Haut gout (solo)

The green paper towel crumpled in his hands, as he vigorously rubbed them. Scraping off the skin, it hurt a bit, had become red now. Well it had been red before anyways. Not much difference there. Spoiled his hands that never saw the sun, never touched anything but rubber, leather. They had seen moonlight today, cool blue color on the skin. And more than a little blood, made black by the night light.

Rubbing it off, taking it off with all the vigor he could muster, water, soap, bleach. Murder. Bloody murder. A tasteless thing. A thing that made him wonder. How much of the thing under that skin was still human? How much had lost itself, had been cut away in the storm of time, blurring images of past and present. Scrubbing an rubbing he was in front of that broken mirror. Someone had written in black marker of the front. Several stickers were also there. 'Come and be saved', 'Death and metal', some others beside … His smile was reflected weakly shimmering in the silver pool that was an image of his face. There was a broken mirror here. Of all places.

He stopped the flow of water he had been using to clean himself up. Dropped the last green shreds that had been rectangular before into the trash bin. A pair of gloves followed, unceremoniously. The stranger left the public lavatory in the moonlight. As he had come, silently wandering. A ghastly image, painted red and black, was now looking ordinarily bleak. Blue eyes looked at the street. The people. Scanned them. Shoulders rising slightly, muscles knotting. I'm so small. So usual outside. Just don't wake the monster. Monstrous thoughts crossing. Nikolai. He wanted to say thanks to that man in a very personal, very permanent manner. Thanks for sending a killer to my house. Thanks for making me endanger all these kids. Thanks for waking up, what should never have been stirred.

Thanks Nikolai. Thanks for all eternity. Literally.

Wandering. Silvery lights in the streets. There was the metal frame of a pay phone, the neon bulb illuminating it was flashing slightly into the night. He entered, the faint smell of urea greeting him, that perfume of any public place unused and unsupervised. Some things were always left behind. They started to rot. Saying thanks personally might have to wait. There were things however he could do now. A small leather booklet found its way into his hand, words falling out like paper into his mind. The cypher... was no trouble. The phone was operational. The emptiness of the dialing tone greeting him as he lifted the receiver to fill the air with sounds.

A few buttons later, tones changed. “Yes?” The voice spoke business in its eastern European accent. Everyone who called this number knew whom they were calling. Or why. Everyone knew what to expect. It was assuring for both partners on the line. Both heads. “Thank you for the present. I thought your taste was better.” His own voice crackled through the lines, cables underseas, to leave, but slightly distorted, the lines for another ear. Young voice speaking. In that tone, conversational, that hinted at the mountain of ice that was grinding a world to halt behind it, making the effort to turn youth into stone. Timeless stone. That face that could barely contain everything and froze in the effort. There was a long pause. A deep breath that was taken. “I find it regrettable that you do not share my tastes. I will have to find something more suitable for you then.” “I wonder whether you can find anything remotely interesting. But I invite you to try to surprise me.” He. Would. Suffer. The words burned in his mind with the cold, controlled fury he allowed himself as an emotion rarely. Never he loosened the grip on that part of himself. Or nearly never. Too much danger. He knew that his ivory flesh shone white against the black plastic piece pressed against his earlobe. To hell with restraints. When I will meet him. “I hope I can, but I enjoy a challenge here and there.” “Sometimes they help you grow, sometimes they make you fall. Just be aware tat you stand at the top of a very high cliff.” If only... “Goodnight Nikolai. Enjoy yourself.” The youthful voice from half across the earth proclaimed through the electric current.

Later, Nikolai. We shall see each other later. And then... you will wish that I did everything to you I did tonight. Murder... was not tasteless. That bitterness at the end of your throat; it did not go away after just a few hours. It remained to have a taste of you. Forever.