that first edition Kerouac to crown his collection. I want to own this beautiful, nubile, exotic young thing. I want her to be mine . Just like the accountant-looking guy wanted Vin Boucher's shiny, gold watch.
And isn't that what this new world is really about? You see something that you want and you take it. No questions. No justifications. No permission. You simply grab it and damn anyone who gets in your way.
I turn around and see that Cody looks as if he's about to pass out. He's leaning against the wall and panting like he's just finished a marathon, shaking from his teeth all the way down to his knees. He's so pale now that his goatee looks absolutely black in the half-darkness of the hall.
“I say,” he gasps, “that was a close one, wasn't it? I thought for sure we were done for.”
The damn phony accent again. What the hell did Polly ever see in this loser? Maybe, it was simply a case of second bests. She couldn't have me because she thought I was so wrapped up in Jane that it would never happen. Hard to believe that, for a long while, I'd believed that myself.
I take two steps and place my left hand on his shoulder.
“Well,” I say slowly, “one of us is.”
“What in blazes are you.... ”
I shove the chef's knife into his gut and it feels just like stabbing an overstuffed pillow. He gasps sharply as his eyes grow large and round and his hands wrap around the handle protruding from his belly. Yanking the blade free, it slices through his palms, severing nerves and tendons, and his mouth is moving now like a fish who has been pulled from the river and thrown onto the bank to flounder and die.
I plunge the knife again, this time hooking my arm around his shoulders and pulling him into the thrust at the same time.
“You like that?” I hiss in his ears. “You want some more?”
Over and over, the blade pierces his skin; each time he shudders and gasps and soon I begin hitting bone and the jolt is like an electrical current that travels along my arm and vibrates in my shoulders.
My hand is sticky and warm now, like it's been dipped into room-temperature glue and I feel almost stoned, perfectly aware of every sound, every sensation. Relishing every moment of my conquest.
I pull away and Cody staggers around the hallway for a moment, his arms cradling his gut like the pink intestines were a small baby that he could somehow protect. Dropping the knife, I rush toward him with a growl, pushing at his chest with my both my hands at the moment of impact. He stumbles backward and momentum carries his body over the railing; then he's falling, end over end, bouncing off the hand rails and banisters and walls until his body hits the ground floor with a sound that's like a thud, squish, and sharp crack all rolled into one.
It is complete now.
The competition has been removed from the playing field.
I look over the railing at Cody's twisted, broken body for a moment and then go back into the apartment. I head into the kitchen and lather dish soap on my hands and forearms until it's a pink froth; warm water washes the blood away and I watch as it swirls down the drain, realizing that it carries all the remnants of my old life with it.
I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. They sound tentative, as if the person is trying their hardest to achieve stealth but still failing miserably. A step, the squeak of a floorboard, a few moments of silence. Another step.
When the person reaches the landing I hear a sharp intake of breath and a sound like a hand being slapped over a mouth. Apparently whoever it is has seen the blood. And I imagine there's quite a bit of it out there.
“Cody? Richard?”
Polly's voice. She sounds as if she's afraid to make a noise but knows that she has to. That if she doesn't call out the suspense of not knowing will drive her mad.
“Anyone?”
“In the kitchen.” I reply as I dry my hands on the little towel with the art deco designs. The towel which Jane always said was
And isn't that what this new world is really about? You see something that you want and you take it. No questions. No justifications. No permission. You simply grab it and damn anyone who gets in your way.
I turn around and see that Cody looks as if he's about to pass out. He's leaning against the wall and panting like he's just finished a marathon, shaking from his teeth all the way down to his knees. He's so pale now that his goatee looks absolutely black in the half-darkness of the hall.
“I say,” he gasps, “that was a close one, wasn't it? I thought for sure we were done for.”
The damn phony accent again. What the hell did Polly ever see in this loser? Maybe, it was simply a case of second bests. She couldn't have me because she thought I was so wrapped up in Jane that it would never happen. Hard to believe that, for a long while, I'd believed that myself.
I take two steps and place my left hand on his shoulder.
“Well,” I say slowly, “one of us is.”
“What in blazes are you.... ”
I shove the chef's knife into his gut and it feels just like stabbing an overstuffed pillow. He gasps sharply as his eyes grow large and round and his hands wrap around the handle protruding from his belly. Yanking the blade free, it slices through his palms, severing nerves and tendons, and his mouth is moving now like a fish who has been pulled from the river and thrown onto the bank to flounder and die.
I plunge the knife again, this time hooking my arm around his shoulders and pulling him into the thrust at the same time.
“You like that?” I hiss in his ears. “You want some more?”
Over and over, the blade pierces his skin; each time he shudders and gasps and soon I begin hitting bone and the jolt is like an electrical current that travels along my arm and vibrates in my shoulders.
My hand is sticky and warm now, like it's been dipped into room-temperature glue and I feel almost stoned, perfectly aware of every sound, every sensation. Relishing every moment of my conquest.
I pull away and Cody staggers around the hallway for a moment, his arms cradling his gut like the pink intestines were a small baby that he could somehow protect. Dropping the knife, I rush toward him with a growl, pushing at his chest with my both my hands at the moment of impact. He stumbles backward and momentum carries his body over the railing; then he's falling, end over end, bouncing off the hand rails and banisters and walls until his body hits the ground floor with a sound that's like a thud, squish, and sharp crack all rolled into one.
It is complete now.
The competition has been removed from the playing field.
I look over the railing at Cody's twisted, broken body for a moment and then go back into the apartment. I head into the kitchen and lather dish soap on my hands and forearms until it's a pink froth; warm water washes the blood away and I watch as it swirls down the drain, realizing that it carries all the remnants of my old life with it.
I hear footsteps coming down the stairs. They sound tentative, as if the person is trying their hardest to achieve stealth but still failing miserably. A step, the squeak of a floorboard, a few moments of silence. Another step.
When the person reaches the landing I hear a sharp intake of breath and a sound like a hand being slapped over a mouth. Apparently whoever it is has seen the blood. And I imagine there's quite a bit of it out there.
“Cody? Richard?”
Polly's voice. She sounds as if she's afraid to make a noise but knows that she has to. That if she doesn't call out the suspense of not knowing will drive her mad.
“Anyone?”
“In the kitchen.” I reply as I dry my hands on the little towel with the art deco designs. The towel which Jane always said was
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