Step by Step/Issue 21

This is Issue #21 of Step by Step. This is the third issue of Volume Four.

'''NOTE: THIS IS UNFINISHED, MAJORLY UNEDITED, AND UNCUT SWAG. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.'''

Straight Below
Caroline was dead.

There was no doubt on Carter's face. He had gone through the routine for five whole minutes, and he was now kneeling on Susie Brown's office floor with the warm blood trickling down his hands. Although, it wasn't Caroline's–there were still the purple fingertip imprints branded on her neck. It had been much of a blur to Carter, and he might never know he had done such a foul act.

But there was still the two inside the clinic. He had minded them with not much attention and let the two–he remembered them as Nolan and Lyle, the Bad meets  Evil–so he just let them flutter off like two fish in a pond. Carter was the big fish, always was. Had the guts to do what was good. If no one had done what he had did, choke the fuck out of Caroline, then she would've likely sprouted her seeds of evil with Ms. Brown.

They were all the trouble, Caroline and her damn troupe of radicals. They had brainwashed her, shredded her mind with lies. Big fish, that's you, Carter. Maybe if the bitch had shut her mouth, things would have been different, but no. Noooo. She just had to call him out when all he had wanted was some pills. The basics, like what that masked fucker had talked about.

Carter gazed at his hands, sweaty after prying the gloves off them. Bloody germs. He had to work out the bugs, keep himself in order. Wasn't supposed to go down like this, but it was all on Susie Brown. No, it was all Brock's fault. Gotten him to trust the man, work with him to give Lyle a good beating before flushing the thug out into the open.

Open season. It was kill or be killed. And Carter would rather use that motto than Susie's absolute bull of prayer. It was his turn now, Carter's, to make sure this wouldn't hurt his record. How damn humiliating. Carter imagined the gates of Shawshank Penitentiary slamming in Carter's face. RENOWNED POLICE OFFICER CHARGED WITH MURDER, AMIDST CHAOS. Carter found a chuckle, but he slapped it away and went to admiring the growing boils on his infected wrist. Lovely.

He was Gloveless Carter Jameson, and a tip of the hat to you. Nothing was getting better in the school, but the blisters had shown only improvement in spreading. Spreading like a wildfire in Arizona. His forearm itched a sickly goo, oozing down to his hands which were cropped to the floor like seeds. Damn seeds of evil, they got to you too.

There was a time where Carter could of found an escape. Indiana, he thought, out of all places. Could have been in California, kicking it with the hot, bed-tanning babes. Out of all girls in the state, he'd only found one to make it through boot camp. And if that girl had been a tick tock over the legal, he would've been set and ate his law degree right in front of Hector Pacino.

He knew the man, and the man's suit he wore everywhere. Hector was the man who had the chance to wreck Carter's life. Cut him off from the force, right in time for Carter to luck out and get sent off with the Guard. In one day, you learn two thousand years. Yeah, well bullshit to that. China was in the past now, and Joseph was one of the last loose ends.

Scrambled eggs, scrambled brain. What's up with you, Carter? Frozen up, like a dick in the wind. Wasn't his brain that had done the killing, must have been his infected, pus-oozing arm. The damn phantom hand. Carter mumbled something, and started to thrash his head against the wall, though however numerous the thuds were against the wall, no one from outside could hear him.

The boys were out there, shooting and shooting. Earning Brock his new medal. On the other hand–Carter chuckled again, smiling weakly as he found escape against the wall–Lyle and Nolan were up and trying to get out of the clinic. Out of the hellhole. Patience was key, patience was key, patience is key. Just wait a while longer, Carter would be new. A new Carter. A better Carter.

Carter felt drowsy, and he considered the thought going into deep sleep. Gone for good. Instead he looked at Caroline, her face blotchy and still in shock. Carter made the effort to crawl towards her and close her eyes, eyes still filled with shock.

"Noooo," Carter bellowed, and trail of pain sweeping into his mashed potato brain. He looked, sullen and his head looking more like a skull than a face. He brought himself up, finding his spine working more like a stick than a log, and stumbled to a sink on the wall. It had been longer than expected, Caroline's demise. Had seemed so fast and furious in the movies, but to strangle the life out of Eugene's sister had been tough work.

Carter dribbled his hand on the sink handle, groaning when he turned it and only more emptiness came out. Soon, he'd have enough of empty to fill an empty box–a box where he should have gotten the time to place awards in which he didn't have. "Noooo," Carter rested his head in the sink, rubbing his hand in the sink and using whatever moisture there was to wash the filth off him.

But it never came, and Carter bellowed once more before slipping his gloves back on. He heard the last of the bullets sound off, and guessed it was time for the afterparty, so he fitted his pistol in its holster and glanced back at Caroline. Then he realized what an idiot he'd been for now copping her quickly–with the gun, of course–instead of putting so much effort into being the insecticide for the seed of evil.

"Damn," Carter said. "Damn it."