“Actually, that sounds
about right,” said Lloyd.
“Ya gotta be kiddin’
me, pal! If she keeps this up, she’s
gonna --”
“Just wait. This is all a part of the plan.”
Trixie groaned, but her
dismay went unheard; Sheila’s whimpering hit a crescendo, as did her
chanting. “Somebody save me,” she said
in a loud whisper. “Somebody save me. Somebody save me. Somebody, save
me.” Her fingers twitched atop the
foot -- and she looked as if she’d taken a sledgehammer to the skull.
“Lloyd?” Trixie asked.
But Lloyd just shook
his head. “Wait for it…”
Sheila’s pleas had long
since hit fortissimo. She looked as if
the only thing keeping her in place was the chair she’d been bound to; her body
swayed and wobbled, and her head rolled atop her neck like a misfired marble. “Somebody save me…I don’t know what to
do!” She might have said more, if not
for her sudden bout of gagging and retching.
“Lloyd, she looks like
she’s about to die!” Trixie bit down
on her lip. “Oh my God. We’re killin’ a hostage. We are KILLING a hostage after breakin’ into
her house and shovin’ a gun in her face!
We’re all gonna get the chair!
Lloyd, if ya don’t say the word, then --”
“Wait for it…”
“Dammit, Lloyd, this
ain’t the time for --!”
Suddenly, Mrs. Overdose
raised a hand. “Hey, you know what I’m
in the mood for? A pedicure.”
Trixie froze. Lloyd froze.
Sheila froze. No one moved. No one spoke.
No one thought. Nothing came of
those words but a complete cessation of activity -- of life, and existence
itself -- for precisely sixty six point six seconds.
It was the only way to
prepare for what came next. Sheila’s
scream.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
That sonic blast nearly
bowled everyone -- Sheila included -- over.
The lady in question clenched her teeth tight enough to bite through a
rhinoceros, and thrust her hands atop her head.
“I CAN’T DO IT ANYMORE!” she wailed, rocking about as if trying to tear
a poltergeist from her brain. “I
CAN’T! I JUST CAN’T! I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M SUPPOSED TO DO HERE! IT’S TOO DAMN GROSS! JUST SHOOT ME NOW, PLEASE!”
“…Okay. Now,”
said Lloyd. “Lady Overdose? That’s all for today.”
“What? But she barely did…” The gunwoman grumbled and shook her head, but
dropped her foot regardless. “Fine. But I’m gettin’ a FULL foot rub from somebody
before the day’s over.” She stood up
and started putting her socks and shoes back on.
“And you will. That, I promise you. But for now, Miss O’Leary is finally in the
proper state of mind.”
“You call this
‘proper’?”
“I do indeed.” Lloyd leaned his head back, letting a few of
his hairs brush against Sheila’s. “Miss
O’Leary. If you’re feeling overwhelmed,
why not ask your friend for advice?
Surely she can help you out with such a perilous situation.”
“Don’t you think I’ve
tried that?” Sheila snapped, slamming the back of her head against
Lloyd’s. “That’s the FIRST thing I
tried! And it didn’t work at all!”
Trixie tilted her
head. “Friend…?” She turned to Mrs. Overdose, but all she
could do was shrug.
“Yes, I figured as
much. After all, it was all a part of my
plan.” Lloyd nodded to himself. “Perhaps it’s due to my sleep-deprived state;
perhaps it’s due to my natural foppishness.
But whatever the case may be, I’ve started to see a connection. The chaos and happenstance I’ve endured
hardly seem befitting of a regular, reasonable girl. Massive leaps in logic are -- or were -- my
territory; only someone with a brain as addled as mine could make such choices
so recklessly. At least, under normal
circumstances.”
“You followin’ this?”
Trixie asked. But once more, she didn’t
get much more than a shrug.
“I made a call to
Arjuna last night. He said something
along the lines of you receiving advice from someone he himself hadn’t met, but
whose influence he could make conjecture about.
And I’d be more than happy to make further conjectures.” He raised his head, thankful that Sheila had
calmed down enough to let him speak unabated.
“The Shotgun Foot Rub is a technique designed solely to overwhelm --
overwhelm the senses, and eventually, if not simultaneously, overwhelm the
mind. Simply put, it’s to be a situation
in which there is no easy answer. No
salvation, even from the sagest of advisors.
With that in mind, I wonder if you’re beginning to understand.”
Sheila turned her head
as far back as it could go, giving her a murky glipse of Lloyd from the corner
of her eye. Lloyd did the same -- and a
smile slid across his face.
“Miss O’Leary. Do you understand it now? Everyone has their limits -- even the friend
inside you.”
“Inside her?” Trixie
asked -- and immediately after, she turned a deep shade of red. “L-Lloyd?
Ya wanna be a bit more specific, pal?”
Lloyd laughed. “Sorry, that was my fault. I should have used ‘friend’ in quotation
marks. Though it’s hard to be sure of
how accurate that might be.”
“That’s not what I --
aw, forget it. It ain’t important.”
“Right, then. Back to the matter at hand; it was by good
fortune that I noticed your phone was sorely lacking in contacts worth
calling. By that logic, one could argue
that you have few, if any, friends to call your own. A brutal thought, to be sure, but likely a
true one if my guess is right. If we
take that to be true, then I wonder just who would agree to give you advice --
and even then, how you’d go about contacting them without physical proximity OR
any means of communication. No phone, no
computer, not even a personal conversation…it smacks of impossibility, under
normal circumstances.”
Sheila’s lips
quivered. “So what are you trying to
say?”
“What I’m trying to say, Miss O’Leary, is that
I’ve gained a bit of insight. Elements
about you that once remained obscured by unknowns and scenario-bred imbalances
have given way to the truth…or at least a potential to see it for myself. But to answer your question more directly, I
think I can sum it all up in one line.”
He pointed boldly at
her -- or at least he would have if he hadn’t been tied up and facing the wrong
direction. “In order to save your life,
I’ll have to end the life of your other self.”
The room went silent.
“…Was that not a cool
enough line? Hold on, then, let me give
it another try.”
TO BE HEARTINUED…
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