In The Mind's Eye

“Oh god, Oh god,” he mumbled. He stayed on the floor, put his head back in his hands and began to rock back and forth.

The voice returned, demanding, cajoling and insistent. He'd already done what it wanted. Confused, he had to piece together what had happened today.

Trying to calm himself he stopped rocking. Think. When you killed them you still had that out-of-body feeling. He still did. The scent of death, the coppery smell of blood that spurted from each victim was fresh in his mind. They'd lain randomly on the floor like discarded waxwork figures with juice flowing out of their heads. Oh god. It had been satisfying. The only callously enjoyable thing he'd done during his life. A grin stayed on his face while he went through the warehouse gunning them down – he was sure of it.

No sirens and cops swarmed around him. Maybe he'd gotten in and out of the workplace before they could arrive.

He slid his back up the wall to ease himself to his feet, swayed a little with dizziness, and patted the pocket where the clips were. Instead of hard metal his hand felt no resistance under the material. This discovery brought no relief. He was going mad thanks to the voice that wormed its way through his mind. Avoiding jail or being shot by the cops was no consolation when the alternative would be to end up being locked away in a psychiatric hospital. Whether his sanity had buckled under the pressure, or he'd become possessed, he didn't care. Ever since being a kid he'd wanted to dispose of those who wouldn't mind their own business and needed someone to torment to make themselves feel better.

Blake turned the key in the lock and entered his apartment. Something deep inside his mind must have stopped him last time by pretending that he'd done it. This time there would be no doubt or hesitation.





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