Yet another sample for everyone to partake in. This one is from my first book A Blade Away. I wanted to highlight this particular chapter to show a moment when the killer displays just how out of control he has become. This is not a scene with a victim — only him inside his car. A Blade Away can be purchased on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords. Enjoy!
THIRTY-SEVEN
Lakme pulled his old car into a parking spot in front of the house on Seventh Street. The normal routine was to hang out and observe the traffic patterns of the people and cars, so he could find out when it was safe for his little breaking and entering trick.
This time, he wanted to just make a beeline for the door, bust in, plant himself on the couch and wait for Mary Capri to come home. But he knew he couldn’t pull it off. With Mary Capri, there was a wife attached, and Lakme had no idea if she would be home or not. He had to be careful. Although his gift was a blessing to the patient, he couldn’t afford to ruin the mission by frightening the wife. So he used caution. Even in his current state of exaggerated emotions, he was able to refrain from jumping the gun so as not to destroy his role of messiah.
“Even the greatest gods could fall to the weakness of humans. Even messiahs have their kryptonite.” He impressed himself with his own prose. “I am the last true artist. I am da Vinci with flesh. I am a god with your gender. I am the genie in the perfume bottle waiting for you to spray me onto your flesh. And you are but a blade away from your truest self.”
His words began to jumble together and become meaningless. Poetry would have to wait for another day; the real art was at hand, and all else must wait in the shadows.
Lakme’s eyes were on full alert. His peripheral vision seemed to expand, and he could see all. A child falling in the mud on a playground. A dog chasing a squirrel underneath an abandoned car. An old woman trying to hobble up the curb with her cane in one hand and a small sack of groceries in the other. A man and a woman sitting in the car behind him and watching the house of Mary Capri.
He looked back into the mirror. It couldn’t be. Why were they watching the same house? What was going on? Who were these people? Why wouldn’t they leave? Why were they ruining his day? Why? Why? Why?
He punched the dash of his car hard enough to send a shock-wave of pain zipping up his arm. He thought he might have fractured a bone. He hated his temper. So many times his temper had put him into tragic circumstances, and he felt it boiling over. Heat was rising from his face, threatening to unleash in a fury of blows to the dash or to his own body.
He looked again, certain they would be gone. They were not. They were still sitting in the car. All smiles and stares. Talking. Laughing. Man and woman.
Lakme tried to will them to leave. He thought hard. “Leave.” Nothing happened. He was becoming frantic and had no idea what to do. Lakme rocked back and forth in his seat and started counting. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…. He knew when he reached ten they would be gone. 10. He looked back. They were still there. Joking. Dancing. Making love. Devouring each other. Pointing and laughing at the poor idiot in front of them. Another strike to the dash. His hand was bleeding. He had to stop swinging before he ruined his hands. His surgeon hands.
And then, the unthinkable happened. Mary Capri came home. He was too late. His next patient had beaten him home. He couldn’t get in now. He couldn’t perform the procedure. He couldn’t rush the door with the lovers watching. They would surely see him. Damn them. Again, his hand punched the dash.
“Damn you!” He yelled and punched again. “Damn you!” His voice had reached a fevered pitch, and his body was shaking violently as he started the car and sped off. His mind was racing out of control. Why couldn’t I just do it? Who were they? What were they doing? Did they have the same idea as Dr. Lakme? Was that who he really was? Dr. Lakme? He was a doctor. He could have graduated from med school. He was the best of the best. He was the only true messiah. And he would have his revenge on those that stood in his way of bringing new life to Mary Capri.
His rage brought him thoughts he hadn’t had since he was a very young child watching his father beat down his mother. “You will pay for this!” he yelled, and then rolled down his window and began yelling the same thing to anyone he passed. “You will pay for this! You will all pay for this!”
Lakme finally punched the gas and sped away. He hadn’t felt such rage in so long; it felt like a friend who had never left. The anger was honest and real. The anger drove him and lifted him above the unwashed masses. But he knew the anger was tragic and would threaten to still his blade. He had to retain control, or he would lose everything.
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