Cape Cod Noir - By David L Ulin Page 0,74
and swarthy, and had no resemblance whatsoever to Michael, which meant there were no witnesses. If he had been successful in removing any DNA evidence, he was in the clear.
He let out a loud exhalation. For the first time in days, he felt himself relax and the knots in his shoulder blades ease up. He still had to dispose of his bloodstained coat, and to be safe he should wait until his scratches were fully healed before heading home, but they were already much better. He had murdered a woman, but he would be a surgeon someday and would have the opportunity to save more than enough lives to make up for this.
He turned off the TV set and thought about what he had been through. He was honest with himself for the first time in weeks. He knew why that girl had fought him. He could feel the subtle shift in his features, and knew she had seen her death shining brightly in his eyes, even if it was only for a flash. That was why she had fought him, because she was fighting for her life, but she didn’t have a chance. At a conscious level he had only been planning to rob her, but on another level he had been planning more. The thrill he had gotten from robbing the strip club dancer in Connecticut hadn’t been enough. He didn’t realize that at the time, only now.
He thought about Rachel. During the day he had been fantasizing about her. It was too early to play out his fantasies now, he’d have to wait a few months, and he’d have to learn how to steal a car so he could drive back here anonymously, but once he did, it would be easy enough. He would pull up to her sandwich shop a little after closing time and lure her into the stolen car. She was clearly attracted enough to him where it wouldn’t be hard to do that, and he’d drive her someplace where no one would be able to hear her scream. He felt himself getting excited, and forced himself to take a deep breath and try to relax since it would be months before he’d be able to do this and see the fear shining brightly in her eyes as she saw her death shining just as brightly in his own.
It was twenty past six. Michael didn’t feel like being with other people but he did feel like drinking, so he left his room to head out to the liquor store. Like every other day around this hour it was bitterly cold, with an almost impenetrable darkness as clouds hid the moon and stars. When he got to the liquor store, he rushed inside to escape the cold. He was ten feet into the store before he realized something was wrong. The feral-looking guy from the day before was standing in front of him pointing a gun at the clerk, his eyes every bit as hyped up and twitchy as they had been before. At first he turned to Michael with a blank hostility, but as recognition hit him, an all too familiar look flashed in his eyes.
Michael wanted to run, but before he could move, he felt a bullet slam into his skull. In that flash before the gunshot, he had seen his death shining in this other man’s eyes, and before the darkness enveloped him, Michael knew what this ferallooking man was feeling. An overwhelming Godlike power over him. For the brief last moment that he was still alive he envied this man.
TWENTY-EIGHT SCENES
FOR NEGLECTED GUESTS
BY JEDEDIAH BERRY
Yarmouth
For Emily
1.
In the illustration of the crime scene, the full moon is high and small over the sea, shining through a halo of cloud. The dark water reflects a thin, crooked finger of light. In the foreground, the beach is littered with black stones, bits of shell, seaweed, sea glass.
The body lies facedown in the sand, wedged between two large, thumb-shaped rocks. The hair is long and stringy; it obscures the face and spreads across the ground like the head of a mop. One slender arm is draped over a rock, and the other is hidden by the fabric covering most of the body. A mourning dress? A costume? It clings to the flesh of the corpse, all ragged black folds. The bare feet stick out from beneath it, toes angled toward the water. They appear carefully poised, like the feet of a dancer.
And then there’s the