“Do you realise how long it has taken me to find you? The time I have spent looking for you? Fifteen years, FIFTEEN FUCKING YEARS! And now it’s come to this: just me, and you.”
​
I look down and watch the blood run from the blade into the stainless steel sink. Hot steam rises to cloud my vision and I struggle to see my reflection. I wipe the vapour off the mirror, leaving a faint blood streak behind. The black makeup smudged around my bloodshot eyes dances with the beads of sweat on my cheeks and my eyes pierce my enemy’s reflection behind me.
​
I look down and watch water run over the blade, light from the mirror bouncing off the steel as I roll it in my hand.
​
Memories flood my mind, reminding me of all the years I’ve hunted him since he murdered my parents in front of me; in cold blood, in the rain, with no regret. My mother’s scream lingers as it always has done and then the second shot rings in my mind again, echoing, tearing through the flesh of memory.
​
I pick up his wallet to make sure it is him. The licence reads Joe Chill, but I do not recognise his name; Yet his face is the one that has been nailed to the walls of my tortured memories.
I face him, he’s silent and slumped forward, tied to the metal chair.
​
“Do you know who I am? Why I have been looking for you?”
​
I walk over to him, my heart pounding, excitement churning in my gut.
​
A chill runs up my legs as I step onto the plastic that covers the rough wooden floorboards, each splinter screaming to break through.
​
I stop in front of the slumped, shirtless, bleeding obsession. My dominance over him, I am finally in control; yet motionless he sits.
​
I loom over my prey, my black wings drag behind me and I catch my reflection of a stranger in the mirror to my right, a limp bloodstained man. On a second glance, he’s gone and I am back, strong, dark, dominant.
​
“You took my parents’ lives. I watched you take their light. I watched their souls swim up through the rain, and you ran, like a coward. But tonight I have you. You cannot run.”
​
I step closer, placing my face against his ear, the cold of his cheek against mine like a morgue slab.
​
“You are a virus. You infect people. You spread your disease and rot their lives.” Whispering into his ear I inhale his stale fragrance of dirty body odour.
​
“Tonight I stop you, for I am the CURE!”
​
I step back and flick my cloak off my shoulders, embracing the moment. A cold flush runs up my back, the hair on the back of my neck raises with excitement.
​
He is still, quiescent, and even the blood from his head wound has ceased dripping onto the floor. I’m not sure when it stopped, it ran so freely before. I slowly remove the knife from his skull, taking my time to enjoy it, feeling it scrape against the bone, the noise it makes. It comes out much easier than when it went in.
​
The blood begins to run again, only for a minute. I can get so lost watching the blood flow and my victims squirm; not always, sometimes they just sit there, like he is now.
​
I throw my cloak back off my arms and I grab his head, yanking it up to stare into his evil virus-ridden eyes.
​
“You can never escape me. Your virus won’t kill me. Nothing kills me. But I KNOW pain, sometimes I share it, I share it with scum like you!”
​
Still no response from him. I kick his leg, nothing. I run my hand over his ice-cold face, the chill awakens my touch and I slap him. Nothing.
​
His shell is hollow now, his light has gone, and my work here is done.
I stand there watching him, despondent, mocking me.
My legs grow heavy and the weight buckles my knees, sending me to the floor. The cold reality of the plastic and the pools of drying crimson freeze me. I stare at my reflection again and the weak creature is back. The darkness of my soul, empty of love and void of regret.
I don’t know how long I stared at the maggot in the mirror, it could have been seconds, maybe minutes. Closing my eyes I catch a whiff of the body above me and I heave, vomit mixing in with the blood on the plastic and it's at that point I acknowledge my surroundings.
Somehow I manage to get onto my knees and I look up; the evil is sitting looking down at me, cold, empty eyes staring through me. The smell hits me again and I lose more fluid.
Quickly, I cut the pull ties and shake the body out of the chair onto the plastic sheeting below; he collapses like a marionette and its limbs sprawl out. Pulling in the corners of the sheet I catch my bare foot on a wooden splinter and the pain surges through me. Wincing, I slip on my boots and grab my jacket and some cable ties. Fastening the sheeting into a bundle with the ties, I remember his wallet and snatch it. I check for cash, check once more at his driving licence - Mark Gomez - and pocket the wallet. I can’t let that drop in with the body.
Dragging the object out of the doorway, down the hall and into the garage, I realise just how much heavier it is than the ones before. I struggle to lift it, with each attempt it changes shape and I drop it again. Looking around I notice my winch on the bench. I strap it to an overhead beam and clip the shape onto the hook, then raise it. As it gets level with the trunk, I give it a shove into the rear of the car, along with the spade and rope.
An arm spills out, why is there an arm? I force the appendage back into the bundle and push the shape deeper into the trunk, releasing the hook and slamming the trunk shut. I breathe again, fumble for my keys in my pocket and release the garage door. One last check, making sure I haven’t left anything behind. No, I’m good. I rush into my car and drive off into the cold night air.
***
It’s been two weeks since my last blackout. I get them once in a while, I seem to lose time more often these days. Sometimes it’s one day, sometimes five, seven, whole weeks just gone. I don’t even know if it’s getting worse or if I have always had these problems.
But tonight I am back out again, mingling with the people, the city folk. Food, music, it doesn’t matter, I’m trying to get my life back to normal. Fingers crossed that was the last blackout.
New York can be so vibrant in the evenings, yet during the day I feel the constant rush of anxiety getting through the throngs of traffic and suits. But the evenings are so inviting and I enjoy the happiness and frivolity that alcohol brings to the crowds.
I slip into a local café for a coffee to wake me up, ordering my usual dark, black. I like it here: I don’t need to learn a whole menu with weird names just to get a simple black coffee. Those places make me feel stupid, not knowing what I’m going to get. But this place also has a wonderful area to sit and watch the world go by.
I position myself on one of the raised stools near a window, looking out across an open road facing one of the busiest nightclubs in town, watching people coming and going. It’s like being invisible, no-one sees you sitting here, watching, even though it’s like you’re a mannequin in a shop window, posed for the seller’s pleasure to entice the shopper.
It’s been an hour now, and apart from the odd angry drunk being dragged outside by the bouncer, nothing has really happened.
A small group spills out of the door onto the pavement and road; shouting, laughing, hugging. I see him and my heart starts racing. I spill my cold coffee across the surface of the counter in front of me. I mop it up quickly with multiple napkins. Leaving the fallen cup and my half-assed attempt at cleaning, I shoot out the café door.
Where did he go?
I saw him a minute ago, where is he?
I sidestep a few times back and forth, trying to see him through the crowds.
I see him again and this time I know it’s him!
My parents… he killed them… fifteen years I have looked for him…
Fifteen long years.
He’s not getting away from me this time.
Not this fucking time.