Razor Ray's Last Ride Part Three of Four Parts Fiction By Dave "Phantom" Nichols with special thanks to Aaron Smith, whose actual nightmare inspired this story, and to the real-life road devil known as Razor Ray. There was the squealing of tires that Ray though must sound much the way a pig might squeal at the moment of slaughter. The white car veered out of control, slicing across the next vacant lane and directly into the path of a road hazard sign. The Nova lived up to its namesake becoming a fireball of twisting metal. A glance backward confirmed that the smug teenager was indeed in the process of becoming roasted lamb. Razor blinked several times, trying to clear his head. What had just happened? He was dully aware that he had just taken part in a rather serious crime. "But I didn't do it...." His thoughts raced. "It was the bike. It was this fuckin' weird.... amazing....glorious bike!" Madness returned to Razor's eyes and he howled in the night as the possessed Panhead closed it's dark cloak around him. At once he knew why he had been saved all his life, and what he had been saved for. He felt the bike's power filling him and smiled, knowing that his true purpose was dark indeed. Vicky awoke to the feel of rough hands on her and the smell of stale whisky and beer. As she struggled to the surface of the twisted dream known as reality, she was shockingly aware that crude fingers were invading her most sensitive and private of areas. A voice spoke just inches from her ear. It was a voice she knew well, but it sounded strange, as if a demon were using it. "Little pig, little pig," it said. "Let me IN!" Vickie screamed the first in an endless strand of screams that would fall through the night like pearls into the abyss of hell. The sun rose with fiery splendor...cleansing, purifying, lighting the world and vanquishing the darkness. Razor was already blasting down the tarmac, heading out on the 5 Freeway to hit Highway 15 into the desert. His leathers were warming to the sun and Ray found himself singing a Bob Seger tune, "Headed out to my big two-wheeler, I was tired of my own voice." He hummed for a few seconds, having forgotten some of the words before shouting, "and I rolled that power ON!" At the same time he gave the grip a twist and the bike leaped forward like a spring-loaded panther. Ray laughed out loud, giddy and completely insane. He knew that the bike had somehow taken over his mind but he really didn't care. He and the Panhead were one, "as it should be", he thought. Together they were more than they could ever dream possible. They were unstoppable and they were on a mission. It didn't even bother Razor that he didn't know what the mission was yet. He just giggled like a helpless child in its mother's arms and let the bike roll him away into the desert. Judith Craymore adjusted her pert polyester collar as she walked stiffly up the steps to Vickie's house. She pulled one of the Scripture tracts from her bulging purse and tapped firmly on the screen door. A Gospel tune filled her mind with the Lord's delicious warmth. It was as if choirs of angels were singing in perfect harmony in her aging mind belting out, "Shall we gather by the ri-ver!" There was no movement in the little house and she glanced at her watch; 11:11am. The bible-thumper had been delivering God's holy word since nine that morning and felt the need for a glass of cool water. Perhaps she could ask the resident within to.... The blood red "X" on the screen door stood out boldly against the weathered green paint. Lost in the sick color, several flys buzzed, lighting on the sticky stuff. Judith immediately looked at her white gloves and saw that she had rap, rap, rapped right on the bloody "X". Her mouth worked soundlessly for a full three seconds before she let out a withered gasp. Adrenaline pumped through her 68-year-old body making her shake uncontrollably. Somehow she managed to force her will on her hand and she watched as it slowly opened the creaking door. Judith was dimly aware that watching her bloodied glove open the door was much like watching a movie. Then the smell hit her. Someone has been sick, she thought. Without realizing what she was doing, Judith squared herself and raised the bible she always carried before her like a shield. She stepped inside managing a meager, "Hello?" Something wet was on the wood floor, "footprints", the pink-suited woman realized. She moved forward, watching her inner movie of someone gliding into the dim-lit house, through the living room, toward what had to be a bedroom. A sound began to swell in Judith's already loaded senses. What was it...so familiar, like electric current. Suddenly, the sound became a wall of mindless buzzing. Judith turned towards the sound and saw more blood on the bedroom wall. The blood formed words and even in this odd film she was watching, she knew the words before even reading them. They were part of Revelations and spoke of the coming of a pale horseman; a symbol of the apocalypse. Something moved on the bed and groaned weakly. A young woman was strapped belly down on the bed. Blood smeared everywhere. Before Judith could register more than that, the source of the buzzing became clear. The words on the wall were undulating... and moving. The old woman opened her mouth to scream but the flies were too fast, clogging her mouth and eyes by the thousands. By early afternoon Ray was exactly where we wanted to be, so far out in the desert that he could be truly alone with his machine. After hours in the saddle his butt was burning and he pulled off the two-lane black top onto a dirt road. The road ended in a makeshift rifle range and Razor reached down to pick up a flat rock to place under the bike's jiffy stand. He shut the Panhead down and listened to the glorious sound of the bike's engine ticking and the desert wind whistling through the sage brush and Joshua trees. Razor felt like a rattlesnake; lean, mean, and serene. He crawled up to the top of a rock formation and looked out at the endless expanse of desert. He felt like a god and laughed as he took a piss off the top of the rock. His eyes narrowed at something glinting far in the distance along the ribbon of blacktop. A small building that he recognized from a party with his bro's long ago. It was a skanky hole-in-the-wall called The Place. "What the hell," he thought. "I could use a beer and a burger." Ray looked down on his glorious ruby red Panhead and felt something beyond pride. He knew that he finally belonged to something that he really cared about and called down to the bike, "The world is ours!" Three fourth grade boys on their way home from school sat on their bicycles in front of Vickie's house watching the police put up that weird yellow plastic tape all across the front of the property. A somber dude in a suit that was too small for him was talking to an old woman that was slumped in the back of an un-marked cop car. The plumpest of the three boys spat, "That's where that biker guy wouldn't give us any candy on Halloween, remember?" The other boys nodded, recalling that Ray had offered them a bong hit and then chased them off the porch when they refused. A cop told the kids to move on but not before they saw the look on Vickie's face as she was loaded into an ambulance by paramedics. "Whoa!" the plump kid hollered, "What happened to her?" The young woman was as white as the sheet that was pulled up to her chin and she looked to the boys like the victim of a vampire or one of those un-dead zombies like in Night of the Living Dead. The boys looked at each other and in a chorus said, "Cool!" Part Four.... Back to Bandit's Fiction Page.... |
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