Topic: Out of my mind
The blood wasn't the worst of it. Somehow you you can get used to that. You don't have to believe me, but it does happen. It washes off eventually - off your clothes, your skin, your conscience. It's the memory that stains and grows dull over time, nondescript.
The worst part is the eyes.
Kavi is always hungry these days. It makes him sloppy. We nearly lost one the other night because he thought we needed to use him as bait for another. "The women," he says, "they're always soft, sympathetic. Rough 'im up and let 'im lie in the shadows whimperin', one'll get close an' we grab 'er."
It's a good thing Loia'd cut him and he bled out before Kavi had his way, because the guy had a Panic on and the alley was all over with boots. We barely had him dragged down in time. But Kavi is already moaning about how hungry he is and we'll have to climb up and get another one tonight.
I still smell pretty good, since I'm the only one who still washes, still changes his clothes. Loia thinks it's funny, but I can't help it - if I don't let myself go I can keep ahead of this thing, right? So that makes me and Heller the front men. Heller's getting close to rot by now but he's still shaped right anyway. He plays watch-out, spots a likely one, and I try to get someone penned.
It's hard to keep my clothes clean down here, especially now that it's getting rainy. Sometimes I hate being new, since Kavi and them never listen to me when I tell them to keep the clothes clean. You can make it clean if you try, you know? It isn't like I can walk into some store and buy anything new, and trying to steal things is just not worth the trouble. Somebody shows up late to home and the boots run around looking a while till the body shows, but you take something worth money and you can't shake 'em.
I pick through the bin and find some jeans that aren't too stained and the dark shirt with a couple holes in the back. I'll have to wear the leather jacket tonight. It takes some work to get everything settled just right, it's hard to get a good look when you've only got half a mirror and a flashlight. Grungy, but passable.
"Real pretty Shlika. You pash for fresh tonight." Loia's bony finger traces across my back. Her face is all horror now, rotted into a perpetual sneer. She stares over my shoulder, studying my reflection - sometimes I think she's jealous. "Kavi ish too weak to come up tonight. We shave him shweetmeat to bring back." I can't look at her for too long, so I dig in the bin for some socks. Loia chuckles. "Don't take too long..." Her exaggerated limp as she leaves my little cubbyhole shows every bony knob in her spine.
She thinks she disgusts me, and she pushes it, but it's more than that. My knuckles are already starting to knot up and it's getting harder push my feet through into my pants. Some nights I can barely muster up the courage to walk past my mirror. Maybe Heller is right and I should just get rid of the thing.
I have to help Heller up into the storeroom of the defunct tanning boutique we're using as egress for now. It's starting to smell already; we'll have to move on before the month is out. I hunch down beside the front window and peer out through the boards while he stumbles to a good spot just inside the alley across the street. It's a waiting game - we can't grab anybody too drunk anymore because it makes Kavi sick, and a sick Kavi bitches, constantly.
This is the first time I've been alone up here. Normally Loia and Kavi find someplace to lurk, but this time Loia stayed below. I don't know if I should be proud or nervous - you just can't trust your instincts with her. But it gives me some time to think about things. I wonder how long I've been like this - after a while the darkness and sleeplessness make it all melt into one gigantic now. I wonder how I got like this. I don't even remember much about before; I know I used to be one of these people that we stalk, but the only thing that sticks out in my memory is hating traffic. There are these little fragments of my life story I tell people that I meet on the street while I'm maneuvering them into the trap, but I can't tell which ones are real and which ones I just made up on the spot. It's all unraveling.
Heller tips his bottle once, then again, before putting it down. He points the neck towards a couple passing by. "He's signaling," I whisper back towards Loia. Her reply is just a grunt. I step out onto the street and start shadowing them, listening in. She is very drunk, stumbling on green heels that make her dependent on him to keep her upright. He's using this to his advantage to get a solid grip on her, holding her and fondling her, pinching her occasionally. She complains every time, telling him he won't be getting anything tonight. She has no idea how true this is.
I can see the glint of Loia's eyes in the alley just ahead of them, her shadow receding when she sees us approach. They all move so fast and so quiet - when they want to, anyway. I can't seem to pick up the trick of it. The man, his name is Charles, hesitates when he sees it. I have to move quickly, before he gets any ideas, so I pick up my pace and try to look armed. "If you know what's good for ya you'll gimme your money," I growl behind them, giving him a shove. She screams and tumbles to the ground, he spins around with his fists up.
And there it is - that look. Recognition and revulsion all in one gasping moment of horror. It's one thing to see the monster, I suppose, but entirely worse when you see how the monster is only one step removed from yourself. Loia reaches out of the alley, snatching at the woman's hair and dragging her in. Charles has pissed himself and he's backing away from me. When he turns to run it's right into Heller's arms. Heller tangles Charles up in his impossibly jointed arms and follows Loia, leaving me to stand there horrified.
Yes, it's me who is horrified. I can't stand to see that look. The eyes are the worst.
Finally Loia's hiss snaps me out of it: "Move it, shtupid!" I follow them into the alley, where Loia has already bitten out the woman's throat to keep her from screaming. Heller keeps a tight grip on Charles. The poor man is unable to look away as Loia expertly disassembles the woman. I can't watch him, so I watch her - it's easier because her suffering is done now. Poor Charles has to face Kavi, and he prefers his meat live these days. Once Loia is done and divvied up the parts between us we're skulking our way back down into the sewers. Heller lets Charles scream all he wants to down here - it doesn't make any difference now.
I take my part back to my room. We're leaving soon, so I don't care if the mess gets out of hand in here anymore. I hate watching Loia eat - it isn't the gore or anything, she just makes disgusting noises. But when I sit down I realize there isn't anywhere comfortable where I can't see myself. It's too much, the mirror has to go; I can't carry it with me anyway.
I think of smashing it, giving up and letting go. It would be so easy to just quit caring and maybe I could look at these people and know them for what they are - prey. It wouldn't hurt so much to see their horror, their suffering. Fate takes things into its own hands though; the mirror slips out of my hands as I take it down and glass flies everywhere. "Shit," is the most creative thing I can think of to say. Glittering bits of glass all over dinner. I fling a few of the bigger shards against the wall, reveling in the cathartic smash, then finish the job by flinging the ruined meat after it. "Shit..."
That's when I find the wallet. I remember now that I hid it when we first came down here. I didn't want Kavi to see it. There's no money, no cards, nothing of any real value. No, that isn't true - none of that shit is of any value to me anymore. What's inside is the most valuable thing ever. I can't believe I forgot I'd kept this. Two pictures. One is a woman I can't even recognize anymore - I pray she isn't a wife I've lost. The other one is a house with two people arm in arm in front of it - this one is smudged, but I'm sure the woman is the same. Greg and Angie - July '09 it says on the back. I tear it up in a sudden rage, letting the fragments fall among the glass.
My name is Greg. At least it was, once.
