Sinister

Chapter 2

As Henry, or Harry, or whatever his name was laid in bed, in a fragile sleep, I was having second thoughts. I never once felt sympathetic towards the dismembered figures that were my handiwork, but when it came to the someone like Henry, I surprisingly couldn't imagine ending his life. Like previously mentioned, I have never killed an innocent person, and I had never really planned to, not until Henry came in with the new development that meant my demise.

I mentally paced back and forth, not realizing how hard it would be to cover up a death of someone of such close proximity. All of my other victims had a one-way relationship with me, as in they knew nothing about me and I knew everything about them. With Harry-Henry whatnot, however, I would need to make a solid alibi, and I couldn't just smash him to a pulp and leave his body in a tub of lye.

I laid in bed all night thinking and pondering, and after hours of scrutinizing my options, I finally let the thick, velvet wave of slumber wash over me, engulfing me completely, leaving me with a dreamless night.

When I awoke, I trudged through my daily ritual and began to get ready for work when I realized Harry was still lying in bed, dead asleep. Normally, he would leave at around three in the morning, and be considering that it wasn't Sunday or Monday, I assumed that he had overslept.

I considered waking him, but I didn't want to get too involved considering that it was still a possibility that I would have to dispose of him. Deep to my core, I didn't want it to come to that, but my main priority was to keep under the radar, by any means. If it had to come to that, then I would cross that bridge when I got there.

I put Henry on the back burner for a moment to think about what would come next. I needed to clear my guilty conscience, and against my better judgement, I decided to go for my next victim.

I walked into the bathroom and quietly twisted open a PVC pipe to retrieve a flathead screwdriver. After I did, I walked over to a tile in the corner of the room and knelt down next to it. I began softly chipping the tile's worn edges as I checked Henry's status every so often, and after a while, I was able to pry the tile up just enough to retrieve my hammer.

After I did, I went to the kitchen and retrieved a cock gun from under the sink and returned to the bathroom. I went over the tile again and again, smudging the cock to make it look a little less conspicuous. I finally finished and returned the gun and went to fill my bag with essentials. 

I rummaged through piles of discarded odds and ends and began to pack my things and as I was, I realized that Henry had not moved at all since I had woken up. I debated for a moment, and after a while, I decided to try and push Henry on his side.

I did and immediately realized that he set me up. I had just pushed over a neatly arranged pile of pillows and shirts. He must have slipped out without me noticing, meaning he could be anywhere, doing anything. I rushed to look around the room in an attempt to find a camera, panicking beyond belief. He might know about the hammer, about the bodies. Henry might know everything.

After a while, I started to rationalize for a bit, and after I did, I just decided to put it behind me and assume that he just happened to have a pile of clothes on his bed. After all, he might have actually overslept and happened to leave his clothes in a human-shaped pile on his bed.

It wasn't something that came easy to me, but I eventually just came to the conclusion that worrying about it would make me overthink things to the point to where I couldn't work with a clear head.

I pushed all the anxious thoughts aside and quietly slipped out of the apartment walking along the streets, laptop and hammer in my backpack. I rounded a few corners before coming to a desolate, abandoned building, filled with broken glass and leftovers from the antics of rebellious teenagers.

I walked into the building and pulled out my weapon of choice just in case, if by chance, there was a shady denizen lurking in the dark corners of the abandoned building. I came to an old, wooden door on the third story and began to unpack my stuff when I realized that there was a smell that I did not recognize.

Well, didn't recognize from that location. A good hint would be that the last time I smelled the thick, iron coat of an aroma like that was when I was flattening the face of the rapist in the sewers.

I smelled blood.

And when I opened the door, I realized that my senses were not deceiving me. Through a narrow crack in the doorway, I spotted a mangled mess of skin and flesh, lying in a contorted pile on the floor. What really disturbed me was the tall, built figure looming over it.

He was wearing the ugly shirt that Henry always wore on his days off.