Five Ways to Kill

By Paul Albano

After choosing to hitchhike back to Crimson City on Halloween night, college student Arnie Walker enters a vehicle driven by a mysterious person with the false belief that being the hitchhiker means you're in control of the situation. Yet this quickly turns out to be false. When Arnie decides it is time for the car ride to end, the mysterious person named Occam reveals his agenda for the evening and forces the hitchhiker to accompany him on a night filled with murder, deceit, and secrets.

Occam forcibly requires Arnie's assistance in killing five people who seem to have a puzzling connection to one another. On this journey, Arnie finds himself in the darkest parts of Crimson City, meeting the most malevolent people, and hearing the secrets of the city being told. And as the night progresses, Occam suspects Arnie to be the one holding the main secret that could help Occam link the five targets together. After all, where did Arnie come from before deciding to hitchhike?

Five Ways to Kill puts a twist on the universal belief on hitchhiking: be careful who you pick up from the side of the road. But when the person you should fear is the one pulling over, all bets are off as the night is not ending with a car ride back home, but is just beginning as it heads toward discovering the truth of what the ride is all about.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Albano
• Release date: Oct 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393520450

Book preview

A

Paul Albano

Novel

Five Ways to Kill

HELLO

Iimagine the only reason why I delayed telling this tale was because of how unbelievable it sounds. Even when I think about it late at night—lying in bed and staring up at the water stains on the ceiling because the landlord can’t do a damn thing—I crack a smile on my face then chuckle once or twice. On a good night when the arthritis in both hands isn’t flaming out of control and my hip isn’t acting up, I laugh myself to sleep, wondering how in the world someone such as me could remotely believe the shit that happened that chilly night. But then I remember Crimson City, and oh what a city it is. It’s the one you find yourself in this very evening. You’ll know what I’m talking about when I begin this story of mine and you may even see some of the chaos during our travels. I think being the new one in town warrants you information: you should be aware of what you’re getting yourself into, and perhaps this story will change your mind about staying for awhile.

Oh, you’re just a passerby...rather a walk-through?

Well, if you don’t mind me asking, what brings you to these dark streets of ours? Oh let’s not fuss over that now. I’m sure we’ll get to it eventually. I have quite the tale to tell while we drive through Crimson City and get you to where you need to be. And it’s pretty ironic the way it starts considering where we first met.

Oh me? You want to know why I haven’t left the City, don’t you? Lots do, especially when they see me use my senior citizen discount. I hope you don’t mind if we stop for something to eat. My sugar level resembles the Tower of Terror elevator in Disney World. It can rise calmly and slowly then crash down without warning. It’s best if I munch on something every so often. I’m certainly not one to take risks and frequently keep a snack or two in the car. Unfortunately, I have neglected to do such a thing on this unseasonably warm evening.

So as for me, I’ve stayed far too long in Crimson City to escape its grasp on these frail hands. In fact, I’ve been here so long I’ve seen The City evolve into what it has become with my own old eyes—a crazed concrete jungle filled with animals you thought couldn’t even exist in movies. That term funny to you, ‘concrete jungle?’ It must be an adolescent thing, something an old-timer like me can’t relate to. Here’s a fair warning to start things off: if you stay long enough—on purpose or completely by accidental because you just don’t know what you’ll encounter during your stay—the City gobbles you up and makes sure to never spit you out. When enough time passes by, all the nightmares that make up this city transform into a terrifying reality, and what’s even more horrifying is that reality will become ordinary to you after a while. But I doubt you’ll need to fret over that.

I suppose that is a great way to transition into the story. So buckle up and try to make yourself comfortable because you’ll soon understand just how difficult that may be once you enter Crimson City my new friend.

Chapter 1

He emerged from the tall grass on a hill overlooking Crimson City without a scratch on him. He was relieved—as relieved as he could be. He took a few deep breaths, fighting the urge to turn around and face where he had just come from. Judging by the silence surrounding him, nobody had followed.

Okay, he said to himself, feeling disoriented. He still had a bitter taste on his tongue. Okay, get the story straight. Get it right. Get it quick.

The grass ended right at the curb of a paved, winding road that led directly into the city. It was a far distance to walk. He would take the bus to the grassy flatlands with a group of friends from the university, and even that took over twenty minutes to get to where they wanted. From where he was now, an hour’s walk stretched ahead of him.

We just had to have another bonfire, he announced, repeating it aloud, over and over. He laughed. Damn you, Marty. I told you not to pour the entire bottle of fluid on the twigs right from the get-go. We needed to preserve it, make it last, The smirk dwindled from his face. Keep us warm.

Keep us warm, he thought. There were five of us, including me. It was Marty... Then Christine... And...and who else? Shit. I can’t remember. It’s too cold to think.

It was quite cold for Halloween night. All he had on was a white T-shirt and some worn blue jeans he probably had since junior year of high school.

He started walking down the winding road in just about complete dark. Not a single street lamp hung over him or any of the blacktop, for that matter. No trick-or-treaters would follow in his footsteps. He shivered a bit and dug his pale, white hands into his jean pockets. His cell phone was missing. That’s another thing he needed to concern himself with. But covering all his bases before heading back into Crimson City was priority number one. 

I left it at the bonfire, he said disappointedly. He continued to talk as if telling the story to a person strolling next to him. Something about speaking out loud makes a person feel a bit less uncomfortable when alone and scared. Hopefully Christine will bring it back to the dorm with her. I’m not sure if she even saw it resting next to her on that stump. Damn, we were in a hurry.

Christine was his on-and-off girlfriend. When she was on, Christine was the sweetest girl in existence. On those off days, Christine could spit fire from her eyeballs.

Tonight was an off day, the young man spoke to his invisible companion. The only reason she came along was to tease me into thinking we’d soon switch on again.

No matter, he wouldn’t see Christine any time soon.

After ten minutes of walking the winding road, a car whizzed by at a wicked speed nearly causing the young man to jump back into the tall grass. Another thought popped into his mind.

I should just hitchhike my way back into Crimson City, he said. No sense in walking the whole way. Hell, I don’t need the exercise to begin with. I just ran a good distance from...from the bonfire and I could use a break. I know these feet could.

He had read a few stories about people hitchhiking and the dos and don’ts of the craft. The one do: be the hitchhiker. The one don’t: be the one behind the wheel. Hell, those stories of hitchhikers never ended well. Hollywood even made a film or two about the dangers of it. You just didn’t know who would end up in that passenger seat with you. He could be a good boy just wanting to get back home or a prisoner who just escaped from the joint. Hitchhiking is a dangerous technique, but as he reminisced about those stories he read and films he viewed, one constant flashed in his mind.

The hitchhiker is the one to be afraid of, never the driver.

A smile quickly appeared on his sweaty face. The final beads just about dried up on his forehead, leaving a greasy residue everywhere on his circular mug.

I’m the one the driver needs to be afraid of, he said, now just about skipping down the winding road toward the city. There has to be another car speeding by any minute now from the shopping plaza up the hill. I’ll just stick my thumb out like this, he said, doing so. Turn around, walk backwards, and wiggle it. His thumb moved up and down frantically. And I’ll see a pair of bright headlights.

A pair of bright headlights drove toward him as he paced backward. The high beams blinded the young man but he kept his thump jiggling.

And then the car will stop, and I’ll just hop on in, he said with a grin. That’s if they aren’t too scared to let me in the car, he jokingly added as the car came to a complete stop.

How easy it appeared—almost too easy.

He reached for the handle of the 1965 Buick Riviera and pulled the door open, hearing the driver mutter, Perfect, as he hopped in.

Thanks, he said and got cozy in the front passenger seat, staring at the mint condition-looking console in front of him. The passenger door slammed shut and the hitchhiking began.

Not a problem, the driver said in a hoarse voice.

The young man looked up at the figure driving the Buick. He had a long face with a black goatee, and short, combed-back hair. He was slender looking, but it was difficult to tell in the sitting position. He wore a halfway-buttoned black leather jacket over a white T-shirt. His jeans were also black. The first thought that ran through the young man’s mind was the driver must be associated with the mob or, hell, even be a boss.

But the young man deleted that thought from his mind as it caused him great concern. If the driver was indeed a mobster, then the young man had already lost control of the situation before it ever started. So he decided to settle on the fact that the brave soul who pulled over for the young man was just a good civilian...

...who made a terrible mistake picking me up, the hitchhiker thought.

What’s your name? the driver asked. And where are you heading? He sounded intimidating but the young man needed to remember: He was the hitchhiker. He was in control. He was the one to fear.

I’m heading to the university, the young man said confidently. And the name is Arnie.

Arnie, he thought. That’s not a strong, scary name. I mean it is my name, but damn, I wanna strike fear into this guy. He was brave enough—or foolish enough—to pull over and let a complete stranger in his car. I gotta do better than that.

But before Arnie could think up a better name, the man in control of the Buick introduced himself.

Name is Occam. No need to call me mister or sir, and definitely don’t call me man or dude. You use my name when you speak to me for the duration of this ride.

Arnie snapped his fingers and shaped them into a gun. You got it...Occam. Sweet ride you have here by the way. Where’d you get it?

Occam kept his dark eyes on the road.

That’s none of your concern right now, Arnie. All you need to be worried about is that this car is your ticket out of here.

Out of where? Arnie asked. Remember you’re the hitchhiker. Who ever heard of the driver being the intimidator in this situation?

Out of the grassy area I found you in, Occam clarified. And what were you doing back there anyway? It’s a dangerous road to be trekking on your own, especially on a night like this. All the ghouls and creatures come out and play.

Arnie laughed and agreed. Yeah I know. I just lost track of time. What is the time anyway, Occam?

Occam pulled back the left sleeve of his leather jacket, revealing a classy Rolex. From what I can tell, it’s about a quarter to ten.

Oh, that’s not that late, Arnie replied. The night is young for me.

Occam finally took his eyes off the road and stared at his passenger. The boy seemed on the shorter side and very skinny. His hair was a brownish shade cut so that it parted more toward the left than right. His skin was pale, his eyes blue and he just had that look that indicated his family was probably made of money.

Is that a fact, Arnie? Occam asked with amusement. The night is young, huh?

Arnie nodded but Occam had already looked out toward the road again. Got that right. Once I get back, I’ll meet up with my buddies and the party will continue. There are a couple Halloween parties I got invited to, so don’t take your time on this drive into the city. Let’s make it snappy. I’m the life of the party, and my boys are counting on me to get back.

Occam excused the young man’s arrogance for now. So it was partying? That what was going down in the tall grass? he asked Arnie. He kept a steady pace behind the wheel, never accelerating, driving perfectly centered in the lane.

Yeah, Arnie replied, noticing Occam’s meticulous driving. It made him feel a bit uneasy. Only people who are trying to hide something drive the way Occam did for fear of getting pulled over. We had ourselves a bonfire going, Arnie said, shaking off yet another wave of nervousness the driver imposed on him inadvertently, or so the young man thought. Actually, the damn thing was blazing like crazy. You see my friend Marty had—

Occam cut the young man off. "I don’t care about what Marty was doing. I care about what you were doing."

Slowly but surely, Arnie felt his grasp of intimidation loosening.

No, it can’t. I’m the one in the passenger seat, the one he picked up. I have to keep control.

Look, Occam, I really don’t think it’s any of your business what sort of things I do in that tall grass over there. I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble with the law if you heard the sort of shit my friends and I do out there. He couldn’t believe the bullshit that was spewing from his own mouth. Sooner or later, these lies were going to catch up to him. That last thing I want is for you to become an accessory to something. Those charge stick to a man just as much as the actual crime-doing. And you can believe that, Occam.

Occam let out a chuckle which sounded more like a grunt to Arnie. Don’t be talking to me about crime and charges and accessories, Arnie. I know all about that stuff.

Great, Arnie thought. The one car I get into is being driven by a criminal. I knew it! He probably is part of the mob. He took a deep breath. But don’t worry. I still have control. I can still keep the fear going. I’ll tell him about the stunts Marty pulled last summer and pretend they’re my own. I don’t need to be buried alive in an Indiana cornfield tonight. If anybody’s doing any burying it’s me! I’m the hitchhiker!

You ever stage a robbery? Arnie asked and gave Occam no time to respond. Well I did, last summer actually. It was at a corner deli back home, and I had a buddy of mine fake an injury in the frozen food section because the floor was wet but there was no caution sign. For a brief second, we thought we’d sue the pricks for not warning us that the floor was wet, but decided against it because we put a lot of thought into stealing some cash just for the fun of it. That’s how I roll, Occam. I do shit like that for fun and don’t care about the consequences. Oh my God, Arnie thought, stopping mid-way through his make-believe crime story. What the hell am I telling this guy? The young man continued, hoping the driver would play off Arnie’s words as nothing but fantasy. So when he fell, I just went to the cash register and—

Again, Occam stopped the young man from finishing another one of his stories. That doesn’t interest me one bit. You could have stolen money from every deli and drug store on the East Coast or wherever the hell it is you’re from, the driver said, but you’ve got nothing on me.

The Buick continued to drive smoothly down the road as Crimson City’s lights brightened the interior of the car. Arnie noticed he sat on a red-colored seat and, by the look of it, the car was a turquoise color.

Oh I don’t know about that, Occam, Arnie replied with a tremble in his voice. He took another stab at causing even the slightest bit of anxiety to build in Occam. I can’t tell you everything I’ve done. We college kids aren’t as innocent as people claim us to be. He leaned toward Occam’s shoulder.  Some of us have demented minds, Arnie whispered.

Occam howled with laughter. Oh, Arnie. You crack me up. I hope you know that.

Arnie joined in on the laughter but the more he laughed, the more nervous he got, and the more nervous he got, the more pissed he became because it wasn’t he who was supposed to feel that nervousness crawl underneath his skin. It should be Occam, the one driving the car, the one who picked up the stranger in the dark who happened to appear from the tall grass where God only knows what occurred! Arnie tried to convince himself the driver was a complete fool if only for a short while. But the continuous laughter bellowing out of Occam’s mouth told Arnie of a different truth.

We’re almost there, Arnie pointed out, wanting to get out of the Buick more badly than he had initially sought to get in it. You just might survive this little trip to the university. The boy just didn’t know when to quit.

Occam cackled. Goddammit, Arnie. You are one funny son of a bitch. The laughter quickly died down. We’re not almost there at all. He passed by a parade of trick-or-treaters marching toward the residential area—the line of children turning to face the car with demented masks poking twisted fun at celebrities (one child even appeared to hold a real knife covered in blood).

Arnie’s eyebrows propped up. Shock rushed through his body. What’s that? he said assertively, though not feeling like the assertive kind at all.

I said, Occam began, we’re not there at all.

The Buick passed a sign for the university indicating where the main parking lot was for the heart of the campus.

Arnie watched as the Buick drove by the turn Occam was supposed to take. Okay buddy, this is what is gonna happen! Arnie started to command the driver and put that hitchhiker mentality to use once again.

No, Arnold, you listen to me, Occam snapped back and pulled the Buick over underneath an overpass where two grotesque men stood by injecting needles into their arms and howling like wolves while doing so. Dim orange light illuminated the Buick’s interior as speedy cars passing above shook the ground and resonated through the car’s metallic skeleton.

Arnie muttered, How do you know my real first name?

Oh what a stupid question, the young man thought. Anybody could figure that out. Who’s never heard of the nickname Arnie before and thought it belonged to another name besides Arnold. Damn, I screwed this one up.

I know more than that, Arnold, Occam said, and the control Arnie thought he once had secured, the control he conjured out of thin air and false pretences, diminished as quickly as he concocted its existence. Let’s see who we have sitting next to me. Occam tapped a finger on his chin. Oh, I know! Arnold Walker, a student at this prestigious university.

Arnie frowned. You listen, Occam. I want to know how you know this. Right now! Do you understand me?

No, Occam hissed, you have to understand me. We are not going to the university. We are going somewhere else. You have been chosen to be my companion on this little excursion of mine.

Arnie pointed a firm finger at Occam—still convinced he controlled everything from that passenger seat, regardless of how false his conviction appeared to be. I’m not going anywhere with you, buddy. You remember that friend of mine? Well he goes to school with me, and you can bet your life I won’t hesitate to give him a ring and have him join me in beating the shit out of you! Now you take me to that fucking university or things are going to get very ugly very fast!

You’re right, Occam said calmly. Things will get ugly.

Fuck you, Arnie snarled. He had had enough of trying to hold onto the hitchhiker attitude. Arnie turned to reach for the handle to exit the Buick, but the doors locked and Occam swiftly exposed a gun he had in the pocket of his leather jacket. He pointed directly at the back of Arnie’s head.

I’m killing five people tonight, Arnold Walker, Occam said, so smoothly it sounded rehearsed. And I can promise you I will not make it six. Oh no, it definitely will not be six. He sighed. Now we have two options here. One is that I let you out of this vehicle and trust that you do not speak a word of what I just told you to anybody. Odds are you won’t make it far before being eaten alive by the creatures of Crimson City tonight. Option two: you assist me and I leave your family alone.

Arnie slowly turned back, facing the pistol now aimed at his forehead. What do you know about my family?

Occam whipped out Arnie’s wallet and took out his driver’s license. It says here you live at 233 Tyler Street in Liberty, Maine. Now I take it that since we are nowhere near Maine this would be where the rest of your family resides. Mommy, daddy, brothers, sisters, perhaps an aunt and a cousin or two? He cocked the pistol and stiffened his arm toward Arnie’s head. "And it wouldn’t trouble me one bit to take a drive up that way and kill them all. I’d do it while they’re sleeping so I don’t disturb