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The Call	By : drowsteel Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Call of Cthulhu Views: 3041 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on The Call of Cthulhu by HP Lovecraft

Chapter List
- 5
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Tabitha was bleeding. Flames were spreading, and her sleeve caught as she scrambled to retrieve her revolver. The cultist behind her shrieked the name of his dreaming god, slashing at her again with his ceremonial dagger.
“FUCK YOU!” Tabitha shot three times, hitting her attacker at least once. He crumpled, still alive but just barely. “Motherfucker!”
The room was a deathtrap, but Tabitha knew that there would be other assassins waiting outside. She barreled out the door and kept sprinting without hesitation. Someone shot at her, but they missed. The shooter only lived for a few more moments before he was stabbed dozens of times, looking less like someone stabbed by a trained soldier and more like someone massacred by a maniac.
“Stay away from the car!” James shouted, staying low. “They did something to it!”
It was a few minutes before the pair met. Their pursuers seemed to all be dead, but might have just been unseen.
“I think I’m going to die,” Tabitha said, looking at the mass of wetness spreading on her nightclothes.
“Yes,” James said pleasantly. “It’s one of life’s certainties.”
“I feel weak,” Tabitha swayed.
“Don’t die,” James grabbed her. “I don’t want us to die from being surprised in a motel, it’s too terribly embarrassing.”
Tabitha laughed faintly. “You’re right.” She kept pressure on the wound while James carried her.
After a few minutes, she croaked. “Sorry,” and passed out.

Waking up was surreal. Tabitha thought she must have been wrong about the afterlife at first, but the pain from the puncture wound in her chest was too hideous to be ethereal.
Tabitha tried to scream, and nothing came out. She almost panicked, but as she tried several times to speak, she came to the understanding that it was just very hard to breathe.
“James...” Tabitha heard her own voice, pathetic and weak. It barely escaped her mouth.
She was in a basement. There was one window, which cast light on filthy boxes around her. It was cold. Tabitha was wearing flannel pajamas that felt strange to her.
“James...” the wheeze was no better than the first. Tabitha moved, lit on fire with pain. She shoved at a box next to her, and it crashed over with a satisfying amount of noise.
A young black woman threw open the basement door and rushed down. She cursed under her breath as she moved, turning the light switch as she came.
“Oh fuck,” the girl stopped as she saw Tabitha looking at her. “Oh fuck, you woke up.”
Tabitha peered at her. She wanted to speak, but didn’t want to sound weak in front of the stranger.
The girl cocked her head, slowly moving toward Tabitha.
“You okay?” she asked.
Tabitha shifted, feeling nauseous from pain. The black girl stopped in her tracks, unsure of Tabitha’s mood.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
“I’m Shaniqua,” the girl said. “Your friend left you with me. Are you alright?”
Tabitha shook her head, gesturing weakly at her chest.
“James said you got shot,” Shaniqua said.
Tabitha shook her head again. “Stabbed,” she croaked.
“No shit?” Shaniqua looked impressed. “Your boyfriend is really trying to kill you, huh?”
Tabitha laughed weakly. She knew what story James had cooked up.
“Killed my ex-husband,” she croaked.
“You did?” Shaniqua looked startled.
Tabitha waved her hand no. “Boyfriend,” she gasped. “Killed him.”
Shaniqua looked amazed.
“Do you need anything?”
“Water. Food. Light food.”

Shaniqua was a terrible cook. She brought soup that had the taste of scorched vegetables. Tabitha ate it.
“You been out for a day,” Shaniqua told her. “James brought you here and gave me some money to hide you out ‘til you was better.”
“Where?” Tabitha wheezed.
“In my house,” the girl looked confused.
“James, where?”
“Don’t know,” Shaniqua replied. “I guess your man was chasing him. How you get so many men?”
Tabitha shrugged. “Hot,” she smiled.
“You don’t look so hot,” Shaniqua teased. “You look all pasty an’ sick.”
Tabitha nodded, laughing softly.
Shaniqua looked at her. “Are you English?”
Tabitha shook her head. “Just James.”
“Yeah, he was. How’d you meet him?”
“War buddy.”
“For real?” Shaniqua eyed her. “What war?”
Tabitha grinned. “Big one.”
“Desert Storm?”
“I wish.”
“So which one?”
“Need more rest,” Tabitha closed her eyes.

Runny eggs with soggy bacon and charred toast for breakfast. Tabitha ate them.
“Your man left this,” Shaniqua brought Tabitha’s gunsafe with her.
Tabitha turned the combination and pushed the release.
“What’s...” Shaniqua trailed off as she saw Tabitha take out her .38 and load it. The young lady looked frightened. Tabitha looked at her.
There was a sealed envelope in the safe, along with a huge roll of $100 bills. Tabitha put the roll in her pajama pocket, then opened the envelope. Shaniqua stayed frozen in place, wondering if she was going to be murdered.
-----------------------------

Well,

I think perhaps we should have taken Mayumi up on her offer.

You’re sewn up and in the capable hands of my new friend Shaniqua Taylor. She’s a philosophy major, so you should have plenty to talk about, ha ha.

I’m leaving you some account numbers. I won’t need them any more. It’s eight million pounds, all taken from my time in Africa, and is partly the reason I couldn’t return to Britain. I don’t have time to write the whole story, but I suppose you’d have asked if you’d wanted to know.

I loved you and Mayumi. I hope you’ll keep us in your heart.

Retire, retire, retire. You’ve done enough. You’ve done more than anyone could ever be expected to. When I think about how long you’ve been fighting, it makes me think of Marcus Aurelius fighting the barbarians. Bringing civilisation to those who won’t accept it.

I’m gone now. The Cult will believe you’re gone as well.

Love always,

James

------------------------------

Tabitha sobbed, clutching her chest as pain racked her body with each breath. She dropped her gun back in the safe and slammed it shut.
“Dead,” she sobbed at Shaniqua. “Dead!”
“Y-your man?” Shaniqua shuffled, unsure of whether to approach.
Tabitha nodded, red faced and tearful.
“I’m sorry,” said Shaniqua lamely. She put her arms around Tabitha. “I just saw him...”
“Gone...”

Martin Mckinley looked at his encrypted website. Nothing. His people were gone, engulfed in a blaze of glory. Martin disconnected his laptop, opened it, and poured water into it. He carried it out to the trash cans on the side of his house and dropped it in, then crushed it by dropping a full can of house paint on top of it, picking it up, and dropping it again.
He walked back inside.
“Lovecraft.”
Martin halted, letting out a frightened yelp. Tabitha was sitting on his indoor flight of stairs, holding her revolver lazily in hand.
“Tabby,” Martin clutched his chest and his breath came in ragged gasps as he sank to the floor. His heart fluttered in his ribcage. “My h...heart...problem. S-sorry.”
“I’ve got a lung problem,” Tabitha replied. “Scar tissue, don’t you know. Motherfucker.”
At the curse, Martin winced. His heart was settling, but it was suddenly not his most pressing concern.
“Yo-u made it,” Martin forced a smile, trying to struggle to his feet.
“Why don’t you just sit down,” Tabitha raised her gun.
Martin sank back down. “I’m glad you survived, Tabby. Really.”
“No shit,” Tabitha answered. “I was doing everything you were afraid to do.”
Martin nodded. “Yes, yes, you did so much that I couldn’t, Tabby. But you did it for the right reasons, right? You made the choice because it was the right thing to do.”
“Did you?” Tabitha extended her revolver to arm’s length and closed one eye, picking out Lovecraft’s chin as her target.
“Of course!” Martin’s heart pounded again, causing him to breathe hard. “Of course, Tabby! Oh my God, don’t you think I meant the best?!”
“I used to have friends,” Tabitha said, watching her front sight float over the black man’s chin. “I used to have a husband. I used to have sanity. Why don’t I have those things, Lovecraft?”
Martin swallowed. “You...they made choices,” he wheezed. “They gave their lives for the rest of us. But, Tabitha, I never wanted them to die!”
Tabitha lowered her gun, then picked up a photo from beside her.
“You have a wife,” she commented. “Three kids, wow.”
Martin started to stand, and Tabitha pointed the gun at him. He sat down.
“Do you still have them?” Tabitha asked.
“Yes,” Martin wheezed. “I still do. I’m sorry, Tabby. I’m sorry for your losses.”
“Are you sure?” Tabitha asked.
Martin looked confused.
“Are you sure you still have them?” Tabitha set the photo back down.
Martin swallowed. “It won’t help anything, Tabby. It won’t.”
“My losses didn’t help me either, motherfucker.”
“Don’t hurt them,” Martin pleaded. “I wanted to help you! I couldn’t make that decision! I couldn’t endanger them!”
“But you could endanger me,” Tabitha said.
With a flick of the wrist, Tabitha opened the magazine cylinder of her revolver. She threw four empty brass casings on the floor in front of Martin, keeping the two unfired rounds in the weapon.
“Two left,” Tabitha said.
Martin was numb. He was unable to move. He was unable to think.
“One for you, one for me,” Tabitha said. “All fair and square. I won’t blame you for all the hard work I did that you skipped out on any more. You and me tie for last place.”
Lovecraft trembled, sobbing as he crumpled completely to the floor.
“Of course,” Tabitha continued, “you don’t have to deal with the nightmares. You don’t have to watch your loved ones die horribly. They died humanely. You don’t have to eat your wife’s DEAD FUCKING FLESH!!”
Tabitha lunged at Lovecraft, savagely pistol whipping him.

Pauline Mckinley came home with the kids, Cristal, Daniel, and Ronnie to find Martin unconscious, beaten on the floor. They ran to him, calling an ambulance as they tried to revive him. He woke and held them and sobbed. He told them how glad he was to see them, and that he was glad they were all alive.

A blonde woman named Asenath Waith bought a house in Norway. She ran out of breath easily, and her neighbors found her to have a strong American accent. She seemed very nice, except for her bad dreams.
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The Call