Robert Walker - Grave Instinct

“ I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die…”

“ I don't so much want your life as your brain. It's the only reason we're here, Winona.”

She screamed in response.

He breathed in her terror; it made Phillip feel powerful to make her scream. Her screams penetrated the van walls and echoed out into the night, but they were far from anyone who could hear.

“ Time to cut,” he said as he began the incision with the scalpel. Her screams heightened at the scalpel's kiss, which brought the blood. Outside, a train screamed by as if on cue, drowning her out. Then she fainted. He eased back on his knees vulturelike, then he continued with the operation.

He hadn't known whether he could perform the operation on a living person that first time, back in Richmond, Virginia; but now, with his fourth victim in his complete power, held as she was to the van floor, it certainly presented itself as the thing to do again, to add to his collection. Why he wanted her brain in his hands, or what he might do with it, once he had it removed, he had not known the first time he had severed a living, still-pulsating brain from a person. But now he knew that his own brain wanted them. “Don't you understand, Winona?” he asked. “Your power source will join with mine. I know it's in there somewhere.” He caressed her head, her hair, her brow. “You're never going to be alone. You'll be with the rest of us. We'll all be one.

…” he told her even though she'd swooned into unconsciousness. “Too bad I can't hold it up to your eyes for you to see before your last breath. Maybe then you'd believe me.”

Phillip had taught Grant well. He was coming to accept what he was. As he worked the handheld, relatively small electric bone cutter, the saw wheel whirred and screeched. The sound lulled him into the thought of how he had entrapped her, using her own childish naivete against her.

Grant had been cruising by a residential home in south Georgia when he had spotted Winona getting into a car with a young man. He had followed as she and the boyfriend went to a dance spot called Sandman's. On the dance floor, he got close enough to see it in her eyes, that she was one of them-the virtuous chosen. She smiled at him, and he nodded casually. Having a beer at the bar, he watched and waited, patient and vigilant. He soon realized that the couple was not getting along. When she bolted from the dance floor and her boyfriend followed, so did Phillip.

The girl and her boyfriend appeared to be in their early twenties as they stood arguing in the dimly lit parking lot.

He stayed at a safe distance to watch their argument escalate while other couples politely ignored the discord and passed by-the comings and goings of any nightclub. Phillip saw many underage teens playing at being older, and he worried about looking too out of place here, too old for the general clientele.

Then he saw the girl storm off alone down the street and away from the club, leaving her vulnerable. He watched her boyfriend rush to his car, peel off and go right past her, slowing only to call her a bitch, not stopping.

Returning to his van, Phillip-or the thing Grant had become-followed her progress. Phillip got into his van and made his way toward his prey.

She had been drinking heavily at the club. Now she was hitchhiking for a ride home. He closed the distance between them, and in a moment he stopped alongside the young woman. “Need a lift?” he asked, smiling wide.

At first she held back, but then she half stumbled to the window, slurring her words as she spoke. “How far you going down Turnbull Boulevard?”

“ As far as you need me to, darlin'. You came off a pretty bad scene back there at Sandman's.”

“ You saw that?” she asked.

“ Bad scene,” he repeated. “Been there, done that more than I care to say. Guess we all have. But it'll look better to you in the morning. Look, I'd be happy to get you home.”

She stopped to stare at him intently, studying his features.

“ I'm just a little wasted,” he added, “but not so much I can't drive.”

He wasn't entirely a stranger to her. “Didn't I see you inside Sandman's?” she asked. “I thought you must work there or maybe own the place.”

“ No, wish I was an owner. I just go there sometimes. So, yeah, you did see me inside. I know I saw you.”

She looked over his dark van, a look of uncertainty coloring her features. She was pretty, he thought, in a Southern suburban prissy girl way.

“ Come on. I've got the ride and the time and something to help with your pain.”

“ No way. You sound dangerous. Besides, you're too old for me.” “Whoa, that hurt. But maybe a little experience and danger… maybe that's what you need about now. Forget that loser. I promise, I'll be nothing but a gentleman-until you get to know me, of course.”

She hesitated, trying to ponder exactly what that implied. “A gentleman until I get to know you, hmmm… Well, it is a long way, and my folks'd kill me if they knew I was out here alone. I thought that jerk was going to come crawling, but that didn't happen.”

“ Where do you live?”

“ The Heights.”

“ Coincidence, so do I. Come on. I won't bite.”

“ You don't sound like you're from around here, and my mother always says never to talk to strangers.”

“ Your mother's right, and so are you. No, I'm from up North. Just moved here to get work.”

“ Where abouts up North?”

“ New Jersey.”

“ What's your name?”

“ Phillip”-he was not lying-”what's yours?”

“ Not sure I should tell you,” she teased. “Listen, Phillip, you got any weed or anything that might cheer a girl up?”

He nodded and smiled. “You're not one of those undercover narcs now are you, baby?”

She laughed at this.

“ Sure thing,” he assured her. “Plenty enough for both of us. Plenty.”

She didn't answer, her mind contemplating him and his offer. She hesitated but placed a hand on the door handle and then cranked it down, opening the door and cursorily checking the cab from the door to be certain everything was normal. She glanced into the dark void of the empty rear. She could not make out anything there but a toolbox and some discarded boxes. “No backseats?” she asked.

“ I have to keep the back for my work, you know-supplies and stuff,” he said.

“ Supplies of what?”

“ Just stuff I have to cart around.” He gave a thought to the concealed. 38 below his seat and the sh@egon in the rear. These were for emergency use only.

“ What, like tools? You a mechanic, a carpenter, an electrician, what?”

“ Yeah, an electrician,” he lied.

“ You work with your hands, then.” She gave him a coy smile and he returned it.

“ What's your name?” he asked again.

“ Winona.”

Mimicking her Georgia accent, he replied, “That's a right pretty name, Wiii-no-naaa.”

“ Why thank you, Mr. Phillips.” Calling him “mister” reinforced her earlier remark that she found him too old for her liking, but she was interested in getting high.

She got into the van, inspected the door for anything strange, making certain she could open it before she closed it. “With all the weird shit going around in the world today, you can't be too careful.” She relaxed, accepting the ride by getting into the front seat and instantly putting out a hand, asking, “So… what've you got to smoke or pop?”

“ Sure… sure…” He fumbled with a joint, lit it, and dropped it into her lap. While she fought to retrieve the burning thing, her high-pitched voice telegraphing her distress, he suddenly plunged a needle into her forearm, saying, “Meet Mr. Demoral, Winona.”

At the same instant, her boyfriend's car raced by again, the burning rubber indicating his anger. He'd gone around the block and watched to see how easy a pick up she'd be. At the same instant her boyfriend sped by, Winona raised the mace she'd been clutching to Phillip's eyes, burning him only a little before he tore it away.