His Room

Hopefully readable, as it is still under some little editing.

I skidded away from John's corpse, leaving a trail of bloody footprints after me. His body, slender and tall, lay spread-eagle on the floor: his clothes were torn from where I had stabbed him previously, and clotting blood covered the torn places like a growth of red fungi. A puppet without its wires, if you will. The former John had been wearing a disgusted frown throughout the stabbing, and so the corpse, too, looked like it was lying right next to a pile of dog-s**t. Although I didn't know why, there was something bothering in that frown: there shouldn't have been any, but it gave me an off feeling. I just couldn't make out what it was. His blood had already spread over a large radius, even managing to mar my black-and-white tweed coat, but now with decreasing speed. It was clotting quickly.

I had been told often that I was a good killer. Most particularly a woman, Jennifer, and my partner, Damian, had told me this. I always give them a nod and a smile, agreeing with them, but sometimes I do wonder whether I really enjoy my job. It's evident enough that I am a good murderer, but do I enjoy it? I don't think that I can answer that right now.

I remembered John's last words to me.

"Just you know, Alex, killing me isn't going to be easy."

The last words of John Ferret. I spat on them: John Ferret had been a pedophile, one of the worst I had ever heard of. That is to say, he had done a lot of it.

 There was a huge, robust glass window in the room. It let in some meagre moonlight. I walked over to it and saw the Broadway opening before me, framed by street lamps, city blocks and skyscrapers; it was like one of those airport lanes from where all the planes embarked into the sky, all lit up with lights like a huge estrade. I was pretty much out of view up here, as it would've taken some serious looking-at to spot me, but I still speculated on what the random passersby would've seen had he or she had the sudden inspiration to look at that window. Our generic chum would've seen a man clad in a bloody black-and-white tweed coat, a long-bladed dagger and some sweet jeans, most probably. I couldn't know whether someone was watching me through the smaller windows that dotted smaller blocks to either side of the Great White Way, so it was left to my imagination to decide what could possibly happen. I would've taken a picture, sent it to a local newspaper and settled back to enjoy the show: people always liked tragedy. Even this murder would probably become very popular.

John Ferret, on the other hand, would've simply went in and stroke a deal with the guy. That simple, really, except that the poor fellow would've ended up hooked in heroine or coke.

Showing an ordinary salesman's face to the public, Ferret's real job had involved a much higher level of payment than the few thousands he got from his cover-up job; he had been dealing in drugs. By personal stupidity - or by chance - our people had discovered his address and real name: his buddies, the drug-users, had left us the address of one of his drug-sellers. From that point on it had been easy to follow the chain of command higher up the branches, until we finally reached Ferret. And now that I thought about it... he had been a pretty big boss in drug business. Had he been too confident about staying hidden for an eternity? Perhaps he hadn't had the assets to pull up sufficient security? Neither of them really felt right or logical. It felt unnatural, unnatural in the sense as though someone had explicitly told the guards to be away. Or hiding.

I had the sudden inspiration to look at Ferret's corpse again, this time paying attention to the expression. That expression, so imbued with fear and hatred, so wrought and beaten, now suddenly hid another expression altogether. Under those layers of pain and hatred, I could see the beginnings of a maniacal smile forming on his dead lips. I knew that he was dead - it couldn't have happened after the last time I looked at him - but now I knew exactly what had ticked me off about that expression.

I recoiled out of sheer disgust and looked about; the room spun in my head, my train of thought disrupted by sudden movement. I no longer felt secure or fearless. I felt anxious and wrought with fear of what was to come. I walked over to the door, checking if it was shut: it was. It was tightly shut, but its hinges were not in as good of a shape. That's it about the door, then. It wouldn't hold. That's it. Our plan had just crumpled into dust, destroyed by a dead man's schemings. Despite all the odds now piling up against me, I felt some little awe for his ingenuity to come up with such a plan. It didn't stop me from trembling, though, as I began to hear sounds from outside the room.

My thoughts were disrupted as a bright flash of panic shot up my veins. I felt the room reverberate vigorously, as though it was being thrown around by a giant, and I clutched my dagger instinctively until my knuckles turned all white. I thought I could hear someone screaming outside. I suddenly felt at a loss, numbed, bound to that room: I knew what had struck me. Another panic attack. They never became easier, and you never got used to them: when they came, you'd be helpless. I tried to brace myself for the impact, which would evidently come very soon, but was cut off before I could. And then I truly felt helpless; the tide swept over me, pulling me under.

A horrifying sensation passed over me, a wave of immeasurable heat running me through. I felt like I was burning to the bone, and I screamed violently until all the breath had left my lungs. When the sensation was gone, I gasped wildly, unprepared. Not ready to face this now.

I opened my eyes to a whole different sight. I could smell my burned flesh in the air. The hair at the back of my neck stood up, and just when I thought it was over, a cold wind brushed my cheeks and began to seep into me. I felt my muscles freezing tight, locking me in place, and the worst of it was that I could only watch... I could only watch as my body froze, taking a lifetime to complete, and I screamed...

When I was completely frozen, when my last thoughts of life began to escape me, there came another sensation. A quick flicker before my eyes, blinding me, and then I could not see the material world anymore.

Something hot dripping down my back... I woke up to it. Slowly the dripping began to increase, like water poured from a pipe when you washed your hands. But I just knew that this wasn't water... it was thicker, almost solid, and I felt it burn a path through my back as it ran down into the abyss. A whole river of fire running down into the horrible abyss, I imagined. These must've been what the Gates of Hell looked like, I thought, but not before I found myself peering down into the endless caverns. It locked my gaze and held it fully, until the sour gases that came from within began to moisturize my eyes... but I couldn't turn my gaze away. I began to feel something liquid running down my face, but I couldn't see what it was... but from how it sounded(and felt) like, it could not have been anything else than...

Flicker.

Now I thought I stood by the gates of Heaven. It felt so random, so forced out of me, that I couldn't do anything; I could only watch as St. Peter, an expression of disappointment forever imprinted in his features, pointed one long, gaunt finger at me. I tried to talk, but then I suddenly realized the exact purpose of his gesture. From the suddenly illuminated skies, a blinding bolt of lightning struck me fast; I felt my body burn, melt and dissipate in seconds...

Flicker.

I was running at something, slashing away wildly with my dagger. I couldn't see anything, but I continued the slashing; I knew that if I just continued doing it, I would eventually hit something. I knew it as well as I knew my own pockets, you could say. Suddenly I struck something. It sent me stumbling backwards, unable to see a thing, and the dagger remained in the thing I had struck...

Flicker...

I was back at his room.

Panic attacks. I had had them since my childhood, but they had never gotten better with time. You could never shrug off one of these.

I knew that it was just an overflow of adrenaline in my body, but I couldn't deny that this experience had been... more. It wasn't anything like my previous attacks; there had never been any visions involved, or not in such a manner. I couldn't make myself believe that this attack had not harmed me. It had felt too real...

Going over something that I barely understood didn't make things any better. I could think on my own, and that was at least a little comforting. But now I was fearing for another attack. That was not a beautiful though: the next one would kill me.

Clinging to my last hope vigorously, I walked over to the window and looked down at the crowded streets. Wait, that was just my imagination. They could only barely be called crowded. No police cars, like I had feared; no huge mobs of people awaiting for my conviction. Simply the people behind the door. They probably numbered six or more, so I had as little chance of killing them all as I had of surviving a jump down. I turned back towards the door.

Adrenaline and fear ruled my decisions. Either way, I'd probably die - give or take? Another crash at the door, and this time the hinges nearly gave way. They'd force their way in at the next one.

I looked at the door as though I could see through it if I only tried hard enough. Glancing at the window again, I took a testing step. There was only room for a few, and I’d probably have to break the window first, too. Before I could take any more steps, however, the final crash came. Seconds later the door was kicked open by a large man, no, a true mountain of meat, his face marred by a scowl that promised death. I reached the window with one quick stride - it was almost man's height, robust and massive - and kicked it open just as another man, not as muscular as the first, shouldered his way through the doorway and started for me.

I glanced over my shoulder, eyes widening slightly as the other man drew closer with each step, drawing a large army knife from his belt. He looked like the hero type, going for a duel of blades with the evil villain. I reacted as long years of experience had taught me.

I leaned my body to the right and moved my dagger to intercept his first blow. The daggers clashed, but before I could utilize the situation, he crashed into my unstable body, sending us both staggering away from each other. While I had easily regained my balance, my opponent had not been so lucky: his flight had taken him towards the window, where he now tried to frantically pull himself up without looking at the long fall. I kicked him out of the building.

I turned around, accompanied by the first man's panicky cries. I hadn't barely been able to raise my dagger, before another fellow crashed on me. I fell heavily on the floor.

That mountain of meat was suddenly scrambling on top of me, releasing guttural shouts, locking me on the floor like a helpless puppy. For a moment I fought with him, desperately trying to fling him off before the end, but it was of no use. I couldn't fling a hundred kilos of meat around, and I never could've.

Suddenly the man just let go. His grip fell off from my wrist, and his eyes looked to be glazed. I realized that I had managed to put my dagger in his belly before he had crashed on top of me.

Standing up, sweeping dust off my coat, I turned to face the rest of the gang I was facing. Three other men with guns stood right in front of me, each one of them having their piece trained at a different body part, and behind them was a woman. She had her brown hair tied back, I noticed, and she looked tough enough to be a man.

"You're going to pay for that," she retorted dangerously. The three men eyed me murderously, though, unable - or just not willing - to hide their anger. I looked back, trying to match their hatred, but could not keep up with three. I soon turned my subdued gaze at the ground.

I looked past my captors, and suddenly I felt my dagger beginning to slip through my numbed fingers. I quickly looked away, instead concentrating on the closest gunman. His features were a mixture of hatred, anxiety, desperation and pleasure - a most unpleasant combination to see, when that expression was directed at you.

The group turned their weapons upside down, apparently aiming to beat me down with the butt-ends of their handguns. I backed down towards a far corner.

Three muffled shots rang in the air. Those who had had their guns trained at me, who had been about to knock me cold and take me with them, now lay dead on the floor. Each had a bullet put through their skulls.

Damian reappeared from behind the men and shot a furious glance at me. I picked up my dagger and stuffed it back in my pocket, as Damian began to rant.

"Explain up. What the hell happened here and who were those people?"

It was a corrupted voice, although I barely noticed: corrupted features, even, but my eyes hadn't been trained to see that. This man was made of a hundred percent of the same stuff, but I couldn't even realize it.

"I don't know. The f****r I killed had prepared a trap for me."

"You're bullshitting me."

"He wasn't dead when he did it. "

His gaze seemed to tell me that he doubted my words, so I continued: "No, he really did. Or then he knew about my arrival beforehand," I added for convenience.

"John was never intelligent. He probably knew about your coming beforehand, Alex."

"Indeed. But what you were doing? I could've used you a little earlier."

"I had to retrieve some money from a safe."

"How did it go?" I asked simply.

"As well as yours, of course," came the simple, sarcastic reply. He beckoned towards the doorway.

"Come. Let's go."

I could see what he was saying there. Leave or be caught in the act. No need telling which one I'd prefer.

Damian led me quickly out into the cool exterior, and neither of us talked throughout the short flight downstairs; the true conversation began when we reached the darker side alleys, where only lonely, half-mad lunatics could hear our scheming. That was the one detail I had never regretted about New York.

"As I said, don't feel bad for that lying prick, Alex," Damian said, laying his arm on my shoulder. "He's lied, gambled, robbed, even killed people... but never before had he had the nerve to f**k us up in a deal. He deserved it."

"I know, but it's not our deal. It's not really even our business. It's just our boss' money, her f*****g cash we had to retrieve and her f*****g pride we almost died for." Damian looked at me for a while and then shook his head. I saw that he was about to respond, but I cut him off mercilessly with the first question that came to my mind. "And you, did you really get everything?"

Damian looked at me odd-mannered for a long while, even slowing his pace, and glared at me. I pretended not to see, but he called my bluff easily. I turned to him as my only option.

"A--"

"I did, Alex." I looked at him in surprise. Apparently he had just been waiting for an opportunity to cut me off, as childish as it was. I knew he'd do this sort of stuff, but it still somewhat startled me to hear such things coming out of his mouth. He was my elder, after all.

Suddenly Damian stopped me and put his both arms on my shoulders. He locked my gaze, and I suddenly felt worried: it was like what he saw wasn't me, but my soul laid bare before him. True, I felt worried, but the worst of it was that I really thought he could see it. He could lay bare my soul by just looking... oh God. That glare was terrifying.

"We're here to serve, remember? ONLY to serve! Don't you start messing around like Hailey did, 'cause you will take my word for it - you're not a stupid f**k like he was! NOT A STUPID F**K, ALEX! OR ARE YOU?" 

I recoiled, and he let go of my shoulders. I lost my balance and stumbled backwards into the ground. Looking up at Damian, I could see he was walking towards me. His glare, cold and resentful, numbed my mind. I felt like I had to do something. He was going to kill me if I didn't. I fumbled desperately for my dagger, but my trembling hands slid harmlessly past the hilt. It was stuck, I realized.

"What's gone into you?", I cried desperately. "We were just talking!"

And now, if at any time, I was expecting him to hit me. Give me a taste of his Punishing Hammer of Justice. He walked closer to me, glaring furiously, and I crawled backwards, trying to avoid his stare. It was no use. He bent over me.

Suddenly his expression lightened, and his clenched fists quailed softly.

"Alex... I like you a little, so I'm giving you good advice, just so you know. You won't be getting yourself in trouble?", he asked, as if he wanted my word for it before he was convinced.

I thought my own expression softened a little, too. But my voice was hard.

"I promise, Damian."

Damian nodded and turned, striding fast through the darkened alleys: midnight was coming upon us. There could be street gangs on the move already. It was high time to be gone.

We moved fast, not stopping until we were safely back at our homes, away from all the commotion that would soon begin to plague the city as the bodies would be discovered. Both of us felt relieved, truthfully; relieved to be still alive and intact. But tomorrow, tomorrow she would call us. And we would have to answer, no matter what he or I thought about it.

Author's Note

What do you think of the overall feel of the story? Is it horror-like? Is the text flowing? Grammatical errors?

Reviews

[Felicity's Eve]

I feel like it still needs a little bit of editing, grammatical errors and a few spelling issues, but I like the theme of this.

The feel is thrilling and horror-like. The text was flowing as well, though a little disjointed in my opinion in just a few places.

I feel as if you could be just a tad bit more detailed, but overall, nice work! :)

[Mikael Malmberg]

Hey, thanks for the review!

Could you point out the places where the text felt disjointed? I could check them out :)

Also, what things should I be more detailed about?

[Felicity's Eve]

Sure. I'm out of time for now, so I shall let you know a little later. :)

[Mikael Malmberg]

I edited about half of the chapter. :)

[Felicity's Eve]

It looks a lot better. ^^

Great job!

[Mikael Malmberg]

Hey there :)

Thanks for your review. I edited the story now, added some sentences here and there and fixed the things that you requested I'd fix. I liked your suggestion(spread eagle), so I used it too.

As for the I, he parts - I think it was just me making it not look evident enough that I was referring to other characters. Alex is the main character, Damian is his partner and John Ferret the person who was killed.

I also could've left something unnoticed(like inconsistencies in the pronouns), so was it the above that you meant? Or was it just all around the place?

Thanks. :)

[Nienor Niniel]

By the I, he thing, I meant these sentences:

"I reached the window with one quick stride - it was almost a man's height - and kicked it open just as another man, not as muscular as the first, shouldered his way through the doorway and started for him."

"The three men eyed him murderously, though, unable - or just not willing - to hide their anger."

"and as the three men began to move towards him, Damian revealed himself."

"The men who had had their guns trained at him, who had been about to knock him cold, now lay dead on the floor."

"That smile was one of the filthiest smiles he had ever seen."

"started for him", "eyed him", "move towards him", "trained at him; knock him cold", "he had ever seen" -- do these all refer to the main character Alex?

I like all the changes you've made, by the way. :)

[Mikael Malmberg]

Hey, thanks for pointing those out. They were indeed referring to Alex. This problem occurred as I had to convert the story from third person mode into first person mode, but now it should be clean of those mistakes. :)

And thank you, I've put hours into editing the text over and over again. :)

[Nienor Niniel]

Yeah, that happens when you change the point-of-view of a story.

But, the good thing about editing is that the more you do it, the less time it takes, since you fix the things that you missed last time. Eventually, the things needing fixing decrease until there are none remaining. :p

[Nienor Niniel]

The beginning is intriguing and raises a lot of questions (Who are these men?; Why did one kill the other?; What's beyond the door?), which lead the reader to read the rest of this chapter and then the next (well, if it were there to be read). The description of the panic attack is rich, and then the action that follows finishes the chapter satisfactorily while not revealing the answers to the questions from the beginning.

As for any grammatical mistakes, there's an inconsistency in the pronouns used to refer the main character. Most times it's I, me; sometimes it's he, him.

"I skidded on the bloody floor where my adversary’s body lay limbs sprawled wide, like a puppet with its wires cut off, wearing something I could only identify as a frown of disgust."

There should be a comma between lay and limbs. You could use "spread-eagle" in the place of "limbs splayed wide". That's simply a suggestion, though.

"Placing my dagger in his heart had been easy enough, but the decision to do so not so much."

Place either a comma or a question mark after the first 'so', depending on how much of a pause you want to be there.

"I felt my muscles freezing tight, locking me in place, and the worst of it was that I could only watc..."

The word 'watch' is missing the final letter. :)

"It locked my gaze and held it fully, until the sour gases that came from within began to moisturize my eyes... but I couldn't turn my gaze away."

I'm not sure what you meant by 'moisturize'. Did the foul smell of the gases make his eyes start watering?

But, these are all small things. This chapter is a good chapter and a good opening for a story.