When his lights came back on, the room was quiet and still. Perry’s eyes peeled apart slowly, the right one took some additional effort. The dried plasma that had finally quit flowing from his forehead had congealed. The old man had to push the coarse and crusty crimson away before his full vision was reallocated back to him.
Perry’s breastbone ached where the hot bullet had launched into him in addition to his throttled noggin. The stiff blow from the tenderizer had most certainly concussed him, and the drowsy hangover from the collection of drink types he’d swallowed only amplified his state of stupor.
Perry didn’t really know how long he’d been out for or why exactly his chest area throbbed in pain; everything went black before Sebastian had fired the shot. The shot which Sebastian had believed to have pierced through Perry’s blood pumper.
After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling and wondering, he was finally able to sit up. He pressed his hands to his body and felt a solid object beneath the bullet hole in his frontside. Perry unzipped his suit pocket and slipped his wrinkled hand inside.
He pulled out his trusty companion, and to his utter amazement, a single bullet sat firmly wedged halfway through the steel flask. The drink had a body count that was on par with cancer. Most people that built it ritualistically into their regimen or used it as a crutch ended up wrecking their car or ruining their lives. But in Perry’s odd circumstance, it had actually saved him.
He looked over at the fallen chandelier and Taylor’s brokenness. He saw Jinx’s unmasked but pulverized head. He didn’t expect to know who he was, he wasn’t connected to any of the people in the room, but a part of him wanted to see what the monster under the mask looked like.
It was something he might never be able to know now for reasons he was unaware of. Even when the police and media finally identified him, the real culprit behind the horrors that Sebastian’s helper had committed was already far away from the violent scene.
Knowing he couldn’t account for any of his curiosities, he scanned further, searching through the carnage for the man of the hour. He knew he couldn’t be safe until he located that sick man’s body. Finally, Perry spied Sebastian’s bullet-riddled cadaver and let a conclusive wave of relief wash over him—he was alone now, thank God.
As Perry gawked down at the now crumpled steel flask in hand, his internal reflection was quite profound. While the evening of traumatic terror had undoubtedly scarred and in a sense validated his life-long reclusive mindset, there were still some things he’d learned. Demons that he’d exorcised which had been haunting him for the duration of his existence. For that, he felt a very strange sense of gratitude.
The situation had made him feel like he was trapped inside of a pressure cooker, but when shit hit the fan, he delivered. While everyone who had witnessed his gusto and performance would be too dead to tell the tale, that didn’t matter. Getting credit was never something that mattered to him. Just knowing that he’d done it himself was all he needed for his peace of mind.
Sure, the whiskey had saved his life. If he hadn’t been an alcoholic, he might never have survived the ordeal. But if he hadn’t been a drunk, he most likely wouldn’t have been buffing floors for a living either. He most likely would never have made his way into the brutality that transpired on the 13th floor of the Biltmore. Was it all part of a greater plan? There was no way to know for sure, but in his mind, it was a sign. He’d been given another chance.
Perry tossed the tin container that had got him through so many dark times onto the floor beside him. Suddenly, he knew with a profound certainty which had never come close to dawning on him before, that things were going to change. In his heart, he knew that the ringing hangover that pulsated a pounding pain in his tired brain would be the last one he ever experienced.
He decided in that moment that he was done feeling sorry for himself. Surviving the ordeal had instilled him with a loud and unignorable sense of appreciation. Maybe being married wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Maybe he had it all wrong and the envy he’d initially felt for the deceased duo was misplaced. It just took him a wedding day massacre to realize exactly how lucky he’d been all along.
Perry took one last look around at the hundreds of dead bodies, bits and pieces, and overall barbarity of the ballroom before shifting his focus to the exit door. It had been left unshackled and was calling to him.
“I ain’t cleaning this mess up,” Perry muttered, pulling himself to his feet.
