The Chemistry of Death

Chapter 31

Ziggy had walked for hours through the sleeping city before returning home. The doorman nodded politely when he arrived. Just another late night for Ziggy. Usually, however, his late nights ended with him in a better mood.

He dropped his ruined shoes down the garbage chute on his floor. Tomorrow was garbage day, so there was little risk they’d be found. Even if they were, they didn’t prove anything.

He padded down the hall to his apartment, unlocked his door and stepped inside. Without turning on the lights, he stomped through his front hall into the bathroom.

After doing his business, he washed his hands and caught sight of himself in the mirror. The face staring back at him was tight with rage. Usually, after he liberated a woman, everything became more intense — the colors brighter, the tastes richer, the orgasms overpowering. Every sense in his body gave him heightened pleasure. For days afterward, he had only to close his eyes, touch the lipstick, imagine her face in the last moment, and bliss overwhelmed him, leaving him spent.

When he closed his eyes now, he saw that man screaming and pointing. Running toward Emilia. Shattering their moment together. Tesla had probably watched the last light fade from her eyes himself. He’d stolen Ziggy’s moment.

Ziggy smashed his fist against the mirror. Silver glass shattered in a circle around his knuckles. Shards clattered into the sink. His broken image stared back.

A note of pain from his hand told him he’d hurt himself. He opened his fist and looked. A glass sliver protruded between his first and second knuckle. He peeled his lips back in a grimace, then pulled the glass out with his teeth and dropped it into the sink.

Bright blood welled in the puncture. A line of blood traced down his index finger and fell, one perfect drop at a time, into the sink. The vibrant color reminded him of 999.

He brought his hand to his mouth and licked the blood away with quick strokes of his tongue, cleaning it like a cat. The warm softness against his skin was the first thing that had felt right since that man had appeared in the tunnel. He closed his eyes and savored the salty, metallic taste of blood, comforted and able to think.

He sucked on the knuckle without opening his eyes. He knew what he had to do. The fun was gone. It was time for the Finale.

For years, he’d known this time must come. He’d planned it a thousand ways, had been working on it actively for months, but Tesla had never been part of his calculations. In his plans she and he were alone together. They made the decision together, and they died together. They were two people with a single fate, and it was his mission to make her realize it. And he always did. In his fantasies, she always understood.

He’d known she would be his most difficult conquest. She’d always been stronger than the women he met in clubs, and he hadn’t wanted to use the drug on her. She must make the choice from her own true soul, unaided by Algea. She’d needed extra preparation, and he’d put a plan into action months ago, working on her intensely for the past few weeks. The process was difficult to watch, but it would be over soon. He wouldn’t wait longer for her to take him where he wanted to go.

He could use Tesla to help. He could drive the man to take his own life after he showed him his own bitter memories. Ziggy would remind him of his new suffering, layer it atop the old, until it was too much for him to bear. Then he would make his choice as the others had.

She would watch, and Tesla’s experiences would show her the way. His death would make her stop fighting life and embrace death, and Ziggy would go with her. They would both be at peace.

He opened his eyes. He had much to do. As he washed and wrapped his wounded hand, he made a list. He must obtain a powerful tranquilizer. He must find the man alone. And he must take Tesla to her.