Read The Midnight Men and Other Stories for Free Online
Authors: Lee Moan
the phone back in its cradle, and then stood there, staring at the floor. Staring at the trail of blood and dirt which his wife had dragged into the house with her. At the end of that trail lay the end of many things for Nathan Parker. The end of all trust, the end of his belief in innocence. The end of a marriage, and ultimately, the end of a life . . .
The same cold dead hand which had pinched his heart was now ripping downwards to his gut, to the very core of his being. He looked at the young woman on the couch, saw the betrayal in her eyes, and felt all the power he’d held onto so preciously go out like a candle flame.
“What’s happening, Nathan?” Maria said, her voice like an echo in the cloakroom of his mind. “It wasn’t the police, was it?”
“No, dear,” he said. “It’s just . . . business.”
Something inside him had broken. He saw now through a dark filter, and he began to advance towards his young wife.
She saw the horrible gleam in his eye, the flexing of his hands, and began to edge along the sofa, smearing the upholstery with streaks of blood.
“Nathan, what is it?” she asked pathetically, but she already knew. She slipped off the sofa and hit the floor with a cry. Despite the pain, she began to crawl across the lounge on her back.
“Nathan, I never meant to hurt you!”
But he said nothing, her voice so far away now.
He was almost on top of her when she leapt up with a sudden burst of energy, and raced for the open bathroom door. He grabbed for her, tearing a piece of her designer dress at the waist, but then she was gone. He lunged after her again, only to find her too quick for his old bones. She slammed the bathroom door on his fingers. He heard the thick wet snap of bone and screamed. Once he’d retracted the two fingers, she shut the door firmly and slid the bolt across.
“You bitch!” he roared, his voice so loud it appeared to shake the windows in their frames. Lightning flickered outside. He put his back to the door and slid to the floor, descending into a fit of heaving sobs.
“How could you, Maria?” he whimpered. “How could you do this to me?”
She was silent beyond the door.
“And with him!”
The thought of Francis Gallagher, that slimy, stuffed-sofa of a man, undressing his beautiful wife, kissing her, pressing his rough hands all over her body . . . The images brought the black veil over his sight once more. There was only one fate for her . . .
With his good hand, he pulled the cloth pouch from his trouser pocket and unravelled it. The final piece seemed to stare back at him, beckoning him to finish his triumvirate of evil. He didn’t need to kick down any doors to kill her, he had a power which transcended all physical barriers.
Tears coursed down his cheeks as he raised the lump of dead flesh to his mouth.
“Goodbye, Maria,” he whispered, before slipping the grim talisman onto his tongue. He snivelled as the poisoned piece rolled around his mouth, numbing his gums and making his teeth ache.
All he had to do was say her name, and she would be dead. Just two words.
Maria Parker.
But after the effort of chewing the juiceless piece of meat, he found his tongue had swollen so much that it was wedged between both sets of lower teeth. It was now so big, he couldn’t breathe. He felt the poison seeping into his blood. In his panic, Nathan tried to swallow it whole—
( you only have to swallow it and say the name )
—but the deadly lump only became wedged at the back of his throat, blocking his windpipe. He fell forward heavily onto his hands and knees, desperately trying to cough it up. But it was no use. He hooked a finger into his mouth, clawing at the offending article, but it defied his attempts. The poison was attacking the soft lining of his throat, a throat that was rapidly swelling, making the piece of meat harder to dislodge. Eyes bulging, Nathan clawed uselessly at his neck, hearing the strange alien noises emanating from his own mouth
The same cold dead hand which had pinched his heart was now ripping downwards to his gut, to the very core of his being. He looked at the young woman on the couch, saw the betrayal in her eyes, and felt all the power he’d held onto so preciously go out like a candle flame.
“What’s happening, Nathan?” Maria said, her voice like an echo in the cloakroom of his mind. “It wasn’t the police, was it?”
“No, dear,” he said. “It’s just . . . business.”
Something inside him had broken. He saw now through a dark filter, and he began to advance towards his young wife.
She saw the horrible gleam in his eye, the flexing of his hands, and began to edge along the sofa, smearing the upholstery with streaks of blood.
“Nathan, what is it?” she asked pathetically, but she already knew. She slipped off the sofa and hit the floor with a cry. Despite the pain, she began to crawl across the lounge on her back.
“Nathan, I never meant to hurt you!”
But he said nothing, her voice so far away now.
He was almost on top of her when she leapt up with a sudden burst of energy, and raced for the open bathroom door. He grabbed for her, tearing a piece of her designer dress at the waist, but then she was gone. He lunged after her again, only to find her too quick for his old bones. She slammed the bathroom door on his fingers. He heard the thick wet snap of bone and screamed. Once he’d retracted the two fingers, she shut the door firmly and slid the bolt across.
“You bitch!” he roared, his voice so loud it appeared to shake the windows in their frames. Lightning flickered outside. He put his back to the door and slid to the floor, descending into a fit of heaving sobs.
“How could you, Maria?” he whimpered. “How could you do this to me?”
She was silent beyond the door.
“And with him!”
The thought of Francis Gallagher, that slimy, stuffed-sofa of a man, undressing his beautiful wife, kissing her, pressing his rough hands all over her body . . . The images brought the black veil over his sight once more. There was only one fate for her . . .
With his good hand, he pulled the cloth pouch from his trouser pocket and unravelled it. The final piece seemed to stare back at him, beckoning him to finish his triumvirate of evil. He didn’t need to kick down any doors to kill her, he had a power which transcended all physical barriers.
Tears coursed down his cheeks as he raised the lump of dead flesh to his mouth.
“Goodbye, Maria,” he whispered, before slipping the grim talisman onto his tongue. He snivelled as the poisoned piece rolled around his mouth, numbing his gums and making his teeth ache.
All he had to do was say her name, and she would be dead. Just two words.
Maria Parker.
But after the effort of chewing the juiceless piece of meat, he found his tongue had swollen so much that it was wedged between both sets of lower teeth. It was now so big, he couldn’t breathe. He felt the poison seeping into his blood. In his panic, Nathan tried to swallow it whole—
( you only have to swallow it and say the name )
—but the deadly lump only became wedged at the back of his throat, blocking his windpipe. He fell forward heavily onto his hands and knees, desperately trying to cough it up. But it was no use. He hooked a finger into his mouth, clawing at the offending article, but it defied his attempts. The poison was attacking the soft lining of his throat, a throat that was rapidly swelling, making the piece of meat harder to dislodge. Eyes bulging, Nathan clawed uselessly at his neck, hearing the strange alien noises emanating from his own mouth