[Warning: Adult Content]
Alexander woke at three. In the morning or the afternoon. It didn't make much difference to him. He didn't sleep much anymore, anyway. Not since that weekend at the lake. He shuddered now, thinking about it. He didn't like to think about it. He rarely did. The empty bottles of JD scattered around the room attested to that.
He reached for a half-empty bottle beside the mattress he'd thrown on the floor some months ago, after they'd repossessed his furniture. A swig or two, and he was able to drag himself out of bed. He coughed, spitting out heavy yellow mucus, and lit up a cigarette. He never smoked in bed. It wouldn't let him. It knew it was too dangerous. A guy could get killed...
There was cold pizza for breakfast. Left over from when Franky had visited two nights before. Or was it three? Franky was the only one who came to see him anymore. Franky knew. He'd been there that weekend. It hadn't seen him, but he'd seen It. So Franky came now and then, just to be sure Alexander was eating and stuff.
Alex took a crap and threw some water on his face. He didn't shave. Why bother? He didn't have to look pretty to do his job. Didn't have to smell pretty, either, so he didn't bother to wash. He looked at himself in the broken bathroom mirror, and thought of Amy.
And puked the pizza into the sink.
He rinsed out his mouth and took another long swig of Black Jack to get the taste of her out of his mouth.
He pulled on his old flack-jacket because it was raining. Outside it was dark, so it must be 3 a.m. Alexander pulled the collar up around his neck, scrunching a fatigue hat down over his long, matted hair that he'd drawn back in a pony-tail. He was soon soaked through, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered much anymore. Not since It took charge.
The sky had that eerie green tinge again. Light from the Mechanists' Sector reflected off the low clouds. Everything looked sick. Sick as he felt. Alexander hunched into his jacket and turned the corner as directed.
As he expected, there was a woman standing on the next corner. Must be rough, trying to catch a John in the rain. She'd probably be glad to see him. And wasn't that just ironic as hell?
He got up to her in the pouring rain, nearly under her tranparent plastic umbrella before she realized he was there. She turned, scared at first, and then she pasted what she must have thought was an enticing smile on her painted face.
"Hey, soldier," she said, looking him up and down. "Home on leave? Huh? You hungry for a little candy?"
He never talked to them. He just did it. He whipped the garrot out of his pocket and looped it around her neck, knocking the umbrella out of her hand. She didn't even have time to cry out. He dragged her into the alley, and threw her down in the muddy dirt to do it. He made sure to give her enough air. She couldn't choke. Not yet.
He raped her brutally, beastially. He pulled the garrot tighter and tighter as he went on and on, choking the life out of her as he took Its pleasure. She died at the moment he climaxed, her eyes rolled back into her head, her swollen tongue protruding from her mouth. He heard her death rattle as he relaxed the garrot.
He rolled off her, gasping for breath, and just lay there for a moment beside her limp body. He squeezed his eyes shut, and hated himself all the more for having enjoyed it. Feeling Its pleasure as his own. Then he got up, as he always did, and retrieved the garotte, checked for any other physical evidence, and left. He just left her, lying there in the muddy dirt of the alley as the rain poured down.
He stumbled off in the direction of his apartment, hoping It would let him sleep now. He needed to sleep.
"Alexander Schafer?" came a voice behind him.
He turned, startled. Who could possibly know his name? In the darkness, standing under the eaves of a building and out of the rain, was a tall man in a long black coat. The green from the sky reflected on its surface, suggesting vinyl or leather. So, who was it? Another fettishist? Another one of him?
The man stepped into the rain without seeming to notice it. He kept coming until he was hardly an arm's-length away.
"Yeah, I'm Alex. Whaddaya want?"
The man reached out faster than Alexander could react. He touched the center of Alex's chest, and it felt like a grenade had just gone off in there. With the last bit of oxygen still left in his dying brain, Alex heard the man say,
"To stop you."
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