I hate loneliness but it loves me

[giallarhorn]

This came from kareru - the prompt was umbrella. This is basically the origins of Jacob/Claire, in a rough very early idea sort of way. It would later go through several transformations before it got to where I wanted it to be.


He wonders if it will stop raining soon. In this town, it always seems to rain. He looks outside- the skies are dark and heavy. He sighs and is thankful that he brought his umbrella with him.

“Your coffee, sir.” The waitress has arrived with his coffee. She is young and delicate and pretty. A potential candidate, the voices urge. He tries to ignore them.

“Thank you very much.” He smiles at her. “It’s smells absolutely wonderful with all this cold and rain. I haven’t seen you here before, have I?”

“I…I couldn’t say, sir.” She seems hesitant and nervous. “I’ve just started working here.”

“That explains it.” He shakes his head. “I’d be disappointed at myself if I had managed to forget someone like you.”

“Ah, thank you. Sir.” She blushes and lowers her head.

“Oh, don’t call me ‘sir’- I get that enough, and it’s readily pompous sounding and irritating.”

“I don’t even know you!”

“Well, we can easily correct that- I’m Gerald.” That is not his real name, but it does not matter if she knows it.

She smiles tentatively. “I’m Vivian.”

“Would you care to join me for some coffee, then?” He motions to the empty chair in front of him. She bites her lip and falters.

A voice from the counter calls for her.

“I-I can’t.” She looks towards the counter and back. He wonders if she has had any suitors yet. Perhaps not- a quiet girl like her. “I’ve got to work.”

“Don’t let me keep you, then.” She turns and leaves and he watches her go. The voices grow stronger; incessant whisperings. He sips his coffee. It is thin and bitter. He drinks it without pleasure and watches Vivian attend to her tables. She is rather pretty, shy and timid and slow to smile. He wonders what she hides.

A good choice.

He looks out the window to the droplets plastered on the glass and looks past his reflection. He remembers another woman from long ago. Her name was Marie.

She was a waitress, a long time ago when he had met her. She was the first of them and he thought he loved her. He touches his shoulder and a memory flickers.

They are in her car, in the rain.

She says to him, then “I thought I was the one. I guess I was just another stop along the way.”

He does not say anything. He did not have anything to say to make it feel better.

He checks his watch and begins to gather his things. He mustn’t be late now. He counts out the change for a hefty tip, and wipes his mouth. He looks about quickly, and finds Vivian at another table, back to him. He slips behind her and taps her shoulder. She startles and looks at him with surprise.

“It was sad we didn’t get to have a drink together.” He gives her a tip of his hat. “Maybe another time, when you are less busy? That way, we can get to know each other better.”

“Ah- I’ll see.” She hurries out. A flush colors her features.

“Good, good. I’ll see you soon.” He bids her goodbye and steps outside the café. The rain has let up a little, but he unfurls his umbrella nonetheless and begins to make his way through the city. The buildings, all somber and grey, seem to blur in the rain. About him, hurried forms and cars rush to their destinations. He makes his way down through the crowd and begins to count the lampposts. He never had learned otherwise of how to get to her house.

A clock tolls the hour in the distance. In a city that has lost the sun, it is imperative to have means of tracking the time. He is making good time. Ahead of him, a young man and woman leave a carriage. They are dressed in black and there are tears on their faces. He watches the pass in silence.

They met late in the graveyard that night. They had no business there, and they knew it. She liked the thrill of danger and of the taboo, of breaking social restrictions. They laughed and talked in the borrowed light, and he kissed her under the tree.

He pressed his forehead against her neck and whispered to her, “Do you trust me?”

She had looked at him, unfaltering in the glint of steel. “Absolutely.”

He watches the funeral procession curiously. He wonders who had died and if he had known them. Not likely.

The voices begin to increase in volume and pitch. He clenches his hand tight against the umbrella to stifle them a moment longer. He has no more time to waste. He sets down the road and turns down several unfamiliar paths. He has only a bare inkling of where they will take him, but that is all he needs. He follows the path that the ghosts lay. He turns down an alleyway, and notices that he has attracted attention.

He remembers this alley or one much like it. It could have been the same, or it could not have.

She stood with him in the alley, pushed against the wall. He pressed against her body and she pressed against him. The rain soaked the clothes between them, till there was almost nothing.

He slipped her shirt off, and she gasped in pain and pleasure.

The blood colored her white shirt red.

The voices have reached a buzz.

A figure steps out from the darkness in front of him. “Evenings.”

“Evening.” He does not take his eyes off of the man in front of him. Behind him, he is aware of several others. “Lovely night, isn’t it?”

“Very.” He coughs loudly. “What business you’ve down here?”

“None to do with you.” There are four altogether. Overhead, the rain falls with increased tempo. He closes his umbrella- it seems inevitable he will get wet. “May I ask what you have?”

“Dinnit say you could ask.” The ringleader sports a mop of blond hair. Behind him, the other three draw in- one of them sports a club. “Gotta pay, y’know.”

The voices are screaming. It is too late now.

He drops his umbrella and his hands drift inside his coat. It is getting heavy already from the rain. The man with the club behind him mistakes his movement, and rushes forward.

The club whistles through the air to his head. He ducks and pulls out a knife from his coat. There is a flash of steel and a thud and then a warm sticky feeling in his hands. A scream ends in a sudden gurgle.

The others rush forward and they curse. He ducks under a blow and rams a knife upward. It makes contact with a crunch and scrape and a body falls to the ground. He whirls around in the water and dodges another blow. A fist comes at him in the semidarkness. He catches the wrist and thrusts his knife into the man’s neck.

He feels the warm beat of the man’s life pulse through the handle and the liquid that pumps out. One left.

The last one comes at him from behind with a blade. He rolls aside and lashes forward with his knife. The metal makes contact with muscle and grates against bone, and another scream echoes in the night. Around him lie the moaning forms of those still alive. Several do not move. He tilts his face to the sky and lets the warm water run down his face and mingle with the sticky sap of life on his hands.

It is good to feel alive.

The voices have lessened.

There’s a sudden noise- on the ground, one of the men struggles to his feet. He watches him as the man feebly pushes against the wall before the man falls to the ground. There is a gaping wound in the man’s side that leaks blood. He nudges the man with his foot- no movement. He is dead, or near death. He checks the rest for any money or items of value. None of them carry much, but that is expected. One sports a necklace with a shell- he takes this. He moves to check the last man and is surprised to find him missing.

There is a trail of bright red along the wet ground- he would not have gotten far. He gathers his umbrella and coat, and follows the blood trail.

He does not have to go far. The man is at the entrance of the alley and turns when he approaches. There is fear in his eyes but also anger and recklessness. The man yells before lunging at him with a metal pipe.

It makes a hollow thud as he catches it and wrenches it free. The man whimpers and turns to run down the empty road. He follows slowly after and waits patiently. Before long, the man’s legs give out beneath him and he falls to the ground. When he nears him, the man lashes out with a knife. He smashes the point of his umbrella down and hears the satisfying crunch of bones. The man begins to scream. He kneels down and turns the man onto his back.

“Please. I’m leavin’. We won’t give yous trouble.” The man whimpers and clutches his hand to his chest. His eyes are wild with fear, and there are tears on his face. “S’over. Pleas’.”

He looks at the pitiful form at his feet. He had hamstrung him in the earlier fight- it was strange the man had managed to move at all. He reaches out a hand and firmly takes hold of the man’s uninjured hand and places it beneath his foot.

“What- what’s you doin’? Please, we won’t bother you no more.”

He ignores the man’s pleas and smashes the point of his heel down. There is another crunch as bones shatter, and the man screams. Inside his skull, the voices rise to a fever pitch.

“Why you do this?” The man is babbling now- senseless information and words. It is growing harder to focus between the voices and the man’s voice. He places a knife between the man’s teeth. The man falls silent in fear.

The voices rage in his head. Their demands will be met.

“It is God who demands this.” He reaches into the man’s mouth and ignores the choking cries.

Soon, there is the crimson river flowing from the man’s mouth. He watches the man attempt to scream, only to gurgle and choke. The man holds his broken fingers to his mouth to stem the river.

It does not take long for the body to still. The gentle rain dilutes the blood and washes it away from the corpse. He stands over it with his umbrella for a moment before he resumes his destination.

Perhaps today will be a good night. The voices are silent.

He is afraid sometimes, that he is chasing something that no longer exists. He fears sometimes, that this is becoming an obsession. How else would he have delved so long?

It is a short and uneventful walk to the house.

The rain lets up at last but the sky is dark. He steps over the sleeping form of a man and knocks on her door. There is no answer. He glances at the windows- they are lit. He knocks again and receives no response. Curious. He bends down to search under the doormat, and finds the key hidden there. He slips inside the house and locks the door behind him.

The sound of running water alerts him. He sheds his wet coat and checks his hands for any remaining stains. He quietly makes his way upstairs. “Are you home?”

“Tristan?” She steps out from the bathroom dressed only in a towel and runs her hands through her tangled hair. “You’re rather late.”

“I ran into a spot of trouble.” Her name is Laura. They had known each other once as children and were long friends. She was thankful that he had taken her off the streets- she did not know why, yet. “It wasn’t anything too serious.”

She shook her head. “I keep telling you that attitude is going to get you mugged. And when that happens, you’ll not show up and who will I have to pay my bills?”

“I’m sure,” He moves behind her and combs his hand through her tangled hair. “That someone as young and pretty as you could easily find someone else.”

“You’re always one for flattery.” She smiles at him. “That’s why I like you.”

“You don’t like me. You just like my money and because I gave you a house to live in.” He kisses her forehead and lingers there. Her skin is warm and she smells faintly of flowers.

“That’s not true.” She presses her body into him, and rests her face on his shoulder. “That’s what I don’t like about you. You’re too cynical sometimes.”

“You’re awfully picky at times.”

“I’m allowed to be some things, aren’t I?” She runs her fingers along his shoulder and traces the scar tissue beneath. He has not told her the nature of them or why he marks himself as such. She knows better than to ask him. “Kiss me.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

She leans up suddenly and kisses him, passionate and full and long. Her lips taste of warm honey and her breath mingles with his. He cups her face and she knots her hands in his hair.

The towel falls to the ground, forgotten.

Afterwards, he lies next to her in bed. She runs her hands across his chest and over the raised skin.

He hears a noise in the distance.

“You have more scars.” Her voice is worried and her expression curious. “Did you get in a fight on your way here?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He shakes his head and strokes her head. “It was nothing to worry about, though. Besides, you have your own scars too.”

She shakes her head and gingerly touches the white paths on her left breast. They seem stark against her skin. “Only the ones you’ve given me. You shouldn’t do that, though. It’s not good for you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He turns to face her and smiles. She nods, but her eyes betray her anxiety. “I’ll be fine as long as I know you’re fine.”

“Still,” She rests her head on his chest and curls against him. “There’s word that the murderer is still around. News is that he managed to take police head herself.”

Her name was Grace, and she had been posing as a whore when he had happened upon her. She had underestimated him, however, like all of the officers.

She did not realize the truth till it was too late. She looked at him with unbelieving eyes. “You’re the one.”

“Yes.” He whispered to her. He plunged the knife into her heart and felt her body shudder beneath him.

“He only targets women, though.” He flicks a stray strand away from her face. He wonders if she will ever known the truth to his words. “I’d say you’re the one to worry- attractive and young. Just the type he’s been after.”

“Just take better care of yourself. Promise?”

He kisses the hollow of her neck. “I promise.”

He awakens the next morning and murmurs a curse. He checks the clock and finds it several hours later than he had intended to sleep. He checks the bed to find her gone- the bed is still warm. He dresses and feels a sudden headache assault him.

The voices return suddenly.

He grips the bedpost violently for several moments before the recede. He breathes deeply and straightens the bed. She likes to keep things organized. He hears the door suddenly close from beneath him. She must have left to attend to some business of her own. He makes his way downstairs and sees her closing the door. She is dressed in a white dress.

She looks up and grins at him. “You’re usually not here for me to see.”
“I woke up slightly later than usual,” He shrugs and gives her a kiss on the forehead. Her hair is wet. “In time to see you’ve showered again?”

“Well, if you ever stuck around long enough afterwards, you’d find I like to shower in the morning.” She makes a face and hangs up her coat. “Besides, it’s still raining.”

“That was expected. Did you find any news from the neighbors?”

“Nothing new.” She looks thoughtful and pauses to think and then shudders. “There were several bodies found down the street, though.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He wonders if they were the bodies from yesterday.

“It was awful.” She shakes her head. “You wouldn’t understand how bad it was unless you saw it. There was just so much blood everywhere. And one of the men was in the middle of the street…”

He grips her shoulders. She would be surprised to know he knows full well what they look like. “Easy now. You don’t have to tell me all of it.”

“I’m fine. It’s just that…” She swallows with difficulty. “You had to see it. It was inhuman. I didn’t think that somebody could have that much blood in them. It covered the entire street…”

“Hush, hush.” He pulls her close and buries her face in his chest. He strokes her hair gently and wonders why he did not move the bodies. “It’s fine now.”

“No, it’s not. Because…Because that could’ve been you.” She draws a shuddering sob. There are no tears and he holds her fiercely. She clings to him, as if he is the only real thing and looks at him intensely. “Because that might’ve been you lying out in the street. Dead. That could be you one day, and you don’t understand how much I worry about you coming here and living here just because of me and giving all sorts of things up for my sake and how it just scares me everyday. You’re the only real thing right now, and I don’t want to lose it.

“It scares me to know that you have to make your way home here because of me and how I might just well be the cause of your death, because God knows that it might be you out there one of these days and you just never come home one night. And it’ll all because of me that you did it and because you died and it just scares me. I’m afraid of losing you and I feel like I’m losing you more and more every day now, ever since you found me and I still don’t even know why you came for me then. I still don’t know how you found me or why you have so many scars because you never tell me anything. And when you just brush things off like last night you just worry me because I don’t know what I can do to help. Because you just never tell me these things. God, I’m just so scared right now.”

She draws a long and trembling breath. He can feel her shaking in his arms. He does not say anything for a long time. There is only the patter of the rain on the roof and against the walls. She shakes her head and stifles a sob. “I’m- I’m sorry. I’m just a wreck right now…”

“I promised you, didn’t I?” He pulls her close in a tight embrace and says nothing. She cries quietly. He clutches her closer. “When I found you that I wouldn’t leave you, ever.”

“Yes.” She trembles and her voice is hoarse and raw.

He tilts her chin up and looks at her tear stained face. He leans down gently and kisses her tenderly and chastely. “I will keep that promise.”

She smiles. “Good.”

He wipes away her tears with his hands and runs his hands through her hair. It is an old gesture, and she leans against him. “Do you feel better, now that you’ve properly yelled at me?”

“You’re such and idiot.” Her voice is muffled. She hits him lightly in the chest. “You better take that to heart this time.”

“I know, I know.” He smiles at her. “I’ll go make breakfast for us.”

“See what I mean? What would I do without you?” She shakes her head.

“That’s why I’ll stay with you forever. You’d be next to useless without me.”

“You’re horrible.” She clambers up the stairs.

He moves to the kitchen to make breakfast. It does not take very long, and he notices that she has not come down yet. He ventures up to see what is keeping her.

He finds her sitting on the bed. Her face is pale and her hands are clenched on her knees. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I.” She does not speak, as if it is difficult for her. She swallows and does not look at him. “I found your jacket.”

He startles and sees the jacket on the bed. In the light, it is easy to make out the rust colored stains that streak it. “It’s not what you think…”

“I…I don’t even know what I think right now.” She tries not to look at him. Her voice is thick with emotion. “I…When I saw those. I-I checked your coat.”

He glances to the bed and sees his knives there- several are still discolored. He does not say anything and feels something heavy and pressing rise in his chest. She draws a breath and holds her knees to her chest. “God, Tristan, what…What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” He says quietly and with difficulty. “It was nothing.”

“I haven’t asked you any questions about your scars or anything else, but…Tristan,” She finally meets his gaze and her eyes are wide and confused and fearful. “What- what’s happened to you? What’s going on? I thought...I thought that. You told me. You promised me.”

He takes a small step forward. She does not register the movement and looks to the floor. He says softly, “I’m sorry.”

‘Sorry?” She shakes her head and there are tears on her face. “Sorry for what? Sorry for murdering those men and sorry for who knows what else? Tristan, these are people. Tell me, honestly, truthfully that…How many?”

“What?” His voice is soft. He takes another step forward, and gingerly touches her shoulder. She draws back suddenly.

“I…I. Just don’t touch me.” She is shaking. “I. I can’t be here right now. I need to leave.”

“Please.” He moves to take her hand.

“Don’t come near me.” Her voice breaks and she edges further onto the bed. There is a wild fear in her eyes and her arms are unsteady. She picks up a knife with her hands and points it at him. “Just. Please, just leave.”

“What are you doing?” He watches the blade carefully. “Just put it down, and we can talk.”

‘I, I don’t know. I don’t know you anymore.” She lowers her head and her hair covers the tears.

He kneels down on the bed in front of her and moves slowly towards her. Her arm suddenly jerks and in a single, instinctual movement, he grabs her wrist and slides the knife between her ribs.

He can feel her heart pound through the handle.

She gasps and looks down. There is red flowing, staining her white dress. He stares at his hands and does not move. No. No, no- this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.

“Tristan.” Blood flecks her lips and she coughs feebly. She collapses and he catches her in shock.

“No. You.” He feels something hot on his face and his throat constricts. “You were supposed to save me.”

“I- I’m sorry…I-” She coughs and a bloody froth bubbles to her lips. Her body gives a shudder, and then lies still.

“No.” He clutches her to him and cradles her head. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not this. No.

Not her.

“Do you know why I found you?” His words are a whisper. He grips her hand desperately and hugs her close to him. “Because. You were the only one that I didn’t hear the voices around.”

The tears continue and they stain her dress and mingle with the blood.

He draws a shaking breath. “The only one who could save me.”

He holds her body, and does not know how long he is there. He only knows that when he comes to, her body is cold and lifeless and the blood on her dress is dry and crusted. He draws a dry sob, but there are no tears. He stumbles downstairs and gathers dry paper and wood, and piles it around her body. He gathers his belongings and dons his coat. He looks at her, frozen and immobile in death.

“I’m sorry,” His voice cracks. “The sun has set for you. I…I am sorry.”

He lights a match and tosses it into the pyre. The flame quickly catches on to the paper and he turns and leaves. The fire will burn and burn, but it will not destroy the house. The flames quickly gain strength, and he can feel their heat on his back. He pauses and takes a picture of her and places it in his pocket.

It is raining outside. It feels good- it splashes down his face and hides the tears. He leaves the house quickly and makes his way away from it. Before long, there are screams and cries of alarm and a crowd gathers.

He watches from a distance as the fire rages and consumes the house. And with it, hope.

His chest constricts and he turns to make his way through the crowds. He boards a coach and settles inside. It is quiet inside, and the hush is welcome. He can hear nothing but the patter of the rain and the occasional clatter of hoofs. He wipes his face and breathes and tries to focus.

Above him, the coachman curses violently at something.

He looks at his hands and can see the faded rust tinges on them. He closes his eyes and smothers the pain.

Around him, the carriage comes to a halt. The coachman calls out for him to get out. He steps out and unfurls his umbrella and pays the coachman. The carriage pulls away in the rush of grey.

The rain seems to sting his face as he makes his way to the door. He fumbles to find his key, and slips inside. He waits several moments and wrings the water from his coat before trudging up the stairs. Several flights pass before he stops at a door. He rummages his pockets for the key before he unlocks the door.

The apartment is stark and austere and empty. The walls are whitewashed and cold, and there are only the bare necessities. He lives alone and does not receive guests. He pauses in the kitchen to pour a glass of water- the clean coolness refreshes him.

The voices return abruptly.

The glass slips from his hand and falls to the floor. He clutches his head as the pounding resumes- the intensity increases. They are clamoring and demanding and seeking and will not be denied.

He feels the cool surface of the ground and does not remember falling. He hears moans and realizes that they are his own. He struggles to his feet and stumbles drunkenly about and makes his way to the door. He locks it behind him and staggers down the stairs. Someone passes him and asks if he is alright, but he continues till he is outside.

He draws a deep breath and focuses. He clears his head before he deliberately begins to move through the crowds. He scans the alleyways and finds many empty. He paces quickly now. The pressure in his mind increases. He notes that he is near the café, and glances down another dark lane- there is a woman against the wall. Her dress indicates clearly her profession.

He turns and approaches her. As he nears her, she calls out to him. “Evening, governor.”

“Evening.” He looks her over. She is older, older than his usual choices, but she will do. He does not have the time for careful selection. “How do you like a proposition of you joining me as a nightly companion?”

She laughs. It is low and throaty and echoes against the walls. “Well, payment first. Business.”

“Of course.” He smiles and counts out the amount. The voices in his head begin to become a tempo. “Will that do?”

“Plenty.” She takes the money and secures it away in her purse. “Where we go?”

“Oh, here’s fine.” He waves in the general vicinity. It is night, and there is no one around. She raises an eyebrow, but does not say anything. “Also, what’s your name?”

“Abby.” Her answer is flat and quick. He wonders if it is her real name. It will do, though. He leads her further down; away from the street lights till he is sure that no one will see. She follows him, her heels clicking against the wet pavement.

“S’here?”

As an answer, he turns and roughly kisses her on the mouth and presses her against the wall. His mouth is against hers with bruising force and his body is against hers. She resists instinctively, but gives in- she moans as he slides her dress up her calf. In the dim light and rain, her skin is golden.

She tightens her arms around him and pulls him closer. His hands quest along her shoulders and slips the fragile shift off, exposing her to the night air. She gasps and he moves down to explore the pulse of her life. Her legs are wrapped around his, and he can feel the heat of their bodies.

She moans- likely in faked pleasure.

The voices reach a crescendo.

He moves one hand down the curve of her body- she groans in apprehension. He slips a hand inside his coat, and finds the handle of a knife. Slowly and cautiously, he edges it out and presses it against the wall. She does not notice, and he continues kissing her. His other hand cups her face and he holds it tense.

He then rams the knife into her left breast.

She screams, or would scream if his other hand were not covering her mouth. She makes muffled noises and he can feel her struggle against him. There are tears on her face, and she says something inaudible. From the wound on her breast, blood wells slowly.

He turns and slides the blade into her heart. She struggles frantically and desperately and thrashes about and claws at his neck with her nails. He does not move. Before long, her arms fall limp and the heady pulse of her life fades.

He sighs and pulls the knife out. He lets the body wetly hit the ground, saclike, and checks her purse for money and valuables. He kneels there, and looks at her dead eyes. He is troubled.

The voices have not stopped. But they have lessened.

He carries the body and hides it in a trash can- it will cause more confusion and stall them. He turns to head out of the alleyway, and for a moment, thinks he sees someone at the entrance. He blinks and there is no one there.

It is late, and he needs to return home before someone finds the body. He stumbles out of the alleyway, and on his way back, it begins to rain again. The blood on his hands is washed away, but he does not find release from the voices.

He makes his way quietly into his room and opens a door to which only he has the key. He flicks the dim light on, and it sputters to life.

Inside, adorning the walls, are pictures. Pictures of every single one of them save for the recent whore. He knows all of them and had killed all of them to appease the voices. He touches a picture, and he remembers.

Her name was Jessica.

He had met her in a thrift store. They kissed under the tree at the graveyard.

So many memories here.

Her name was Crystal, and she was fascinated by him.

He drew her in, with the nights and she bore her scars on her left breast in secret. She had even ventured into this apartment. She had lasted the longest- six months.

He dumped her body in the river. No one found it.

How many have there been?

He cannot remember any more. So many, so much blood and so many lives. Laura had been there, through it all. He touches an empty space on the wall. That was her space. Through it all, she had been with him.

No longer.

He feels his chest tighten and he fights down the tears. He turns and leaves the room and does not bother to turn the light off. He sits down on his bed, and waits till he falls asleep.

He sleeps fitfully that night. He dreams of Laura, of her clear laugh and her smile. He dreams of blessed silence.

He awakes to the rain again. He checks his watch- it is well into the evening. He had not meant to sleep so long.

The voices return, a murmur. Present.

It is getting worse, he knows. Once, they would stop. They would fall silent for a lull after each death and when he was with her, they were muted. He runs his hands through his hair and slips on a coat. He leaves the one from yesterday discarded on the floor.

He makes his way outside and stands for several moments in the rain. He turns in the direction of the café. There is a girl there he wants to see, named Vivian.

She is surprised when she sees him enter. He gives her a grin before sitting down in front of her. There are only a few other customers- it is near closing. She walks over to his table. “Can I help you?”

“Well, are you particularly free now? Maybe this evening?” He smiles at her as she blushes. “You’re very pretty when you blush.”

“Ah- thank you.” She smiles shyly.

He looks around and sees the other customers are occupied and complacent. “You still owe me that cup of coffee, you know.”

“Wha- I never promised you!” She considers it for a moment. “I don’t think I did.”

“See what I mean? Well, that’s beyond the point. You’re rather free as of now and besides, I’d say I’m some very good company- or rather, I would hope so when confronted with such a pretty girl like you.” She blushes crimson now, and he indicates behind him. “I daresay they’ll be staring soon enough if you turn another shade of red.”

“Well, if you didn’t-“ She sits down suddenly. “Now will you stop trying to embarrass me?”

“I’m just complimenting you, rather. Bringing light to your good features.” He looks at the table comically. “But I have to say, this coffee is delicious!”

“What coffee?”

“Exactly my point. There is no coffee, therefore, we are not having coffee, and thus, you still owe me coffee.” Behind him, the other customers begin to shuffle out. He glances behind them. “I proposition instead of having coffee for now, you could allow me the honor of walking you home. Depending on where you live. You could also alternatively stay at my apartment.

She looks taken aback. “What-what are you implying?”

“Oh, sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m not implying anything. Nothing. Just that you could sleep on the bed and I on the couch.”

“But- I barely know you!”

“You know my name and that I think you are pretty and live in an apartment and that I promise that I shall do anything you do not consent to.” He thinks for a moment. “And I always keep my promises.”

“I…I guess so.” She shakes her head. “I don’t believe I’m doing this.”

“I do. So, I’ll wait outside and let you gather your stuff, then?”

She nods and he catches something odd in her eyes. Fear- deeply buried and hidden. But it is gone and she leaves the table. He does not ponder it and leaves the café to wait outside. He regrets not bringing his umbrella with him this time as he stands in the rain. She does not take long, however, and they begin to walk.

It is a peaceful night. The voices increase in timbre.

She speaks finally. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes.” He recalls Laura’s face and falls silent. “In a way. I used to live with someone.”

She seems to detect the controlled quality in his voice and does press. “I’m like that. I used to live with my sister…”

“What happened to her?”

“She was part of the police. And she didn’t make it, one day.”

Neither of them speaks for several moments. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s…It’s fine.” She gives a wan smile. “I’m managing.”

The remainder of the walk is spent in silence. An occasional car passes them or they hear the screech of tires in the distance. Overhead, the clouds rumble. He turns and leads her up the steps to his apartment. Outside, it begins to rain.

And all the time, the voices his and cajole him.

“This is it.” He opens the door and turns the light on. “It’s not very much, as you can see.”

“It’s not bad.” She looks around at the bleak walls and empty space. “Empty.”

“I never used it much,” He tries not to think of Laura. “So that’s why it’s still empty and barren. It’s something, though.”

“Something.” She seems edgy and nervous, and he is not sure why. She glances constantly at the door.

“Because we never did get to have the coffee, I’ll go make us some.” He hangs his coat up and leaves to the kitchen. He opens and searches through cupboards before finding a bag of old coffee beans. He calls back to her, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

He begins to run the water in the sink and waits for it to warm. The knife on the counter calls alluringly to him, and he struggles to ignore the voices. He tests the water, and finds it scalding. He rummages for a coffee pot, and begins to fill it up. There is a noise from behind him, and he turns to see her there. “Coffee will be ready soon, so don’t worry yourself.”

She does not answer. He notices that she is shaking and her eyes are wide with fear and panic. She holds something in her hands, which she raises slowly to point at him. Black and glinting, he is unsure of what it is for several moments.
It is a gun.

Several things register in his mind at once- her sister was a member of the police. But that wouldn’t explain how she had known it was him. He holds his hands by his sides, careful not to make sudden movements. “What are you doing?”

“You…You.” She stifles a sob. There are tears running down her face. “You killed my sister.”

He does not speak. There is only the sound of the running water and her heavy breaths. “How did you know?”

“I…I-I saw you. Last night.” She chokes back a sob. “You. You murdered that woman. I, I wasn’t sure. Till I saw your room.”

He had forgotten to lock the room, he realizes. Strangely, it does not bother him. “So, now what? Do you kill me? Avenge your dear sister?”

He takes several steps towards her. She raises the gun but she is unsure and hesitant. Inside his mind, the voices scream. “Then pull the trigger already. Yes- I killed your sister. She tried to find me and catch me and bring me to justice, but I outsmarted her. She was overconfident and she paid for it.”

“Don’t talk about her!” They are only a few feet apart, and her back is against the wall. “You killed her!”

“And I killed so many others. I killed the men who tried to mug me, and I killed the whore in the back street. I killed the waitress and the lonely housewife and the salesperson. I killed them all.” He is in front of her now and the muzzle of the gun is against his chest. “Will you avenge them all? Will you avenge Grace and Abby and Alyssa and Claire and Olga? Will you avenge Laura?”

“Stop saying her name!” She is screaming now but she does not pull the trigger. “You killed her! You took her away from me!”

“Then kill me!” He falls to his knees and presses the cold metal to his forehead. “Go ahead and pull the trigger. Kill me as you have dreamed and take your revenge. Your sister would not hesitate- she did not beg for her life, did you know that?”

“Stop talking about her!”

“Then pull the trigger!”

“I-I…I.” Her hand is shaking and does not move.

He presses his face against her hips and she pulls back. The gun falls limply to her side and echoes dully against the wall. He looks up at her and she does not look at him. He carefully takes her hand and places it on his forehead. “Go on. Pull the trigger.”

She does not speak. He can feel her quaking against him and she does not look at him.

“Kill me. Save me- by God, save me from this. Save me as she saved me, save me and avenge her. Save me so that I won’t have to kill. Save me from the memory of her death.” He slams his fists into the wall. “Or by God, I swear I will kill you and then no one will ever stop me. It will end here- tonight. You will die or I will die.”

She does not move. He clutches at her waist and she shrieks and sobs. He looks at her imploringly and she meets his eyes. “Kill me. Please.”

She looks away from him and closes her eyes. He cannot resist the voices much longer.

He places his hands over hers, and steadies them against his head. He buries his face in her waist, and closes his eyes.

I am sorry, Laura.