VI - Practicality

Part 1

At every image of my sister’s throat being slit and the holding up of the cup to catch that sickly-sweet life I felt a small shudder erupt up my spine. There is a hesitance that persists despite my renewed resolve. After receiving the letter speaking of my sister’s due appearance at my abode, I deduce it will take at least a week for her to appear. I have one week to prepare my plan and my own sensibilities to achieve the goal.

                The beast told me that I need to steel myself and I decide the best way to do this is to practice. I, being a man raised in a civilized home, did not ever hunt or fish or in any other way, extinguish the life of another being. I have thought many long nights of my own death, and the fantasized deaths of others but have never stained my hands with the blood of anyone. Now that the time had come that I would need to know this process, I found myself at a loss. A practiced hand at piano, calligraphy from the far east, and wood carving had all told me that practice, hours of practice, was the best remedy for an unsure mind when it came to a new task.

                I would need to practice. And I would need to hide this practice from Geoffrey, and from the eyes of the greater world around me.

                In my comings and goings of life in the past years I realized that I only ever really traversed the same two streets to and from my home to my work building. One morning, waking early to give myself extra time to survey the streets and alleys towards work, I found I did not recognize or know much of the surrounding world. My eyes were always set forward in a direct line from bed to desk and back again without ever venturing from side to side even to see the faces of those around me.

                Being cut off from the world I had passed like a ghost among the others but today I looked at every passing face, examining, taking notes, and showing more interest in them then ever before. Most faces that I caught in the early morning light were amiable, returning a smile they saw on my own face. A smile that I normally do not wear as I walk but today my sights were set on a new task and my enthusiasm was exploding.

                I witnessed many on my travel and made a list of them when I got to my desk. On a scratch of paper I jotted down my findings. People and locations in and out of sight.

                3 women of middle age

                9 men of middle age

                5 women; elderly

                7 men; elderly

                2 tramps

One tramp was located off the street in an alley. I doubled back to see if the alley ejected from two separate locations and indeed it did. I will return there tonight.

                I decided that I’d start with a tramp I had found on the corner begging for change. Most people passed him by with no second glance but at the sight of him my heart skipped a beat as if I had spotted a long-lost love across a darkened dance floor. He was perfect. The plans formed like spider webs being woven in haste before a rainstorm as I connected the dots to how I would go about it. I would leave work, late, depending on the setting sun, avoid the eyes of those on the streets and make my way through the back alley towards the tramp. If he was still perched at the edge of the alley in the fading light, I’d beckon him back into the shadows.

Final bells rang for work to end and I looked at my watch to confirm the time. 7 p.m. I took the piece of paper that I had stashed under a paperweight, crumbled it and placed it in my pocket. I wished to rush from the building as a boy wishes to burst down the stairs with speed to greet Christmas day, but I held in my excitement as not to throw off my remaining colleagues. I could see already in them a suspicion at my new improved moods. Geoffrey, my housemate, spoke of my improved mood with excitement and goodness, while the faces around me saw it as a wary new addition to their usually stoic companion. I cared not, except to hide my true feelings from them, and whisked myself to the street. The lanes were busier now than in the morning and I found myself in a sea of faces. I felt claustrophobic for the first time in my life, wishing for air and a release from the stench of them shuffling in hordes.

                I almost lost my resolve to find the alley in the shuffle as I struggled to escape the mass. With a slight struggle I forced my way to the back-alley ejection and caught my breath. My nose and lungs filled with the stench of rot and rubbish but the panic in my chest subsided as I didn’t feel the presence of those around me any longer. I waited for the mass to whisk away the faces that had seen me escape to the alley then tip toed my way forward.

                The shadows welcomed me as a family welcomes home a prodigal son. I felt the beast stir inside me as a cat would, shifting its weight in sleep. If I had a less controlled will I would at that moment have called out in excitement, but I stifled the feeling as not to draw attention to myself yet. I still had to sneak up towards my prey. I slinked and slithered up the alleyway making sure not to disturb or rustle any rubbish in my wake. I felt stealthy, a jaguar stalking its prey. The image of the black predator flashed in my mind from the time I witnessed one at the zoo. The majestic fierce creature was silhouetted into the brush or the tree limbs from where it was perched at any given moment, moving amongst the shadows like a wisp of wind and less like a living breathing beast of death.

                I was a wisp when I saw the tramp sitting at the edge of the alley. From the shadows I called to him.

                “Hey…you there. I have some coin for you.”

                The tramp lazily turned his head. My hand extended from the shadow and my watch, a gold piece from my fathers age, glinted in the dying light. He smiled a toothless grin and shambled out of the light towards me. His breathing was ragged, and his stench grew with intensity the closer he came. With a rumble his voice emerged.

                “Oy, thank you sir. I’ll have it then.” He reached out a hand. Grime coated his fingers and black gunk was under his nails. His toothless grin split open and a red scared tongue and gums were present. With each hoarse breath new forms of carrion belching stench erupted towards my assaulted nostrils. I stifled a cough and a feeling of revulsion as my stomach wretched reflexively.

                At the moment of decision, I was overcome with multiple feelings and thoughts. I saw the man’s throat slit and blood gushing from his wound black instead of red, his hand still outstretched, his smile still gaping. I saw my hesitation turning to frustration in the eyes of the tramp and having him attack me instead. I saw myself wimp out and slink away into the dark only to run home in fear. All these images overcame me, but none became reality as I stood. A cold fear dispensed with the thoughts as I realized something grim. I had no weapon with which to kill the tramp.

                In my haste to scout out and learn of my surroundings it did not occur to me to arm myself while leaving the house. I was without a dagger, or penknife or even a simple letter opener with which to slit or cut or stab the man now growing impatient before me. I had made a grave mistake.

                Taking a step back I felt my feet stumble. The tramp reached forward with his grimy hands and his face grew fierce.

                “Where is my money!?”

                I felt his touch on my shoulder and in that instant, I felt the beast erupt within me.

                “Take your filthy hand off me you swine.” The beasts voice came from my throat. Or was it my own? The fear I had a second ago was eclipsed by a white-hot rage of fury. The anger made my vision blur as I felt my hands wrap around the tramp’s throat. Flashes of his face crying out in agony, his hands clawing away at my own, the light fading in the distance, and the footsteps on the road just beyond filled my senses. My grip tightened as my weight fell upon him towards the ground. I heard the whisper erupt in my head encouraging me adding fuel to the white-hot flame of rage in my heart.

                The tramp’s hands fell away as the last ounce of life was crushed from him under my hand. Sweat dripped from my face into his open mouth and the world emerged in a rush. Like jumping into a cold pool of water I gasped and fell away from the expired flesh now at my feet as a I scrambled back towards the wall. I looked from the corpse to the street beyond knowing that I’d see some hapless fool staring at the scene about to hail the police and condemn me to murderous charges. My eyes lost their haze and I focused again as my breathing started to steady. There was no one as witness to the scene save myself, the beast hiding behind my eyes, and the shadows that enveloped us.

                I looked at my aching hands and then down at the body. I had completed my first practice session of death.  A laugh started to emerge from my chest as I stared through my fingers to the body on the ground. A feeble chuckle of a lucky success but a success nonetheless. I brushed the muck and dust off my coat, doubled back towards the end of the alley at which I emerged and took a deep breath in of the air beyond the shadows. A crack had begun to form on the mortal coil. I could feel it with the crunch of the tramp’s windpipe. I would need more practice that was for sure. But by the time my sister arrived I would be an adept. An adept in the art of murder.

               

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