chapter eight

Dr. Gonzo had never killed anybody before, at least not in a physical sense. Her hands shook as she tried to light the propane gas to bring the hotplate to life.

“Tea” She breathed, cursing Mule, again, and his stupid method of squirreling away liquor in places that nobody, including himself, would ever be able to find it.

She sang “la, la, las” to herself in lieu of having somebody else to talk to. “Alone”, she sighed at the end, to no one.

She bent over the hot plate to light the cigarette Balddee had given her. She thought about the sick sound of the blade slicing into the body of Dead Simon #2. She reminded herself how much rage she had swung the blade down with, the ease with which it had rendered the skull.

She tilted her head back gazing at the red emergency light, blowing smoke towards it. The thickness of the cloud ballooned then disappeared into the environment. She caught the faintest whisp of a delicious memory sharding its’ way across the dreamscape of her mind, but calmed herself as the tea kettle began to wheeze.

She lifted the heavy pot off the hotplate pouring warm water over the tea bag. She had always considered this to be bruising the tea but, at that moment, she was too tired not to multi-task.

Visceral feelings returned to her senses from far away, welcome memories. She was at the Innjoy surrounded by her closest friends. In her mind it is summer in the city with a pink sun setting behind Café Gelato across the street; a warm breeze slipped through the door of the bar leading out to Division Street.

Everybody was around her and listening to her stories. An incredible person stood next to her feeding her one liners, cigarettes and tequila. Music played in the background and she felt as though she was going to go dance.

The cup, filled with her still steeping, bruised tea fell from her hands and crashed onto the floor. She glanced down at it, surprised by the tinkling, inappropriate noise before letting the memory warm over her body again.

There was a coolness on her clavicle and, with almost a gentle nature, her face was pushed down onto the hotplate. The smell of burning skin and hair filled the room followed by a snapping as her neck broke and her body dripped to the floor.

Her lips curled into one final, beautiful, living smile as her clothes absorbed the spilled tea.