"Answer the question, felon!"
"Painting the wall!"
"Is that your wall?"
The kid shook his head. "I wasn't hurting anything. But, dude, I can't believe I finally get to meet you! I'm a big fan! I've got a Mr. Corpse t-shirt and everything!"
"Really?"
"Yeah! And my little brother, his name's Tyler, he's got posters, bed sheets, dolls…"
"They're not dolls, they're action figures."
"Sorry, dude. He's got action figures and everything. You're his hero!"
Stanley beamed as well as he could in fangs and eye makeup. "Thanks!"
"Dude, you've gotta sign an autograph for him. He'll wet himself when he finds out that I met you!"
"Sure thing. Do you have a pen?"
The kid patted his pockets. "No. Do you?"
"No."
"I've got the spray paint."
"I don't think that will work."
The kid gestured to the brick wall. "You could help me out, dude! C'mon, a collaboration with Mr. Corpse! That'd be sweet!"
Stanley looked at the artwork. It was a bizarre symbol. "What is that?"
"It's the Wheel of Dharma. It represents Buddha teachings and the way they move from country to country in accordance with changing conditions and people's karmic inclinations."
"Ah. Nice work."
"Thanks. We practice every night." The kid handed Stanley his own can of spray paint and picked up the one his partner had dropped.
"I can't help you vandalize this property," Stanley said. "I'm here to stop crime."
"But this is art! Are you trying to censor art? My history teacher says that art shouldn't be censored."
"Do you get good grades?"
"Sometimes."
"Let's do it."
Stanley walked away from the crime scene, feeling most ashamed indeed. The final product was pretty damn impressive (the kid knew how to use a can of spray paint) but Stanley wondered if he should mug an old lady to make the night complete.
He wandered around the city for the rest of the night, searching for dastardly deeds in the process of being committed, but found none. But he cleaned up some litter, which made him feel better.
"Hello?"
"Howdy."
"Stanley!" Brant actually sounded happy to hear him. "Where have you been?"
"Oh, you know, making the world a better place to live. It's my new hobby. Did you miss me?"
"Where are you now?"
"Right behind you."
"Seriously, where are you?"
"Did you look when I said right behind you? You looked, didn't you? It's okay if you did."
"Stanley…"
"What do you think of my new name? The Sinister Mr. Corpse sounds pretty spooky, doesn't it? I bet you'd be a little worried if I really were right behind you, huh?"
"Did you just call to annoy me?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
"You'll run out of injections soon. Have you thought about that?"
"Yep. I don't suppose you'd FedEx me a few, would you?"
"No, I don't suppose so."
"Figured."
"Stanley, we need to talk. This type of behavior is irresponsible even for you. It's dangerous. You could get hurt."
"My pain is temporary. The lives I save are forever. Well, until they die of natural causes or something else, but you know what I mean."
"This isn't a joke."
"And yet I treat it as one. How odd."
"Do you think you have the upper hand, Stanley? Is that what this call is about? You believe that pulling a disappearing act and then behaving like a lunatic means that you have the power in our relationship?"
"Yep. You're the bottom now. Get used to it."
"This conversation is over."
Stanley blinked at the sound of the click on the other end. Wow. He wouldn't have expected Brant to be a hanger-up kind of guy. Stanley would let the uptight bastard stew in his own foul-tasting juices for a couple more days, and then he'd return to Project Second Chance and let him off the hook.
But first he pressed the "redial" button.
"Yes?" Brant asked, sounding sort of testy.
"Give Veronica love and snuggles for me, okay?"
Brant hung up again. Stanley chuckled, felt briefly guilty about chuckling, then quickly got over it and chuckled some more.
Stanley continued to prowl the city streets. He gave a few bucks to a homeless person, but then accidentally scared the shit out of another one. He figured the two events balanced each other out.
He'd do one more night of secret nighttime security, and then he'd move on to something more dramatic. Perhaps he'd foil a bank robbery or defuse a hostage situation. They could bring him back as a creature of evil, but they couldn't make him behave like one.
A pair of thugs, who looked to be in their forties, were sitting on some steps. A shivering man stood in front of them, looking desperate. The thugs laughed at something that probably wasn't all that funny out of context, and then handed him a small packet.
Drug dealers were not welcome in the Sinister Mr. Corpse's city. Stanley walked over to them to share his dissatisfaction with their business transaction.
"What's that you're doing, gentlemen?" he asked.
"Who the fuck are you?" one of the thugs asked. He had long, stringy hair and wore a Band-Aid on his neck.
Stanley pulled off his facemask. "I'm Stanley Dabernath, the Sinister Mr. Corpse. Your kind isn't wanted around here. Flush your mind-killers down the toilet and don't make me devour your flesh."
"Fuck you, bitch." The thug pulled out a pistol and shot Stanley in the forehead.
He dropped to his knees. His eyes rolled up in his head.
Everything went black.
And stayed that way for a long time.
He woke up in a dark room that smelled of mold, piss, and moldy piss. His head hurt. He wanted to reach up and touch the hole in his forehead, but his hands were cuffed behind his back. His feet were tied together as well. He rolled over on his side and immediately had a dizzy spell so severe that he thought the room was spinning.
Or maybe the room was spinning. You could never tell with rooms these days. Rooms got all spinny sometimes.
"Spinny, spinny, spinny," Stanley whispered, because he liked the sound. "Spinny minny. That's what I'd name my daughter. Spinny Minnie."
Calm down.
I am calm. I'm entertaining myself by naming my potential daughter.
The bullet is still lodged in your brain.
That sucks.
It could be making you insane.
Wasn't I already insane?
No.
Oh. Good.
You have to get out of here.
Why? I'll get used to the smell in time.
You have to escape.
Who are you?
I'm you.
Who am I?
Dunno.
You don't think the bullet is laying eggs in my brain, do you?
Probably not.
"Open your eyes."
Was that you?
No.
Who was it?
Open your eyes and find out.
Why don't you open your eyes? Why do I have to do all the work?
Fine. Slacker.
Stanley opened his eyes. He was staring at a camera.
A talking camera? How odd.
A flash went off. The camera moved, revealing that it was not in fact a talking camera at all, but rather a camera held by one of the thugs. The thug grinned, revealing yellow, gunky teeth. "Can't believe you're still kicking. Guess you weren't a fake after all."
"Nope. Not me."
"Well, you're gonna be our ticket out of this shithole. They're gonna be paying out the ass to get you back."
Stanley frowned. His memory was fuzzy, but he seemed to recall greatly annoying somebody who he probably shouldn't have annoyed if large sums of money were going to be required for his safe return.
"What if nobody pays out the ass?" he inquired.
"Then we see if you keep living in pieces."