Forward
This is a short story that I dreamed up a while ago as I was testing the bounds of my writing ability. I put it away for a year or so, as I was focused on other things in my life, and trying to develop and write a series that I could try and sell to a publisher. But things hardly ever work out the way you plan them. So I went back to the story to finish it; I am still not happy with how it has ended, so I may keep this as an open and changing, evolving, story.
I remember when I started writing this story. I had taken a job working at a college library. I found myself with a lot of free time, as the job was not all that difficult or exciting. Not engaging. So I wrote when I could. It was an interesting setting, writing about a killer that could no longer meet his need of killing, in a place of ‘higher education’. A place of quiet, where people are trying to work and study, not caught in the realm of fantasy. Not thinking about death or what it is to die.
It felt nice to be writing and dreaming while others were unaware, like I was keeping a secret. I would imagine it is something like this for the main character, Brandon, hiding his need to kill. We all hide something from others. We all have a certain need to fulfil ourselves. This story is an examination of that need.
This is not the first story I have written, but it is the first that I am putting out to the masses. I hope whomever reads it enjoys it. If these types of stories fit your fancy, I will have others coming along the way. Please feel free to explore my website, danemallahan.com, for what is to come.
Thank you for taking the time to read my story.
– Dane
New Life +
Dane Mallahan
It has been ten years, now, since New Life + was created. It was marketed to the residents of our world as the opportunity for eternal life. The serum – so the manufacturers claim – was developed in response to a fertility crisis; our world’s birth rate had declined rapidly, and there was no determinant cause. This was supposed to fix that.
I find that hard to believe, as we citizens are never told the full truth.
For whatever reasons, the serum worked, and was a socially acceptable way for one race to continue on. At first it was only available to those who could pay for it and were brave enough to take it. Though, as other high up officials and billionaires saw others take the serum – and remain unscathed – they imagined their hold on power hanging between their material lives. Those who had gained immortality would then take that power after their demise. The serum started to take off.
After that it became a necessity for all other citizens to “take the new life”, though I imagine it was those upper classes pushing it on the rest of us. Who would there be to wash their cars and clean their homes in fifty years if everyone of low class was dead?
The masses didn’t care though. They didn’t see it that way, no, they were ecstatic. And they acted exactly how you might expect a bunch of mindless civilians to act. The initial 12-16 months of world immortality was chaos – looting, raping, pillaging… Hell, people were jumping off of skyscrapers to test out their new everlasting life. They did survive. All of them did.
But that couldn’t last forever. The government realized their mistake. Or was it a mistake? Maybe it was a calculated effort. After the initial melee, they activated their ranks and rounded up every last accused looter, robber, rapist, and so on, and shipped them off to work camps.
I see it all as an acquisition of human capital: a never dying labor force. Just like how the stock market crashes enabled the banks and billionaires to acquire companies, land, and more riches, so this same play came into fruition to take over the people. In the eyes of the masses, though, it weeded out many of the criminals and undesirables. With eternal life, who really had anything to fear? I suppose they all saw it as a shot at utopia.
That is what happened to part of the chaos creators. For the others, the millions of jumpers and other attempted suicides, there was another capitalistic venture that stemmed from those occurring. That is where I come in. I have worked for the franchise “Kill Shop Emporium” for the last several years. Before all this, I was – believe it or not – a successful and skilled serial killer. That’s why I jumped at this job when it opened, transitioning from the marketing field – where I had to hold back my need to kill every last one of those mother fucking slime balls – to my favorite pass time.
Not only could I kill people in broad daylight, with ease, but I could propose ways of death to paying customers! It was a dream come true. The first year was heaven. I killed them by stabbing, close range shotgun head shots, laser splittings – yep, like in James Bond – crushing impacts, the list goes on. I was thrilled to experience all of these ways of death. I was the most popular and creative “killer” in my region. I even won a fucking award. They celebrated me at the first year party and I reveled in the knowledge that only I held, my secret.
But after a time it became boring, like a typical job, and I lost some passion for killing. The quest for a target, seeing the life drain out of them are key elements for us degenerate specimens, and that thrill was dashed, ruined, sullied. Every time I killed someone, they pulled themselves back together again. Literally, sometimes. They were never truly dead. The excitement had been lost as I finally realized that. My essence and need had been taken from me by this damned potion.
After the second year, the number of customers started to decline as well. The exhilaration of dying was drying up and people were getting back to their ‘normal’ lives. Word had gotten out as well; after the initial chill and relief that the serum worked, and they had survived a catastrophic death, people concluded that dying hurt like shit. Upon reflection, many decided that it wasn’t worth it. Some still trickled in over the years – there are always new adults throwing caution to the wind – intent on finding out themselves. But they all come to the same realization; the pain wasn’t worth it.
This is where I find myself today, my killing life gone, the fulfillment of the Kill Shop Emporium waning, and in that same regard, it has now become a failing business; my true passion is a fleeting memory. Brandon Osgood, former killer – real killer, dead dead – of twenty seven people, sitting in a shop with all sorts of killing equipment and devices, with no one to kill.
The door opened and Sam walked in. I am sitting thinking about my past, and maybe my future. It’s around noon and Sam’s here to take over the night shift. The struggling Kill Shop Emporium can only just squeak by with two ‘killer’ employees.
“Hey Bran-dune,” he says.
That stupid nickname makes me want to plunge my fist into his chest and rip out his heart. But I didn’t want to end up in one of those wretched work camps, so I had to play along. I’ve done it so well for so long.
“Hey Sam,” I replied as jovially as I could.
“Did you catch ‘All You Can Eat’ last night?” Sam asks as he puts his things away behind the counter.
What he’s talking about is one of the reality shows the more morbid population finds so enthralling, where two animals – predator and prey – are forced into an arena together. You can guess what happens. Some like the action, the hunt, the suspense. Others like to watch the predator eat the prey. Sam was the latter type of person. He was seventeen when the serum was given to us all, and an unfortunate and unforeseen repercussion was the lack of aging elements. Sam was twenty five, but still looked like a teenager. His lanky, but still somehow doughy frame was barely out of puberty. His personality stayed somewhat the same.
“Not last night,” I said, “I don’t catch much late night TV.”
I didn’t really watch TV at all. The nights were strange for me now. Sometimes I still went out prowling, but it wasn’t useful anymore. Shit, I wasn’t useful anymore. As I spiraled deeper into my thoughts, Sam settled into the chair behind the counter.
“Dude, last night on Predator vs. Predator they put a crocodile into a pool full of piranhas! It was amazing, the croc couldn’t stop thrashing around. It chomped a few but there were too many little fucking nippers to survive.” Sam said, giggling.
I wasn’t listening. I hardly ever really listen to people. He was watching animals absently destroying themselves for entertainment, while I was feeling empty inside thinking about the last time one of my kills stuck.
Some killers chose the safe route, an elderly person, a woman, a child. “Creatures of opportunity” a profiler – non-existent now – would say. There were those that killed in plain sight as well, mostly meat head military types, washout cops. I wasn’t like any of those. I made my own opportunity.
I had been watching a younger man, a hulk of a human being, who played football for the local university. After each game he would hit the bars and get absolutely shit faced. The guy could drink gallons of beer in a single night. It was sickening. Hulk man would proceed to get drunk and pick up on women. He was successful most of the time, but struck out on occasions. Those nights he was obliterated, having drowned his sorrows in alcohol instead of pussy.
Then he would responsibly – believe it or not – stumble home to his university supplied apartment. He liked to shit where he ate, so it wasn’t too far from the downtown bar scene. Only a few blocks between his brews and babes and his bedroom. Not a lot of time.
One night I dressed in all the football paraphernalia I could find. It was a home loss so everyone turned in early. But not our big boy. He stumbled out, sloshed as ever at half past 2 a.m. I waited in the alley for him to stumble by, then followed behind him. I watched the streetlights, timing my move. And then, outside of a town-home where the residents were away for the weekend, I acted.
“Hey there, Brody, whooooo! Helluva loss tonight.” I shouted, trying to sound as drunk as I could.
He turned like a wounded bull, eyeing me, trying to determine if I was friend or foe. We stood there, out in the open, between the spaces the street lights missed. I felt the thrill of knowing I could be caught, but believing in the groundwork that I had set.
He saw my painted yellow and white face, the foam finger, the jersey, and grinned the dumbest and widest tooth filled grin I had seen in all my days. Sure, I could have easily stabbed Lurch in the back, but what was the fun in that? He stumbled over to me and I moved closer.
I had him.
“Can I get your autograph?” I asked.
He grunted, never uttering one word while I was present, a mumbling grunting beast. He held out his hand for a pen and I struck. I pulled a large, empty hypodermic needle from the foam hand, plunged it between his ribs, and pushed. He gasped for air and I knew the job was done. I pulled the needle out and walked away. I heard some struggling and then a thud as he crashed onto the steps of the empty townhouse. I didn’t look back.
The reports of his death made big media, which I could have cared less for, but it was continued confirmation of a clean kill. They ruled it alcohol poisoning, citing his usual routine and behavior of binge drinking. That was only a few months before New Life + turned my life into shit. I hadn’t thought about it before, but now I wondered if that last kill had sparked a push to get the juice out to the general public.
The front door jingled as an errant customer arrived, breaking my daydream of the past. Sam, still naively believing that the Kill Shop had a shot at prolonged existence, jumped up to help the group of kids that had just wandered in.
“Do you have a drill press?” A short blond kid asked immediately, somehow enlivened by the thought of a drill bit going through his skull.
“Do you have some ID?” Sam asked smoothly.
They had raised the age of consent from sixteen to eighteen not long after people realized dying sucked. Can you believe it? In a world where no one can die, you had to be of legal age to get ‘killed’. The kid showed Sam his ID and Sam made the other two fork over theirs as well.
“Alright, now that’s out of the way. Yessir, we do indeed have a drill press.”
The three erupt with laughter and jostle each other around. The blond kid begins to chant, “Drill me, drill me, drill me.”
The others join in.
I know it’s time for me to leave.
“Hey, Sam, you got this on your own? I think I’ll take off for the day.”
He gives me a thumbs up, “Sure thing, boss.” A sort of joke between us. We aren’t the boss of anything. Just weirdos that corporate – and the country – trust with sharps, thuds, and machinery.
I grab my coat and step out into the brisk afternoon. All of this reminiscing has got me hungry. Killing meant nothing anymore, and I had almost gotten over it, well, accepted it, but the habit of stalking was one I could never betray. It was the only thing left keeping me alive. I went home and prepared a light meal, then got in bed for a nap. My alarm was set for later this evening.
. . .
I woke up to the trilling of birds. I had once believed there was an irony to the alarm of their joyous sounds meeting with my ill intent. But I had no thoughts of irony tonight. Nights like this I can be up and ready instantly; I don’t feel the anticipation, not in my gut like when I am behind someone, but it’s driving me regardless.
Prepared for the night, I step out to my dimly lit street and proceed to my target. The big boy wasn’t my choice based on popularity or notoriety; it was purely to take on a big motherfucker. This one, though. This target was really famous. This one – if killing was still real – would have been difficult. Now though, people are much less worried about security.
I make my way to a large square building a few miles away. An old building that might have been something else in it’s beginnings, but now was an assortment of apartments. Some lived in rent controlled apartments they have inhabited for ages. Others lived in the penthouses above. This is where the actor lived.
I am lucky that whatever nightly routine this man has is like clockwork. I spot my mark immediately, stepping into a black SUV. I scoff. They all drive black SUVs. This guy is a leading man, and I can tell even if I am not one of his biggest fans. His short and curly ruddy gold locks and rugged jaw. These were all things that stood out as attractive even to those that weren’t. Bryce Powell, famous Australian actor – well, famous actor, from Australia.
People love him, but I hate this twat. They say he’s completely truthful, honest, humble, and astounding, but I don’t buy any of it. He’s selling some shit to people. I can see through that nonsense, the manipulation. I do it every day. To fool people, to elude them. He’s just as bad as the rich folk that invented this damn serum. Fuck him.
My fist clenches as I think about how I would kill him. The urge that had been dormant for so long floods into my stomach, spreading up my chest and down my crotch. I felt alive again. Screw this, I thought, let’s do it. I start to follow the SUV as it slowly rolls along the street.
Bryce likes a late night snack at the Midnight Munchies Company. No immoral vices for him, no drugs or alcohol, just sugar. The man on the outside is a saint. He is pledged to his betrothed back home in the Aussie land. They play that up in the news. I’ve watched him for the past year and he seems off, something about his eyes; he appears nearly as dead inside as I am.
I know where he’s going. The SUV turns and I take a back alley to the Munchie Co. By the time I arrive, he’s already inside buying a cookie or an ice cream. I see his crushable head through the front mirror and envision throwing the door of the sweet shop open and bashing his head against the display of ice cream, watching his blood streak down the outside of the glass. But I have to be patient. I wait.
Waiting isn’t hard for me, not when I have a goal. I touch my left hip and feel the hunting knife stashed beneath my jacket. This one might suffice with a quick stab from behind. But I’ve got to get at him first. A few more minutes roll by and he’s out on the street again, slowly walking to his car. There wasn’t anything else in sight for cover. I am stuck in the shadows of this alley, across the street from my target. I’ve gotten sloppy.
Sloppy, but maybe lucky tonight. Bryce turns around a few steps away from his car. What is he looking for? The water is that way, maybe he’s got an inclination to see the bay. He looks longingly down the street, and I wonder if he’s thinking about his long lost love on the lonely continent. He gave in, one leather clad boot step after the next. Yes! Yes, whatever emotional draw you are looking to fulfill tonight, take it. Walk into the dark street so I can take my shot.
Once he’s half a block away I cross the street, moving slowly and casually along the well-lit corridor. Anyone could become suspicious, any sound from behind could spook Bryce. It was easy to keep up with him, his pace lacked any urgency. He seemed completely carefree. But I had seen the look in his eyes. He had his own goal tonight, whatever it may be. We moved together. I closed in on my prey, down the street as it changed into residential properties. The row of houses and townhouses lay dark, the streetlights casting the shadows Bryce and I made against their exteriors. The shadows of a murderer and his target.
The night was cool and calm, not another soul was out.
Silent and crisp.
The air felt as if it had substance. My heart started to pound deeply and swiftly as I got closer. Bryce made no move to turn or to stop, and I got closer. I started to look for my opportunity. Between the streetlights, a darkened length of concrete, maybe a side alley.
I was ten paces back now, soon I could close in and be on him. Eight paces. We cross under a street lamp and I hang back slightly to avoid casting a shadow that Bryce might see. Seven paces now. The darkness enveloping us both. I quicken. Five. Almost three, there’s no alley, but no one around; this will have to do. Four. Then three.
My hand touches the hard leather-bound hilt of the knife. I pull it, stroking my thumb on its cold steel. My balls pull up into my chest as my body tenses. One. It’s time.
I pounce on the unsuspecting Bryce, driving my blade into the small of his back. His legs buckle under him before he can even scream. Got the nerve. Good. Any sense that he could fight back or run leaves me, only the thought of pure power and confidence fill me.
“Ah-hhh,” he grunts, crying out thinly into the empty night’s space.
The sound carries and echoes for an eternity. Longer than Bryce will live. That is my hope anyway. I have had another plan in my mind all this time. Bryce is lying on his side, his eyes squinting with pain and exertion as he tries to turn to face me. I kick him the rest of the way over.
“Fuck that hurts,” he rumbles, looking up to meet my gaze.
“You shit! What’s your game here, pal? You forget that we’re all immortal now?”
“Maybe I just wanted to see someone suffer.” I said, grinning, “Or maybe I know something you don’t…”
His eyes widened as fear ran through him, the thought that he could die striking him squarely.
“Let’s give this a try.”
I drive the knife into his throat. Blood pours everywhere, quickly pulsing out into the streets. I start cutting as the fear of truly dying becomes a reality for Bryce. His death an ultimate passage, whether he can return from it or not. His eyes lay wide and lifeless as I chop through his cervical vertebra and sever his spinal cord.
‘Off with his head’, I think and laugh just a little. My hands grip his damned soft hair as I raise his head off his body. Now to make my getaway. Being in the business of killing, I had thought long and hard about how to overcome this nuisance of eternal life. When a body splats on the ground and rebuilds itself, it’s sort of hard to not give up hope. But I had an idea; what if I kept the head? Separate it from the body, how could one piece not perish without the other?
I was prepared for this. Taking a plastic bag I had zipped securely inside my jacket pocket. I looked at the meat and spinal cord as I placed Bryce’s head hair side up in the bag. I tucked the sealed head inside my jacket and walked swiftly and inconspicuously away from his corpse. The headless body that I hoped would remain still as I separated the body from the mind. After a few blocks I increased my speed. Surely no one had seen. I was free and clear, but I didn’t know the rules to this impossible potion that cured death. I wanted to get away, as far away as possible, from Bryce’s body.
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was moving in the same direction that Bryce would have been traveling if his legs were still walking, towards the water. But I didn’t care. Fifteen minutes went by and a sense of euphoria kicked in. Had I really done it? Working at the Kill Ship had been perfect for scientific experiments. Electric shock to death was usually the easiest to recover from. Bullet to the brain or a good bashing took longer. Only one person had asked to use our large guillotine, a blow that corporate hadn’t expected.
That person had taken the longest. Sam had placed the head next to the body. After five minutes the muscles had started to pull towards each other, like the tendrils of a sea anemone. They wove back together, tightening into place and mending the scar. Another six to seven minutes that took, and another few until the customer woke. They came back faintly, and we offered them cookies and juice, just like after giving blood.
The body had repaired itself completely. We had asked the customer questions but they didn’t want to talk about it. That had sent chills through my body and down to my groin. That is when I got this idea. It had now been nearly twice as long as the guillotined customer had taken to repair itself, and Bryce’s head was still inert. He’s dead.
I was almost running now. Joy filled me as the cold night air bit into my lungs. I felt my heart beat, but nothing else; I touched the head inside my jacket and it felt like it was cooling. I was flying, excitement blowing over me like the wind. I saw the lights by the ocean now, at the docks. They were brilliant in the night. The dark backdrop of nothingness held back only by a fence of flickering light.
Just as I was nearing the downhill slope of the road, the bag started to rustle. I stopped cold on the sidewalk. It was clear as daylight under the streetlamps. A nice neighborhood fully lit to ward off people like me. I couldn’t think about that now. I had to know. I pulled the head from beneath my jacket and could see the mouth puckering against the bag. Bryce’s ears and forehead twitched. His tongue lashed at the bag as he saw my figure through the thin white liner. It rasped, trying to speak, trying to breathe.
I swept off to the nearest alley and removed the head from the bag.
“Muck of,” it tried to speak again.
I should have cut through the vocal cords. I didn’t know if the head was shocked or lacked the air pressure to speak. But it was alive, still as present as the sun. Alive. Shit. I placed his head on top of a dumpster. The eyes were wonky, drunk looking. Didn’t have enough blood maybe? But the neck wasn’t leaking. I wonder if it would build up enough internally, if the brain had sealed enough away. My distress changed to curiosity as I poked the twat’s big nose.
“Knock it off!” Bryce exclaimed.
“Dammit.” I whispered quietly, disappointingly, almost lacking the air just as the head had when it first started to speak again.
I kicked at an errant piece of garbage.
“It didn’t work.” I mumbled.
“Ah, you were trying to kill me. Didn’t work, eh? Boo Hoo,” The head tried to say gruffly, but its voice was breathy and struggled.
“Take me back and reattach me body and I won’t call the cops. Just give ya a big bloody uppercut and be on our way,” Bryce claimed.
“Fuck, are you really this agreeable?” I was genuinely shocked.
A famous movie star is dismembered and just wants to land a decent punch on me, payback for decapitation.
“Well it’s not like your escapade was going to work, you fucking tweedle,” Bryce said, his face starting to come back to normal, and now he did look angry.
“They tested this stuff, mate. It’s the real deal. Don’t tell me you’re that dull?”
“I’m not dull, I just hoped it would work.”
“You some sort of necrophobe or something?” Bryce grimaced.
“No, hey fuck you,” I replied, my pride tarnished at the thought.
“Eh, fuck you,” Bryce attempted to spit at me, but the force knocked him off balance and he began to topple off the dumpster.
I quickly moved to save him and re-positioned his head back to stability.
“Thanks, mate. Sorry, bit testy of a situation,” he stared at me with a quizzical look.
“So why me? Why choose to try and kill yours truly? You can’t be all bad, saving me a fall into the muck just now.”
Was I really going to tell this guy my story, did he deserve it?
“Why should I tell you? How is a famous movie star going to understand me?”
Bryce’s face turned to what appeared to be genuine empathy.
“Mate, this life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hell, you caught me all alone as I’m getting a late night snack. You ever think why I was out this late, alone? Because I am alone.” Bryce sniffled.
“What about your blushing bride back home?” I asked.
“Ah, so you read the tabloids just like everyone else,” Bryce chuckled. “It’s bullshit, they’re all full of shit, but apparently it works. It’s a figment, mate. I have a role to play in real life just as I do on the screen. They’re trying to sell me, and I play every part they ask,” Bryce looked down solemnly.
“I need to keep up the image, the image of someone happy. That means no fooling around, no booze, no drugs. Only appear when the cameras are clicking,” he sighed.
“Otherwise I am at my place, on set, or out of sight.”
“Why do you do it then? What’s it all for?”
“Eh, eh, tit for tat mate. I shared, now answer my question. Why choose me?” Bryce asked again.
I thought about it for a second. I wasn’t envious of him, I didn’t care about this talent or fame, or searching for my own fame. Then it dawned on me.
“If I could kill you, make you stay dead, then it would send a message to millions of people. To watch out for bad people in dark alleys.” I said. But I didn’t need a reason. I saw him once and knew I wanted to kill him.
Bryce looked at me blankly.
“Besides, this is what I do, Bryce. I find people that I want to kill and I kill them. There doesn’t have to be a rhyme or reason to it. Just like I am sure you have a lust for tall, slim, and busty blonde women.”
“Hey I’m inclusive! I’d take a short, chubby brunette if she was kind and easy to talk with,” Bryce interjected.
“There’s the rub, isn’t it!”
I began to rant, “You have options, all within the realm of physical possibilities. I don’t have any options; I have a need that can’t be fulfilled anymore.”
A light switched on at a nearby home and I lurched at Bryce, shoving his head into the bag and pulling it under my jacket, making sure to face his head away from my midsection so he wouldn’t bite. My hand and jacket muffled whatever cries he could attempt. What to do now? The light coming on took me out of the conversation. Can’t go back to the body, it may have been stumbled upon already. Can’t risk being seen with the head either. Murder was still illegal, after all, as far as I knew. The board of New Life + encouraged the police to stay vigilant if there were any attacks or other obstructions.
I had to move.
Out of the alley and into the street, now I felt naked, like I was being watched. I didn’t like it. I felt powerless. I’ve never felt this way before. Not on a hunt anyway. Scared, anxious, afraid, sure. But this wasn’t ordinary or typical. This was all new territory.
He’s not dead. If he’s not dead now, he probably never will be. Double death? Maybe try and shoot his weakened brain? Mumbles came from the bag as I kept moving. He’s not the asshole I thought he was either. Maybe he doesn’t deserve this. What have I gotten myself into? I tried to remain calm as Bryce and I walked down the streets of the lavish looking neighborhood overlooking the water.
Rows of houses gave way to estates that lined the hilltop above the bay. Below was the port and a busy scenic highway. My apartment was too far away and I didn’t own a gun anyway, so shooting him wasn’t an option. I’ve got to ditch him in the harbor. It’s the only way. The road down to the harbor is steep and dark. I almost lose my footing, tripping over a raised block of concrete. Bryce nearly drops from my hands and I feel his brow and cheeks twitch; he’s putting in every effort he can to escape. It’s admirable but annoying.
I get to the highway and am once again reminded of the richness of the neighborhood. The intersection is basked in the intense white glow of half a dozen LED street lamps. Anyone could see me from up on high easily. I tensely looked behind me, up at the modern mansions. They are dark. It’s nearly 2 A.M. now. I try to relax. No one is watching, no one cares anymore. My former rigid belief system is no longer valid in an immortal society. But I try not to dawdle with my neurosis much longer.
No cars for miles in either direction, or at least around the bend of the alcove the bay lies in. I cross the open desert of light towards the water. The calm waves of the sea lapping against the breakwater. The smell of salt hanging in the pores of the cold night air.
There is a walkway half a block down that leads to a web of interconnected walkways throughout the docks. The businesses and posh restaurants are half a mile away. This stretch of dock provided no mooring, just a spot for tourists and locals alike to marvel at the open waters. I sit down on a bench and pull out Bryce’s head. He coughs and spits at me for nearly a minute. He tries to scream but his lack of a diaphragm leaves him unable to talk much more than a library voice.
“Ah you shit! I about suffocated in there,” Bryce whined.
“Good,” I chuckled. “If you’re not dead yet then being slightly uncomfortable isn’t going to kill you.”
“Why keep this up mate?” Bryce said in a huff, starting to sound panicked. “I’ve already pardoned you, hell, at this point I won’t even clap you one. I just want to be home in my bed.”
“So you can wake up the next morning and be unhappy?” I asked. But why did I ask him? What did I care if this movie star was slightly unhappy with his day to day life? He had it better than I did.
“I’m not unhappy. My pops would wring me dry if he heard me say so. I have so much, way more than he ever did.”
“Then why not retire? You have enough. Why not give it up and move home?”
“I can’t. I have bills to pay, people to support,” Bryce complained.
“I thought you said you didn’t have a family?”
“Just because I don’t have a blushing bride back home doesn’t mean I don’t have a family to support. I have two kids. Their mum – my ex, my mum, a sister with a disability, a wanker of an uncle,” Bryce scoffed.
“New life + didn’t cure the inequities of life. In fact it probably made them all worse. But they are family, they need my support. I won’t be done until they can live out the rest of their lives without any hardship.”
Fuck, this guy was a saint. God damnit.
“Please mate, please take me back,” he begged with a tear in his eye.
A feeling of regret pulsed inside my midsection. I had feelings just like everyone else. I was able to push them aside though, the need to kill helped that.
“I…I can’t.”
“Why? Why not?” Bryce continued to plead at me with his eyes.
“I’ve started this and the only way to release this feeling, this urge, is to end it. To end you.”
“But I’m not going to die! You’ve said it yourself,” Bryce cried, his speech quick and eyes frantic.
I looked out into the ocean and decided to carry out my new plan.
“I think I can fool myself into believing that you are gone if I throw you over. Convince myself that you are perpetually drowning, maybe it will wear you down, take care of whatever life force you have left.”
I picked up Bryce and looked him in the eyes. The fear I saw was real; it calmed my urge.
“Good bye, Bryce.”
“Ahhh, no please!”
He tried to struggle, but I went to the half wall that protected other innocent people from falling into the ocean and dropped his head over the edge, into the deep waters below.
I looked down, the dark waves hit by the moon’s glow and watched Bryce’s severed head plunge into the sea. I placed my elbows on the railing and set my head between my hands. It was over. Calmness washed over me and I became extremely tired. I didn’t have to be on alert anymore. I took one deep, salty breath and then I heard the bark of a seal. I looked down and was horrified to see Bryce’s head floating on the back of a harbor seal.
Bryce’s face looked up at me, hissing insults I couldn’t make out. Damnit. This wouldn’t do. I rushed down the high catwalk searching for a stairway down to the docks below. The seal barked again and I saw the bugger. He was floating in between a pair of elevated docks. I closed in and I approached the seal from the railing. I could hear Bryce cursing and screaming now, in his low breathless tone. Alive and well. Damnit.
For a moment I thought I should walk away. Leave him, whatever compulsion inside me is through, mostly. But then some sense I have rarely felt struck me – compassion. I couldn’t just leave him out there, bobbing along on the back of a seal. Of course the seal might bring him back to his seal family and chow down…but unless they bashed his skill and ate his brain…no, it wouldn’t work.
I gingerly stepped over the rough planks of the elevated deck and bent down to look at the seal. It had flipped on its back and was holding Bryce’s head up, looking into his blackened eyes like the seal was trying to communicate with him. If only the animal knew what it was holding. It started to toss his head up and down, like it was playing with a beach ball.
“Ahhhh!” Bryce screamed, a little faint with the sound of the waves.
I climbed back over and got down on my belly, squeezing between the railing I let my arms hang over. Still too far out of reach. The planks were freezing as I pushed down harder and tried to grab for Bryce’s head. I still could only get within a few inches of the luxurious locks that were now plastered to his head by cold salt water.
The waves buffeted in and the seal rose and fell. Still too far down. The seal barked again and some ingrained thought took over to action; I clapped at the seal, my arms outstretched like a flying superhero. I clapped and barked again at the floating animal. Bryce was laughing like a lunatic now. The seal barked and I barked and clapped again. Then, like I had possessed the creature, it threw Bryce’s head at me. Tossing it up and through my outreached arms. I tried to close them but it was a close miss. His head clunked to the dock and he roared in pain and general displeasure.
“You fucking cunt. God damnit. God damn you. Ya filthy twat. Asshole.” He then screamed in strained frustration.
“You let a fucking seal juggle me! You shit eater. I can’t even rub it to make the brutal pain ebb, you rat bastard,” he cried.
He lay there on one ear cursing like the devil. I got up and picked him up from the deck planks. His teeth clattered together in succession as he worked diligently, trying to snap his jaws around part of my hands. Any part would do. But it was also a sign of being cold, his body performing the natural instinct to shiver. Interesting.
“Calm down,” I said, grinning slightly. “How did it feel to be tossed like a beach ball?”
Bryce tried to blow snot at me while I picked him up but he wasn’t able to gather the force.
“It was shit, mate, that seal fucking stinks. Good God, damn riddance.”
He looked me square in the eye.
“That was a real fucked thing to do, my man, what would have happened if I did sink? Would I have died endlessly at the bottom of the harbor?” Bryce was genuinely distraught.
I felt sort of bad – something I hadn’t felt often or in a long time. When was the last time? The first time was when I killed my neighbor’s dog; the look on his face, my neighbors…My neighbor was in his thirties and I was only seven or eight, but I saw sadness in his eyes. He felt guilty, like he could have done something to prevent it. He would have never known it was me though. I think I have remembered all the times I have felt bad about killing, though there are few. The last time was recently, in the New Life times. I had stabbed a client through the throat and her horrified look nearly caused me to scramble for a towel to stop the blood from coursing out of her artery. To save her. Bryce stared up at me as I thought back.
“I’m sorry, Bryce. I have the urge to kill just like every other serial killer. It’s a longing.”
Bryce calmed and his face shifted from a gruesome hatred to a curiosity, “What is it like?”
“Which? Killing or the need to kill?” I replied.
“The need. I can understand the act of killing, shit, it happened all the time before New Life. The wars, shootings, the anger we all had. But that was different than a need to kill. So what’s it like?”
Bryce continued to surprise me. I had no clue if it was his genuine personality or this crazy circumstance of being body-less that made him so introspective and wise.
“It’s like – it’s not an itch – it’s too easy to scratch away an itch. It’s a compulsion, for certain. I don’t feel right after a certain length of time. I think about it often. I’ll get a feeling of dread sometimes. Like I have heard others say they get when they are thinking about death. Though my feeling is that I will not be able to kill. It…it haunts me, hangs over me. Anxiety, pressure, my heart tightens. All of these things perpetrate the need,” I tried my best to explain.
Bryce said, “Hmm…Sounds like feelings of being unfulfilled in a life that you weren’t meant for.” His accent echoed off the slow vibrations of the waves.
“How did you get to be how you are, Bryce?” I said with a furrowed brow full of confusion. “I have never met anyone like you.”
I didn’t think that Bryce fully understood or accepted who or what I was, but he was not afraid of me.
“Well, I am good at memorization, so this acting gig is fairly easy. I have a fair bit of time on set, and as I mentioned earlier, I am kept out of the limelight for the most part. I read. I think about things and study.” Bryce said.
I had propped myself up to sitting on the dock, staring almost mystified myself, that I was having an intelligent conversation with a talking head.
“You talked about being held away so you can keep your image. How long is that going to last?”
Bryce flapped his lips, blowing what little air he could muster over them.
“I dunno, mate. As long as they keep casting me, I suppose.”
“You don’t have a number or a target to hit for taking care of your family?”
Bryce paused for a moment, thinking about all those that he had relying on him back home.
“Can’t put a number on it,” he sighed. “I suppose it’s sort of like the need you have. I don’t know what it’s going to take 20-30 years down the road to care for my family.
“They don’t know how long this serum lasts, that is for sure.” I added.
“I’ll do whatever I can for as long as I can, and if it’s enough then good. If not, I did my best.”
I pondered, “They didn’t think about that when they created this elixir, didn’t think about people still needing money to live and get by. Or maybe they did.”
“We won’t know until we know,” Bryce said, looking dismayed. The thought that his family might live for ages taking over.
He started to cry, then, whimpering softly in the cold moonlight as the sound of the water swelled and abated around the dock pillars.
“What if they starve? What if they suffer over and over as they starve to death continually? I’m not there for them…what is your name anyway?” Bryce asked suddenly.
I realized this hadn’t started out as a friendly encounter, nothing like two strangers meeting at the bar and carrying on.
“Brandon. Brandon Osgood.”
“Brandon. Bryce and Brandon.” Bryce said, he seemed to trail off into another thought, but snapped back to reality.
“Brandon. I am begging you. Please take me back to my body. I think you’ve met your need, but I have my need to take care of, too. If I am not there for my family they have nothing. So please, I know you can’t be that heartless, that callously removed from the world. Please.”
He was right. At least partially so. My need had passed. Even though I was still talking to Bryce, it had not returned, for now. But I wasn’t sure he was accurate about my temperament. Though his words got me thinking about myself and what I believe – which isn’t much lately. Maybe I wasn’t heartless. Maybe I was just different. But I also wasn’t stupid.
I asked, “How can I be sure you will let this go? There’s no way in hell that I am rotting away in some prison hole or going to one of those work camps.”
“Well it’s not like I can sign anything right now, Brandon,” he replied smartly. “But you have my word as an Australian and as a father.” His tone was short and to the point. It seemed honest. He may be good at portraying other people on screen, but he wasn’t playing anyone right now.
I got up and gently carried Bryce away from the dock.
“Ok, alright, I will bring you back to your body.” I held his cheeks and raised his head to look into his blackened eyes. “But so help me, if you break your word, remember that I have skills and resources available to make you regret that decision.”
Bryce frowned.
“I don’t like being threatened, Brandon, you remember that.” His eyes were hard as diamonds as they stared into me. Beneath me…
I tucked his head into my coat and started back the way we had come. Bryce fussed a bit at first.
“Hey, if I get caught out here with your head, I will make sure you don’t get re-attached, so calm your shit.” I said and Bryce listened. He decided my analysis of the situation was correct.
He remained silent after that as we walked up the steep hill and through the nice homes. I checked my watch. We were closing in on 3:30. The bars were closed and might make for some unwanted guests stumbling around on the streets. It could make traveling dangerous. Hopefully it was late enough into the night and early enough into the morning for that not to be an issue.
As we got closer and closer to the place I had beheaded Bryce, I saw a large van parked tightly to the curb. I was still half a dozen blocks away, and I couldn’t make out exactly where it was, so I kept going further up the block. As we got closer, I could see we were in trouble. There were people in dark clothing bustling about on the sidewalk. I skirted over to the other side of the street, then took a left. I would get to the side street and come as close as I could without being seen from the main road.
The cross street was thirty or so feet from the scene, and as I came to the intersection I held tightly against the corner of a low wooden fence. I peeked around the corner slowly, hunkered down with Bryce bulging in my coat. It was the cops. The faded lettering on the back of the box truck, not van, read “coroner”. The faded lettering gave me chills as I realized what was happening.
There were nearly a dozen police, most of them in plain clothes, walking near the truck. Not another car was in sight. They didn’t want to draw any further attention. I saw a few cops lining the street to stop anyone from coming close enough to see. I couldn’t see anything past their bodies, but I knew what was happening.
Several dumbfounded examiners had been pulled out of retirement or from other positions to dust off the body wagon and try to figure out what the fuck was going on. The line of police started to move and I hugged the corner wall closer. They stayed in line but panned to the left, towards the street and the rear of the coroner vehicle. As they moved I heard the rattling of metal and clunking of aged wheels hitting the pavement.
They had strapped up the body and were taking it. Fuck. The cops remained circled tightly around the stretcher as two men opened the rear doors and slid in the metal gurney. They disbanded quickly after that, moving in all directions as the coroner’s truck started and coughed sluggishly down the road. Panic struck me as I saw the police closing in on me. I had to move. My legs trembled and I lost hold of Bryce’s head.
“Hey!” He hoarsely shouted as he hit the cement.
My stun was broken now, and my trembling legs solidified. His cry may have been loud enough for the boys in blue to hear. I snatched the head up and booked it down the side street turning into the nearest alley. I then ran a few blocks before hiding behind a dumpster. I slid down, breathing heavily, and got Bryce out. I held my fingers to my lips, signaling him to be quiet.
“The cops found your body, Bryce. It’s game over. I am sorry.”
Bryce looked irate and I covered his mouth before he could start wailing.
“Calm down and I’ll let you talk, but be quiet.” I started, but before I could finish I felt the hard and sharp teeth of Bryce bite into my hand.
“Ahhhh!” I harshly whispered as I let him drop to the ground.
“You shithead!” I stifled a roar as I grabbed my already throbbing hand. He hadn’t broken the surface, but it hurt like hell.
Bryce grunted in pain as well, his face making contact with the cement. Even though it was a short fall, he had nothing to brace with. He screamed a little and I did not immediately rush to pick him up. As I held my hand I started to hear crying from beside my knee. Bryce.
“You bastard,” he said in a defeated and shallow breath. “All of it’s over, it’s done now thanks to you. They’ll ID my body, news will get out. Career over.”
“Oh I couldn’t care less. I was trying to help you and you’ve been difficult the whole way.”
“You tried to kill me!” Bryce howled, as loud as his lung-less form could manage. “Any help after that is irrelevant.”
“I don’t care, Bryce. Don’t you get it? I don’t give a shit about whether you live or die. At least I didn’t. I tried to get your head back on your shoulders but it didn’t work. You got me to go back on everything I stand for, and you bite me. Fuck you,” I said angrily. Whatever relationship I had built with this person’s head had washed away in the moment.
“Yeah and I don’t give a shit about you, mate. Even though I thought I could help you get out of your murderous intentions, I was fucking wrong too,” Bryce babbled through a nose smushed into the hard ground.
“Well then I guess this is where we part ways. Good luck with whatever life you have left,” I said, getting up from beside the dumpster and moving down the alley.
It was starting to get light out, well, it would in an hour or so. But it was coming, and I needed to get off the streets. I heard Bryce continue to cry as I moved away from him.
“Wait!”
I stopped and looked back at him. His curly hair disheveled and matted, still wet from the dip in the ocean.
“We’re done here. Nothing can change either of us,” I said through a clenched jaw.
“One last thing, please,” he said.
I bit my cheek and walked back over to him, willing to hear his one last request.
“Can you pick me up, take me back to the ocean; I haven’t seen the sun rise in a while,” he said, sniffling.
I sighed. I didn’t want to be out in the open now. I could get him there before the sun was up and be gone.
“I’ll take you there, but I am not sticking around.”
He looked at me, still glum, but a bit of happiness hit him, enough to coax a small, sad smile. I picked Bryce up and put him under my coat one last time, taking extra precaution to face his mouth away from my body, and took him down the hillside to the ocean.
There were a few early cars on the highway once I reached it, but I was able to cross without being seen. I looked for a good place to set Bryce down. I could have tossed him on the closest seat and been done with it. I didn’t owe him anything. I didn’t feel compelled by anything decent or good. I did not feel like I needed to make up for anything. I was a killer, and I always would be.
I could have compassion at times, but this head, Bryce, who had tried to talk to me, to be my friend, to understand me. I didn’t want that. I didn’t need that. It wasn’t what fulfilled me. I suppose in the back of my mind I thought I could give it a shot, that the New Life was enough of a change that precipitated my need to change, to adapt, to be different. But how I had turned on Bryce, and how quickly I had turned on him, reminded me that I am not made to be around people. I am only made to hunt them. Their suffering does not make me happy, it does not appease me, nor does it make me feel sorry for them. It is nothing. They are nothing.
Nevertheless I looked for a clear spot overlooking the bay that was high enough for him to see the waters. I soon spotted one of those mechanical spy glasses with the dual eyes that you could look out onto the ocean with. It had a small pedestal next to it, enough for his head to rest on.
I opened my coat and let Bryce out, placing him on the pedestal. The faint blue was starting to open in the sky, and I could see Bryce better. He looked tired. Very tired. The part inside of me that others looked at despicably briefly hoped that he would expire. That enough time away from his body had drained the effects of the serum. But he was probably just tired from being up all night, tired from all of this. Tired for what was next to come.
He blinked his eyes and looked to the ocean. Looked to the horizon and the impending rising of the sun. The sun that gave new life to each and every day, each and every one. His brow furrowed and lips curled like he was going to cry. He didn’t look at me, only at the brightening haze of sky.
I decided that I didn’t need to say goodbye. I didn’t think that he would thank me, nor did I expect it. Our path together was departed. I turned to walk away. The streetlights were still on, and the few cars that had passed ten or so minutes ago were gone. But I saw some movement on the hillside, from the street where Bryce and I had come down.
The shape was human, but moved in a haphazard way, like it was unable to catch its balance. I squinted to try and see what it was and where it was going, and then I remembered the spyglass. I went back over to Bryce and twisted the face-like portal around. There was a loud clunk as the machine stopped against some metal brace that kept it from turning the entire way around.
The rich folk up the hill probably had something to do with that, not wanting the average citizen to be able to see up their skirts.
“What in the devil are you doing?” Bryce said with a scowl on his face. “Just leave me in peace already.”
But I wasn’t listening. I looked through the glass and was just able to see up the street to where I had seen the movements coming from. Moving down the hill was the disheveled corpse of Bryce. A headless mass of winding arms and legs; how it made it down the hill was beyond me.
“It can’t see where it’s going,” I whispered to myself, my morbid curiosity taking hold.
“What’d you say? And again, why are you still here?” Bryce cajoled me.
But I kept looking through the lenses. Somehow the body flailed to the ground level, and I lost it behind the benches and railings that kept traffic from accidentally mauling into a crowd of ocean gazers.
“Damnit!” I said and took off.
“Where the, what the hell!” Bryce yelled after me.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. As I neared the road I caught a glimpse of Bryce’s body again and saw it struggling against one of the railings. I moved quicker, needing to know what was compelling it forward and how. The body freed itself from the railing and started to cross the street.
“Oh shit….” I said, both with bits of trepidation and joy.
I couldn’t see any oncoming lights, but that didn’t mean that the body was free and clear. I rushed closer to it, coming within a few hundred feet. It crossed the center line and I looked back over my shoulder. No cars coming. He -It, was going to make it.
The body crossed the street and stubbed its toe on the lifted curb, stumbling in the process, but somehow staying upright. I stood there, dumbfounded, as the body ambled towards me. It was moving at a reckless pace, even for something with eyes. But, eyeless or not, it kept a straight, ish, line along the sidewalk.
It was nearing quickly now and I moved to the side to see it wander past. Within five feet the body took a sharp turn and lowered its shoulder into me, sending me flying backwards into the railing along the curb. I crashed into the railing and the air crashed out of my lungs. The body seemed to slow after that, moving less erratically, somehow it seemed… satisfied.
I got up and rubbed my lower back, moving behind the corpse body of Bryce. It had nearly reached his head, but Bryce could not quite see himself yet. The body reached out for its head, and I could hear Bryce startle. I am not sure if it was joy, not sure he entirely realized what was happening.
I slowly walked over to where they both were. The body holding the head in its arms, giving it a hug. What a strange life. Bryce said something to the body, and the body started in realization; somehow the two parts had communicated with each other. It placed Bryce back on top of the stump of a neck and arranged him in place. How it did this was amazing, and I had no clue what to expect now.
I was within fifteen feet from them, now, and, feeling the pain in my back, I stopped, deciding it might be the best course to look from afar. Bryce was…complete, now, but he still was not quite right. He looked at me and I looked back at him. Then the body raised his head up once more and I could see a goo-like substance starting to form at the base of his neck and at his head. The goo started to writhe and reach towards its other half.
The body moved the head down again, re-adjusting the fit once again, and the goo pulsed along the slice where I had chopped off his head only a few hours ago. The goo thickened and pulsed again, writhing and moving around in a ring along the severed portion of skin. It stretched up to Bryce’s chin and down around his collar bones. Then it started to shrink and subside, moving internally. The cut sucked in all of this fleshy goo. The slice was now unrecognizable as the goo vanished completely.
There was a moment where his eyes fluttered and his upper body trembled, but that was gone in an instant. He looked at me again and raised his arms to eye level. The bastard grinned like he had just won the lottery, and by all means he had; he was alive and whole again.
I couldn’t help but grin myself.
We looked at each other in silence for what seemed like minutes. As we did, the sun started to come up over the horizon. The yellow flecks of light breached the sky before the round orb made its full presence known. We looked over at the light and then back at each other. His grin had faded, as had mine. We were at opposition again. I could see that our time together was now officially over.
I turned to leave once again, feeling the aching in my body as the morning light started to illuminate all of the night’s transgressions. I didn’t say goodbye and I didn’t look back. But from over my shoulder I heard Bryce say one last thing.
“Don’t try and kill me again!”
I grinned once more and I could tell he was too.
Dane Mallahan 