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Known to his always changing apartment neighbors as "that weirdo who always sits outside on the porch and reads", Kevin will read just about anything except horror. Some of his short stories have appeared in print in such magazines as Lynx Eye, Show and Tell, and Starblade, among others. In his spare time when he isn't fooling with his short stories, Kevin is still plugging away at his first novel--a mystery. Kevin also likes walks on the beach, sunsets, fishing and, like any beauty contestant, longs for world peace and an end to poverty and disease everywhere. He also is annoyed that the movie vision promise of "2001: A Space Odyssey" never came about. While wanting permanent moon bases immediately, he will settle for chocolate and hold it just right so that it sorta looks like The Monolith.

Neither Here Nor There by Kevin R. Tipple

The figure on the bed stirred briefly, pulling at his bonds. Even without the restraints, he physically wasn’t going anywhere. The prison of the mind inexorably tightened and he began to scream. Silently at first, he gradually cranked up the scale to drown out the monitors. A machine in the corner whirred to life as medication dripped into his rigid arm. The arm spasmed against the bed in a futile effort at freedom. There was a screech, indistinguishable between man or machine, then silence reigned in the ward. Reality began again for the patient.

***

The tires crunched. They rolled over glass and gravel along one side of the mall. The white car, adorned with decals of this month's security force, lurched heavily as it straddled potholes. Might as well paint a big bull’s-eye on the car and be done with it. It would be nice if they replaced the shocks while they were at it. The underside screeched. Metal rubbed on the twisted pavement of a pothole. Can’t dodge them all. Sometimes it seemed as if they formed right in front of me as I drove.

The jostling certainly didn’t help my ever-present headache. I took two more tablets with the last of the soda. So much for the commercials promising pain relief. It was all so fake. The car bottomed out hard, scraping the undercarriage again on a pothole.

Headlights flashed across the graffiti on the fence and then back to the street. What once had been a very prosperous part of town was now a war zone that the police refused to tread. It would be a great set for one of those Armageddon movies. Actually, the whole area would probably have to be fixed up a bit for one of those end-of-the-world movies.

A security guard was left to patrol the six blocks of mall property and parking lots without any hope of backup. Where was John Wayne when you really needed him? The mall was less than a mile from the police station, but it was a world away. Progress had been here, done that, and moved out to the suburbs. I glanced at the dark building. More like the suburbs of the suburbs, I thought.

The car rocked hard. I missed another pothole in the darkness. Damn it anyway! I rolled down the window in a worthless attempt to cool off. All it was going to do was let every flying bug in creation slip into the car. The air conditioner had failed again and, at three in the godforsaken morning, there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Maybe my last official act when I quit this job should be to shoot the car and put it out of its misery.

I wasn’t even supposed to be out here. I was supposed to be at the Thompson Estate in my cozy little booth. I could have had it easy, but no, I had to fill in here.

“If Miller ever, ever calls in sick again, I will personally go over to his place and put one large-caliber bullet right through his no-good skull and it won’t hit a thing. The lying son-of-a...DAMN IT!”

The car lurched, bottomed out, and staggered as it climbed out of the pothole. Well, that one wasn't here last week. I put the car in park and switched off the engine and lights. The dome light, along with half a dozen other things, was busted, so there wasn’t even a flash when I pushed the door open.

I stood and stretched. My back groaned in relief. I turned from side to side. Cartilage popped. I eased the door shut and leaned against the car. The engine ticked as it cooled and slowly the night sounds restored themselves. Sweat trickled down my back and dripped from my face. I wiped it with a sleeve of my shirt, waiting in vain for a breeze. Ninety-nine percent of the time the wind blows at night, but not that night when I really needed it. Somehow it figured.

Cicadas chirped, and somewhere off in the distance the familiar wail of a siren sounded. It rose and then softly began to drift away. It wasn’t coming my way. There was absolutely no point in patrolling this armpit. Just last week another guard had been killed and set on fire for interrupting some drug deal or something. At least the night was quiet. I glanced at my glowing digital watch. The digits pulsed red in time with my headache. My voice was too loud when I spoke into the darkness.

“Attention, the time is three thirty in the a.m. Dallas-Fort Worth, and the temperature is a balmy ninety-four degrees. Day fifty-five of the drought officially and I have to suddenly go to the bathroom. Thank you for caring and I now return you to your regular program. If this had been an actual emergency...” I snickered, all alone in the night. It’s a terrible thing to waste a sense of humor on an audience of rats and trash. Then again, it was an actual emergency, because I suddenly had to go right now.

Gravel and glass crunched together as I eased to the side of the building. Might as well go right here, because this place is nothing more than a sewer anyway. The floods were out, so hopefully I was invisible in the night. No wonder the police wear black. They don’t want you to see them coming for you before they kick in your door.

As I stood next to the wall, I looked both ways for unwanted eyes. Right then the mall could go to the ground; I needed relief pure and simple. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I couldn’t see anyone. To hell with it, the need was pressing. Down went the zipper. The problem was about to be resolved. A helicopter drifted off to the southwest. Its blades beat the sky. The running beacons flashed in the darkness as the searchlight swung back and forth. Probably a prowler call that would turn out to be mating cats.

I finished and stared at the departing helicopter. Talk about the easy job. It must have been nice to be up there away from all the decay. Just to drift above the dark ground with the land all aglitter. Everything at your feet and unlimited horizons where anything is possible. The neon of illusion paints yet another pretty picture from a distance. The reality was very different.

There was the crack of a gunshot and I jumped. The metallic can I accidentally kicked rang as it hit and bounced off the wall and rolled to a stop. I leaned against the warm wall and froze, trying to get my breath back. The heat was still in the brickwork, even hours after the sun had set.

I eased away from the wall and listened to the night. While the building might have been protecting me from the shooter, it was also blocking me from hearing where the shooter was. My pulse pounded. I strained to listen over the noise in my own head.

Everything was deathly quiet and then the tall grass rustled with a breath of breeze. As quickly as it had come, it was gone. The night sounds were gradually coming back. Everything else moved on.

The shot had been close, but not close enough to investigate. After all, you get what you pay for and it was not my problem just yet. The cicadas began to sing again and a large mosquito buzzed my face. I waved at it in vain as it buzzed back into the black night. The back of my neck itched and I could feel the raised skin of a fresh bite. Everything there literally sucked the life out of you. The wind puffed once more and toilet paper drifted up against the fence.

With a last glance round the dump, I turned and went back to the wall. The brick was very warm against my back. Sweat ran down my back and an itch started between my shoulder blades. I shifted in a vain attempt to scratch it. I slid a little side to side against the brick wall, but I just couldn’t get to it.

Glass shattered somewhere close by and everything stopped. I wiped my face and listened. The silence was total except for the drumbeat of blood pounding in my ears. The heart was getting a real workout this morning.

I turned to the right as another bottle shattered in the night. I worked my way toward the the end of the wall, loose gravel rolling and crunching under my boots. The mall was a huge five-point star and I was getting close to one of the points. I tried to remember if this one still had its tenant. Three of the points didn’t, so the dumpsters had been moved -- most of them to a cul-de-sac between two points on one side of the mall.

I paused, trying to catch my breath. A bottle arced out past the edge of the wall and smashed into the ground a few feet away from me. It exploded and glass flashed as light from that side set it on fire. Sweat rolled into my eyes and burned. I wiped my face with a wet sleeve. The blood pounded and surged through me. I struggled for breath. So much for training and stress reduction classes.

I eased the flap on my holster open and my sweaty hands reached for the official standard .38. Fired twice on the range to qualify for the permit, it had never spoken in anger. When I pulled it free, it slipped from my wet hands and clattered to the ground.

Oh, god! I knelt in the debris. My hand closed on gravel and glass. My fingertips brushed against a dead rat and then the slippery butt of the gun. I picked it up and stood, wiping one hand and then the other on my pants. Glass shattered. It was now or never. I stepped out and around the corner and into a floodlit plain.

Five dark blue dumpsters were arranged in a rough half-circle in the hollow between the extended points of the walls. Twin halogen floodlights were attached to the top of the wall across from me. The light was directly in my face and it felt like I was looking right at the sun. Mom always said not to, but every now and then you just had to do it, no matter what.

I squinted and blinked. Tears welled up in my eyes. A bottle spun up from somewhere and flashed in the sky as it arced across and smashed on the ground. Glass sprayed everywhere and I shifted to the side.

Suddenly, everything stopped for a minute and silence was restored. I wiped sweaty hands on my pants. My eyes adjusted. Well, this is as good as it's going to get.

I stepped forward, feet crunching on loose gravel, toward the clustered dumpsters. Somehow it figured that the furthest one was the one that seemed to have someone in it. I eased forward another step and brushed against the first dumpster. Metal snagged my shirt and my sleeve ripped open. Damn it! I tried to inspect the hole but I couldn’t see if it had gotten my arm. My arm stung and felt like it was on fire. Now, I'm going to need a tetanus shot in addition to everything else!

I leaned back against a side of the dumpster and braced my feet. The smell of rotting garbage rolled off the top of the dumpster and across me. The blood pounded in my head. My stomach heaved. I swallowed and wiped my eyes. Another bottle flashed across the sky and crashed to the ground. It was now or never.

“This is Mall Security. Step out with your hands up and lie facedown on the ground. Do it now!”

Silence descended and we both waited a moment for the next move.

“This is armed Mall Security. Get out of the dumpster now!”

The dumpster shifted and settled. The light was blinding my eyes, but I was already committed. The dumpster shifted again. A figure appeared in the side through the opening. I pointed my weapon into the glare at him as he stood framed by the small window.

“Get out now and lie facedown on the ground!” My hands were starting to shake and this idiot was not cooperating at all.

The figure laughed and jumped down on the ground. He moved out of the shadow thrown by the dumpster and into light. As he emerged, I saw that he was a kid about twelve or so. He stepped out with his hands loose at his side. He adopted a pose like a gunfighter from some old western. I certainly didn’t feel like John Wayne and I really didn’t need this crap. Sweat rolled down into my eyes and they began to burn and water. He shifted and steadied. I blinked like mad trying to clear my weeping eyes. I wasn’t about to remove one hand from my weapon to wipe them dry. They were shaking so hard I was having one hell of a time holding the damn thing steady. I squinted real hard, trying to keep his figure steady in front of me. Where the hell was a breeze when you needed it?

The boy stood in silence and then one hand began to twitch. The hand slowly, almost imperceptibly, eased behind him. A voice from somewhere screamed, “Damn it, he’s got a gun!”

“Facedown on the ground now!”

The tableau froze in place as we waited each other out. Then, I blinked and the world erupted in chaos.

His arm rocketed out from behind his back and he pointed at me. I caught sight of a flash. A bottle spun toward my head. I flinched and fired, twisting to the side. The bottle smashed into the side of my head and the pain began. Everything flashed. The world spun out of control. My feet were suddenly pointed at the stars as I landed hard on the ground, knocking the breath right out of me. I bounced and gravel dug into my back. I turned my head through the pain and watched the figure drift away like a ghost in the night.

I rolled onto my hands and knees and shook my head to clear it. Blood dripped from a cut somewhere on my head and splashed on the ground inches from my nose. I spat next to the splattered blood and pushed myself to my feet. Everything rocked and then slowly steadied. My stomach heaved and I knew I was going to throw up. I didn't know if it was from a concussion or way too much stress and adrenaline. I leaned against a dumpster and pitched right into it. The fast food that had gone down so well roared right back up and out.

I finally finished and slid away from the open side of the dumpster. My head pounded. Various body parts complained in chorus. I put my hands on my hips and made a concerted effort to breathe. In and out, in and out, over and over again. I tried to get it together.

I blinked and looked at the ground. Slowly, I realized my weapon lay in the dirt. I bent over, fighting nausea the whole way, and reached for the gun. I picked it up and brushed the dirt off. Easing it back into the holster, I looked over at the other dumpster. Slowly, ever so slowly, I became aware of a small dark shape on the ground.

I pushed off the dumpster and wobbled over to another one. I braced myself and pushed off toward the body. The ground shifted and tilted as I staggered over to the figure.

Everything took on a surreal quality. I kneeled down next to the body. The figure was on its back in holey blue jeans and jacket. In one hand was a small piece of chicken that had been partly eaten. On the wrist was a small silver bracelet. One little girl out for food in the big city. God, the world is going to hell and I have killed her!

I gazed up her small body to her face, which was obscured by a tattered ball cap. I slowly lifted the cap. Nestled between her beautiful open blue eyes was a small bullet hole. Blood pooled from the back of her head like so much black ink. Then, the eyes blinked, the hole closed, blood disappeared and the mouth opened wide to speak. I began to scream in a spinning void.

***

The ward echoed with the remnants of his scream. The machine in the corner whirled to a stop as the electronic numbers steadied. He slept, sweating in the cool room. Occasionally, he moved against the soft restraints that held him secure in the bed.

Then, the dream began anew. Monitors chirped in sympathy as reality collapsed and the terrors began again.

THE END