Zachy - Entry #8

I managed to enlist the help of the landlady, Mrs. Watson, who, thankfully, was a dog person and was not adverse to dealing with dead cats, which she told me as she not-so-tenderly placed the cat into a cardboard box. I crumpled up the note and tossed it in the trash, but I couldn't seem to stop thinking about it. As she took the cardboard box outside, reassuring me that she'd bury Django in the building's small courtyard, I pictured the mustached man, somehow or another eliminating the cat. In my head, it happened over and over, in various gruesome ways. I shook my head, as though that would get rid of the images, but it didn't help.

After washing my hands - somewhere in the middle of all of this, I'd managed to get blood on them - I went to the couch, flipped on the T.V., and promptly fell asleep to the dulcet tones of the reporter, who was screaming about how the world was going to hell or some such madness.

When I awoke again, daylight was streaming through the windows, and there were carpet fibers in my teeth. There was a dull pain in the back of my head, and I realized that I must have fallen off the couch in the middle of the night. I had dreamed about the mustached man, that much I could remember. In said dream, he'd been staring at me, examining me, occasionally prodding me with long, claw-like fingers. I didn't remember him saying anything. He'd only giggled and toyed with his facial hair, then, at one point, let out a mad, barking laugh and jumped toward me, and then I had woken up.

"Shit," I grumbled, staggering to my feet and rubbing my head.

I glanced at the clock. It was 12:30.

Nellie expected me in exactly a half an hour. Well, shit.

Surprisingly, I was able to pull myself together fairly quickly, racing to the bedroom to grab some fresh clothes - not bothering to change my pants - , ignoring the blood stain on the sheets that I promised myself I'd clean when I got back, brushed my hair and my teeth, and headed for the door. I neither showered nor shaved. It was a necessary sacrifice. Nellie would kill me if I were late.

I raced out of the building and managed, miraculously enough in the chaos around me, to hail a cab. The driver, a stout man with a bushy black beard and dark skin, eyed me warily. That wasn't much of a surprise. I looked a right mess, and in all likelihood, he probably pegged me for one of the city's many homeless, and was worried that I wouldn't pay him or something. Regardless, I gave him directions to Nellie's - it was now 12:52 - and told him I'd pay him extra if he stepped on it. He grumbled something and pulled away from the curb.

The car pulled up at her apartment building - a quaint little brick structure - exactly eighteen minutes later, according to my count. The driver turned around and glared at me. "Keep money," he said in a crisp Indian accent as I tried to pay him, "and please get out of my cab now. You give me heebie-jeebies."

More than slightly confused, I got out. I didn't spend very much time thinking about what the hell was going on, however. I was more concerned, as I raced up to the fourth floor where Nellie's apartment was, about what I was going to say to her when I saw her. I got to her door and knocked, perhaps a bit frantically. I had a perfectly-planned apology for my lateness, all laid out, but when she opened the door, all that came out of my mouth was, "Shit, shit, I am so sorry, there was - "

"Rufus? Oh my God, what the hell happened to you?" Her face, already pale beneath a splattering of freckles, seemed to have gone even paler. She grabbed me by the arm and led me into her apartment, a place that was obviously inhabited by a neat-freak, unlike my own cluttered mess of a home. The dog, Charlie, eyed me from the sofa. She raced off to the kitchen as I answered, red hair bouncing behind her.

"Nothing, I'm fine. But ... Django's dead." I plopped myself on the couch. Charlie jumped up with a whimper and scurried to the next room. Weird. Charlie usually loved when I was over ...

"Oh, hon ... " Nellie came back to my side, handing me a water bottle. I shook my head and she shrugged, setting it on the coffee table. "He was old, though, you know. I'd told you that he probably didn't have much longer ... "

"No, that's not what I mean." I sighed. "Someone broke in and killed him."

She just stared. "What?"

"I ... I don't have any clue. They didn't steal anything, I don't think. But I went in yesterday and found him in the bedroom, and there was blood all over ... " For some reason, I didn't tell her about the note. Perhaps I was worried about frightening her too much.

"God, all this stress from work ... now this? " She put a hand on my chest and began to unbutton my shirt. "Hon, I'm sorry. But it's okay. You know why?"

"No," I said, as she leaned over and kissed me. "Why?"

"Because I'm here, and we're going to get away from this city just as soon as we can, and it'll be just you and me. Sounds good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah ... " I mumbled, thinking I could definitely grow to like the idea of a romantic getawa - "No," I said, remembering something. "No, I can't."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, you can," she said, sternly.

"No, I can't Nellie ... " I tried to sound as reasonable as possible. "My patients ... "

"What about them?"

"Well, I'm not gonna leave them! I'm their doctor!"

"Screw them! I'm sorry if I sound callous, but what about us? We haven't slept together in weeks!"

"Nellie!"

"What? It's true! We're falling apart - no, you're falling apart! Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

"Briefly ... "

"Well, you look like shit."

"Thanks.

"Think I'm just being cute? Look!" She raced off to the bathroom, and came back seconds later clutching a small mirror, which she shoved into my hands.

I peered at it. She was, unfortunately, right. There were new lines in my face, bags peeking out beneath my glasses. My hair, already ruffled and a bit greasy, had begun to go grey at the temples. I scratched my chin. I did look like shit.

"See what I mean?" Nellie put her hands on her hips.

I didn't, because something else had caught my attention. The face in the mirror had suddenly shifted, as though something very quick had darted across the glass. Then, I - no, not me, the me in the mirror, winked.

"Ms. Nellie, Rufus must go away for a little while," I said. But why was I saying that? That didn't make any sense, and it wasn't really me saying it, either. My brain struggled to figure out what was going on.

Suddenly, it was as though there was a vice on my arm, the one holding the mirror - the elbow twitched violently, and the mirror fell to the floor and shattered. I began to walk stiffly toward Nellie, who was backing away toward the corner, but I wasn't the one walking, someone else was, and there was a primal lust for something about to happen welling up inside of me, and the reminder that I shouldn't enjoy this too much, that it was for the greater good, a sacred duty of mine, and really -

"Stop it!" I shouted, trying to move, trying to regain control. But no, all I could do was make myself stumble to the left, before whatever had me in its grasp straightened up and seemed to seize me even more tightly.

"What the fuck are you doing, Rufus? What's the matter with you?"

"Be polite, my friend. I am talking, now," said the other me, and I could no longer speak. "This is much more difficult when you are not asleep ... might I ask why you bothered with such a wench, anyway? So very many sins ... "

"Rufus, please!"

"Very, very many. There is, of course, the trifle that you are planning on eating beef tonight. But I blame that only on your cultural quirks, a poor upbringing - perhaps I shall kill your parents after this, yes? Oh, dear ... many little crimes. Bribing your bosses through the years for higher positions. And, oh, Rufus, listen to this, my friend! Did you know that she was going to cheat on you if you did not go with her on this vacation? She has another man chosen already!"

He must be lying, I thought, because that just ... Nellie would never. But no, she had begun to sob and nod her head, had started to moan, "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to!" and I realized he was right. But I didn't want to hurt her, did I?

"It is very sad, but you are not the last evil-doer I shall have to do away with before this is done. So perhaps your last thoughts should be rejoicing, yes?" The other me reached into my left pocket, and my fingers touched cold silver. I pulled out a knife that I did not remember putting into my pocket, but I must have, because it was the one I'd bought half off at a sale last year, and there was blood already on it.

I couldn't respond. Whatever vestige of power I had over my self had now disappeared entirely, and I raised the knife above my head. The inner me, the real one, was trying to sob, trying to scream out, trying to do anything, and then the other me, the one in control, had a curious thought. That thought was this:

'Where's the dog?'

Something heavy barreled into me, something warm and furry with snapping teeth. I - it - whatever was controlling me - lost my balance, and I fell. There was another heavy impact, and the shattering of glass, and suddenly the brick wall of the building was racing past me, as I fell four stories to my imminent death.