Get With The Program (Pt. V: The Conclusion)

Yolanda Cruz was adjusting a sheer blouse that she bought a couple weeks ago on her trip to Puerto Rico over her ample bosom. She was waiting on Fletcher to throw her his usual hand signal. She was about to blow this human trafficking case wide open, and it couldn't be a hotter night to tell the tale. There were at least three microphones that she could see, as well as the subminature condenser mike that went under her arm-pit, and was kept out of sight from the viewers. Yolanda could feel beads of sweat build in the spots where her hair was pulled back. She could already anticipate the unflinching scrutiny of millions of viewers, and was suddenly suffocated with the responsibility of being a live reporter, and wondered if she could even remember her bit well enough to get through this eleven o'clock segment. She was suddenly possessed with a tickling sensation all over her body that terrified the piss out of her. Fletcher threw up an 'ok' sign meant for her, and Yolanda bloomed like a rose, swiftly turning to aim her body like a gun at the readied cameras that instantly devoured her. She felt a sharp breeze nip at bare flesh, as she leapt instantly into the reporting field, that she attributed to 'getting her groove back'.

"There has been a fourteenth victim that police officers speculate is related with what is thought to be a mass human trafficking scheme that has been recently terrorizing the citizens of Phoenix, Arizona. In an investigation that was prompted by a horrific accident that involved dazed bodies of victims of kidnapping released into traffic on Route 51 at high speeds, a series of clues have been found that connect these victims to recent mysterious deaths and disappearances..."

Directly after finishing her report, Yolanda glanced down with a curious eye. Her right breast had broken loose from the unbuttoned neckline, and become entirely exposed. It stared back at her like a succulent mango, slippery as a jumping fish in the evening heat. The steady flash of cameras was coming on fierce and constant. Her head pounded, as her shocked blind of a face swiftly snapped out of the line of fire out of mad reflex. Yolanda's cheeks burned red, as she slipped her nakedness back into the blouse hurriedly, and turned and hustled back to the white news van without a second to glance back.

Slamming the car door tightly from the world, Yolanda shuddered, and clasped her knees to her stomach while she waited on her assistant. She sank ever deeper into the imitation leather of the seat, leaning her head as far back as possible, lulling herself into a false sense of comfort.

*

Pinkman had not had the bad dreams in quite sometime now. He had been slowly losing interest in his life in Arizona. Being a salesman was going nowhere for him. There was nothing but ghosts of Joseph's old life, so he decided to venture outside the board. He took a flight to Michigan, and settled down in a small lumber town called Rawsonville. It was easy to find hard labor there, and before long he was working in a factory slapping the packaging on cat food. It was a living that allowed him a small reward a couple nights a week, allowing him to treat himself to a twelve pack at Ralph's. One Thursday, after he had absently tossed a couple of Molson's in his cart, and was drifting over to the deli, he abandoned his cart at the veggie cooler out of instinct to try the first type of fruit that jumped out at him. He was leaving it all up to chance, allowing the first sight of ingenuity in natural colors and textures tickle his fancy. That was when Pinkman saw the back of a woman's head instead, and it turned a faucet on in his mind to a slow trickle. The trickle turned into a massive flood of imagery which started to saturate Joseph Pinkman's parched and otherwise deserted skull.

That woman with the raven black hair! Who was she?!? He spun around, and looked to see if anyone else had noticed her. Her black dress was puffed at the shoulders, and flowing magnificently behind her, almost too lavish for your everyday trip to the grocery store. She looked back in his direction, and it was then that without any question he knew her. He knew who she was instantly without having to take another raspy breath of uncertainty, or draw closer. It was Lise, the love of his life.

A salesperson from Ralph's seemed to notice his shock and confusion, and instantly approached him from a row of carts to the left. He had a red apron on, and black rimmed glasses that reflected lights from the store, but completely obscured his own eyes from Joseph. He gripped Pinkman's wrist in a vice, and whispered into his stunned face.

"I've been running, running non-stop, like a rabbit all day, so I know what it's like to be in a hurry, son. I have to recommend you melt that urge for just a minute or two, though. It's the best thing you can do at this indefinite moment. I promise you that. God's honest truth."

Pinkman slackened under the Ralph employees icy grip. He felt sick and dizzy, and tried desperately to steady himself without going unconcious, and turning to putty in this strangers hands. Craning his neck, he tried to get a better view of the store employee.

"What did you say?...Who are you?"

"Oh, yes, Sir, I'm Doug Pithe. I was just informing you of our 50% off on all 'Holy Ghost Chicken' lunch-meat from Sara Linn. Just let the Deli know that Mr. Pithe, the Manager sent you."

Pinkman stalked off towards the woman in black, brushing off the Ralph employee, and passing an aisle of lemons that was arranged by weight. When directly behind the woman, he allowed his hot breath to spill down the neck of her blouse. He did not dare touch her neck, but he could see the fringes of her black dress, and her slim figure that came together with a gorgeous set of buns, elevated, and pointing directly at Pinkman's crotch level. He pulled out his swiss army knife, unfolded the blade, and without hesitation, stuck it into her left side, yanking the blade out with some trouble, and stabbing her again, turning the blade as he rended the wounded flesh. Lise screamed, and the scream turned into a gurgle. Pinkman used his right hand to whip her body around. There was blood trickling down her lips as he plunged the knife into her right eye-ball, sinking it deep, until he felt it press through her brain. As she quickly died in his arms, customers started yelling things at him, and themselves in confused desperation. He shook himself out of the trance he was under, and realized that instead of the olive skin that he had known Lise for, this woman was black. He felt sick to his stomach, and let her body pitch face forward to the floor. A pool of blood started instantly forming around the discarded body. Banging against product, and knocking things loose from aisles, Joseph Pinkman shot like a arrow to the back of the store where there was a less utilized exit. Lucky for him, people were too stunned to know what to do. As he staggered onto the iced streets, he saw one of those sad Santa Claus's with the threadbare beards that looked too thin to be real, banging away with his bell for Salvation Army. Pinkman tossed him a dime before bolting for his car in the parking lot. The Santa opened a toothless mouth, exposing blackened gums in what Pinkman took for a smile. It only served to remind him of his fluctuating mortality. A bit of saliva dribbled from the sneery Santa's smile, as he gave Pinkman a water-logged wink from canary tinted eyes.

It is morning. Pinkman's in a parking lot of some sort. It is night again. It is morning. He is sitting outside of some white mansion. It is black. It is morning. Something has happened to Pinkman, and altered his ability to process his surroundings. He looks around, trying to inhale anything and everything through his eye holes and record it for posterity in his dented brain-box. A woman with bunny ears on is waiting for him with a plastered on smile when the driver opens the door and pulls him out of the cab. She reaches out a small gloved hand and places her hand in his. Pinkman feels instant warmth, and connection. She wants him to help her, he can tell. It is night. Pinkman is inside the mansion now, and the bunny-eared girl is massaging his hand as he continues to lay spread out on a red leather loveseat that's made to look like a race car. She is going through her nightly routine, ordering the help to groom her dog, but there is something subliminal in her actions. She snorts a line from another girls coffin ring standing behind her, and then gets his attention by staring deep into Joseph Pinkman's eyes and tickling his chin with a long fingernail, before rising, and encouraging Pinkman to rise with a shake of her bunny tail. The masked girl motions towards a sliding wall of books that reveals a spiral staircase that descends into darkness below the earth. There is a seductive tune emanating from the abyss, and the scent of perfume that keeps him locked in the progress of his descent. Now everything goes dark except for torches embedded in the wall appearing from time to time. At this time Pinkman's practically convinced that on the basis of such dramatics he is bound to meet some grand Poobah of some sort. Either Hugh Hefner or Attila the Hun, whoever it was, it would prove to be quite the reveal.

"Down the rabbit hole." The woman snickers back at him in the dark as Pinkman continues to follow her.

After Pinkman hears the cryptic quote from the playgirl he grabs for her bushy bunny tail in the pitch black, and is greeted with a folded note that he quickly squirrels away. The air is getting progressively colder in this odd tunnel. Pinkman's sure that he will get to where he's going soon. He hears a door slide open to the right of him, and is lead to a ladder that stops at a ceiling. He pushes the wooden ceiling stopper out of the way, and rolls a bit of rug up. He is starting to recall being in this strange place before, and going through these routines. In the semi-darkness, Joseph notices a hospital bed with it's covers pulled back. As if in a trance he lays back on the bed and throws some sheets over his face. Almost immediately, Pinkman hears the wheels of the hospital bed start to squeak and whine, and feels the shiftings of the bed as it is pushed by some unseen force. Soon, after banging through a few doors, the hospital bed becomes still, and Pinkman peeks out. He's greeted by a blinding yellow light which mars his ability to see the figure that is standing over him. A rubber stick is jammed in his mouth, and the hum of a electric device becomes overpowering. Pinkman knows that this is electroshock, and he knows that his body and mind can't withstand any more high voltage. He also knows that he's fading from existence, and there's no way around these people, and if it's not today it's bound to be tomorrow that he's forced to face the inevitable. He spits out the rubber pacifier and accepts the weight of the headphones that someone immediately fixes to his head. Digesting a heavy wall of dead air with lightening in the distance, Pinkman says a prayer to himself that he knows will never be answered. His memories will be long gone in an instant, and there's nothing in his darkening horizon. Pinkman imagines himself out sailing on a schooner, looking to the left of him, and to the right. Enjoying the precious calm, but knowing that in the distance there is nothing. Nothing but a sea of black with the storm clouds rolling in to wish him one final goodbye.

THE END

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2017

Bunny Villaire