Paint It Black

Chapter Seven

The buzzing sound filled his head, making it hurt. Where was it coming from? Damn it, it hurt, the buzzing hurt.

He looked around, left, right, but there was no one in the parking lot, just cars. He looked up. The green neon of the Holiday Inn sign towered above him. Some of the letters were missing and the neon sign was spitting, buzzing, blinking in the night.

HOLI INN HOLI INN

He covered his ears, against the buzzing, until finally it blended with the dull roar of the waves in his brain. When he took his hands down, it was gone. But the waves were still there, pounding.

He looked again at the blue car. He had followed it here, followed it for the last two hours. He had seen the man and had known instantly that he was perfect. But then, but then, he had to wait. He had to wait, wait until the man finished and got back in his car. He had to wait through the traffic. Had to wait until the fucker ate his damn burritos, bought his fucking postcards. He had to wait. And now, it was time.

What’s taking him so long? Why doesn’t he get out?

Finally, the taillights went dead. The driver’s door opened. He heard the faint pinging of the car’s ignition alarm. The man emerged.

Move! Do it now! Quick! Quick!

In three swift strides, he was at the car. The man heard him and turned. There was just enough time for something to register on the man’s face-fear? confusion? — before the pole hit his leg.

A shot split the silence. The man crumbled to the asphalt, holding his thigh.

Ha! Easy now! The rest is easy! Oh, yes!

The man was moaning, writhing. Making noise. The pinging sound from the car, someone would hear it. They were far in the corner of the lot but someone could hear it.

Too much noise. Get away from here. Too much light, too much noise. Get away!

He grabbed the man’s right arm and dragged him to the truck. With a grunt, he hoisted him up. Light. He was so light. He threw him in the flatbed along with the pole. The man’s head made a loud clunk as it hit metal.

The man was moaning and groping at the air. He slammed his fist into the man’s head and he was quiet.

He stared at the man’s face. It looked green in the neon of the sign overhead.

He frowned.

Too. . too. . is it too? It looked different in the daylight. No. . no, it’s perfect. Finish it!

He pulled the tarp up over the man’s body and got in the truck. He started the truck but then paused. He reached under the seat. It was still there. The knife was there. And the can of paint. He wasn’t going to fuck it up this time. This time, he would do it right.