Recovering A Spell

"You will not disobey!" Father screamed as the belt came down again. "You will not!" The strap rose and fell with a steady rhythm. Every strike was like lightning across his back. Flesh oozed and wept.

"I'm sorry!" He wailed as the onslaught continued. "It'll never happen again! I promise!" He twisted and groped behind him, trying to stop the fiery pain that lashed across back again and again, a never ending season of pain.

Long after the beating ceased, he lay there in a pool of sweat, defeat, and a hurt so deep it seemed endless. Did life exist only to suffer and burn? Surely there was no hope to be found here.

"Boss?" Spunk felt a hand on his shoulder. "Boss! Are you okay?" Spunk opened his cloudy eyes into the bright, fluorescent hell of the storefront.

"Huh?" He mustered. But his voice felt dry and cracked like the landscape outside. What had happened to him?

"Amalyn called." Harold's face was swimming into focus, blocking out the worst of the light and only a fraction of the earthquake shattering his head. "She just kept saying that Peter needed assistance. I got here as fast as I could."

"I..." Spunk was trying to remember what had happened. It smelled like pleather and silicone -- which made sense, since he seemed to be prone in the shop. "Help me sit up, I guess. I... I'm still fuzzy."

"Sure. Let's lean you up against the wall here." Harold moved around behind Spunk, who felt two leathered hands slip under his armpits. "Here we go." Harold grunted a bit as he lifted Spunk's body before Spunk remembered to help the process.

The wall was cool and hard, reassuring against his back. His back felt oddly sore, like he had been party to a play session that he didn't remember.

"I..." Spunk crinkled his face trying to remember. "There was an inspector." He said, warily, wondering if he had been party to some showdown. "Sex toy inspector. Out front. This morning."

"Okay... did they clock you?" Harold asked, and Spunk laughed.

"No... she didn't have a notice or anything. So I told her to go fuck herself." He coughed a dry, hacking cough that made Harold wince a little bit.

"Maybe I should call someone, boss. You haven't been you the last few days -- and that cough does not sound good."

"No, no..." Spunk cleared his throat. "Can you maybe just get me some water? What time is it?"

"It's around 11:30. The shop should've been opened by now. I'll be back in a second." Harold said. "Don't even worry about it. There's no one outside."

Spunk smiled weakly. "I wasn't. Just thirsty."

Harold got up and walked towards the front to fetch a bottle of water from the mini fridge display. Spunk struggled to remember what had happened. There was the lady, and then the search for counterfeit items and then...

"That fucking ghost." Spunk quietly swore. "That's twice now that bastard has gotten me." He watched the front to see if Harold had heard him. Maybe it was time to tell him.

He wondered what the cameras would reveal. He wondered if Harold was watching them now. Would he look like a crazy man talking to himself? Or was the ghost visible on camera? Was it all an elaborate response to some drug in his younger years, manifesting now that he had settled down? Was he sleep deprived? Was there a slow gas leak? Was he just insane, plain and simple?

Harold walked back into his line of vision with a bottle of water. Spunk smiled at him. Harold's worried face didn't lighten in the least, but Spunk could tell the man was happy he was alive and well.

"Here you go." He unscrewed the cap and handed the water to Spunk, who took a drink gratefully. The crisp, clear water cleared the brain fog almost instantaneously.

"Much appreciated, Harold." He said after a particularly large swallow.

"So, what happened?" Harold asked. "Do you remember?"

"I..." Spunk's mind was racing. The last thing he wanted was to tell his employee -- and friend -- that there was a ghost following him around, especially if, when he looked at the cameras, it was just him, being crazy. "The sex toy inspector had me in a tizzy, and I must've fallen while checking the harnesses here." He motioned his right arm towards the rack of harnesses. "I asked Amalyn to do some searches for me, and she must've went into emergency mode when she identified me on the floor but I wasn't responded. I'm glad that part of her programming works. Who knows how long I would've been napping on the floor."

"You might be concussed." Harold said worriedly. "Let me look at your pupils." His face zoomed in uncomfortably close to Spunk's. Spunk fought down the urge to push him away.

"I'm fine. My back hurts, but that's about it. A little concussion wouldn't stop me, anyway." Spunk smiled weakly at his bearded friend.

His back, truth be told, was on fire. And that vision he had was peeking at the edges of his vision. He remembered the horror, the despair. The pain. And that pain was still on his back like it was fresh. Would schizophrenia cause this kind of pain? He wondered as he shifted uncomfortably underneath his friend's gaze.

"They look fine to me." Harold finally admitted. "Not that I know what I'm doing. Will you let me call the ambulance?"

"Absolutely not." Spunk said firmly. "I'm fine. Here, help me stand up, and I'd love to go restore my dignity in the bathroom for a minute, and then we can open the store up. You can go home if you'd like. I know you weren't scheduled until four."

"It's fine. I'll stay." Harold said, and Spunk could read between the lines. I'm worried about you. And, I'm not sure you're really okay. And, truth be told, Spunk wasn't that sure he was okay, either.

Harold offered a hand and pulled Spunk up to his feet, where he wavered unsteadily for a split second before he caught his balance.

"Thanks. And Harold?" He prompted. Harold raised his eyebrows in response.

"Don't look at the tape." Spunk ordered. "I'm sure it's embarrassing as fuck."

Harold cracked a smile. "But boss, that was my next stop!"

"I'm serious." Spunk said, putting his serious face on. "If it's really that funny, I'll share it with you in a day or two. Once my pride rebounds."

"Sure thing, boss." Harold said, and Spunk knew that he could trust the man. If the video showed what he thought it showed, then he didn't want Harold to have him committed. If the video showed the ghost, then he would bring Harold in before it got dangerous. Well, more dangerous.

Spunk released Harold's steadying arm and headed towards the rear staff bathroom. His back was still on fire and felt wet for some reason. He heard Harold padding away to the front of the store.

He shut the wooden door behind him and turned on the bathroom light. Gingerly, he lifted up his shirt and took a good, long look in the mirror.

"Holy shit." He swore as he stared at his back. A latticework of red marks had turned his back into a checkerboard. And he was certain that those marks didn't come from the smooth floor or wall of his shop. The voices from the vision haunted the edge of his hearing, and he pushed them away, shuddering. "Maybe I do need some help."

Spunk slid his shirt back down over his back and stomach and used the sink to splash some water on his face. If the aftereffects of this episode were anything like the aftereffects of yesterday's episode, it was going to take a few hours to wear off. It would be yet another long day at Space Pirate's Kinkporium.

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