morning.’
‘That’s sure to impress them.’
‘Only the ones who appreciates a hardworking man,’ said Mom. ‘Girls will love it.’
I unwrapped the bandages on the wrists, then reached for a bottle of Dis-Spray and froze, my hand stretched into the air. Something on the wrist had caught my eye.
I stepped back to the table and bent down to peer at the wrist more closely. On the first corpse, the wrists had been severed cleanly – no saw marks or serrations, no major tissue trauma – but the Mayor’s left wrist was different. Instead of ending in a clean, indecipherable wall of meat and bone, this wrist was messy. There was a straight cut, yes, but behind it was a smaller cut, coming down through the flesh and glancing diagonally off the big knob of bone on the outside of the wrist. It looked like the demon had tried to sever the hand, missed, then hit home with a second swing.
What did it mean?
I had assumed that the demon used claws, like Mr Crowley’s, and his claws had never been stopped by a bone - they’d been able to cut through anything. I’d seen him dig into the asphalt like it was clay. Did this demon have duller claws, or a weaker swing, or was she doing something else entirely? What if it wasn’t a claw at all, but an axe? But that didn’t make sense. An axe should have been able to slice through a wrist without any problem, and it couldn’t possibly have made the stab wounds on the back.
‘Time to go,’ said Mom.
‘Yeah,’ I said absently, grabbing the body’s shoulder to roll it over. ‘I need to look at something.’
‘You need to go to school,’ she said, pushing the shoulder gently back down. ‘That was the deal.’
‘But look at this wrist,’ I said, pointing at it.
‘That was mentioned in Ron’s report,’ she said calmly, steering me away from the table.
‘Does it say what made it?’
‘Go to school,’ she repeated.
‘But I need to know!’ I shouted, shrugging her violently off of my arm. I was breathing heavily, my teeth clenched. She stepped back, eyes wide, and I stepped back the other way, as if away from an electric shock. Where had that come from?
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’ I hadn’t had any kind of angry outbursts, physical or otherwise, in weeks. ‘I’ll go now.’
Mom regained her composure and nodded. ‘What do we say?’
I paused. It had been a while since we’d bothered with this, but it was another little ritual we had – a mantra we used to say whenever I left the house, to help me remember my rules. I didn’t want to start it again.
But it was better than the alternative.
‘Today I will smile all day, and think good thoughts about everyone I meet.’ Mom said it with me. It scared me, and I think it scared her, to know how quickly we both went back to the same preventative measure.
I took off my apron and mask, threw away my gloves and washed my hands in the restroom on the way out.
In hindsight, it was stupid of me to stop at Brooke’s house on the way to school. Ever since I got my licence last year I’d driven her to and from school every day; I got to see her, talk to her, and smell the clean, soft scent that followed her everywhere. I cherished those car rides, and now, through force of habit and a powerful sense of delusion, I was right back at it on the first day of the new school year. Of course she wasn’t speaking to me, but she still needed to get to school, right? We’d never officially cut off the driving arrangement, so technically it was still on, and even if I drove her to school it didn’t mean she had to talk to me. But over time we were sure to start talking again anyway – meaningless small talk at first, then more and more, until everything would be just like it had always been.
I waited by her kerb for three minutes, trying to get up the nerve to go knock on her door – she’d always come out on
‘That’s sure to impress them.’
‘Only the ones who appreciates a hardworking man,’ said Mom. ‘Girls will love it.’
I unwrapped the bandages on the wrists, then reached for a bottle of Dis-Spray and froze, my hand stretched into the air. Something on the wrist had caught my eye.
I stepped back to the table and bent down to peer at the wrist more closely. On the first corpse, the wrists had been severed cleanly – no saw marks or serrations, no major tissue trauma – but the Mayor’s left wrist was different. Instead of ending in a clean, indecipherable wall of meat and bone, this wrist was messy. There was a straight cut, yes, but behind it was a smaller cut, coming down through the flesh and glancing diagonally off the big knob of bone on the outside of the wrist. It looked like the demon had tried to sever the hand, missed, then hit home with a second swing.
What did it mean?
I had assumed that the demon used claws, like Mr Crowley’s, and his claws had never been stopped by a bone - they’d been able to cut through anything. I’d seen him dig into the asphalt like it was clay. Did this demon have duller claws, or a weaker swing, or was she doing something else entirely? What if it wasn’t a claw at all, but an axe? But that didn’t make sense. An axe should have been able to slice through a wrist without any problem, and it couldn’t possibly have made the stab wounds on the back.
‘Time to go,’ said Mom.
‘Yeah,’ I said absently, grabbing the body’s shoulder to roll it over. ‘I need to look at something.’
‘You need to go to school,’ she said, pushing the shoulder gently back down. ‘That was the deal.’
‘But look at this wrist,’ I said, pointing at it.
‘That was mentioned in Ron’s report,’ she said calmly, steering me away from the table.
‘Does it say what made it?’
‘Go to school,’ she repeated.
‘But I need to know!’ I shouted, shrugging her violently off of my arm. I was breathing heavily, my teeth clenched. She stepped back, eyes wide, and I stepped back the other way, as if away from an electric shock. Where had that come from?
I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry.’ I hadn’t had any kind of angry outbursts, physical or otherwise, in weeks. ‘I’ll go now.’
Mom regained her composure and nodded. ‘What do we say?’
I paused. It had been a while since we’d bothered with this, but it was another little ritual we had – a mantra we used to say whenever I left the house, to help me remember my rules. I didn’t want to start it again.
But it was better than the alternative.
‘Today I will smile all day, and think good thoughts about everyone I meet.’ Mom said it with me. It scared me, and I think it scared her, to know how quickly we both went back to the same preventative measure.
I took off my apron and mask, threw away my gloves and washed my hands in the restroom on the way out.
In hindsight, it was stupid of me to stop at Brooke’s house on the way to school. Ever since I got my licence last year I’d driven her to and from school every day; I got to see her, talk to her, and smell the clean, soft scent that followed her everywhere. I cherished those car rides, and now, through force of habit and a powerful sense of delusion, I was right back at it on the first day of the new school year. Of course she wasn’t speaking to me, but she still needed to get to school, right? We’d never officially cut off the driving arrangement, so technically it was still on, and even if I drove her to school it didn’t mean she had to talk to me. But over time we were sure to start talking again anyway – meaningless small talk at first, then more and more, until everything would be just like it had always been.
I waited by her kerb for three minutes, trying to get up the nerve to go knock on her door – she’d always come out on
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