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…
more scratching. And
if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back
Who said that?
Nietzsche?
Depressing bastard…
comes equipped with teeth and whiskers. I come equipped with fists and feet. Between us,
*****
do you know what
Interest flickers over her eyes. She takes something from her lunchbox, unwrapping one of her usual dainties from a
a kidnap
saying you're getting attached
but I have her attention. “… But there's a reverse condition. It's called Lima syndrome, where the captor comes to empathise with
“So?”
I your only friend,
flake of chocolate cracks off the small
why do you
chewing, mouth hanging a
watch me rot, you have your camera there.” I jerk
I assume you do want me to feed you? We can always
that were the only reason, you could leave me a bag of potatoes and come once a week. Or even, once a month. But, so far
“Am I your only friend, Sola? Is that it? You've murdered everyone else
her head, giggling. “So, you're my
me, “You think someone's going to come and 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 through you.
her seat, arches her brows. “I am making
say otherwise? I'm not claiming to have changed. Who ever really changes?”
“Solana…” she hisses.
lap. The contents spill and scatter over the rancid concrete, some 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,
her heel,
of pain in my ankle as the chain snaps taut, I snatch up the discarded meal from the
camera. It hardly matters. My attention
taken from
eaten anything like this
For how long?
My sense of time is out
I had
then another, I ram the food
the wrong way and suddenly I’m no longer eating, but
barf it up, where
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