Boundaries by Wright T.M

Author:Wright, T.M. [T. M., Wright]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 2010-12-05T05:00:00+00:00

SIX

Anne Case’s killer often remembered the moment of her death. And when he did, it was with great regret, because her death had happened with such numbing swiftness.

He had not wanted it to be so quick. It had been like turning out a light. He wanted to enjoy her, her agony and her confusion. He had been entitled—she had entitled him. But, as was often said of orgasm, the whole thing had been an anticlimax.

It could not be helped, though. It had been the luck of the draw, the twist of fate—it had happened the way it had happened and nothing would ever change it.

He could take what pleasure he could from what had happened. But what had happened was so very unimpressive—life metamorphosing into death over the period of a moment or two. No confusion; No agony.

In his mental replaying of these moments, he sometimes had Anne Case turn and face him and he imagined that her face was twisted with fear. But that was ultimately unsatisfying because he knew that it was a fiction. It was more satisfying to keep her mentally turned away and imagine that her face, hidden from him, had been twisted by fear. Logically, it could have been no other way. If he had been in her shoes, fear would have paralyzed him. He would have had no choice but to surrender to whatever the moment had in store.

But he had known her and he knew now that fear simply could not have entangled her the way he had so desperately wanted it to. Fear already wrapped her up and entangled her from within, and had for decades. How could he hope to bring it to her from without? He had been aware of that, he realized now, even as he had watched from inside her closet as she tended to her damned plant.

He had even known it when he had raped her and she had simply watched him do it. Christ, he had nearly killed her then. How could she have simply watched him? It was unnatural!

But it was too bad that she was dead. She had been a good plaything. She had brought him pleasure. She’d bouyed him up and had shown him what a class act he was, had confirmed it for him. Certainly she was a discriminating woman. It was obvious even in the way she furnished her house—with sturdy utilitarian pieces.

She was no one’s fool.

But neither was he. She had proven it. She had not made a fool of him.

Except, perhaps, in the way she had died.

But it had not been her choice. It had been the luck of the knife. The slant of her back and the luck of the knife. She was too thin, the knife a centimeter too long. Perhaps if she had not been bending over. Perhaps in bending over she had brought her heart closer to the point of the knife. It was reasonable.

And he was a reasonable man.

~ * ~

David, lying on his back, hands at his sides, his head against the trunk of a fallen tree, was aware that he was naked.

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