The Chemistry of Death

Chapter 20

Ziggy adjusted the brightness on his laptop so he could better enjoy the scene in front of him. He giggled and touched the screen with one finger. “Gotcha.”

Tesla stood on his porch. His eyes were big and round. Round as saucers, Ziggy’s mother would have said. She liked to throw saucers and had clipped him on the back of the head more than once.

But Ziggy had never frozen, like the man on the screen. He always had the presence of mind to duck and run. The man on the monitor stared up at the light surrounding him and stood rooted to the spot. He would have been brained by the flying saucers.

His dog stood next to him. Its mouth opened and closed, but the camera Ziggy had installed had no audio. He imagined the animal barking, trying to get the man’s attention. If so, it didn’t work, and the dog seemed to know it.

He wished he could zoom in. He’d love to study the expression on that man’s face. He’d seen terror before, but he’d never filmed it, never been able to watch it in such safety and calm. Maybe he could set up a camera for the next woman.

For now he must concentrate on the delightful images in front of him. The man was brought low. He had taken and taken and taken from Ziggy. He thought that he could keep Ziggy from hunting again. He thought he owned the tunnels.

Well, he was wrong.

Tesla was made of fear and nothing else. He hadn’t moved from the spot he’d been in when the lights went on. They always feared the light — it was a result of the Algea. Tesla had consumed the drug when Ziggy dosed him months before, but until now Ziggy hadn’t known how long the effects would linger. It was an interesting case study.

The man held up an arm to shield himself from the light. It was a good instinct, but it blocked Ziggy’s view. He frowned. “Face the light like a man.”

Ziggy had been watching Tesla from the time he had arrived on the front stoop with his pathetic little flashlight. He’d waited until the man was ready to step onto the green grass, then he’d brought back the lights. He’d suspected that would be the most terrifying time, when the man was out of the cocoon of his house. He’d been proven right beyond his wildest hopes.

It hadn’t been easy figuring out how to cut and restore the power, but it had been worth it. Ziggy knew of an old junction box halfway up a subway line. It had long ago been automated, and Ziggy had traced it back to an empty electrician’s room. He had a key. He didn’t have all the keys, like that man did, but he had enough. Money and time were all that was needed, and he had enough of both.

He had looked around the dusty room. It held a panel of circuit breakers with an elaborate diagram identifying what each switch controlled. One was marked “Gallo house” in faint pencil. He had simply switched it off, then on. The best part was that the man himself couldn’t control the light and darkness in his own home. Only Ziggy could.

An MTA electrician might come by soon. The system might have registered the power outage, and they might try to find the source. But they might not. The outage hadn’t affected any critical systems, such as the subway lines themselves. Even if they did decide to come, he had a few more minutes to watch the scene unfolding in front of him.

He thought of cutting the lights again and then turning them back on, but decided that would give the man a second to collect himself. He might come back to himself given the chance. Better to let him suffer as long as possible.

The man’s eyelids were torn open as wide as they could go. His eyes darted from side to side as if they sought to escape his panicked body, his pupils pinpoints of black. The man himself didn’t move. He was frozen, like a woman in front of a train.

He was a rabbit cowering in a hole. As soon as he pulled himself together, he’d scuttle inside, climb into bed, and pull the covers over his head. He wouldn’t be out in the tunnels tonight.

Which left Ziggy’s playground free.

He’d spotted the perfect woman at the club. Emilia. If she was the one, she’d be there when he got back. Fate would make her wait for him.