Time & Space (Short Fiction Collection Vol. 2) (12 page)

“You can scratch another one off, Simon old boy,” he whispered under his breath in case another passenger might be listening. “Haven’t lost a step, have you?
Nope
, not a step!”

** TRY PICKPOCKETING AGAIN **

After updating his list, Simon rode the rest of the way in contented silence, excited about the progress he was making and longing to get back to his razor later tonight. So far, things were going great. Perfect, in fact. This was quickly turning into the best day of his whole miserable life.

Simon exited the downtown bus when he spotted a car rental agency on Central Avenue. It was an Avis dealership and Simon had no trouble renting a car using a credit card out of the wallet he’d stolen from the bearded man earlier. By 3:05 p.m. the paperwork was complete and Simon was pulling out of the lot in a Ford Mustang GT. The car was brand spanking new, British racing green, standard transmission, fully loaded, and handled like a dream. He’d always wanted a racy new sports car like this to cruise around the city in but the stagger price had made it impossible. Hell, he couldn’t have even afforded the gas to run it, never mind all the other costs associated with owning a vehicle. Money wasn’t a problem today though. Today it hadn’t cost him a cent.

As soon as he was out of the dealership’s view, Simon slammed the accelerator to the floor, testing to see what the Mustang had under the hood. It had a
lot
, rocketing Simon forward like a bullet fired from a gun. For the next hour and a half he tore all over the city, zipping in and out of traffic relishing an exhilarating feeling of reckless abandon.

Joy raced through his veins matching step for step with the raw horsepower of the magnificent engine revving beneath him. Simon rolled down the window and screamed at the top of his lungs, “I hate myself… and I hate this whole
fucking
world,” not caring who heard him. God he felt great. Fantastic even! It was as if his decision this morning to finally end it all had somehow released him from decades of bitterness, anxiety, and frustration. He owed it all to his list he’d made, this one glorious day of not caring about anything. Today his only rule was anything goes and to hell with anyone who tried to get in the way. This was
his
day, his one last chance to let it all hang out and finally live life on the edge. He floored the accelerator again and shot off down the boulevard determined to make the most of his opportunity while it lasted.

He pulled over and parked for supper around 6:15, but his south of the border extravagance at lunch, delicious as it had been, caused Simon to bow out of anything too harsh on his already tender tummy. A big steaming bowl of thick chicken noodle soup and a fresh garden salad rounded out his evening meal. Not exactly the classic ‘
last supper
’ by any means, but it was delicious and filling just the same. Besides, he didn’t have time to wait in line at some overly busy, swanky five-star restaurant. He had his precious list to complete and time was running short.

** JOYRIDE IN SPORTS CAR **

Simon put away his pen after updating the list, paid his bill, and bolted for the front door. He cruised around town, killing time until 9:15 p.m. when he drove into the older section of the city and eventually pulled the Mustang to the curb and parked on Church Street. This dimly lit street was famous for one reason and one reason only –
girls!
Lots of pretty and not so pretty, scantily clad ladies trolled the sidewalks on both sides of the road here. They were friendly girls, always ready, willing, and able to show a man a good time – for a fair price, of course.

Simon was eyeing up three girls who were strutting back and forth past his passenger side window, showing of their wares. Simon liked what he was seeing, his heart thumping rapidly within his chest at the prospect of fulfilling the next item on his list.

** SLEEP WITH A HOOKER **

He was still finding it hard to believe that he’d actually scribbled that down on his list but then again, why not? Why feel weird about wanting some company on his last night on earth? He’s always been a lonely man who’d lived a hard life; it was perfectly natural for him to want a little female pleasure tonight.

His resolve and confidence strengthened, Simon lowered his passenger side window and waited for one of the girls to stop and approach him. He wasn’t all that fussy which of the ladies of the night came to talk to him, and part of him was worried they’d all think he was too ugly and run away. Naturally, that didn’t happen, and the girls didn’t make him sit and wait long, one of them putting a big fake smile on her face and trotting over to lean in the window.

She was very tall, her legs so long she had to bend at the waist to peer inside. This posture caused her dark curly hair to hang straight down but not down enough to conceal her rather incredibly large breasts from Simon’s view. He stared at them unabashedly while the call girl held her pose, pretending she wasn’t standing bent over just for this reason. Reluctantly Simon pulled his eyes from her chest and looked up at her face. She had a rather plain face but her eyes were a beautiful shade of dark green. She was pretty, sure, but nothing to write home about. Simon liked that about here though – if she’d been too pretty he might have been too intimidated to see this through. He was nervous enough as it was.

“How you doing tonight, handsome?” she coyly asked, sensing his approval.

“Better now,” Simon said, grinning as the dark haired woman climbed into the Mustang’s new leather bucket seat beside him. “
Much
better!”

Sex between them was surprisingly good. Simon had been pretty sure he’d botch it up one way or another but amazingly he hadn’t. Darla, the name the woman had given him, had taken him to a rundown little hotel conveniently located right around the corner that she obviously frequented often. It wasn’t the dirty, seedy place Simon had imagined but it was close. The room had fairly clean sheets on the queen sized bed and that was about the best that could be said about it.

Darla had sensed his nervousness and had quickly taken over things to the point where Simon only needed to hang on tight and enjoy the ride. His pumped up ego thought she
might
even have had an orgasm near the end.

“Yeah, you’re a real stud, Simon ol’ boy,” he said, laughing after Darla had headed for bathroom to take a quick shower.

As soon as he heard the water running, Simon rolled out of bed and removed his list and pen from his pants pocket on the floor. Naked still, he made note of his sexual conquest, feeling incredible for the first time in years.
Decades
maybe. Even better, he realized that he had nearly completed all of the items on his list. There were only two more things written in bold at the bottom of the page, the last of which was obviously about Simon getting back home in time to slit his wrists. That meant there was only one last item to take care of before he could head on home to his fill himself another hot bathtub. One last regret and Simon could finally die in peace. His happy smile froze on his face, then disappeared altogether when his eyes scanned down to the second last item written on the page.

“
No…
it can’t be!” Simon whispered, hardly capable of uttering a sound, shocked that it still read the same thing the second time he read it.

** MURDER THE FILTHY SLUT **

How could he have written such a thing? For the life of him, Simon couldn’t even remember doing it. What had he been thinking? He must have temporarily lost his mind, gotten caught up somehow in the frenzied preparation of the list and…

“…No,” he spoke out loud; probably
too
loud. “That wasn’t it at all.”

Deep down he knew he’d included it on the list because murder had always been something he’d wondered about.
Fantasized
about. Simon wanted to know what it would be like to kill someone, to stare into their terrified eyes as their life slipped away by his hands. What would it possibly be like? It was a fair question, actually; one a whole lot more ‘
normal
’ people had asked themselves than would care to admit. It was only morality, and of course the fear of getting caught, that kept the majority of people from indulging in their hidden homicidal tendencies. Deep down in nearly everyone’s heart, buried within our primal core, the seed of murder existed but usually it remained dormant. It took rejection, suffering, frustration, jealousy, or just plain old hatred to germinate the seed. All that was needed then was the proper window of opportunity and
wham
– another killer was born!

Simon had been rejected. He’d suffered. He’d been frustrated and jealous but most of all, he’d hated. God, how he’d hated! From his abusive father, to his jail keepers, to that lesbian social worker bitch who he’d been stupid enough to try and love.

Simon chewed nervously on his thumbnail as an inner turmoil raged within him. He could acknowledge to himself that deep down he had the
desire
to kill someone but the real question was whether or not he had the
guts
for it. Wanting to kill was a whole different ball game than actually going out and really doing it.

One thing was for sure; Simon was sick and tired of being a coward. He’d been pushed and shoved and backed into more corners in his life than he cared to remember. It was time to stop being scared all the time. After all, wasn’t that exactly what this last day of fulfilling regrets was supposed to be about? One last day to live on the edge and do whatever it was that he wanted to.

…And Simon
really
wanted to murder the filthy slut!

He had the straight razor out of his supply bag and into his hand before he could recall making the conscious decision to do so. Staring at the shiny thin blade, Simon was shocked that it had even been in with the rest of his supplies. He couldn’t remember packing it this morning but was nonetheless glad that he had. It felt good in his hand. Better than good –
great!
This was the same razor he was going to end his own life with later on tonight; it only seemed fitting to give it a little warm up session – a taste of things to come, so to speak.

Murdering Darla, or whatever her
real
name was, turned out to be far easier than Simon had believed possible. He simply pushed his doubting conscious aside, confidently stepped into the bathroom, and slit her throat ear to ear from behind as she was toweling off. Several thick arcs of crimson splattered the cheap plastic shower curtain and a virtual river of gore rained down onto the cracked tile floor, but with Darla facing away from him hardly a single drop spilled onto Simon. The woman dropped to the floor at his feet, her body reflexively convulsing, looking quite a bit like she was still trying to dry off, her body not yet aware she was already dead. A few gurgling squeaks and frothy red bubbles continued to burst out of her throat wound but in less than thirty seconds she lay perfectly still.

Even in death, Simon thought her eyes were still very beautiful.

My god, I’ve actually done it,
Simon thought.
I’ve killed her!

After updating his list and getting dressed, Simon watched a little television while wrestling with the torrent of conflicting emotions that were racing through his mind. He felt nauseous and ashamed that he’d robbed a human being of their life but on the other hand he also felt powerful and elated that he’d finally found the guts to follow through with something. He finally decided the positive feelings outweighed the negative. Besides, he didn’t have to worry about a guilty conscience haunting him – he wasn’t going to live long enough for that.

Thinking about how much time he had left made him curious what time it was. When Simon checked his watch he was stunned to learn it was 11:09 p.m. already. “My god!” he cried in panic, having had no idea it was getting so late. “I have to be home by midnight. I
have
to!”

This had been by far the best day of Simon Taylor’s life and he wanted it to be perfect right to the end, exactly as he’d planned. The list was very important to him. It wasn’t just a scrap of paper anymore; it had taken on more and more of a spiritual quality as the day had progressed. The thought of not completing the last item in time was something Simon didn’t even want to consider. It was completely
unacceptable.

“Please let me make it home in time,” Simon shouted to the heavens as he raced across the hotel parking lot to jump in his rented car. “Don’t let me screw this up. Not this time… not tonight!”

He gunned the Mustang’s engine for all it was worth, laying twin tracks of black rubber all the way to the first corner. His apartment was clear across the city and even though traffic was lighter than usual at this time of night and he was driving a powerful sports car, he wasn’t sure if he could make it in time. It was going to be close; that was for sure.

Simon drove like a man possessed for the next thirty-five minutes, running red lights and swerving around slower cars and trucks whenever he came across them. He ditched the care about a block and a half from his apartment, spotting a parking spot and grabbing it just in case there was nowhere to park on his own block. It was quicker to run than to try and double back. And run he did, literally sprinting for his front steps, moving as fast as his fat, out of shape body could go. When he finally burst into his apartment he was gasping for breath and sweating like a pig. He nearly tripped over the pile of unread mail and newspapers on the floor but somehow managed to stay on his feet. The hands on the large pendulum clock on the living room wall pointed to 11:56.

There might still be enough time.

Renewed hope surged through him, giving his exhausted body the energy to carry on. Simon ran for the bathroom, tossing articles of clothing all over the place in his haste to get undressed. He turned on both water taps full blast and finished removing the rest of his clothes. He had to return to the living room to dig his straight razor out of his supply pack that he’d dropped by the door. He paused an extra few seconds to look once more at his beloved list, which had brought him such unexpected happiness today. The only item not crossed off yet glared at him from the bottom of the page.