Violent Kisses and Violent Minds
Chapter Fifty One
Chapter Fifty One:
“Travis. Listen to me,” Derek instructed the drunken man in front of him. He was unsure about whether he would receive any logical answers from him, but he had to try anyway. There was much to be done and this was just one of the first things. “Why did you give Simone alcohol?”
“ALCOHOL? I DIDN’T GIVE NO ONE ALCOHOL EXCEPT FOR MU. FUUUCK! I MEAN ME.”
“Are you sure?”
Travis blinked sharply. His head ducked backwards. “FUCK! A BUG JUST FLEW IN MY EYE!”
“Answer me, Travis. Are you sure?”
“SURE? OF WHAT? YOU ARE A SILLY POOPY PANTS.”
“No… Travis, are you sure that you didn’t give Simone any alcohol?”
“YES! WHY WOULD I GIVE ALCOHOL AWAY? DO I TAKE YOU AS A FOOL, DERRIM? DEREK! FUCK! AM I A FOOL?”
“Yes, actually, but that’s beside the point.”
Real tears actually began to fall down Travis’ face. His voice was suddenly very quiet. “Derrim thinks Travel is a fork?”
Derek paused, working out Travis’ jumbled up words. “Something like that.” Travis sobbed harder. Derek hastily added on to his sentence, “But that’s a good thing. I like fools. Fools are cool.”
“FORKS ARE SPORKS! FORKS ARE SPORKS!”
“Well… I know what you mean by that. Now I think you need to get some rest. How about we go back to your place and you can have a nice long nappy?” Derek’s face screwed up as he realised he’d just said ‘nappy’. He’d meant nap, of course… nappy… no, that’s what babies wear so poopy doesn’t go everywhere like what Travis keeps saying happened to Derek. And of course, this was completely made up by Travis’ drunken imagination.
“If I have to…” Travis gave in quietly.
-Meanwhile-
Pritchard stepped out of the car. His footsteps left a soft indent in the moist strip of grass that separated the road from the footpath.
“This the house?” Rapinett asked. Pritchard knew he didn’t actually care.
“Yeah,” Pritchard replied, biting down hard on his tongue. “Let’s check it out.”
They traipsed towards the house that Sonny Moore knew too well as his own. Pritchard knocked on the bold wooden door with dull thuds.
“No answer,” Pritchard said after a few minutes. “Try around back?”
Rapinett nodded. They walked around the soft grass and into the backyard. Through the glass door, just like Derek, they saw a disturbing sight - the same disturbing sight Derek had seen a few days earlier, only now… the flies… and, oh God, the smell…
Rapinett whistled coolly. “Woo.”
“Sweet Jesus!” Pritchard exclaimed. He hadn’t been on the job that long and this was by far the gruesome thing he’d seen yet.
“Call in the crew, boy,” Rapinett instructed Pritchard.
“There’s no way I’m leaving you here with these people,” Pritchard said.
Rapinett adjusted his spit. “’Kay. I’ll call it in.” And he set off for the walkie talkie in the police car.
Pritchard pulled a faded blue chequered handkerchief from his pants pocket and held it over his nose. He heard a buzz and swatted vaguely at the unseeable fly. “Shoo,” he whispered to the fly.
Ten minutes later, Rapinett was still gone. Pritchard ventured out of the smell and gratefully breathed in a sweet breath of the crisp fresh air. Upon seeing the police car gone, Pritchard cursed. “Booger!”
Pritchard stamped his foot hard on the ground. It was just like Rapinett to do a thing like this, the bastard. Pritchard paced back and forth a few times, contemplating what to do. In the middle of making up his mind, Pritchard heard a rustle in the bushes not far from where he was standing. He turned his attention to the bushes, expecting it to be a dog or cat or one of them damn teenagers. Just kidding, Pritchard didn’t mind teenagers. He wasn’t that far off one himself… okay, about ten years, but hey.
It was a man. He was wearing a pair of faded light blue jeans that looked about one size too big. He was cloaked in a hoodie, the hood falling down over his eyes and nose. The only physical description Pritchard would be able to possibly give about the man, seeing him like this, was that he was a tall, lean, Caucasian male.
“Hello,” the man said to Pritchard.
“Can I help you?” Pritchard asked politely.
“No, officer. I’m quite all right. I think it is you who is in mortal danger.”
“Mortal danger? What the-” But Pritchard didn’t have time to finish his sentence. The man was on him. Pritchard was pushed to the ground, the man on top of him. Pritchard struggled against him, but the mans’ weight and position was too much for him.
He pulled a knife from within his hoodie and plunged it into Pritchard’s chest. He got off him and ripped the knife from his chest cavity where it had entered. He wiped it off on his hoodie and placed it back inside. He brushed his hands off on his dark jeans and looked shiftily around the neighbourhood. No one was in sight. Perfect. That meant he had no one else to kill… though he did enjoy it.
He walked away from the scene in a casual way and left Pritchard there on the grass, his breaths coming in choking, searing gasps, to die.
“Travis. Listen to me,” Derek instructed the drunken man in front of him. He was unsure about whether he would receive any logical answers from him, but he had to try anyway. There was much to be done and this was just one of the first things. “Why did you give Simone alcohol?”
“ALCOHOL? I DIDN’T GIVE NO ONE ALCOHOL EXCEPT FOR MU. FUUUCK! I MEAN ME.”
“Are you sure?”
Travis blinked sharply. His head ducked backwards. “FUCK! A BUG JUST FLEW IN MY EYE!”
“Answer me, Travis. Are you sure?”
“SURE? OF WHAT? YOU ARE A SILLY POOPY PANTS.”
“No… Travis, are you sure that you didn’t give Simone any alcohol?”
“YES! WHY WOULD I GIVE ALCOHOL AWAY? DO I TAKE YOU AS A FOOL, DERRIM? DEREK! FUCK! AM I A FOOL?”
“Yes, actually, but that’s beside the point.”
Real tears actually began to fall down Travis’ face. His voice was suddenly very quiet. “Derrim thinks Travel is a fork?”
Derek paused, working out Travis’ jumbled up words. “Something like that.” Travis sobbed harder. Derek hastily added on to his sentence, “But that’s a good thing. I like fools. Fools are cool.”
“FORKS ARE SPORKS! FORKS ARE SPORKS!”
“Well… I know what you mean by that. Now I think you need to get some rest. How about we go back to your place and you can have a nice long nappy?” Derek’s face screwed up as he realised he’d just said ‘nappy’. He’d meant nap, of course… nappy… no, that’s what babies wear so poopy doesn’t go everywhere like what Travis keeps saying happened to Derek. And of course, this was completely made up by Travis’ drunken imagination.
“If I have to…” Travis gave in quietly.
-Meanwhile-
Pritchard stepped out of the car. His footsteps left a soft indent in the moist strip of grass that separated the road from the footpath.
“This the house?” Rapinett asked. Pritchard knew he didn’t actually care.
“Yeah,” Pritchard replied, biting down hard on his tongue. “Let’s check it out.”
They traipsed towards the house that Sonny Moore knew too well as his own. Pritchard knocked on the bold wooden door with dull thuds.
“No answer,” Pritchard said after a few minutes. “Try around back?”
Rapinett nodded. They walked around the soft grass and into the backyard. Through the glass door, just like Derek, they saw a disturbing sight - the same disturbing sight Derek had seen a few days earlier, only now… the flies… and, oh God, the smell…
Rapinett whistled coolly. “Woo.”
“Sweet Jesus!” Pritchard exclaimed. He hadn’t been on the job that long and this was by far the gruesome thing he’d seen yet.
“Call in the crew, boy,” Rapinett instructed Pritchard.
“There’s no way I’m leaving you here with these people,” Pritchard said.
Rapinett adjusted his spit. “’Kay. I’ll call it in.” And he set off for the walkie talkie in the police car.
Pritchard pulled a faded blue chequered handkerchief from his pants pocket and held it over his nose. He heard a buzz and swatted vaguely at the unseeable fly. “Shoo,” he whispered to the fly.
Ten minutes later, Rapinett was still gone. Pritchard ventured out of the smell and gratefully breathed in a sweet breath of the crisp fresh air. Upon seeing the police car gone, Pritchard cursed. “Booger!”
Pritchard stamped his foot hard on the ground. It was just like Rapinett to do a thing like this, the bastard. Pritchard paced back and forth a few times, contemplating what to do. In the middle of making up his mind, Pritchard heard a rustle in the bushes not far from where he was standing. He turned his attention to the bushes, expecting it to be a dog or cat or one of them damn teenagers. Just kidding, Pritchard didn’t mind teenagers. He wasn’t that far off one himself… okay, about ten years, but hey.
It was a man. He was wearing a pair of faded light blue jeans that looked about one size too big. He was cloaked in a hoodie, the hood falling down over his eyes and nose. The only physical description Pritchard would be able to possibly give about the man, seeing him like this, was that he was a tall, lean, Caucasian male.
“Hello,” the man said to Pritchard.
“Can I help you?” Pritchard asked politely.
“No, officer. I’m quite all right. I think it is you who is in mortal danger.”
“Mortal danger? What the-” But Pritchard didn’t have time to finish his sentence. The man was on him. Pritchard was pushed to the ground, the man on top of him. Pritchard struggled against him, but the mans’ weight and position was too much for him.
He pulled a knife from within his hoodie and plunged it into Pritchard’s chest. He got off him and ripped the knife from his chest cavity where it had entered. He wiped it off on his hoodie and placed it back inside. He brushed his hands off on his dark jeans and looked shiftily around the neighbourhood. No one was in sight. Perfect. That meant he had no one else to kill… though he did enjoy it.
He walked away from the scene in a casual way and left Pritchard there on the grass, his breaths coming in choking, searing gasps, to die.