Psycho-Paths by Robert Bloch

Author:Robert Bloch [Bloch, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Him, Her, Them

William F. Nolan

Him

He walked in darkness.

He was quite tall, with startling blue eyes and a sleek, strong body that he was proud of, that he worked on constantly, the way a mechanic works on the engine of a fine automobile. All the stomach muscles were sharply defined, and the biceps were terrific. (That’s what one of his women had told him: “You have terrific biceps.”)

He liked women, enjoyed the thrill he got out of them, but he didn’t respect them. Women were, by nature, cheats and liars, and you could never dare to trust one. They never say what they really mean. Men are usually more honest and direct. Real men, that is. It disgusted him to think of Rock Hudson. The rugged actor had been one of his top favorites, especially in Westerns. He liked Westerns. Lots of shooting but very little blood.

He hated blood.

Blood made him sick, the sight of it. You want to kill a chicken, you wring its neck. Hands are extremely effective instruments. Strong, muscled hands.

He had become very angry at Hudson when he found out that the Rock (the way he used to refer to him) was actually a homosexual. Doing it with other men! A real shock, finding out a thing like that about the Rock. Well, at least Hudson was dead now. God’s vengeance. The fruits of perdition. Ha! Double meaning there.

He didn’t actually believe in any particular God, just God in general. He could envision a kind of white-bearded old gentleman in a flowing robe seated on a golden throne with lightning bolts coming out of each extended hand, out of the fingertips. Blue and silver lightning that kills. Without blood. You don’t screw around with the Old Man.

He liked to walk at night. Darkness soothed him; it was soft and inviting. Really exciting things happen in the dark. Daylight was harsh and unforgiving; the sun stabbed at his pale blue eyes. (“You have eyes just like Paul Newman,” a woman told him at a motel in Detroit. She was really attractive, but quite stupid. And she’d doused herself with cheap perfume that made him want to throw up. But he got the thrill out of her, so it was okay. Getting the thrill was all that counted.)

He always wore his shades in daylight to protect his delicate eyes—but at night he was like a hunting cat; he could see extraordinarily well in the dark. One of his gifts. From the Old Man. From God. Ha!

He had weights in the back of his van and he worked out with them for at least an hour each morning. This way he was able to build muscle mass and maintain the basic strength of body necessary to survive. He needed strength in his arms to handle the big, cross-country rigs he’d driven. And in his shoulders and back for construction jobs. And in his legs for warehouse work. And in his hands. . .

Men are strong. Women are weak. His mother used to tell him that.

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