Bone Deep

13

Luv knew that Denise was ready. Really ready. He met her in a restaurant parking lot and drove with her to the motel in his "company" car. He almost always used the company car for his assignations. A four-year-old beige Chevy Caprice, it was as innocuous as a car could be, almost impossible to describe because it would never catch the viewer's attention. He kept it clean, serviced it often, made sure his emissions sticker was up to date. Luv took no chances on random inspections by the police, gave no one a reason to look any closer. That was the kind of stupid mistake that got people caught all the time.

Idiots were stopped because of broken headlights with several kilos of cocaine lying in the back seat. Luv had something a bit more incriminating that could be discovered by some overzealous cop-if Luv gave him the chance. He had Inge's remains in the trunk. Tonight he would be rid of them. Right after he took care of Denise.

When they stepped inside the motel room and he took her in his arms, she was trembling already. Luv thought it was with excitement and anticipation and he continued to embrace her, allowing her to collect herself, but when he gradually released her and tried to put his lips to hers she put up her arms and stopped him.

"I have something I have to tell you," she said.

"What?" he asked softly, ready for any kind of foolishness. They often needed reassurance of some sort at this crucial point.

"I had-I have a mark," Denise said. She looked shyly at his chest, then lifted her eyes to his, summoning the courage. "A birthmark," she said.

"Oh, my darling," said Luv with genuine sympathy. "That's all right."

"It's ugly," she said. "I don't want it to-repulse you."

"It won't bother me."

Luv sat on the edge of the bed as she hesitantly lifted her blouse, revealing a purple stain that spread across her stomach. It looked raw, painful, as if freshly applied, as if her skin had been seared.

"It doesn't matter," Luv said, meaning it. He was not offended by ugliness any more than he was swayed by beauty. Appearances were beside the point. "Not at all."

"Larry used to make fun of it," she said, lowering the blouse to cover herself again. "I think it made him sick. It made him think-It disappointed him to be with me when he looked at it."

"The sonofabitch," Luv said angrily. "The dirty sonofabitch. He didn't deserve you."

"No," Denise agreed. "No, he really didn't."

Luv took her face in both hands and looked deeply into her eyes. "It doesn't bother me, Denise. Only if it bothers you. Will you be self-conscious about it?" Denise hesitated only slightly. "No." He smiled sweetly. "Good."

He peeled the blouse away and pressed his face against the mark, which spread across her stomach and trailed tendrils beneath her skirt waist like a giant amoeba.

"Listen, I'm crazy about you. You're more woman than anyone else I know. I feel so lucky that you want to be with me."

"Oh, Lyle," she said, her eyes big and teary.

He kissed her and laid her back on the bed and made love to her as if he really meant it. She quivered and trembled and her breath came in excited gasps whenever he moved his hand or his lips. When he removed her clothes and put his hand between her legs she said, "I've waited so long for you."

Afterwards, she clung to his neck, her gratitude so huge and exposed that he felt protective. Some decent feeling stirred within him, touched by her vulnerability, cajoled by her brush with mortality. He wrapped his arms around her and then his legs, pressing himself against her to shield her from all of life's evils, including himself. "You are so brave," he said. "I admire you."

"I'm not brave," she said, understanding that he was referring to her birthmark. "I just don't have any choice."

She touched the back of his neck and smiled to herself. She could not believe her luck. He was such a good man.

"If I ever meet up with your ex-husband, I'll kill the bastard," he said. At the moment, he believed himself.

"No," she said softly. "Don't let him ruin this. Don't let's let anything ruin this. I feel more alive than I ever have in my life."

"I love you," Luv said, startling himself with the pronouncement. The words had burst forth of their own accord, pushed out by the force of this most unexpected emotion. Luv could scarcely believe he was feeling what he was feeling. "I do!" Denise moaned and clasped him to her.

Stunned, amazed, delighted by the joy rising in his chest, he cried again, "I love you."

He got onto his hands and knees above her, leaned his face until it was touching hers. Her lips had been kissed so much they looked like satin, smoothed and extended beyond their limits. Her eyes were green, he realized, a bright hazel green, and her hair was the tint of autumn leaves. It sprouted and curled around her face and across the pillow in a thousand tiny rings. He grinned at her wildly, then laughed high in his throat, the lunacy and sheer delight of it all overwhelming him.

"I'm in love!" he cried. He sat up, towering over her, spreading his arms wide for all the world to see. His laughter built and cascaded out of him. "I'm in love."

She watched him with some alarm as his excitement teetered for a moment on the edge of control. She did not want to stop him in his enthusiasm-she knew that she, too, was in love-but the wildness frightened her. Denise reached her arms up to him and he collapsed down on her, embraced her and rolled back and forth across the bed, his limbs wrapped completely around her.

De Cap'n's in love, he thought in wonder. De Cap'n's in luvvv.

Three minutes after he had returned her to the restaurant lot and was driving toward the parking spot where he stowed the company car, he had forgotten the brief but ecstatic surge of "love." Forgotten that he had felt any emotion at all toward the woman he was just with. He liked to indulge such temporary enthusiasms, the victims enjoyed it, believed it, occasionally required it. It meant-beyond the zeal of the moment-no more to him than the sex, which meant nothing at all once it was past.

What mattered most to Luv about Denise once he had left her was that he could now mark her down in his journal. She was another victim, another triumph to add to his ever-growing list.

Kiwasee had located the house and was happy to see the New York Times, in its blue plastic bag still lying in the driveway where it had been flung by the man in the delivery car earlier that day. A downstairs light was burning at two in the morning, a certain giveaway that no one was at home. He approached through the backyard, listening for a dog, then found a window that was unlocked and entered the house. He moved through the rooms silently, but without trepidation. This was not Bridgeport, where some crazy mother might come at you with a knife or a baseball bat or some kind of automatic pistol that would shoot you as many times as a machine gun. Folks in Clamden was nice and civilized and cowardly and stayed in bed if they heard a noise. They was Kiwasee's kind of people, whether they knew it or not, because he was just as peaceable as they was. Burglary wasn't no crime of violence.

Taking things from people as rich as these wasn't hardly no crime at all. It was a redistribution. Kiwasee never hurt nobody, never threatened nobody, never scared nobody. Hell, he never even saw nobody.

Which was all the more reason he didn't deserve the kind of treatment that ol' Pussy McNeil gave him. He had shamed Kiwasee, made him plead and beg and cry like a child-and scared the shit out of him too. Some insults a man wasn't going to swallow, some shit he wasn't going to take, whether it came from a brother in the projects or a honky cop in the suburbs. Course, he wasn't going to jump into McNeil's face, be a fool about it. There was ways and there was ways.

He was out of the house in five minutes, politely closing the window behind him. There was more stuff he could have taken, but this wasn't a business call. He was there for pleasure, and when he had what he needed, he left.

He was aware of the car only after he had driven past it, just an impression of a car's shape, mostly hidden and ohscured by the trees, a dull glow of metal caught for a fraction of a second in his headlights.

It wasn't a cop car, that's all he knew for certain, but it was all he really needed to know. Some people wanted to park in the woods, hump away in the back seat, that didn't bother him. Wasn't going to be no cop hiding in the woods at two in the morning, pulled up in there with the stickers and the branches to scrape paint off, not in Clamden, you could bet on that. He chose to ignore the car and drove a quarter-mile past it.

There was a spot to pull off the road along in there omewhere-he had noticed it when McNeil drove him past it. Kiwasee missed nothing when it came to his trade. That chief of police probably thought Kiwasee was stupid because he couldn't read a map, but Kiwasee didn't need a map, he had one in his head. Once he saw a place, he knew it inside and out and knew more details about it than the people who lived there. Where you going to park your car? How you going to get away if your car is blocked? If you cut through the woods, where you going to come out'? If somebody else driving, where can they slow down and pick you up so nobody sees? How much open ground you got to cross before you get to the back of the house? If you got to jump, where you going to land? If you got to run through the woods in the middle of the night with somebody screaming for the police, you better have more than just a map in your head, you better have a compass and built-in radar, too. It was a clear-cut for the power lines, twenty feet of open space that the electric people kept clean so they could get their trucks in there to work on the pylons if they needed to. Kiwasee pulled his car into the clear-cut, drove straight ahead with only his parking lights on so nobody saw any strange lights coming up the trees from the middle of the woods, and stopped when the incline began. You start driving up and down hills with nothing but dirt and leaves under your tires, you asking for trouble. You asking to get stuck for sure. He looked for a break in the trees and pulled in, driving straight over several saplings and a bush. The car wasn't his in the first place, he didn't care if it got scratched or not. After tonight's work he would drive it to New Jersey, drop it off in Jersey City or Newark, take a PATH train to New York City, head uptown or to BedStuy where he had a cousin. It was time to get out of Bridgeport. 01' Pussy would be looking for him there for sure if tonight worked. He'd never find him in New York. The whole New York City police force would never find him there.

He didn't even pause after stepping out of the car-he knew where he was, he knew where McNeil's house was, all he had to do was hike over this hill and the next one. He'd plant a little gift in McNeil's garage and give the chief another phone call. Chief would have been there once already, he'd bet on it. Chief would have been there, nosed around, probably didn't know what he was seeing, but he got his interest up, Kiwasee was certain of that. Tell the man he missed it the first time, make him feel foolish, then tell him exactly what to look for and exactly where to look for it. Kiwasee couldn't have told him during the first phone call, of course, because he hadn't planted it yet. Didn't even know what he would plant until tonight's work. But that was okay, make the chief work for it, make him suspicious, let him start noticing things about McNeil on his own. Like whose window ol' Pussy be jumping out of at three in the morning. Chief of police ought to be interested in that, no matter how dumb he is.

Kiwasee was in and out of McNeil's garage, smooth as a knife through butter. Left a little gift for him. A little token of Kiwasee's wishes. Some payback. If it worked perfect, old Pussy'd find himself in trouble up to his eyeballs. Scare him just as bad as a garage full of gas, make him soil hisself too. Make him know what it felt like, have some assholes all over you for something you never done. And if it didn't work perfect, at least get somebody to look at old Pussy. Get the chief to move his lard ass and take a good hard look at McNeil, let him come to his own conclusions.

Kiwasee was away from the garage, into the trees, and heading back through the woods. He heard a splash, then the sound of something moving through water, and at first he thought it was a dog, then realized a dog would be bounding after him. Kiwasee stood very still and listened, trying to make sense of the sounds. Whatever it was had left the water and was making a considerable noise thrashing through the underbrush. He could hear the sounds ol' branches breaking, sounded like a goddamned bear crashing around, or maybe an elephant. Wasn't no bears in Connecticut, though, he knew that. Wasn't no bears in the whole damn country outside the zoo, far as he knew.

Wasn't his business, of course, but he didn't like surprises in his line of work, which made it his business, something going on that close to his line of escape. How'd he know it wouldn't work its way closer so that it'd be standing right in front of him on the way back to the car?

Kiwasee moved toward the sound as quietly as he could. Not that he needed to be too quiet, the thing was making too much noise on its own to hear anything Kiwasee did. It was hacking at underbrush now, something swishing through the air and clipping off branches, tearing bushes. Kiwasee cleared the hill, stood beside a tree trunk and looked.

The moon was bright and it was easy to see motion, harder to figure out what it was. The moon's light reflected off a body of water at the base of the hill, doubling its illumination. A pond had formed in a streambed, the water swelling outward to create a sort of miniature swamp, and in the middle of the swamp, separated from dry ground by no more than a few yards of water, were three miniature islands, each based around a single large tree. The islands seemed to be impassable thickets of thorns and brambles hugging the trunk of the tree and intertwined with each other so completely as to make penetration by anything larger than a rabbit impossible.

But something was on one of the islands now, and it wasn't no rabbit.

Kiwasee saw the shape move, rising and then coming abruptly down again, vanishing in the middle of the thicket. He heard metal strike stone, heard it rasp against rock, then hiss its way into dirt. Sonofabitch is digging a hole, Kiwasee said to himself. Don't know what for, but ain't nobody going to find it there. Ain't no picnickers wading through water to sit in a pile of thorns. Even a dog going to stay out of that mess.

Kiwasee moved closer, and when the digging paused, he could hear the noise of water rushing over rocks. The base of the islands had been shored up with large fieldstones. A few dozen yards from the islands Kiwasee could just make out the outline of a small wooden bridge with a handrail jutting over the stream. It's a goddamned park, Kiwasee thought, or preserve or some such Connecticut shit. Sure as hell wasn't the kind of place you'd go to throw a football. Nothing but trees and bushes and rocks and poison ivy. Wasn't even any goddamned paths, at least none that he could see by this light. Folks in Clamden had so much land for themselves they was setting some aside for the squirrels. Let's take a walk in the woods and get ticks all over us.

Let's go sit on a rock, get bit by a snake, and talk about how beautiful it is. Damn fools couldn't even see thirty yards in front of them, there was so many trees. Well, shit, they wanted to pretend they was back in the jungle, let them. Just don't accuse him of that kind of shit. The city wasn't no jungle, the city was a city. This was a jungle, or a wannabe jungle, just wasn't big enough.

Kiwasee inched still closer, stopping just a few feet from the edge of the water, where he sat beside a tree trying to figure out just what was happening. It was a human being digging a hole, he could tell that much for sure, had on some kind of hood, gave him a pointy head, but he couldn't make out the features. And there was no way to see what he had in mind to put in the hole. He was hitting rock with every push of the shovel now and Kiwasee could hear growing exasperation in the sounds coming out of the man. Just his grunts sounded pissed off. The island figured to be wet, as close to the surface of the water as it was, which would make the digging easier, but it still had to be more stone than dirt. Only a damn fool want to dig a hole anywhere in this state, Kiwasee thought. A damn fool-or a desperate one. Middle of the night, middle of the woods, middle of a swamp, middle of a brier patch…

It occurred to Kiwasee what a man would bury in such a hole in such a place in such a way, and a chill of fear coursed up his back. Want no part of that, he said to himself Don't even want to know about it. The devil himself — suddenly stood erect and turned to look in Kiwasee's direction. He had a head like a cone and nothin but darkness where the face should be, and in his hand he held Satan's pitchfork. For a moment the devil was in the shadow of the tree, but he moved to one side and the moonlight struck him full in the face, but there was no face, only the glint of eyes, malevolent eyes shining out of the darkness. Kiwasee froze, not daring to move a muscle, fearing to even think. The devil's gaze shifted until he was looking directly at Kiwasee. His eyes locked into Kiwasee's own. Kiwasee sat, terrified, praying he was not seen.

The moon had shifted since he arrived at the tree and he was now bathed in its rays. Immobility was his only hope. Or flight. Like a small animal, he cowered, hoping to pass as part of the underbrush, even as the devil took a step toward him, lifting the shovel clear of the thicket, cocking his head to one side to determine if he saw what he thought he saw. He took another tentative step, lifting his knees high to clear them of the brambles. Kiwasee could see that his hands were milky white, not skin color at all.

The devil took one more step until he was almost to the edge of the tiny island. He cocked his head to the other side, seeking another angle to explain what he saw before him. He spoke in a half-whisper, full of menace. "Hello?"

Kiwasee told himself to run but he was too frightened to move. He don't see me, he thought. Please God, he don't see me, he thinks I'm a shadow, he thinks his eyes are playing tricks on him.

"Hello." This time the voice was not asking a question. He knows I'm here, Kiwasee thought, panic filling his mind.

"How are you?" the devil said reasonably. "It's a lovely night for a walk, isn't it? I couldn't sleep, I thought I'd take a walk."

The devil had one foot in the water. "You startled me, at first. I couldn't believe it was really a person, sitting there watching me. I said, why would he be doing that?"

His other foot was in the water. Kiwasee's mind screamed, Run! The milky hands were thin rubber gloves. The shovel was held now like a weapon.

"He must be wondering what I'm doing here," the voice continued reasonably. The eyes were wide and insane.

Kiwasee jumped up to run just as the shovel swung toward him. The metal caught him on the thigh, slicing into muscle. He ran a step up the slope, his feet slipping in the leaf cover, then crawled forward with his hands until he was on his feet again. He heard the shovel whistle past his head and kept running. His foot hit a rock and he stumbled, pitching forward, bouncing off a tree trunk with his shoulder, trying to turn abruptly so he could run toward his car, and suddenly he knew that something dreadfully serious was wrong with his leg. The muscle seemed to have collapsed within it and although he felt no pain he could no longer push off of it. The'shovel caught him in the small of the back and propelled him forward, staggering on one leg, his whole right side hanging back as if caught in the mud. He pulled himself against a tree, tried to slide behind it to avoid the next blow. The shovel smashed into his hand where it gripped the bark and Kiwasee knew instantly that it was broken and useless to him even as he staggered away.

The metal collided with the side of his head and bright lights sprang up before his eyes. Kiwasee fell, clutching himself, pulling into a ball with his arms shielding his head.

The devil stood over him, chest heaving. He held the shovel in both hands, gripping it in his gloved fingers. When Kiwasee could bring himself to look up at his attacker, the devil took on human form.

Kiwasee saw that the hood was part of a lightweight windbreaker, and there was a face within it, still partially obscured. The eyes now looked reasonable and aggrieved.

"This is crude," the devil said.

Kiwasee said nothing. His ears were filled with the sounds of his own panting breath.

"Now you've been hurt," the devil said. He shook his head sadly.

"That's terrible."

"Didn't see nothing," Kiwasee mumbled. His head still rang from the blow and his vision was not right. "Why were you here? You shouldn't have been here. No one would ever be here at this hour… Why were you here?"

"Taking a walk," Kiwasee said. "No, no. Were you stealing?"

"See, that the first thing you folks think, you see a brother," Kiwasee said indignantly. "I can't understand you."

"Taking a walk, visiting a friend. Didn't see nothing."

"I can't understand… There's something wrong with your speech." The devil bent closer in solicitude. "I believe you've hurt your jaw."

Kiwasee probed with his tongue, found teeth broken and loose. The jawbone itself pulsed but did not hurt. None of his injuries pained him yet. Shock was providing an analgesic. I 'My teeth," Kiwasee said, hearing his garbled voice for the first time as the devil must hear it.

"I'll tell you what," the devil said. "You better come back this way.

We can get you some help this way."

"Don't need help, just get to my car," said Kiwasee, unintelligibly.

"Just come this way. Come on, you can do it, back this way, it's not that far."

"Can't."

"Come on, you can do it." The devil's voice was calm, reasonable, encouraging. Kiwasee began to hope that it was over, that the devil's attack was just an aberration, a startled reaction to seeing a brother spying on him in the woods in the middle of the night.

Kiwasee tried to move but faltered. The devil prodded him with the shovel, turning him back toward the water. Kiwasee crawled in that direction.

"That's fine," the devil said. "That's fine, you're doing great. Just keep going."

"Can tell you things," Kiwasee said. Blood filled his mouth. He spit and felt the teeth move in his jaw.

"No need to talk."

"McNeil…" His tongue seemed to have swollen so much that it filled his whole mouth. He could not squeeze the words past it.

The devil prodded him with the shovel again.

"Keep going, you're doing great."

"McNeil…" His tongue felt so large he thought it might block off his throat.

They had reached the water's edge and Kiwasee stopped, waiting on all fours like a balky horse.

" Go on," said the devil. "It's not that deep. You can get right through it. We want to get on the island."

Kiwasee felt himself gagging as his tongue sealed off his throat. He tried to say McNeil's name again but only a strangling gargle came out.

He sat on his haunches, grabbing his throat so the devil would understand.

"I know, I know, but I can't do anything for you here. Everything I need to help you is over there." He pointed to the island.

Nothing over there but a hole in the ground, thought Kiwasee. And you going to put me in it. He struggled for breath, but exaggerated the battle for the devil's sake. He put his good hand on the devil's pants leg, begging for help. "I can't carry you over there," the devil said.

"You've got to get there yourself Come on now, I'll take care of you when we get over there."

Kiwasee threw his hand straight up, catching the devil in the groin with all the force he could muster. The devil yelled and staggered back and Kiwasee yanked his foot out from under him. The devil toppled backward down the incline, his head landing in the water with a splash that sent droplets of shining diamonds into the moonlight. They formed a brief but brilliant halo around his head before falling back to water.

Kiwasee scrambled atop the devil, forcing his head under water with his good hand at the devil's throat. He tried to get his working leg onto the devil's stomach so he could bring all of his weight to bear, but the devil struggled frantically, twisted to one side and threw Kiwasee into the water.

As Kiwasee struggled up, the devil grabbed the shovel and swung. Kiwasee got his arm up in time to ward off the blow, but it drove him a step deeper into the water. The shovel came again, then again, and Kiwasee cowered within the shelter of his two arms, feeling the metal bang onto his shoulders, his elbows, his flesh and bones. Each blow sapped him, made it harder to protect himself. There was no art to the devil's attack, and no variation, he was simply pounding Kiwasee as if he were an obstacle that must eventually succumb to brute force. Kiwasee tried to lunge at the devil but his bad leg was useless and he sank to his knees in the black water, still holding his arms around his head. The devil could hit down at him now and the power of the blows was greater.

Some them defeated his arms and struck Kiwasee on the head of and shoulders and neck. "Ain't going to tell what I saw," Kiwasee tried to say, not even sure if the words made it out of his mouth or were trapped in his head. "Ain't going to tell. Didn't see nothing." But he had seen what he had seen and the devil knew it. It had started when he saw a man crawl from the window of the house where McNeil lied and insisted he had never been, and it continued when he saw the devil digging on the island, and now the devil was making him pay. This was no bluff like the gas in McNeil's garage, this time the devil would kill him sure. He never should have fucked with McNeil, he should have let it pass, be dissed and let it go. Never should have come back to his house. Never should have called the chief, never should have sought revenge. 'Cause now he was going to die for it, he knew it. His arms must be broken, he thought, although even then he was surprised how little anything actually hurt. He could feel the terrible pounding, but not the pain.

His arms weary from fending off the unending blows, Kiwasee fell at last to all fours. His exposed head drooped toward the surface of the water.

He waited like a man with his head on the block.

To his surprise no final blow came. The devil stood panting at the water's edge. For a moment, like two exhausted gladiators, they stayed in place eyeing each other.

The devil spoke first. "Love conquers all." He laughed a little. "Now you got to get up on that island," he said. "That's all I wanted you to do in the first place. I don't know why you're being so unreasonable about this."

"Gon' kill me," Kiwasee breathed.

"Love cures all ills, didn't you know that? You get on that island and Love is going to cure you." Kiwasee moved his head slowly from side to side. "Kill me."

"I don't want to have to hit you anymore," said Captain Luv. "But I will if you make me."

"Know you will. You the devil."

"What? What are you saying?"

"Devil."

"Devil? Did you say devil?"

"You know you the devil."

"Me?" Luv laughed. "Me? I'm Captain Love. I be Cap'n Luvvv."

"Be crazy," muttered Kiwasee. A strange calm had descended over him. He never thought he would die in a place like Clamden. All the dangers at home, the knifings, the shootings, the drive-bys. Man would gut you for dissing him, firebomb your apartment for insulting him, bumping into him, just looking at him wrong. Nothing here in Clamden to hurt you but bunnies and squirrels and chickenshit commuters. And one insane cop.

And the devil himself.

Kiwasee crawled onto the island, impervious to the briers and brambles that tore at him and ripped his clothing. It didn't matter now, nothing much mattered now. He was too tired to resist, too weary of being hit.

He just didn't care, he wanted it over with. But when he reached the hole that the devil had been digging and saw the plastic bag lying next to it, he began to cry. He forgot the injuries, he forgot his exhaustion, he forgot everything except his desire to live.

"Don' kill me," he wept. "I ain't seen nothing, I won't tell nothing."

"It's all right," the devil said soothingly, his voice close to Kiwasee's ear. "It's all right."

"Don' want to die."

"You're just going to feel pressure," said Luv. "It won't really hurt."

He sat on Kiwasee's back, forcing him to his stomach. Kiwasee's head was over the open hole in the earth. Luv gripped Kiwasee's neck in his gloved hand.

"You mustn't struggle, it will help you, it will make you feel better. I won't hit you with the shovel anymore, I promise, just let me do this, it's good for you. You see, it's just pressure, it's not pain, it doesn't hurt at all. Your pain is even going away, isn't it, do you feel it leaving? Feel how warm my hand is, doesn't that feel good, doesn't that make it feel better? It's just pressure, it's not hurting you… That's it, that's it… that's it."

Luv felt the beast roar to life within him as he clenched Kiwasee's neck, shutting off the brain like slowly turning down a rheostat. He had fought Kiwasee to save himself, fought out of necessity and adrenaline, but now the glorious beast took over and Luv felt the thrill course through him as the man beneath him gave up the last resistance.

He wanted to howl with the lust of it, throw back his head like a wolf and rend the night air with his accomplishment, his mastery, his complete control.

He lay for a long time atop Kiwasee, his body pressed against the dead man's, his erection like a rock.

Luv stood at last, still dizzy with excitement. He'd killed a man, a man. He hadn't planned it, it had just happened, out of necessity, but the killing had summoned forth his glorious beast. The mania had not caused him to kill, the killing had brought forth the ecstasy. Luv pondered the implications giddily. Did this mean that he was in control of it? Did it mean that he could cause it to happen whenever he chose?

He would have to think about the meaning, but right now he was still too exhilarated to do so calmly. He had to get rid of Kiwasee but he had no routine to fall back upon. This was not a motel room, there was no shower in which to perform his operations. It was a time to be clever, not methodical.

Luv tried to think, to be cool and rational, but his heart kept singing.

He had killed a man-a man! The most primal act of all. Murder. And in a fight, in hand-to-hand combat. He had challenged another man, bested him, killed him. Captain Luv had drawn blood all on his own, the mania had Only come in for the final rapture.

He crouched on the edge of the partially dug grave, two bodies by his side. Proud of himself.