He spins the golden liquid in the glass before speaking “Have you ever, like once, have the feeling that you’re not really who you’re supposed to be, then maybe I guess you know, that a path is shown to you, like an inevitable truth or something? I stood there in the dark room scared, I was scared, I never killed anyone before, I was the kind of person, or maybe I still am, that would catch the moth and set it free.” he stares at the lights above for some time then continues. “I remember breathing, than telling myself not to breath so hard, like when you’re a kid and realize you can control your breathe, so you panic, afraid that you’ll just stop, but then you let that tiny part in the back of your head take over again and you notice that some things are just not in your control.” He takes another drink from his glass and bites his lip. I grab the bottle and pour some more in his glass. “Thanks, it’s funny I never really liked drinking very much, but it feels right, like the thing I should be doing. Well, I crept my way to the door, the radio plays from the lounge, I follow the sound, gripping the dagger tight around my fingers. The door was cracked, I remember that well. He spun her around, they danced, like a dance of victory as the radio person spoke. My mother’s toes and feet slipped and slid across the floor as he spun her. They had a glow over their happy faces. I push the door open slowly, like one of the guys that dress in black and stuff. I slipped my way into the room without being noticed.” He smiles a satisfied smile. “They didn’t hear me, nope, not until it was too late for them. The dagger was bright like it had its own light as it stuck out of his neck. There was so much blood, it poured everywhere and onto everything. My mother screamed, she doesn’t try to help him, no, she just turns and tries to run. I catch the end of her long black hair as she turned. I remember how soft it felt between my fingers. I pull hard as hell and she crashes down next to my father. She begged me, like if she didn’t know her crimes like she was innocent or something. I think maybe now, that she didn’t know what she was capable of, but maybe it’s better that she didn’t…” His voice returns to a shake as his face goes pale. “I have her underneath me, she tries to claw or move her way out of the end. With my free hand I take the dagger and pull it from my father’s neck, some more blood pours out but not as much as before. Holding the dagger above her she cries, maybe I cried, someone cried… With whatever I have left in my tank I push the knife through the chest, through her breast, to her heart. She whimpered then like faded away, just away…” He finishes by wiping his the tears from his eyes.
My stomach twists and turns, the scotch and lack of anything to eat was ripping my insides. “So do you want a pizza?” I ask, somewhat bewildered by the words coming out of my mouth. “Yeah, that would be nice…” he says trying to get his tears hidden. “Alright, pepperoni okay?” I ask “Yeah, that’s good.” I make my way to my room. I find my phone tucked underneath my pillow next to the pistol. I pause staring at both for several seconds then just grab my phone. While walking back to the living room my eye catches my device sitting on the dresser.
There’s a knock at the door, then our bellies are full. We sit smoking our after dinner cigarettes when he asks “How do manage to keep it all together? Like isn’t this whole time thing confusing to you, and how do you feel like telling people about them?” smoke putters from his mouth as he finishes. “Well to be honest; I start with a general idea on how things will play out. I go through the number of the likely conversation I may have and figure out the proper responses. But to say that it generally works out the way I wanted it to would be a lie, I have gotten myself into a number of messes and some of them I care not to share with anyone. I believe Tom Waits once sang ‘I’ll tell you about my secrets but I’ll lie about my past…’ Sometimes I feel as if my secrets are my past and I should probably lie about them as well, or well just state matter-of-factly state that they never happened.” I drown the rest of my thoughts in my drink. “I once was told by someone to go back and kill some English child molester, they gave me the date time and everything. But I don’t know it just didn’t seem right or something like the house was vacant and everything was dusty… I take my dagger and think about home and suddenly I get another note about the same guy, same place, same everything, it didn’t make sense to me like there wasn’t anyone there. Well, I go back again and this time, I waited around, just waited around, for maybe two or four hours, just sitting there waiting when there’s a like muffled scream from above me. God damn place had a second floor. So I rushed up there to find the guy in the picture standing over a young dead girl, I think I lost it, no, yeah, I lost it. I stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. I Just kept putting my dagger in him till there wasn’t anything left to stab. I guess, yeah, I left. I got home cleaned myself up and there wasn’t any note or anything. I tried to figure out like how I would save that girl or something, but it was just too damn confusing. And well I don’t have a, what is it called, oh, an outlet like you to talk about these things. So yeah.” His eyes drift to the floor then up the wall which they stop at a small framed print. “That’s pretty, did you do it?” He stands to walk up to the encased piece of paper. “Oh no, that’s done by Corot, it’s one of my favorite pieces, Memory of Mortefontaine. I’ve always meant to get my hands on a real one, but at last what sits there is just a print.” I stand next him now, I watch his reflection in the glass as he stares at the girls next to the tree. “What is she reaching for?” He asks in a childish wonderment. “I believe flowers, but I really can’t be sure.” Now I too stare at the print trying my best to figure out the actions of the girls. “I never liked art anyhow.” he says as he turns away from the wall. “Too much confusing things.” I hear him sit on the couch again and pour two more glasses of liquor.
Some time passes and the night comes. We move outside as the house began to reek of cigarettes and spilt booze. “So tell my Eugene, why did you really come, why are you here?” I set my glass to the side of me. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, or you wouldn’t want to.” He looks away as he speaks as to try his best not to make eye contact. “Well give me a try.” I slip my device in between my fingers, a “just in case” I thought. “The Order isn’t happy about you, they say you mess too many things up. I’m supposed to take your time machine away.” His eyes connect with mine as he finishes. I tighten my hand around my device as he does his own. “I don’t want any trouble, I like you, but I have to, you know.” He’s standing now, closing the gap. “You don’t have to, we can work this out, just sit down and we’ll talk about this. It’s just…” in an attempt to back myself away my chair tips over and I fall with it. “We’re done talki..” the silver blade moves forward. I close my eyes.
To be continued.