The Pale Locksmith

CHAPTER 22: THE PREPARATION FOR THE NIGHT

As the Locksmith chewed grimly through his meal of burnt bread and burnt chicken, he consoled himself that at least he had not attacked either of his visitors. It had taken every last crumb of his willpower to do this and had left him feeling drained. The burning in his throat was raging more than ever. After every awful morsel of food had been consumed, he went scavenging around the kitchen for more. A fruitless task, that was followed by the drinking of as much water as he could manage before he collapsed onto the bed. Lying as still as he could so as to minimise the sloshing sounds from within him, he considered his next move.

His body, so used to the routine he had worked so hard to cultivate and maintain, was letting him down in a way he had never felt before. He knew his stomach was full, but already he felt like he needed more, as if what he had just eaten and drunk had vanished to nothing inside him. He knew what his body craved, and he knew he had to get it soon. As he lay there, he shoved his hands under his armpits to try and stop them from shaking. As soon as it got dark, he would have to go out again.

The rest of the day passed moment by moment. With little else that he was able to do, he lay down feeling sorry for himself. He wondered if he would turn to stone as the legends told of; by now he was not sure he was bothered what happened to him. Usually he did not want death, his survival instinct was always too strong. Still, at times like this, being alive was really not much fun.

The only reason he had managed to survive so far in this new life without being caught was his self-control. It had always been there, even before the change. His natural disposition, combined with overbearing maternal expectations, meant that he had grown to always hide his emotions, fearful they would be seen as a weakness. The way he had behaved since his life had changed was merely an extension of that. He had forced himself to create a mask of normality, something which enabled him to get close enough to people to do what he needed to do. But occasionally cracks had started to appear in the mask; not yet enough to shatter it, but enough to give onlookers a little glimpse of the true self hiding behind. And now, it was taking all his strength to stop himself from simply walking outside and taking what he needed from the first person who came across his path. He kept telling himself he needed to wait, for when the black of night arrived, he could steal out unseen to do what he had to.

* * *

"Rance! What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, hello Rippos. How was the morning?"

"What were you doing with that body?"

"I was just having a look."

"You were examining it."

"Was just having a look."

"Rance, why are you even here? Again."

"I was just in the area, I thought I would drop in."

"But why?"

"Why not? Where is the guy you work with – Whitebone?"

"He has gone home."

"Okay. Well, I will keep you company then. Many guests?"

"Just that girl you were touching."

"Rippos, I was just seeing how she died."

"Right."

"I was not doing anything strange."

"If you say so. Listen, I have a lot to do, so I think you should go."

"Fine. Sorry, Rippos. See you soon."

"I hope not."

* * *