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

It’s just a rat…

the dark openings, more scratching. And

if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the

Who said that?

Nietzsche?

Depressing bastard…

come equipped with fists and feet. Between

*****

you know

something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from

psychological condition where, in a kidnap or hostage situation, the prisoner forms an attachment

“You saying you're

attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to empathise with

“So?”

your only friend,

A flake of chocolate cracks off the small round cake, dropping back into the napkin and

why do you keep

pauses in her chewing, mouth hanging a little

you wanted was to watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk my chin up to the blinking

feed you. I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always change that

come once a

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

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

was a kid? That middle-aged hooker? You've not changed, Larry. I can see right through you. The same heartless bastard that shipped me out to dig up potatoes for the rest of my life. Along with all the others you did the same

arms, sits back in her seat, arches her brows. “I am making

I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?”

“Solana…” she hisses.

says no more. Instead, she stands, the lunchbox tumbling from her lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some of it dropping just

on her heel, she

discarded meal from the filthy concrete, scrabbling to grab broken fragments of meat in one hand, a cake with

of the camera. It

bite taken from the corner. And I have half of a

anything like

For how long?

Weeks? Months? My sense of

had a

mouthful of empanada, then another,

goes down the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer

my scavenged meal, I barf it up, where it plops

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

Comments ()

0/255