((Colm Forsyth continued from The Passion Of Iscariot; By Max Demian))
He had returned to where he last saw Betty, but instead of going up, he went down instead. Juanita and Daniel would catch up if they wanted. Colm wasn't sure how much Juanita liked his company, but he supposed he cleared the low bar of not trying to kill her.
With his torch out, he made his way into the basement. It was lame, but it felt like a good place to cry. And so, he finally did start to cry.
Taking cautious steps forward, he was not focused enough on what was above and he hit his head on a wooden beam. It was a small thing, but it felt like the latest in a long line of oversights and mistake.
He went and sat on a dusty, mostly broken looking chair and sniffled in the dim light of the torch.
Then, suddenly, he realized he was not alone here.
"H-Hello?"
Fever of Stingrays
Private
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Ruggahissy
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A second light clicked on in answer, illuminating a face several feet away.
"Boo," Salem said lightly. There was a note of good humor in his voice, but mostly he sounded tired.
((Salem Fox continued from The World Ended on a Snowy Day))
After trekking back across the island from the town, he'd found the research station surprisingly quiet. Maybe more people were dead than he'd realized, or more of them were avoiding shelter than he expected; either way, finding some privacy had been easy.
Salem sat cross-legged on one of the sturdier boxes of miscellaneous junk crowding the basement with his belongings spread about him, like a cheap video game merchant selling assorted and possibly cursed wares. His coat, shirts, and skirt were draped over the closest box on one side, while the rifle leaned against the wall on the other, with his bag sitting open by his feet and the first-aid kit in his lap. He'd been struggling to clean and bandage the new cut Madeleine had given him with no way to look at it when the noise of a surprise guest descending the stairs had alerted him. He'd spent the last few minutes sitting in darkness and listening to Colm stumble around as the flashlight weaved it's way closer.
"If you want some privacy, there's a nice corner over thataway," he said, indicating the far side of the basement with a wave of his own light. "I'm kind of in the middle of something, so I can't pack up on short notice."
Salem wasn't sitting half-naked in the dark for fun, much as he'd happily claim otherwise if asked. The layers of his coat and shirts, plus the uneven blade of Madeleine's weird sword, had prevented her from cutting him deeply, but it had bled a fair amount, and his slapdash patch job before leaving town hadn't held up. Peeling his shirt away from the wound had essentially been Ice Cream Sweater 2: The Revenge, and like all rushed sequels it had sucked more in pretty much every way. The pile of gauze and wipes sitting near his leg were stained pink, only faintly visible in the flashlight's radius.
The bandages on his leg needed changing too, but that was a bridge to cross when it didn't involve stripping all the way down to his underwear in front of Sniffly McGee over there.
"Anyway, welcome to my humble abode. Make yourself comfortable, there's plenty of room."
"Boo," Salem said lightly. There was a note of good humor in his voice, but mostly he sounded tired.
((Salem Fox continued from The World Ended on a Snowy Day))
After trekking back across the island from the town, he'd found the research station surprisingly quiet. Maybe more people were dead than he'd realized, or more of them were avoiding shelter than he expected; either way, finding some privacy had been easy.
Salem sat cross-legged on one of the sturdier boxes of miscellaneous junk crowding the basement with his belongings spread about him, like a cheap video game merchant selling assorted and possibly cursed wares. His coat, shirts, and skirt were draped over the closest box on one side, while the rifle leaned against the wall on the other, with his bag sitting open by his feet and the first-aid kit in his lap. He'd been struggling to clean and bandage the new cut Madeleine had given him with no way to look at it when the noise of a surprise guest descending the stairs had alerted him. He'd spent the last few minutes sitting in darkness and listening to Colm stumble around as the flashlight weaved it's way closer.
"If you want some privacy, there's a nice corner over thataway," he said, indicating the far side of the basement with a wave of his own light. "I'm kind of in the middle of something, so I can't pack up on short notice."
Salem wasn't sitting half-naked in the dark for fun, much as he'd happily claim otherwise if asked. The layers of his coat and shirts, plus the uneven blade of Madeleine's weird sword, had prevented her from cutting him deeply, but it had bled a fair amount, and his slapdash patch job before leaving town hadn't held up. Peeling his shirt away from the wound had essentially been Ice Cream Sweater 2: The Revenge, and like all rushed sequels it had sucked more in pretty much every way. The pile of gauze and wipes sitting near his leg were stained pink, only faintly visible in the flashlight's radius.
The bandages on his leg needed changing too, but that was a bridge to cross when it didn't involve stripping all the way down to his underwear in front of Sniffly McGee over there.
"Anyway, welcome to my humble abode. Make yourself comfortable, there's plenty of room."
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Ruggahissy
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And so it seemed that this was not a private place after all. Colm carefully eyed the boy who sat shirtless on the floor surrounded by his sundries. The boy was one he knew of, but not knew in anything but the most passing sense. He privately envied his looks, but had nothing against him in particular.
He was also aware that this person, Salem, had killed two people and had been rewarded twice. But Colm had already spoke to three murderers -- in fact, seemed to be primarily in the company of murderers since he woke up. He had given each a chance, partly out of kindness and partly to try and disprove Betty's deadly hypothesis. She was gone now, but he would do as he had done. It wasn't as if he had a lot of choice now as the two were in the dark basement together.
"Boo, yourself," he said, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve.
Colm took a seat on an old plastic chair a few feet away and carefully studied Salem.
"What are you doing down here, besides being homospectral?"
He was also aware that this person, Salem, had killed two people and had been rewarded twice. But Colm had already spoke to three murderers -- in fact, seemed to be primarily in the company of murderers since he woke up. He had given each a chance, partly out of kindness and partly to try and disprove Betty's deadly hypothesis. She was gone now, but he would do as he had done. It wasn't as if he had a lot of choice now as the two were in the dark basement together.
"Boo, yourself," he said, quickly wiping his face with his sleeve.
Colm took a seat on an old plastic chair a few feet away and carefully studied Salem.
"What are you doing down here, besides being homospectral?"
Salem tilted his head to the side, smiling slightly at Colm's turn of phrase and mostly not faking it. It was easy to make out who he was now with the benefit of two lights and his eyes adjusting, though even in the dark that bulky silhouette couldn't have belonged to too many other people. Salem had momentarily hoped it might be Lúcio; he was hurting for a friendly face.
He had somewhat expected it after talking to Kitty, but once the switch had been well and truly flipped, the hits did not stop coming. It stood to reason that things back in the sheriff's office would have gone south eventually, but Salem was still irritated by just how much either of the girls had refused to play ball before that point. The irony of craving a little bit of the comfortable and familiar trappings of superficial social interaction after he'd been the one to willingly throw them away wasn't lost on him.
"Got stabbed in the back," he answered Colm, keeping his tone as light as he could still. "You know how it is." He turned slightly to illustrate that he wasn't speaking metaphorically. If Colm reacted to the sight of the gash sitting beneath Salem's right shoulder blade, he'd at least get a sense of how bad it looked.
"What about you? Your demons got ya down?" Angelo's body splayed on the church cellar's floor floated through his mind's eye. Maybe there was some kind of irony in him and Colm meeting here and now too.
He had somewhat expected it after talking to Kitty, but once the switch had been well and truly flipped, the hits did not stop coming. It stood to reason that things back in the sheriff's office would have gone south eventually, but Salem was still irritated by just how much either of the girls had refused to play ball before that point. The irony of craving a little bit of the comfortable and familiar trappings of superficial social interaction after he'd been the one to willingly throw them away wasn't lost on him.
"Got stabbed in the back," he answered Colm, keeping his tone as light as he could still. "You know how it is." He turned slightly to illustrate that he wasn't speaking metaphorically. If Colm reacted to the sight of the gash sitting beneath Salem's right shoulder blade, he'd at least get a sense of how bad it looked.
"What about you? Your demons got ya down?" Angelo's body splayed on the church cellar's floor floated through his mind's eye. Maybe there was some kind of irony in him and Colm meeting here and now too.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Ruggahissy
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"I can't say that I do know how it is. As you can see, I'm un-stabbed," he responded, carefully looking over Salem. The gash did look nasty and he winced involuntarily. Colm contemplated offering to help him bandage it, but something about his presence told him that Salem wouldn't accept the help. There was something in the way he spoke, the way he tilted his head, that told him that it was better to keep the distance.
Salem asked about his own misadventures and he considered Juanita's similar question to him. No doubt both heard his name on the announcement. He was quiet for a moment.
"I don't believe in demons. I just have mistakes. Mistakes are human," he said quietly. He wished that things hadn't ended the way they had with Angelo, and he wished he wouldn't have left Betty to her own deadly devices.
"But you do believe in them," he said, as if it were evident, as if he were puzzling Salem out. "You keep them close, don't ya cutie?"
Salem asked about his own misadventures and he considered Juanita's similar question to him. No doubt both heard his name on the announcement. He was quiet for a moment.
"I don't believe in demons. I just have mistakes. Mistakes are human," he said quietly. He wished that things hadn't ended the way they had with Angelo, and he wished he wouldn't have left Betty to her own deadly devices.
"But you do believe in them," he said, as if it were evident, as if he were puzzling Salem out. "You keep them close, don't ya cutie?"
"That's a pretty down-to-earth way of looking at it," Salem said. He turned back to face Colm, but turned his attention back to finishing with the re-bandaging. It was a real flexibility workout; at least his shoulders would be nice and limber after this.
"I guess I'd rather believe in demons," he continued after a few moments. "I've seen enough of people."
Another pause, after which he glanced up at Colm again with a faintly flirty smile. "You're not half bad yourself, by the way." Not his type, and not only in looks, but if Colm had asked him out for coffee back at school, he'd probably have thought twice before saying no.
Salem thought twice about most things, or used to. Maybe that had something to do with why he kept taking these little risks now, like turning his back on somebody who had already killed. More than half those risks had come back to bite him, but he kept doing it. Just couldn't give up that sigma grind, even now. Try and try again.
"I guess I'd rather believe in demons," he continued after a few moments. "I've seen enough of people."
Another pause, after which he glanced up at Colm again with a faintly flirty smile. "You're not half bad yourself, by the way." Not his type, and not only in looks, but if Colm had asked him out for coffee back at school, he'd probably have thought twice before saying no.
Salem thought twice about most things, or used to. Maybe that had something to do with why he kept taking these little risks now, like turning his back on somebody who had already killed. More than half those risks had come back to bite him, but he kept doing it. Just couldn't give up that sigma grind, even now. Try and try again.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Ruggahissy
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Colm noticed that Salem was leaving himself open to him, not taking care to watch him as he continued with his impromptu first aid. Was Salem testing him? Laying a trap? Maybe he wanted to be vulnerable to see if Colm would attack. The boy seemed sharp -- too sharp for it to be careless and twice over a celebrated murderer, so neither was he naive. To what end that this test was being conducted, Colm did not yet know.
Colm smirked back at Salem and relaxed his sitting posture slightly, head resting against his hand propped up on his knee. He leaned forward in the chair.
"You've revealed yourself as a liar before I even got to ask anything," he said playfully back, never one to think much of his looks.
"What happened with Billie and Tim?"
Colm smirked back at Salem and relaxed his sitting posture slightly, head resting against his hand propped up on his knee. He leaned forward in the chair.
"You've revealed yourself as a liar before I even got to ask anything," he said playfully back, never one to think much of his looks.
"What happened with Billie and Tim?"
"Everyone knows I'm a liar," Salem said flippantly, dodging Colm's actual question for a moment.
"That, or they're stupid. Most people are one or the other, but I appreciate it when somebody's willing to play along, you know? It's like, I'm putting in the effort to lie, so you might as well take the bait for a minute."
He was still reaching for the cut on his back with a wipe as he spoke, and he trailed off into a hiss as the alcohol stung. "I wouldn't lead people on though, don't get the wrong idea. Like, romantically. Other ways are fair game."
Another few moments of quiet concentration as he finally felt the wound was clean to his satisfaction, and then he stuck a wad of gauze in place and started working at bandaging it more securely. The work and the dark gave him a convenient excuse to not look Colm in the face.
"I wasn't actually trying to kill Tim," he said finally. "I couldn't see who I was shooting at, and he got in the way."
"That's not, like, an excuse," he added after another pause. "I don't think that getting the wrong guy makes it less of a murder, or whatever. But I was gonna let him go if things didn't go the way they did."
It was easy to talk about when he laid it out in neat little logic legos. And also when Adam wasn't swinging a stick at him while he put the words together.
"That, or they're stupid. Most people are one or the other, but I appreciate it when somebody's willing to play along, you know? It's like, I'm putting in the effort to lie, so you might as well take the bait for a minute."
He was still reaching for the cut on his back with a wipe as he spoke, and he trailed off into a hiss as the alcohol stung. "I wouldn't lead people on though, don't get the wrong idea. Like, romantically. Other ways are fair game."
Another few moments of quiet concentration as he finally felt the wound was clean to his satisfaction, and then he stuck a wad of gauze in place and started working at bandaging it more securely. The work and the dark gave him a convenient excuse to not look Colm in the face.
"I wasn't actually trying to kill Tim," he said finally. "I couldn't see who I was shooting at, and he got in the way."
"That's not, like, an excuse," he added after another pause. "I don't think that getting the wrong guy makes it less of a murder, or whatever. But I was gonna let him go if things didn't go the way they did."
It was easy to talk about when he laid it out in neat little logic legos. And also when Adam wasn't swinging a stick at him while he put the words together.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Ruggahissy
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Much like Jacob, Salem was an admitted liar. There was something more sinister in what was presented before Colm than with Jacob. It was easy to determine Jacob was lying to make himself seem worse, and that can’t have been the case for Salem or he wouldn’t have omitted information.
Colm’s caution was temporarily thrown away as he became concentrated on solving the puzzle.
"You like to to try and trip people up, don’t you?" he observed. He was honest about being a liar, then lied by omission. He could have just come up with a whole-cloth lie, but he didn’t tell the truth.
"You’re almost as flexible with the truth as you are physically," Colm said a bit flirtatiously again. “But…I think you might need help,” he said quietly, intending both meanings of the phrase.
Colm turned another side of the puzzle, seeing if a pattern would yield, not caring for the danger it presented.
"Who did you try to kill? Someone who it’s hard to justify killing, isn’t it? Someone like Billie," he said out loud as if slotting all the pieces into place.
Colm’s caution was temporarily thrown away as he became concentrated on solving the puzzle.
"You like to to try and trip people up, don’t you?" he observed. He was honest about being a liar, then lied by omission. He could have just come up with a whole-cloth lie, but he didn’t tell the truth.
"You’re almost as flexible with the truth as you are physically," Colm said a bit flirtatiously again. “But…I think you might need help,” he said quietly, intending both meanings of the phrase.
Colm turned another side of the puzzle, seeing if a pattern would yield, not caring for the danger it presented.
"Who did you try to kill? Someone who it’s hard to justify killing, isn’t it? Someone like Billie," he said out loud as if slotting all the pieces into place.
"Help?" Salem echoed. A half-smile rested on his lips, but the corners of his mouth were stiff.
He finished wrapping the bandages that secured the gauze against his back, though as he shifted, he could tell that they weren't as snug as he'd wanted, and that he'd probably have to redo them again in a few hours. He decided that was a problem for future Salem and stood, dusting himself off. Crawling around in the basement was a little reminiscent of times that he'd explored his house's attic when he was little; the feeling that if he spent too long here, he'd start gathering dust too like the rest of the junk, remained. He figured he'd spend the night down here, taking his rest and solitude where he could, but he didn't think he'd be back once he left in the morning.
"That's kind of a funny way to put it, don't you think? 'Someone hard to justify.' Like, didn't we all come from the same place? Aren't we all in the same boat, here?"
He grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it on, then tilted his head again and smiled at Colm as he reached for his second top. "The way I see it, it doesn't make a lot of sense to divide people up into categories like that, but I get that that's an unpopular opinion. It kind of works for me, though."
Justification only mattered when you were faced with somebody or something that you had to justify yourself to. Salem had never been religious, so God was out. Most people didn't have opinions worth caring about, just cataloging.
But he kept seeking them out, pushing and prodding just to see what happened. Just to see if something was different this time? Maybe. It was a kind of freedom none of them had ever known, total breakdown of the rules of society. Law of the jungle, rules of nature, guitar riffs included. Again, the mental image of Salem's classmates as bugs arose; running madly around like a kicked anthill, scrambling to impose their own sort of order on the situation.
"But this has been a lot about me. You seem like somebody who does care about the justification. Why?"
He finished wrapping the bandages that secured the gauze against his back, though as he shifted, he could tell that they weren't as snug as he'd wanted, and that he'd probably have to redo them again in a few hours. He decided that was a problem for future Salem and stood, dusting himself off. Crawling around in the basement was a little reminiscent of times that he'd explored his house's attic when he was little; the feeling that if he spent too long here, he'd start gathering dust too like the rest of the junk, remained. He figured he'd spend the night down here, taking his rest and solitude where he could, but he didn't think he'd be back once he left in the morning.
"That's kind of a funny way to put it, don't you think? 'Someone hard to justify.' Like, didn't we all come from the same place? Aren't we all in the same boat, here?"
He grabbed his t-shirt and pulled it on, then tilted his head again and smiled at Colm as he reached for his second top. "The way I see it, it doesn't make a lot of sense to divide people up into categories like that, but I get that that's an unpopular opinion. It kind of works for me, though."
Justification only mattered when you were faced with somebody or something that you had to justify yourself to. Salem had never been religious, so God was out. Most people didn't have opinions worth caring about, just cataloging.
But he kept seeking them out, pushing and prodding just to see what happened. Just to see if something was different this time? Maybe. It was a kind of freedom none of them had ever known, total breakdown of the rules of society. Law of the jungle, rules of nature, guitar riffs included. Again, the mental image of Salem's classmates as bugs arose; running madly around like a kicked anthill, scrambling to impose their own sort of order on the situation.
"But this has been a lot about me. You seem like somebody who does care about the justification. Why?"
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Ruggahissy
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Colm knew now that this would end poorly from the electricity in the air and the way Salem smiled but how his eyes were steely, joyless. Dread, a chill in the air, a sourness in the chest. But all of that didn’t matter. He was nearly at the truth of the matter. He couldn’t stop. He could never stop when he knew he could get to the answer, no matter how much people said they didn’t want the help, said to leave them alone.
“Aren’t we on the same boat?” he said, leaning forward, with the slightly manic energy that had built now that the truth was in his reach.
“If it were that simple you’d have just told me who it was the first time. The second time. But here we are.”
“I care about why you’re being tricky. No one does it for no reason. I was with a girl who wanted to kill people she thought were predisposed to murdering before they murdered. I talked to murderers. I’m interested in why. She’s dead now, but I still don’t think anyone’s some kind of demon. Everyone’s a human, a kid, with a human motivation.”
I’m not going to find insight here. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know what to do on this island we’re on. So I just keep going because my stupid fucking face always does this. Always pushes my shit on people because I know best, big smart guy.
“Why Billie?”
A moment. He took a deep breath, swallowed.
“Don’t you… have a sister?”
“Aren’t we on the same boat?” he said, leaning forward, with the slightly manic energy that had built now that the truth was in his reach.
“If it were that simple you’d have just told me who it was the first time. The second time. But here we are.”
“I care about why you’re being tricky. No one does it for no reason. I was with a girl who wanted to kill people she thought were predisposed to murdering before they murdered. I talked to murderers. I’m interested in why. She’s dead now, but I still don’t think anyone’s some kind of demon. Everyone’s a human, a kid, with a human motivation.”
I’m not going to find insight here. But I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know what to do on this island we’re on. So I just keep going because my stupid fucking face always does this. Always pushes my shit on people because I know best, big smart guy.
“Why Billie?”
A moment. He took a deep breath, swallowed.
“Don’t you… have a sister?”
The left side of Salem's face twitched.
He took in a slow breath; he meant for it to be a deep breath, but it caught in his chest before he could fill his lungs. He pulled his crop top on over his t-shirt and then grabbed his coat, but his eyes stayed fixed on the shape of Colm that the flashlights illuminated. He'd left his own sitting on the box, and it crisscrossed the beam of Colm's light, cutting through the space between them and creating slices of saturated color in the gloom.
He lifted his coat and felt the secure, solid weight of the guns in the pockets.
"You wanna know why?" He asked, voice falling flat. "I just wanted to do it. To see if it was fun. That's all."
"People like you get really boring after a while," he added, draping his coat over his arm and holding it close, folded against his body like a shield between himself and Colm. If he wiggled his fingers, they'd be inside one of the pockets.
"Your rules don't exist here. Mine do." There was a hard edge to his words, but something wavered underneath.
He took in a slow breath; he meant for it to be a deep breath, but it caught in his chest before he could fill his lungs. He pulled his crop top on over his t-shirt and then grabbed his coat, but his eyes stayed fixed on the shape of Colm that the flashlights illuminated. He'd left his own sitting on the box, and it crisscrossed the beam of Colm's light, cutting through the space between them and creating slices of saturated color in the gloom.
He lifted his coat and felt the secure, solid weight of the guns in the pockets.
"You wanna know why?" He asked, voice falling flat. "I just wanted to do it. To see if it was fun. That's all."
"People like you get really boring after a while," he added, draping his coat over his arm and holding it close, folded against his body like a shield between himself and Colm. If he wiggled his fingers, they'd be inside one of the pockets.
"Your rules don't exist here. Mine do." There was a hard edge to his words, but something wavered underneath.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Ruggahissy
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This was the end, at least, by his estimation. Colm couldn't help himself. He didn't want to stop, and he wasn’t going to stop Salem either.
Because he couldn't live with his many mistakes.
Because he was too hard on himself for those mistakes, because even though people had acted on their own, he blamed himself for not being the guardrails to save them.
Because he didn't know what to do if he couldn't figure out a meaningful way to help the situation for him, for Salem, for the entire class. It was that feeling of helplessness that he couldn't process because he never felt it in life. There was always a way to lay out a plan and get a handle on things before. But not here.
Because he… didn't want to deal with a situation he couldn’t fix.
And because maybe needling a murderer, even if it nudged them even a tiny bit off balance, was the best thing he could think to do now with no other ideas, no avenues, and no ability to fix the mistakes he'd made or save himself from making more.
The realization that he just didn't know what to do made him more upset than anything else that had transpired since he’d fallen asleep on the bus.
"You’re such a child," he said equal parts contempt and pity, a tear spilling over. "No matter how many people you kill or shirts you wear."
Because he couldn't live with his many mistakes.
Because he was too hard on himself for those mistakes, because even though people had acted on their own, he blamed himself for not being the guardrails to save them.
Because he didn't know what to do if he couldn't figure out a meaningful way to help the situation for him, for Salem, for the entire class. It was that feeling of helplessness that he couldn't process because he never felt it in life. There was always a way to lay out a plan and get a handle on things before. But not here.
Because he… didn't want to deal with a situation he couldn’t fix.
And because maybe needling a murderer, even if it nudged them even a tiny bit off balance, was the best thing he could think to do now with no other ideas, no avenues, and no ability to fix the mistakes he'd made or save himself from making more.
The realization that he just didn't know what to do made him more upset than anything else that had transpired since he’d fallen asleep on the bus.
"You’re such a child," he said equal parts contempt and pity, a tear spilling over. "No matter how many people you kill or shirts you wear."
Salem exhaled a soft breath that in another life could have been a laugh. "Is that the best you've got?"
Not that it mattered. Even if the closer was a flop, maybe Colm knew that he'd already scored a hit.
That was why Salem was already drawing the gun.
He pulled the revolver from his coat pocket and cocked the hammer. His movements were surer and more controlled than in the sheriff's office that day, offset a bit by the fact that his hand was shaking.
"Don't look at me like that," he spat, and fired squarely into the center of Colm's chest. Then he spun the chamber, cocked it, and did it again. It wasn't the frenzied, wild firing he'd done before. It wasn't quite a coup de grâce either; it was more of a punctuating point. A statement made.
The cluttered space of the basement swallowed the sound, kept it concentrated around the two of them, and drowned out everything else that might have been spoken. Salem welcomed it, almost relished the moment where he heard nothing but the roar of the gun and the ringing in his head. He kept his eyes on Colm all the way down.
Not that it mattered. Even if the closer was a flop, maybe Colm knew that he'd already scored a hit.
That was why Salem was already drawing the gun.
He pulled the revolver from his coat pocket and cocked the hammer. His movements were surer and more controlled than in the sheriff's office that day, offset a bit by the fact that his hand was shaking.
"Don't look at me like that," he spat, and fired squarely into the center of Colm's chest. Then he spun the chamber, cocked it, and did it again. It wasn't the frenzied, wild firing he'd done before. It wasn't quite a coup de grâce either; it was more of a punctuating point. A statement made.
The cluttered space of the basement swallowed the sound, kept it concentrated around the two of them, and drowned out everything else that might have been spoken. Salem welcomed it, almost relished the moment where he heard nothing but the roar of the gun and the ringing in his head. He kept his eyes on Colm all the way down.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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Ruggahissy
- Posts: 2546
- Joined: Mon Aug 13, 2018 4:13 pm
Colm blinked slowly and watched Salem shoot him twice in the chest. He felt numb. He couldn't feel anything but the numbness spreading from his limbs in towards his body. He supposed he should be grateful that that's how his body chose to react to the renovations Salem had decided on.
"Sad. In your sadness, you find rage," Colm sputtered with difficulty and smiled back. His legs gave way and he crashed to the floor.
He was relieved to find a way out, even if the thought of dying was moderately terrifying. The thought of not thinking, the thought of not existing. But he wouldn't have to deal with other people's problems, nor his own problems. It had just been problem after problem since waking up, and before that even, other people's problems.
Colm felt warm suddenly and closed his eyes. No longer terrified of the prospect of no longer being, but happy to rest. The last thing he needed.
Colm Forsyth: Deceased
"Sad. In your sadness, you find rage," Colm sputtered with difficulty and smiled back. His legs gave way and he crashed to the floor.
He was relieved to find a way out, even if the thought of dying was moderately terrifying. The thought of not thinking, the thought of not existing. But he wouldn't have to deal with other people's problems, nor his own problems. It had just been problem after problem since waking up, and before that even, other people's problems.
Colm felt warm suddenly and closed his eyes. No longer terrified of the prospect of no longer being, but happy to rest. The last thing he needed.
Colm Forsyth: Deceased