CHOOSE YOUR OWN MINDFUCK: A Night in Eighth Block Tower (B1)
Bedlam Bible fans! Explore the Eighth Block Tower! Choose your fate! New posts every Tuesday and Friday. September '23 through December '23. Don't succumb to the huummmmmmmmm...
You’ve decided to check out the Oldsmobile…
“Hey, fellas… on second thought, I think I’m gonna hang out here for a bit. Get some fresh air,” you say. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
They look at you as if you just handed them your wallet (and in a way, you did).
“You scared or somethin’?” one of the men asks, but the other nudges him to keep quiet.
“Suit yourself,” the other man says. “C’mon, let’s get going.” The men disappear behind the tower’s front entrance.
You turn and walk back towards the Oldsmobile. You examine its every contour, looking for any trace of evidence that this is your old car. There are a couple of dings in the passenger-side door that look familiar, but other than that, none of its many blemishes jog your memory. If this is your old car it’s had one hell of an adventure since you last saw it, that’s for sure. Even the sunroof has been busted out.
“Hey, mister… if you’re interested, I’ll sell this car to you for an even eight hundred—cash,” a voice calls out to you. You look around, but don’t see anyone except the smiling man, who is now fast asleep on the sidewalk. The vehicle rocks and suddenly a face emerges from the window of the backseat. It’s a woman, in her late twenties. She’s dressed like a Hot Topic mannequin and dangling a set of keys before her face.
“Whaddoyousay?” she asks.
You tell her you don’t have that kind of cash, and you’re not sure you’d take her up on the offer even if you did. The car has certainly seen better days. She just shrugs her shoulders and says, “Oh well. Truth be told, it isn’t mine anyway.”
You laugh. “Then why do you have the keys?”
“I broke in,” she says, casually. “See these windows? I may have played ‘rage room’ on them earlier. It’s cathartic. You should try it sometime. Great way to relieve some stress.”
You eye her suspiciously.
“What?” she asks, laughing.
“That doesn’t explain how you got the keys…,” you say, and immediately her smile fades. Her eyes nervously dart around, as she struggles to come up with a response that isn’t incriminating.
You wave your arms and tell her you don’t care about the car or the keys, you’re only messing with her.
“I used to own a car like this,” you say. “A long time ago… but I got into some trouble and had to let it go. I loved that car though. We had us a time.”
She tosses you the keys.
“Here,” she says. “You can have it.”
“I thought it wasn’t yours?” you ask.
“It’s not. It’s yours,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I just told you that.”
You can hardly contain your excitement. “Really? You’re serious? I can have it?”
“Sure,” she says. “I’ve just been sleeping in it. I’m sorta in-between apartments right now, but I’ll be getting my own place as soon as I find a decent job—which is to say one that doesn’t make me wanna blow out my fucking brains every day.”
“Where will you sleep then?” you ask, still having a hard time processing that you’ve just been gifted a car.
“I have a friend in the tower who’s offered to let me stay in his spare bedroom till I get back on my feet. The embarrassing truth is that I’ve always been too prideful to take him up on it—that is until tonight, when this spring here tore through the cushion, right where I sleep.” She points to the end of a sharp spring that’s torn through the crumbling leather of the backseat. “So, yeah… fuck this. I’m ready to sleep in a real bed again. Fuck my pride. I can’t do this anymore”
You look down at the keys in your hand. You almost can’t believe your luck.
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. Thank you. How can I ever repay you?” you ask.
She laughs. “Don’t get too excited,” she says. “Someone tore the engine out of it ages ago. Still, not a bad price though, right?”
She playfully sticks her tongue out at you. Your heart deflates.
“That’s pretty fucked up,” you say.
She laughs again. “Is it? I thought it was funny.”
“Who the hell are you anyway?” you ask, but she just pushes more of her torso out through the open window and responds with a question of her own.
“Who the hell is asking, huh?”
“Trouble,” you say, tucking the useless keys into your pants pocket. What else are you going to do with them? “Either I’m trouble, or it’s always following me around. Hard to say for sure.”
“Well, hey there, Trouble,” she says. “The name’s Gale. Wanna check out my friend’s band with me?”
— To go with Gale, click here.
— To stay in the car, click here.