Hot Revenge Box Set 4

Chapter 52

Klempner

What's the obsession with potatoes?

I called her Potato Face when she was a kid.

What does she look like now?

Jenny was no looker at that age…

… But she matured. Bloomed.

Juliana... Never the same twice.

I scratch at my beard. I’ve never liked facial hair in hot climates, but I don’t have a choice right now. Even so, the flourishing colony of lice that has stowed aboard adds an extra edge of irritation.

Lice…

Where the fuck did they come from?

Can rat lice live on humans?

Having a fucking good go at it…

I catch one, squeezing the revolting thing between my fingernails. It bursts with a Pop!

Only another 999 to go…

*****

The boredom’s the worst. Endless hours. Endless days and nights. I’ve no idea how long.

The only breaks in the monotony are Juliana’s visits: just long enough to sit, eat something at me, toss a potato at me.

No, not Juliana: Solana.

Why's she so obsessed with the name?

How many names have I used over the years? Worn like a suit of clothes to be discarded when the weather changes and something different is needed.

I’ve never been defined by my name.

But she sees it differently…

Something skritches and I jerk a look sidelong

It’s a rat…

Just a rat…

down gunmen, soldiers,

It’s just a rat…

openings, more scratching. And a

you gaze long enough into an abyss,

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

come equipped with fists and feet. Between us, we settle

*****

you know what Stockholm syndrome

her lunchbox, unwrapping one

a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms

saying you're getting attached to

tilts. She pretending mockery, but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to empathise

“So?”

your

my friend?” The napkin produces a brigadeiro. A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round

why do you keep coming

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a little open.

all you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.”

you. I assume you do want me to

of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far as

I continue. “Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else

her head, giggling. “So, you're my friend

save you, Larry? You believe you're worth saving? That there's anyone out there who thinks you're worth it? The daughter you had slated as a sex-slave when she was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right

back in her seat, arches her brows.

“Did I say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?” I raise my gaze again, look into her face. “Have you

“Solana…” she hisses.

of it dropping just this side of that painted line, now less than white. Even under the heavy make-up, her colour has changed. White-faced, white-lipped, scarlet spots at her

heel, she stalks

in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with the other before, with a click, the light winks out and I'm

adjust to the green blink of the camera. It hardly matters. My attention is on the

untouched, only a single bite taken from the corner. And I

not eaten anything like this for…

For how long?

I’ve no idea. Weeks? Months? My sense of time is out of

had a

in a mouthful of empanada, then another, I ram

wrong way and

barf it up, where it plops in a saliva-coated mess

The Novel will be updated daily. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

Comments ()

0/255