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As Evil Does…! He’d seen her in the restaurant, working lates, he’d watched her, studied her, he’d felt himself saliva as he ogled her porcelain skin, luscious, smooth and pure. His eyes had followed the lines of her soft round shoulders under the garment she wore, the jutting of her soft breasts at the front of it, the mounds of flesh, sheer cusps of meat for her buttocks at the back of her. To him she was beautiful, her eyes a soft delicate blue, shining, an exceedingly attractive seventeen year old, with her hair of soft blond streaming lightly down her back like some fair maiden of Camelot, yet fresh out of college. Although, he knew boys had had their fun of her, she remained a delight to be had by someone mature as himself that would know just what to do with her to make her grow up fast. Neon light glowed at the back of the cinema in the parking lot, rain streamed down, needles flashing in the light against the shadows, puddles intersecting the tarmaccadam in rivulets as the water bounced off its surface, making constant ripples, as the pathologist knelt before the corpse in the dim light of night. The air cool, the cop walked towards the police crime scene, studying the uniforms keeping their distance from the body and the doctor at his work. Just another murder, the cop thought, they were all bad, of course they were, human detritus left behind, while the human detritus of society left it there for him to do his work. Then he stopped and looked down on the body, reassessing his previous thinking. “What happened here…?” More shock than a question and he never thought the day would come as a hardened murder detective. How wrong could he have been? The body was a mangled mess, the left side of the face was naked to the bone, the eye on that side was missing from the socket and it appeared the tip of the girl’s nose had been bitten off. Her lower lip was half missing, her clothes torn wide open, her stomach a gaping hole and her intestines were in what was left of her lap. The pathologist thought before answering the detective, using plastic bags to gather the evidence up. He’d folded them neatly in his case, the lid closed as he worked, opening it each time at an angle, sheltering the contents from the rain, dropping the bags inside one by one before putting it down again. “Cannibalism.” The pathologist said, and the cop looked from the body to the police examiner, he not even bothering to stare back up at him. “I can only tell you more later. I can tell you now this is a mess. Full stop.” “Not enough.” The cop replied, “I want more. Clues.” “I can only tell you it happened here. The blood, or lack of it, tells me it spilled here. There should be buckets of it. That’s weird. That’s very weird. I bet she was alive when eaten.” The pathologist said. “Make no doubt she was eaten. But the lack of blood tells me different, the damage and the body laid here, like this, right now, tells me different. This is different. She was alive and here when it happened.” “She wasn’t there enjoying it.” The cop said sarcastically. “Someone must have heard something then.” “A lot of people heard something.” The doctor stopped his work thoughtfully, “should have… I don’t understand this.” “Find me a-bloody-nother pathologist then,” the cop said. “You know you’re funny. Have I ever told you that?” The doctor pointed out now. “You understand the problem don’t you? That’s what’s causing your frustration. Right…?” The cop stared down on the stripped body of a carcass, the clothes were in tatters, there was plenty of bone, more calcium than a skeleton, and as for flesh, where the hell was the flesh? And very little blood in evidence. What bloody evidence? And where were the gawkers! There were always gawkers: the bleeders would have heard this from miles away for God’s sakes. And the press, he almost smiled ruefully, didn’t take them long to be on to something like this. No press were here at the murder scene. Right, he understood the problem. At this rate, give him cops and robbers every day of the week for routine. “Right.” He said to the pathologist, though he supposed to no one in particular, not even the doctor and if to change the subject, “Bloody great weather we’re having, aren’t we!” He looked above the rooftops as if the sky had all the answers, as he, the culprit that had killed the girl, stared down with humour. It was way passed two in the morning, the parking lot at the back of the cinema locked, the drunken revellers, tipped out from the nightclubs on their way home, a couple, out of sheer perversion, no doubt, having wandered into his enjoyment to find the body, not he, interrupting his feast. But feast he did… And it didn’t stop with the death of the woman. She lay next to him now, cold, pure beside him, he wanting to warm her, at least her soul, she was frightened, timid, lovely and he wanted all she could offer him. Rather take. She was face down on top of him, his arm around her pulling her into him, crushing her exquisite breasts against his chest, her smooth legs dangling comfortably beside his on the sheet covering the bed. “You’re lovely.” He told her for the umpteenth time she had lost count, in fact not counting, not even the times he had already assaulted her. She was as cold beside him as he was now. “Why?” She asked him, and she saw him grin. “Why?” He grinned wider. “Because I can.” “Why?” He asked himself now, hearing, “…the ultimate wager…” inside his head as he contemplated this. “…the ultimate wager…,” was all it had taken, and a braggart, he recalled and grinned thinking about it. “…the ultimate wager…,” and he paused, the man with the whiskers, wearing the tricorn hat, ripped and tattered, no doubt stolen from a gentleman he had killed while taking his purse. “Care for the ultimate wager, boy?” “What’s that?” He remembered asking… “I call it, you give it.” The man grinned showing blackened teeth, stained with tobacco and long forgotten eaten food earlier in the day. “I call it… You go along with it. I take what I want, you just agree. It’s an attractive pot already… And you’re running heavily behind, boy. Say, yes, and I take what I want when I win. Or you take my pot.” “You’re saying you choose, if you win.” He put back to the man to confirm, seeing if he was truly following him on this. “You’ve got it.” The man said. “Is that a fair wager?” “It is if we make it.” The man grinned wider. “I’m not too sure I understand the bet.” “You don’t have to. You agree and that’s enough.” “I don’t know.” He said. “You lose either way or you make a pretty penny out of this.” The man put to him. The others in the game looked around wondering what the bet was too but the marker was placed at the boy, it was his choosing and his alone. “You’re lovely.” He told her again, “That’s as much as a good a why as I can think.” “You can’t do this.” “It’s been done.” When the cards went down, he lost the bet. He stared at the man in the ragged tricorn hat. “What was the bet?” He asked him; the man answered simply, his eyes cold and not a smile on his face. “You’ll know.” Three days later on from the game, he remembered screaming, the man broke both his arms. Then he bit him, the ‘boy’ shrieked, not even aware of the woods in the dead of night around him. “There are worse pains than physical pain, boy.” The man said to him, ripping at the flesh of his face, and the side of his neck with his teeth and eventually his fingernails. “You will know, boy. You will know.” His body seem to be broken into a thousand pieces, his limbs snapped to the marrow, as pain continued, his blood was warm, then it felt of fire and brimstone. His body became a lifeless husk. He had risen high, way above the trees, the land, his natural existence, as he’d known it all his twenty-six years, feeling exalted and somehow free. So had the girl on first killing her, not for long. She was his and his alone. All those years… “I don’t understand.” She said. “No, you don’t.” He said. It seemed weeks before he saw him again, that last time. He rode up to him, a wooden lane, the horse furling its nostrils to the cold air of winter. Snow flurried down from the heavily laden clouds above the trees. “Time to pay your debt, boy.” He reigned in the horse and swung down from the saddle. “I recall paying it.” “No, you don’t.” He said. “I don’t understand.” The girl whined. “I know you don’t. I didn’t either.” He said. “You will.” “Kill me, boy.” He said. “You killed me didn’t you?” “No. I took your life.” “You did that.” The boy said in agreement. “And now how am I to kill you?” “I killed you. You can destroy me. Peace is what I look for.” He said. “Peace?” “Simple, sweet and wonderful peace.” “You want me to kill you for that?” The boy put to him. “Then how the hell am I here?” “Kill me, release me.” “Release you?” “The body holds me.” The man grinned. “It’s as simple as that.” “As simple as that. You killed me.” “You’re alive, boy.” Then he realised. He was alive. “You’re alive, girl.” He told her. “You killed me.” “You’re alive, girl.” He told her again. “You’re alive.” She was alive and she realised it too. “How and what did you do to me?” The boy asked the man now. “Yes, I tell a lie. I killed you but gave you everything you will ever need and will ever want. Eternal life.” The boy stared at him. “I’m old and I’m tired, boy.” “You’re what?” “Old and tired. Now I want you to take away the hell I’ve lived in this world.” “I don’t understand.” The boy said. “You’re alive.” “What?” “You’re alive.” “I’m alive.” “I’m alive.” The girl said. “You’re alive.” He said. “How?” She asked. “Ah!” He said. “Now that’s the question I asked.” “Kill me. That was the debt for you losing the hand.” The man now pointed out. “I killed you to use you for this.” That was his explanation. “Now come and find out the truth yourself. You must be hurting, boy, to have a piece of me. Come and get it.” The man didn’t fight; the boy ripped his body to pieces and devoured his flesh. He realised the man had made him one of his kind and now he had been killed for it. The boy had paid his debt in full. “I killed a man.” “You must have killed many.” She said. “But I killed a man. I took everything from him, giving others life. You now have life.” “You gave others life?” She asked. “Yes.” He said. “There are others like you?” She asked. “There are others like you.” He told her and she contemplated this. “You killed a man, one like you and he got his freedom from what you are. Is that what you’re saying?” He kissed the top of her head, her hair soft, smelling nice form the shampoo she used on it. “Yes, he got his freedom.” “He wanted freedom from killing people. Is that it?” “In a sense, yes.” “So why do you kill?” She asked him. “It’s what we do.” “So the guy died for true when you killed him, after he killed you?” “Yes. I think that can be the only answer. If he was to continue what we do… Why kill him? Why wish to be killed? You understand now?” “He was tired and old. Is that what you’re saying?” “Yes.” He said. “Yes, I understand. You’re getting tired and old too. You haven’t craved for death; you want company. You’re tired of the loneliness.” She ripped his throat out with her teeth, putting all the poundage of pressure she could muster into it, his blood splashing high and wide of the head board, coating her nakedness, succumbing her soul to the evil he had known but she not wanting it. She left his body shredded to pieces on the bed, a wish he’d never wanted as the gambler had, he particularly like the killing. The police found his body days after, and the cop was as confused as when he first saw the girl’s body. No neighbours, nobody passing by, someone walking the dog or a Mrs. Somebody coming home from the shops heard anything. The neighbours merely complained of the stench. Another murder victim was concluded. After killing him, she rushed for his clothes, finding them in the wardrobe, as this, his home and clothes were how ‘they’ passed among people. The shirt and jeans were big and long for her but hastily she dressed. She was frightened, overwrought, realising she had committed murder here in this room. She was that scared as she hurriedly dressed she rose high, wanting to be away from the place, it was if by natural instinct. This all worked on instincts she realised, as a crazed animal might see fit, almost as a reaction to a situation. She was learning too. She left the man’s abode. The air was cool, up away from the streets, the quiet desolate thoroughfares of the town at that early hour, but she knew that somewhere there’d be activity of some nature. Life tediously carries on for those that do not sleep the night away and not merely for those that work the factories. The night owl shift workers. She found what she was looking for, a car, solitary, parked by a field in the night, the clouds in the sky already breaking, evidencing the start of a new day. She swooped down on the car, entering through the metal roof, breaking the man’s neck at the steering wheel, and as the woman screamed frantically trying to exit the car, she was upon her in an instance, ripping her to pieces, soaking the seat, windscreen and interior roof with rich thick blood. Afterwards, she felt sickened, she’d actually enjoyed it but she was of his kind now, she supposed that was only natural; yet, another part of her hated it. She hadn’t chosen this, it had happened, she hadn’t been given a choice. Do you often get choices in life? Is it so or do you just get what you deserve in life? She wondered this as she stretched back into the car on to the back seat, creating distance from the carnage on the front seats. She grabbed the man and tore him to pieces too, watched him rise to the skies, through the roof of the car. She turned to the rear-view mirror, the girl’s face looked back at her. Now she knew what the man had done to her and what he’d wanted from her, companionship and that alone. Sexually, she knew what this meant. She wanted to break the rules as this life she didn’t want. She never chose this and she knew her kind could be killed. The hare skipped through the woods, stopped, its hind leg scratched away at its belly, its coat ruffling at the scratching action, and then it put its nose up in the air and ran. She sensed the farmer a little further ahead, in her mind, she was happy, she wanted what the gambler got, she hadn’t deserved to die in such a cruel and awful manner. The gambler was the victim, she was a victim, and as for the guy who did this to her, he obviously enjoyed what he did and wanted more. He even wanted her. It is true, in life, some things aren’t always what you want, its what you get, the man slain ‘almost’ by his own kind, his own work, effortlessly; the body that had held him here, torn and broken, his soul free to wander but that wasn’t his wish at all, only that of the gambler’s and hers. The man’s soul would remain tortured in torment, feeling trapped in a world of nothingness, the physique of his body removed from him by the girl. As evil does, evil does…! She ran towards where she knew the farmer would be making it a much easier shot for him. As Evil Does! Written by Bill Barber. |
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