Original Stories
Jack of All Trades5/25/2018 I stood in darkness with my hand firmly wrapped around the doorknob. My wet clothes felt heavy against my skin, and my hair clung to my forehead. Nervousness and anxiety rippled throughout my entire body. I pressed my ear to the wooden door and listened closely. At first, silence was all that I heard in between the booms of thunder. Then I heard a subtle giggle. I pressed my ear harder against the cold wood. I could hear muffled moans and coos. I felt all my emotion melt into a boiling rage. What once felt like a pit in my stomach was now a roaring fire. I tightened my grip on the doorknob and thrusted my shoulder into the door. I stumbled into the room as splinters fell to the shag carpet. The motel room was a decrepit as you would imagine. Faded and stained diamond wallpaper flooded my vision, and a distinct moldy odor wafted into my nostrils. With glossy eyes I looked at the couple lying bare in the worn bed. They stared at me, mouths agape, too terrified to even cover themselves. “Katrina, why would you do this to me?” My words seemed to jolt them from their shock as they scrambled for the covers. The man beside her started to speak, “Listen man, I…” “Shut your fucking hole, Aaron!” “Jack! Please, I can explain this!” A scowl flashed across my face, “What’s to explain you cheating bitch!? Everything seems pretty clear to me!” I watched as the fear on her face turned to disgust. “You’re pathetic, Jack! If you were more of a man, I wouldn’t have to sleep with other men!” Without even realizing, she had confirmed the truth: there were others. I had always suspected, but now I knew. I reached into my coat pocket and my fingers brushed against cold steel. I withdrew the snubnosed revolver and pointed it at her. Somehow it felt heavier than it did the night before. They stared at me, and I at them, in frightful silence. I didn’t feel myself squeeze the trigger. I didn’t even hear the crack of two gunshots. Instead, I only heard the pounding of my own heart, and the rolling thunder. I stood and watched as the wrinkled white sheets slowly turned to a velvet red. Like a statue, I stood unmoving as the lights dimmed and the curtains drew closed. Only after the applause ensued, did I allow myself to breath once again. “Flat and unrealistic!” A newspaper was waved in my face before being thrown to the ground. I was caught off guard, “What? Jason, what are you talking about?” Our director, and my longtime friend, Jason Haverdy, spun around on his heels. “The reviews from last night’s premiere! We’re ruined, Mark!” The stout figure stood before me, arms at his hips. His head hung so low, you might not have known the expression of his face if it had not been for the silhouette of his mustache. “Chris Richards…damn you…” He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose, “We can’t go on tonight” And with that he walked out in a huff. It was over just as quickly as it had begun. My fellow cast members and I were silent and gazed into empty space, like puppets without their master. It wasn’t long before I found myself at the end of a bar, seven empty glasses in front of me. After leaving the theater, the night had become a blur of bright lights and burning whiskey. But a sudden spark of lucidity offered me the chance to reflect on my thoughts. I had drunk myself into oblivion on many an occasion before. But, some nights were different. Sometimes I would find what many men before me had sought at the bottom of a bottle. A sort of, clarity, if you will. Freedom in the sense that I could cut that which bound me to the statutes of this world. The rain poured down from the heavens that night. As if God himself had shed tears in the knowledge of what I had planned to do. I sat it the darkness, tightly gripping the heavy revolver. I wouldn’t let him take her from me. He would struggle, and lie about his part in the crime. But I was ready for him. Like a silent devil, I crept behind him as hung up his coat. For a moment I lingered behind, unsure if I could finish what I had set out to do. But my hesitation was quickly outmatched by my fury. With a forceful motion, I struck him down. Slowly he began to stir. His eyes fluttered as he fought to regain consciousness. The way he so suddenly sat up…it was as if you could see the adrenaline pumping through his veins. With terrified eyes he scanned the room. What was once his familiar abode, had become a foreign place occupied by an unknown danger. He tried to scream as I stepped out into the moonlight. Muffled cries of despair were all that came through the tape. I looked him over once more, making sure that he could not free himself from the chair. “I know what you have done...” I said as I slowly encircled him, “I know who you are, Aaron, and I will not let you take her from me” His eyes flashed with confusion. I rested my hand and the revolver on his right shoulder. “It’s alright. She probably lied to you. She probably told you she was lonely woman. She’s very good at manipulating people into doing what she wants. It’s not really your fault. But I can’t run the risk of you taking her. You can’t have her…” I spun him around and leveled his eyes with my own, “You will not take my Katrina!” I stepped back and pointed the revolver at his head. Tears streaked down his face as he tried to beg for mercy. But as I pulled back the hammer, his expression changed. Mixed with his fear was a sort of understanding. I watched as his terror slowly mixed with something…else. It was recognition. But how could he possibly know who I was? Katrina would never reveal my existence to one of her lovers. How did he know me? Against my better judgement, I slowly peeled the tape from his mouth. I knew I was running the risk of him screaming and attracting attention. But my curiosity won out. “It’s you, isn’t it?” His cryptic question only enraged me. “Me!? Me who!?” I said in a harsh whisper. I pushed the revolver into his neck. He quickly shut his eyes and began to whimper. “Him…you’re him…” I let my gaze fall down to his tied hand. His finger was pointing towards the kitchen. Unsure of what to expect, I replaced the tape and walked across the room. My eyes searched the inky black. The kitchen was bare save for a bowl of fruit on the counter. But beside the bowl, shrouded in darkness, was a newspaper. I held it close to my face, desperately trying to read the pressed text. Police confirmed yesterday night that the string of recent murders has indeed been the work of a serial killer. Details released indicate that the killer is targeting members of the art community. Officials denied any further comment. My mind raced as I read the text over and over. A serial killer? What did this have to do with me? Did he think I was some deranged killer? Question after question filled my mind. As I mulled over each one, I began to hear a faint buzzing. Slowly it grew louder and louder. I gripped my head tightly as I realized that it was not a single noise, but an ocean of noise. A cacophony of whispers filled my mind. I felt myself sink lower and lower as each whisper became an earth shattering bellow. “I might uphold the law in this town, but that won’t stop me from puttin’ a bullet in yo chest!” “You will never take the Earth, Zandor! Your invasion ends here!” “Any last words before yer tossed inta the drink!?” “You will not take my Katrina!” I gripped the counter and heaved myself up, as if pulling away from a fatal drop. Level with my eyes was the knife block. Out of pure instinct I gripped a handle and pulled one free. With a trembling hand I held the blade to my throat. I knelt there, considering ending it all just to stop the noise. But I knew I couldn’t do it. It was all theatrics. Suicide, just wasn’t in my nature. Still gripping the knife, I staggered back over to the frightened man. I’d lost my gun but I didn’t care. The knife felt so much...lighter. Aaron...or whatever his name was...had witnessed the entire scene, and he had guessed how it would end. I leaned the chair back and stared into his eyes, red from tears. Slowly I slid the tip of the blade between the buttons of his shirt, and gently pressed it against his skin. Movies would have you believe that a knife will smoothly slide through a man’s flesh, like butter. But this wasn’t a movie. His skin held back the knife for a time. But eventually it gave way, almost with a subtle pop, like pressing your finger through a piece of Jell-O. Every few centimeters required more force to push the blade through. A smooth stab was impossible at this leisurely speed. Fleshy tendons and failing organs saw to that. Only for a moment did I pause when my hand reached his chest. Then, just as slowly and deliberately, I pulled the knife from his dying body. Warm, thick blood drained from him. It steadily oozed and trickled onto my hand. I watched in earnest as the color faded from his face, and the light left his eyes. Some may say that there is no light in a dying man’s eyes. But it was there. I swallowed it whole and fed it to the ravenous voices in my head. Heeding the now gentle whispers, I positioned the body and cleaned the scene. They had done this many times before, but I was the uninitiated. I knew what I had done, and what would become of me if I were caught. And so, I grateful for their wisdom. As the clock chimed 2 am, all was as it needed to be. I took in one final breath of air, reveling in the perfume of death. Then, silently, I stepped out into the street. I looked around, unsure of my surroundings. A street I did not know, littered with homes I had never seen. I buttoned my coat and shoved my hands into my pockets to guard myself from the cold of the night. As I walked down the street in search of a bus stop, I decided that I should learn to better pace myself when drinking. If I wasn’t careful, I might do something I’d regret.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |