A pounding on his chest suddenly brought Paul around again.
“We’ve got him,” one of the men said. Paul wondered who they were talking about. Then the other man produced a long syringe and jabbed into Paul’s arm. There was no pain, in fact Paul could not feel anything anymore. He looked up onto the face of the man administering the drug, he looked worried for some reason.
Then Paul slipped away again.
His plan had been surprisingly easy to carry out. He’d left his downtown apartment and made his way uptown, carrying a small bag of Coke and a long, sharp butcher’s knife. He had been supplying Mark with his Coke since their collage days and he had been purposely holding back this particular delivery for several weeks now, knowing his friend would never risk going out onto the streets and getting some for himself.
He arrived at Marks penthouse apartment just as the rain was starting to fall from the skies. Mark had been entertaining a young woman at the time but he was willing to allow an interruption, because he knew what Paul was bringing.
Paul watched as his friend rolled up a hundred dollar bill and started to snuff the delicate white powder up into his mind. What Mark did not know, was that Paul had been cutting his Coke for over a year now, diluting it ever down further and further but tonight he had let him have it, el-natural, full strength. And it was good gear. The girl, a pretty brunette, was already doing cartwheels across the floor, giggling like a fool, with eyes so wide that the eyeballs looked in fear of falling out.
Mark was getting excited too. He was laughing uncontrollably and between breaths he was sucking up ever more of the white powder. Controlling his laughter at last, he stood up and unzipping his trousers exposed a rigid erection. “Get over hear babe,” he called to the brunette.
The woman looked over and whooping for joy, she ran to Mark but as she got close, Paul produced the butchers knife and rammed it to the hilt, into the woman’s stomach. Her eyes rolling in her head the woman’s mouth made an almost comical, O, shape as Paul pulled the knife free and she fell to the floor.
Mark just stared at the woman for a few moments and then stared at Paul. He had a stupid look on his face, like a dog staring at something it was trying very hard to understand but was failing in its attempts. Paul hated that look on Mark’s face. It was the way he had always looked when his brain was fried and Paul had always felt it was very unbecoming. Then Mark burst out laughing, “What the **** did you do that for,” he asked.
Paul smiled, “Oh don’t worry about her. We can tidy up later. I want you to do something for me.”
Mark put his penis away. “Hey man I told you before I don’t’ blow that way,” he said, and then started to laugh again.
Paul reached out his, leather gloved hand, with the knife in it, “Take it,” he said.
Mark took the knife, “Now what,” he asked.
Paul knelt down at the coffee table Mark had been snorting the Coke off of and placed his arms out, onto the table in front of him. He looked up at Mark. “I want you to cut my hands off,” he said.
Mark looked at him and burst out laughing. “**** off Paul,” he said. “What are you playing at.”
But Paul did not return his laugh, he just stared up at his friend “I said I want you to cut my hands off.”
Under normal circumstances Mark never would have done it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like a little sadism now ant then, it was just that his own, very keen, sense of self preservation would normally have kicked in by now. But these were not normal circumstances.
Mark scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders, “Fair enough,” he said. Taking the knife he stood over Paul, then reaching down he grabbed Paul’s left arm, trapping the hand onto the table surface. He began cutting.
Paul tried very hard not to scream out but he was unable to contain himself, so great was the pain. But then, this was after all, what he had wanted. The recordings he’d made in recent weeks would be the last he would ever make and when the TV and papers got hold of the story, of how Mark - one of the cities most admired lawyers - out of his head on Coke, had killed the girl he had been with and then cut the hands off of one of the worlds rising music stars, Paul would become more famous than all the great and very dead composers the would had ever seen. He would become a new Beethoven, or Mozart.
As Mark finished of the first arm, he shook his head. “You really are the craziest fucker I have ever met,” he said, and then grabbing the second hand he started cutting once more.
Paul was close to passing out. All of a sudden he vomited, the burning hot contents of his stomach erupting onto his mutilated arms. Mark just laughed, as if it were all a big joke.
When the final cut had been made Mark flopped down onto the sofa and rolling another hundred dollar bill he looked up at Paul. “Anything else,” he asked.
Paul was shaking violently but he managed to stand up, taking the knife between his bloody stumps. “Perhaps you could open the door,” he said.
Mark obliged him and then slammed the door after him.
Paul made his way down the corridor and using his elbow called a lift. On his way down he called for the emergency services using the voice activate phone he carried in his top, shirt pocket and which was hooked up to a hands free microphone attached to the top of his shirt. He briefly explained what Mark had done and where he could be found and then hung up.
Stumbling out of the building, he staggered to the edge of the street where he dropped the knife as he finally collapsed onto the kerb. All he had to do now was wait.
Paul could hear the men talking about him again, but this time he was unable to open his eyes. It felt very strange to be hearing those voices, they seemed to be coming from everywhere and yet Paul felt they were coming from a place he no longer belonged to. They were becoming more distant too. He was drifting away from them.
“We’re loosing him,” he heard one of them say but the voice was so far away now that he could barley make out the words, besides he didn’t care what they had to say, he had a future to plan, a bright and beautiful future.
“We’ve got him,” one of the men said. Paul wondered who they were talking about. Then the other man produced a long syringe and jabbed into Paul’s arm. There was no pain, in fact Paul could not feel anything anymore. He looked up onto the face of the man administering the drug, he looked worried for some reason.
Then Paul slipped away again.
His plan had been surprisingly easy to carry out. He’d left his downtown apartment and made his way uptown, carrying a small bag of Coke and a long, sharp butcher’s knife. He had been supplying Mark with his Coke since their collage days and he had been purposely holding back this particular delivery for several weeks now, knowing his friend would never risk going out onto the streets and getting some for himself.
He arrived at Marks penthouse apartment just as the rain was starting to fall from the skies. Mark had been entertaining a young woman at the time but he was willing to allow an interruption, because he knew what Paul was bringing.
Paul watched as his friend rolled up a hundred dollar bill and started to snuff the delicate white powder up into his mind. What Mark did not know, was that Paul had been cutting his Coke for over a year now, diluting it ever down further and further but tonight he had let him have it, el-natural, full strength. And it was good gear. The girl, a pretty brunette, was already doing cartwheels across the floor, giggling like a fool, with eyes so wide that the eyeballs looked in fear of falling out.
Mark was getting excited too. He was laughing uncontrollably and between breaths he was sucking up ever more of the white powder. Controlling his laughter at last, he stood up and unzipping his trousers exposed a rigid erection. “Get over hear babe,” he called to the brunette.
The woman looked over and whooping for joy, she ran to Mark but as she got close, Paul produced the butchers knife and rammed it to the hilt, into the woman’s stomach. Her eyes rolling in her head the woman’s mouth made an almost comical, O, shape as Paul pulled the knife free and she fell to the floor.
Mark just stared at the woman for a few moments and then stared at Paul. He had a stupid look on his face, like a dog staring at something it was trying very hard to understand but was failing in its attempts. Paul hated that look on Mark’s face. It was the way he had always looked when his brain was fried and Paul had always felt it was very unbecoming. Then Mark burst out laughing, “What the **** did you do that for,” he asked.
Paul smiled, “Oh don’t worry about her. We can tidy up later. I want you to do something for me.”
Mark put his penis away. “Hey man I told you before I don’t’ blow that way,” he said, and then started to laugh again.
Paul reached out his, leather gloved hand, with the knife in it, “Take it,” he said.
Mark took the knife, “Now what,” he asked.
Paul knelt down at the coffee table Mark had been snorting the Coke off of and placed his arms out, onto the table in front of him. He looked up at Mark. “I want you to cut my hands off,” he said.
Mark looked at him and burst out laughing. “**** off Paul,” he said. “What are you playing at.”
But Paul did not return his laugh, he just stared up at his friend “I said I want you to cut my hands off.”
Under normal circumstances Mark never would have done it. It wasn’t that he didn’t like a little sadism now ant then, it was just that his own, very keen, sense of self preservation would normally have kicked in by now. But these were not normal circumstances.
Mark scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders, “Fair enough,” he said. Taking the knife he stood over Paul, then reaching down he grabbed Paul’s left arm, trapping the hand onto the table surface. He began cutting.
Paul tried very hard not to scream out but he was unable to contain himself, so great was the pain. But then, this was after all, what he had wanted. The recordings he’d made in recent weeks would be the last he would ever make and when the TV and papers got hold of the story, of how Mark - one of the cities most admired lawyers - out of his head on Coke, had killed the girl he had been with and then cut the hands off of one of the worlds rising music stars, Paul would become more famous than all the great and very dead composers the would had ever seen. He would become a new Beethoven, or Mozart.
As Mark finished of the first arm, he shook his head. “You really are the craziest fucker I have ever met,” he said, and then grabbing the second hand he started cutting once more.
Paul was close to passing out. All of a sudden he vomited, the burning hot contents of his stomach erupting onto his mutilated arms. Mark just laughed, as if it were all a big joke.
When the final cut had been made Mark flopped down onto the sofa and rolling another hundred dollar bill he looked up at Paul. “Anything else,” he asked.
Paul was shaking violently but he managed to stand up, taking the knife between his bloody stumps. “Perhaps you could open the door,” he said.
Mark obliged him and then slammed the door after him.
Paul made his way down the corridor and using his elbow called a lift. On his way down he called for the emergency services using the voice activate phone he carried in his top, shirt pocket and which was hooked up to a hands free microphone attached to the top of his shirt. He briefly explained what Mark had done and where he could be found and then hung up.
Stumbling out of the building, he staggered to the edge of the street where he dropped the knife as he finally collapsed onto the kerb. All he had to do now was wait.
Paul could hear the men talking about him again, but this time he was unable to open his eyes. It felt very strange to be hearing those voices, they seemed to be coming from everywhere and yet Paul felt they were coming from a place he no longer belonged to. They were becoming more distant too. He was drifting away from them.
“We’re loosing him,” he heard one of them say but the voice was so far away now that he could barley make out the words, besides he didn’t care what they had to say, he had a future to plan, a bright and beautiful future.