Chapter 42 Chapter 42 The Living Room Floor

He doesn't know who sang the song, but he remembers the words. "Somebody's knocking, somebody's ringing. Someone's knocking, somebody's ringing. Do me a favor...open the door...let them in." Perry found himself standing in the dark porch, the airy melody filling every corner, more like a warning.The place seemed alive, it vibrated rhythmically and had a vague warmth; it was not so much a porch as an entrance to a lane.At the end of the hall was a door of spongy, rotting green wood, covered in grimy slime.The door slammed and beat with his heart.It's a living thing.Or possibly once was a living creature.

Or...or it's waiting for a chance to come back to life. He knew it was a dream, but he was still terrified.If, during waking hours, life is still shrouded in the dreadful cloak of nightmares, reality suddenly becomes suspicious and one is easily frightened by dreams. Perry walked toward the door.There was something behind the door, I couldn't tell what it was.This thing is hot, it's wet, and it's waiting for its chance to wreak havoc, to murder, to dominate.When he reached the doorknob, the handle reached him.The handle was a long black, sticky tentacle that wrapped itself around his arm, pulling it toward the spongy green door.Perry struggled, but it all made him look more like a kid being jerked forward by an angry father.

The door didn't open, but sucked him in, enjoying the sudden feast of body and mind.The green door engulfed him, the dank bastard caressing him.Perry yelled with all his might, but the tentacle slowly oozing into his mouth cut off the sound and the air.He was bound by the door and could not move.Boundless fear suddenly surrounded him, drowning his consciousness... When he awoke, the fork was still in his shoulder.The sweatshirt had moved back to its original position, covering the fork and pushing it up: the handle of the fork resting on Perry's cheekbone.The wound doesn't hurt at all because it's completely numb.Perry didn't know how long he had been unconscious.

Frowning, he grabbed the fork with his right hand and gently pulled it out of the trapezius—with a hissing inhalation.Sticky blood trickled down the collarbone and into the armpits.The chest of the white sweatshirt has been dip-dyed bright red, mixed with slight hints of dark purple.The stab wound itself wasn't that bad, but the wiggling fork tore through a large chunk of flesh.He gently touched the wound with his fingers, trying not to hurt himself, trying to figure out the extent of the injury.His fingers touched the triangular body, it was no longer hard, but became soft. There was no doubt that the triangular hook was still embedded in him, possibly in his collarbone, possibly in his ribs, or even in his breastbone.If so, tearing it out could cause one of the hooks to puncture a lung, or even a heart.This obviously won't work.But just the thought of it being dead gave Perry an indescribably morbid sense of satisfaction.He tried to put behind him the fact that he had to carry a small corpse slung across his shoulders, yet his twisted soul was still tormented by the last remnants of his sanity.

He stood up carefully from the chair and hopped into the bathroom on one foot.The crippled leg doesn't hurt as much as it used to, but it still hurts, as if to complain about something.He really can't stay on the bench of the substitutes and let the substitutes take his place until the end of the game. Grit your teeth and stick to it!What is this little injury!Let's get back to the game!Don't hesitate to sacrifice your body. Dried blood on the bathroom floor looked like sludge.Some of the water in the bathtub had drained away, but there was still a large piece of orange skin floating there, and the depth of the original water could be seen from the small scab fragments left around the bathtub.

Blood trickled down his shoulder.He took a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from a cabinet behind the bathroom mirror.The bottle is almost empty, but enough to clean the wound.He put the bottle on the cabinet and tried to get his T-shirt off, but the pain in his left arm made him give up.He slowly raised his left arm again - painful but still moving. The arm hung limply.With his right hand he fumbled off the blood-soaked T-shirt, dropped it on the floor, and kicked it into a corner so he never had to see it again. Perry wanted to take a shower, but he didn't want to clean the bathtub, and he gagged at the thought of ankle-deep water with scabs floating around.He doesn't clean up unless he has to.

He grabbed another clean towel from under the sink—because he wasn't going to use anything that had been in contact with scabs or the Five Tigers.Hum, now they're not five anymore, are they?A victorious smile appeared on Perry's face.Now, only the "Four Horsemen" remain. Like the Four Horsemen of the Last Days in the Bible. At the thought of this, the smile on his face suddenly disappeared.The name made him feel bad at all. His head twitched weakly.He dampened a white towel and tried to wipe the blood off his chest, ribs, shoulders, and underarms.Then gently dipped in water to wipe the blood from the wound, and the towel quickly turned a disgusting pink.

The wound alone isn't that bad.But the triangle looks terrible because its surface is torn away along with the skin that covers it.At first glance, Perry's muscle was indistinguishable from the dead triangle of carrion, but a closer look revealed that the tissue of this foreign object was paler than his own muscle, and the grayish red gradually faded to white.This certainly doesn't look healthy.But on second thought Perry, if he had been stabbed to death with a fork, it wouldn't have looked much better. He poured hydrogen peroxide over the wound.Most of the potion ran down his chest and into his sweatpants and underwear.He hurriedly patted the bubbling wound with a towel, ignoring the coolness of his lower body.

There were only three Band-Aids left—just enough to cover the wound.He pinched off the protruding skin on the triangular head, and stuck the wound tightly with a Band-Aid.The white absorbent patches on the tan bandage turned pink almost immediately.For now it's just superficial blood, which clots in a minute or two.The smell of Band-Aids will always remind people of bumpy childhood.When he was a child, whenever he accidentally cut or scratched and bled, his mother would put a Band-Aid on the wound.Maybe it's the effect of the Band-Aid, maybe it's the mother's careful care, in short, the wound will stop hurting in a while, and he will continue to play as if nothing happened-unless his father wants to teach him to remember the lesson of crying.

The Darcys must not be weak.Perry couldn't forget his father's angry words before being beaten again and again, "I'll make you cry enough!" In addition to relieving the pain, the Band-Aid gave Perry a little pleasure.Smelling the distinctive smell of plastic, Perry involuntarily relaxes. Gradually, when he calmed down, he realized how quiet the surroundings were.Quiet apartment, quiet brain.There was no more muffled noise, no high and low noise, not even the slightest accusation.Nothing at all.He doesn't kid himself that they're all dead - because he can still feel them.He could feel the occasional low humming in the back of his head.They're not dead yet, but that feels a little out of the ordinary.Maybe they're... sleeping.

Could he call someone if they were sleeping?Call the police?Or call the FBI?The little bastards were terribly afraid of people in uniform—what kind of uniform, Perry didn't know.If they were really asleep, Perry could give it a try. He must try. "Hey," Perry whispered tentatively, "are you there, guys?" no respond. Not the slightest hum. They just fell asleep without knowing it.And once they're asleep, Perry's chance comes.His mind was like a wind-up toy now, jumping from wall to wall, moving rapidly but not knowing exactly where to go.He has to think about it.Obviously he should make a phone call, it's not as simple as just driving away and getting out of danger. But who to call?How many people know these triangles?Perry knew there were others in the same predicament as he was, but very few knew about it—and there was one type of people these triangles were afraid of...the people in uniform. Who are the people in uniform?The FBI?Or the CIA?Obviously the authorities have silenced the news from the media, otherwise he would have heard about it by now.He hopped over to the kitchen table, grabbed his phone, hopped back on the couch, and pulled out the phone book from under the coffee table.During the whole process, he kept himself as quiet as possible.At first, he flipped through the yellow pages filled with government agency numbers, and then a flash of inspiration flashed through his mind. He turned directly to the red pages, which listed the phone numbers of all the companies in alphabetical order.He found the "T" in no time.Two companies are listed. They are Triangle Security in Islanti and Triangle Mobile Home Sales in Ann Arbor.What bastard, Perry thought, would give his company the lousy name Triangle?What's the point?There must be a connection.At least one is an eyeliner for the government.It makes sense—it absolutely makes sense!Sooner or later, anyone in the same situation as Perry will pick up the phone and try to get help, and everyone's instinct must be to look for the name with the "triangle" in the phone book.The government has to be prepared to deal with this, so they probably have offices in every decent town - at least in the infected areas.So that when people call, Triangle Guard sends out lads wearing coats with "Bob" or "Lu" written on the left chest (so that the locals don't get suspicious because all the repairs Installers have their names sewn onto company shirts or jackets).They then quietly drag Perry into a van and take him to doctors in white coats, who will quickly remove the triangle from Perry's body so that he feels no pain.Of course, he'd have to do things like swear to secrecy, but that was easy to do.Now, here's an opportunity.This is hope.Among other things, at least those little bastards can get what they deserve. He dialed the phone. A female secretary sweetly replied: "Triangle Defense Company." A company that's open on Sundays - it must be the gov't eyeball. "Um...I need help about...about..." Perry whispered, but every syllable was extraordinarily loud in the quiet apartment. He wondered what to say—could he cut to the chase?What should he say?Does this female secretary know about this?Has the phone been tapped? "About what, sir?" asked the secretary briskly. Perry hung up the phone quickly without even making a sound.How should he ask?Is there some code?If his phone was tapped, would the triangles know if he asked for help?Will they punish him? Stop guessing!How can they bug your phone?They don't even have arms.They're not testing me, no way, they're going to kill me anyway.I've killed three of them, they won't test my loyalty or anything.That's illogical.Think about it, ignore them... think about it! Perry held his breath.A suffocating pain swirls in the depths of his consciousness—the opportunity must never come again!If the phone is tapped, it means someone understands the situation but isn't trying to help, which means calling is a waste of time.In any case, to have any chance of surviving, he must calm down and take action.After all, time is running out. He picked up the phone again and dialed the number for Triangle Mobile Home Sales.That makes sense - obviously use a mobile home.That way they can drive around in their recreational vehicle, and when you jump in and test out and leave, your neighbors won't notice anything, or even be suspicious.It all makes sense now. "Triangle Mobile Home Sales." A man with a gruff voice answered the phone.Well, that makes more sense. "Hello," Perry said quietly, his free hand resting the phone against his cheek, "I was wondering if you could help me." "That depends on what kind of help you need." Seriously, there was a bit of teasing, "What can we do for you?" See what help you need, that man just said.Why did he say that?Looks like I found the right place.He was full of excitement and hope. "It started with seven, but I've worked out three," Perry said hastily. "I feel like the rest are still growing, and I don't know how long I'm going to live." "Excuse me, seven what?" "Seven triangles." Perry couldn't help grinning. "triangle?" "Yes! Exactly!" Perry began to tremble with excitement, as if he couldn't restrain the revival energy in his body rushing through his veins, "You must help me. Tell me it's not too late!" "Sir, I'm afraid I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Helping you with what?" "It's a triangle!" Perry raised his voice unconsciously. "Stop playing word games with me. I don't know what your goddamn code is. I'm not 007, understand? All I know is that these things are coming to me. Growing inside, but I can't do anything about it. Fuck your fucking code, send someone to me!" When Perry heard the low humming in his brain, his whole body went cold.Although much softer than before, it still rings. The triangles are awake. "Sir, I don't have time to joke around with you. I don't understand..." Gritting his teeth, Perry growled, "I'm not talking nonsense!" He could hardly control his volume, and his voice was full of hopeless frustration. "My God! I don't have time! I don't have time! You have to—" "Who are you talking to" Perry's heart suddenly rose to his throat, and his body staggered.Reflexively, he threw the phone, which arced across most of the room before landing softly on the linoleum floor. At this moment, he was in pain physically and mentally.Feel like a poor little rabbit petrified by a searchlight in front of a menacing mansion. "Who are you talking to" "No one! I'm... just talking to myself." "Why are you talking to yourself" "No reason, okay? You can control it?" Perry stood up on one leg and jumped to the bathroom. Suddenly, he wanted to pee.He heard the high-pitched buzzing of his brain signaling, strong and piercing. They are plotting, stronger than ever. He paused by the bathroom door, racking his brains for a countermeasure to what he sensed was going to happen next—the screaming in his head, and he just had to stop thinking about it.a song.Think of a song.A hard-hitting song... like a song by Rage Against the Machine - "Blast Pursuit." Perry frowned, concentrating on the song. ("Burn, burn, yes you're going to burn" are the only words he can recall.) Perry utters the line with all his might, trying not to let other things get in the way. (Burn, burn, yes, you're going to burn!) Lyrics from band frontman Zach De La Rocha linger in his ears as if he's enjoying a concert, drinking like crazy, with thousands of fans huddled together to play bodysurfing. "Why did you kill us" Perry was so engrossed he almost didn't hear the question. "why why why why" Perry couldn't believe it and they wanted to know why.He suddenly felt angry and couldn't concentrate anymore. He didn't care about fear and pain.Why did they ask him so presumptuously? "Why why why why why why why" "Because it's in me! Do I need any other fucking reason? It's in me and I want it out! I want you all out!" "It won't hurt you and neither will we" "Won't it hurt me? I can barely walk, my shoulders are a mess and there's blood all over the house. It's my blood!" "There is also our blood which you caused yourself" "Nonsense! You bastards! I won't hurt myself! I have to get you out of me before you eat me out of me! Maybe you think I'm a walking petri dish, but I tell you , don't think about it!" "Calm down calm down" "Relax? Of course I will. When the fuck you're all dead, I'll be!" Exhausted, he realized that his rage had erupted completely, completely out of control.He wanted to smash things, anything, smash them to pieces. "Even if I get cut by a thousand swords, I'll get rid of you! Not only would I love to, but I'd laugh—you hear me? I'll laugh and watch you die one by one!" "Calm down someone is here" "No one, you bastards!" He shook his head vigorously to balance his body, which was shaking with rage. "Someone outside the door calm down" There were three knocks on the door.The debate in the house is over.