by David Wiltse
"You mustn't resist," Kom said, clamping his fingers on her neck once more. "It's just something I have to do, please let me do it, Karen, it won't take long, it won't hurt you, I promise it won't hurt…
She grabbed for him again, reaching backward as far as she could, and caught his ear. She pulled with all her strength and heard him howl in pain. He pushed her head hard into the porcelain, then clutched at her neck once again. Fighting dizziness and a growing nausea, she clawed at his hand again, turning her head desperately from side to side. His penis probed at her but his weight had her completely pinioned there and she could not move to resist him. She tried to thrash from side to side but the porcelain gave her no purchase and the narrow limits of the tub provided no place to squirm.
Kom gripped her hair and used it to lift her head before slamming it again and again into the drain. She reached back, clawing for his face, but he fended her off with an elbow while continuing to pound. Finally her struggles ceased and she went limp. Kom could see blood trickling from under her face and into the drain.
He knew she was only stunned from the blows, but it would keep her quiet long enough for him to finish the job properly. He clasped her neck once more, made sure that he could feel the pulse under his fingers, and squeezed. There was no need to be gradual now, no need to worry about her discomfort. He clamped down hard.
The mania surged through him, making him want to howl in triumph. It was a supreme moment and he experienced it with perfect clarity, saw the hair stirred by her breath, saw the tiny bumps and dents in the porcelain like pores in skin, heard the sound of his own heart pound.
Every movement seemed to be slowed down a hundred times and he could see the components of every motion.
Her legs relaxed, giving him greater access at last, and he thrust forward to enter her, dropping his face close to her head. Karen pushed with both arms and lashed her head back, catching him flush in the face with her skull. He bellowed in pain and surprise and in his moment of con fusion Karen twisted to one side, almost propelling herself to her shoulder. She jabbed at his eyes and missed, tried to hit him in the throat with her knuckles, but then he recovered and was at her again, this time with a fury. She pushed against the tub with all of her strength, trying to turn him, but his weight was too much and she fell back, confined, unable to maneuver.
Kom smashed her head against the porcelain again, snarling with anger now. His own blood poured from his nose onto the back of her neck and he was incensed, outraged, that she had fooled him and hurt him and nearly escaped. She continued to fight and every bit of her resistance infuriated him further.
When she fell limp this time, he knelt on her back, forgetting the sex, and gripped her neck with both hands. His lust was gone and the mania, too, had vanished during the struggle, leaving him with only his anger.
He would kill her now, not because the demon required it, not because of the thrill, but because he had to save himself. And because she deserved it.
His breathing sounded strange to him and he realized that his nose was broken. More of his blood fell onto her neck and his fingers slipped before regaining their grip.
There was a sudden change of atmosphere in the house, the curtain rippled, and Kom could hear the sound of the night and the rising winds clearly. Someone had opened the door.
Without a second's hesitation he rose from the tub and went directly to the bedroom window. He could hear footsteps coming toward the bedroom but he did not panic. Even as he dropped from the window onto the flower bed and ran toward the woods he was proud of how calm he was, how well he responded to the situation. He felt exhilarated, eager to face another challenge. He was still in control.
Becker had noticed the open window and started toward it when he heard the groan from the bathroom. Karen's face was awash with blood but her voice was strong as she pushed him away.
"Kom," she said.
"I know.
Karen spat blood and allowed Becker to assist her to a sitting position.
"Get him," she said.
"You need help," he said.
She pushed him away again. "Get him. Get him."
Becker dialed 911 before climbing through the bedroom window.
With the audio device turned on, the sound of the rain hitting the canopy of leaves overhead made it seem as if he were standing in a shower stall. He adjusted the volume level, trying to factor out the noise of the rain and the roaring of the wind. At first he could hear nothing over the background noise but eventually his ear adjusted and he could distinguish other sounds. He heard a branch break with a loud report, and then a grunt. Animals did not grunt because of their own awkwardness. It was Kom and he was moving too fast for efficiency under the circumstances. He had not allowed his eyes to adjust to the dark after being indoors and was paying the price now with his careless passage. Becker stepped farther into the woods, taking himself at an angle to Kom's line of flight, and moving slowly until he could distinguish the shapes in front of him.
At the edge of the soccer field Kom paused, listening for signs of pursuit. He was breathing heavily and the noise of the storm made it impossible for him to hear anything. He saw no lights behind him. He gasped several times, then held his breath, straining to hear the sound of voices or footfalls in the woods, Confident that he was not being followed, he struck out directly across the open soccer field, shortening his route toward home. The field was open to the sky but that did not greatly alter its visibility. The light from distant houses illuminated the dark and roiling hottoms of the clouds but did little to brighten the field itself. He was glad that he knew his way, it was a great advantage. But then he had many advantages, he told himself as he walked quickly across the open space. There seemed no need to run. He was smarter than they were, he was more experienced than they were-had he not outwitted them and again? — and he was not going to panic. He was calm, he told himself, exhilarated but mentally calm, not frightened at all. He did not bother to define who they were, they were the forces that would contain him and cripple him and prevent the Cap'n from operating. He had bested them for years and years and he had no doubt that he would continue to do so. The weight of destiny was on his side, he felt. It wanted him to succeed.
In the middle of the field he looked over his shoulder. Anyone moving would be visible; Kom's trained eye would pick them out as they entered the field. There was no one. He had eluded his pursuers. He grinned to himself, then started to chuckle, careful to keep the sound of his elation low.
Something moved at the edge of the woods that was his destination. A dark shape disengaged itself from the darker background and stepped into the field. Kom stopped and blinked, thinking it must be his imagination, a creation of the rain and wind. The shape moved again and took the form of a man. Kom veered off his line and headed left, hurrying now, keeping his eyes on the man, who did not move again once he had revealed himself. Kom could feel him watching and expected at any minute to see the man give chase or shout or train a light on him.
He reached the trees with relief and started on a long arc to bypass the man and swing around toward his home once more. He moved more cautiously now, even though he was nearly certain that the man had not been pursuing him after all, that he was a bystander, some homeowner out for a walk in the storm, an innocent. Nonetheless, Kom paused frequently to listen and scan the woods in front and on his right side where the man had appeared. There was nothing, he was alone, and every step, every uneventful check inspired him with renewed confidence.
Kom started up a small hill and saw a tree move along the crest, saw it split itself in two so that two trunks stood were there had been only one before. The new trunk extended a branch and Kom realized that it was a man, one arm pointing straight at him as if it were a weapon. With alarm, Kom veered sharply to his left again, stumbling away from the man. When he looked back, the man was still there, standing like a sentinel. When Kom moved, the man's arm moved so that it was always pointing at him. Kom widened his arc,
scrambling farther away until he could no longer see the man or his threatening gesture.
He fell, trying to watch over his shoulder while hurrying forward, and picked himself up quickly, fearful that the man might suddenly be upon him.
After five minutes without further incident he had convinced himself that the men were hunters seeking deer illegally, which would account for their silence. He felt better; he had eluded the pursuit, he was still winning, everything would be fine.
He had come to the edge of a lawn and paused, deciding whether to take the shortcut or skirt the open space, when once more the shape of a man stepped forth from the shadows, alarmingly close this time, and lifted an arm to point accusingly at him. Stifling a cry, Kom ran to his left again, stumbling and crashing through the underbrush, finding himself in a tangle of vines and brambles that tore at him and clung to him like hands. He looked back, dreading the sight of the man approaching, but saw nothing. With a gasp he broke free of the restraining vines and ran.
Kom tripped and fell, his shoulder colliding hard with a tree. He landed heavily and lay still for a moment, trying to get his bearings; then, remembering the closeness of the man, he frantically rolled to his side so that his back was not exposed, and stared into the darkness.
Nothing moved except the branches in the canopy that thrashed eerily from his ground-level perspective, witches' fingers clawing the night air.
He lay perfectly still for what he thought was a long time, curled into the fetal position, watching. He began to think of himself as invisible; if the man was looking for him, he would not think to look on the ground, he would have passed on by now, he would not have seen Kom.
How could he see him? He would lie there a bit longer, letting the man get completely out of range; then he would backtrack, slip around him.
As he felt the courage and brilliance of his plan renew his confidence, the dripping of the rain from the trees, the sodden clothes that clung to his skin no longer bothered him.
Once more a tree split in twain and the man stood there, scant yards away, arm outstretched. It was impossible, it was right where Kom had been looking all along, the man could not have been there-yet there he was. Kom froze like a rabbit, praying he was not seen. Slowly the man lowered his arm until it was pointing directly at him. Kom could make out no features on the man's face in the darkness, only his outline, silhouetted against the background of trees, but he knew now that it was Becker.
He ran in the only direction allowed to him, knowing he was being herded like a sheep. He thought of turning and confronting his tormentor, but he understood that when he turned, Becker would not be there, he would have vanished in the gloom; that he appeared only when he wanted to be seen. It was the thought of having him suddenly swoop down upon his back that kept Kom running. He feared him now as he would a giant bird of prey, an adversary that had different senses, was ruled by different urges from those of men. Whenever he tried to swerve toward his house, Becker was there like a wraith, directing him to the way he must go.
When he turned back, the man was there too, his finger pointing accusatorily. Kom was half running, half crawling now, trying futilely to get ahead of his tormentor, slipping, falling, covered with mud, soaked to the skin. Clothes torn, flesh scraped and bruised, his broken nose now throbbing with insistent ache, he proceeded sometimes erect, sometimes on all fours like a running ape, lashed and harried through a nightmare gauntlet of flailing branches and tripping roots.
Becker had driven him to the watershed preserve of the reservoir and Kom labored up a hill, following a path as best he could, seeking a tunnel through the encroaching trees, a trail one arms'-span wide where the whiplike boughs would not seek his eyes and claw at his aching face.
Even in the dark, pursued by a specter, Kom knew where he was. He was approaching familiar ground-the orchard he had used as his private cemetery was on the other side of the hill, the reservoir beyond it. He would have an advantage there, he told himself. He knew the territory better than anyone. In some sections the trees were small, too low to hide behind. Becker was making a mistake herding him there. Kom would be on his own turf and he would turn and destroy Becker as he had done Kiwasee.
Halfway up the hill he stumbled again and this time he stayed down, groping with both hands until his fingers came upon a fallen limb.
Looking around, expecting to see Becker hovering only yards away, he rose, lifting the limb in both hands, and continued up the hill.
Come at me now, he thought murderously. Come waggle your finger at me now. This is not an elevator and this is not Dr. Stanley Kom, the good citizen, the pushover. I'm Cap'n Luv and I have a weapon. I am the man who killed the black man with a shovel-because I had to. And now I have to kill you. He felt a chuckle bubbling up within his chest. Adrenaline coursed through his veins with the crackle of electricity and he was himself again, Luv the indomitable. He knew he would overcome.
Lightning crashed and lit the night and Kom saw the end of the path where the trees fell away and nothing remained but the lowering sky.
There was open space there, room enough to make a stand, and he hurried up the hill, panting, desperate to be there. He carried the limb as a soldier would a rifle, comforted by its size and heft.
Becker waited atop the hill, leaning against the hole of a copper beech, indistinguishable in the dark from the tree itself. He heard Kom's labored breathing and could distinguish words now, muttered low in his throat. Kom was talking to himself with the tenor of a man who did not know he was speaking aloud. The tone was angry, defiant, paranoid, and sounded to Becker like the delusional rumblings of bag ladies and the willfully homeless. The earphones of the listening device hung uselessly around Becker's neck. He had dispensed with the machine long ago. Kom was moving too slowly, too noisily for Becker to need any help keeping track of him.
Kom struggled abreast of Becker, leaning a hand on the beech for support, not even glancing at Becker. Becker heard him say "love" and "the best" as he passed, taking the final few steps toward the edge of the cliff. From there he would have to swing right and follow the path along the cliff's edge for a hundred yards before it turned again and headed back down the hill.
But Kom did not turn to the right. He stopped on the slippery rocks that abutted the trail and turned to face the woods, lifting the limb like a weapon. He swung the limb back and forth in front of him a few times, snarling, swinging at shadows, fighting phantoms. Becker stood ten yards away, leaning against the tree, invisible to Kom, and watched with amusement as his quarry spent the last of his energy on the threatening air, He let the branch sag to the rocks at last, leaning on it and breathing heavily.
Lightning flashed again as Becker stepped forward, finger pointing, revealing him before he was ready. Kom screamed, swinging the limb as if galvanized by the thunderbolt. The limb smashed into Becker's leg just above the knee. Stunned, he watched Kom swing again, unable to move quickly enough to avoid it. The timber hit him in the leg once more and Becker knew as he fell that the bone was broken.
It was Kiwasee all over again, Kom told himself. He had won, he had destroyed the great Becker. Sensing triumph, he attacked in a frenzy, swinging once and scything the air as Becker rolled, then again, missing once more and hitting the trunk of the beech. The limb snapped in two, leaving the smaller end in Kom's hands. Kom looked at his suddenly diminished weapon, momentarily baffled.
Becker pulled himself up holding on to the tree and stood erect, giving Kom his full length as a target. Kom chose to go for his head and Becker ducked, then pushed off with his good leg, propelling himself under the swinging club and into Kom's chest. Kom gasped in teffor and recoiled, pulling them toward the edge of the precipice. Becker could feel Kom's breath on his face, could see his eyes, wide with fear and a kind of madness, rolling back like prey in the grip of its predator.
Becker seized him by the throat, and Kom dropped his weapon to clutch futilely at Becker's hands, trying to free himself. He was gasping words
but Becker could not make them out amidst the turmoil of the struggle and the storm.
Kom struck at him ineffectually, then suddenly lurched backward as his heels slipped off the rock. His arms windmilled frantically, as if he might fly. He was held to the rocks only by his toes and Becker's grip on his neck. Ultimately, it was not enough as his soles slipped from the wet stone. Becker caught his belt as he fell and was slammed to his stomach atop the rock by Kom's free weight. Kom dangled over the precipice, his feet clawing the air.
It took Becker a moment to recover from the shock of his fall to the stone and the torrent of pain that lashed his leg, but he held his grip on Kom's throat and belt. He had been pulled to the edge himself so that his face looked into the blackness of the drop and his arms hung straight down, clinging to Kom. He spread his legs behind him, digging at the slippery stone with his knees and his toes, but he could still feel the inexorable pull of gravity dragging him slowly toward the edge.
Kom's every gyration pulled them both closer to disaster.
"Don't move," he said, and to his surprise Kom stopped squirming. Becker felt his gradual slide arrested as the toe of his one working foot found and caught a slight indentation in the stone.
Kom gargled something past Becker's restrictive grip and Becker realized he was saying, "John."
Becker eased his grip on Kom's throat enough so that the man could speak.
"It's all a mistake," Kom said. "A terrible misunderstanding. They loved me. They all loved me."
Becker tightened his grip on the neck, squeezing the carotid artery but leaving the throat clear. "Is this how you did it, Stanley? Did you squeeze them just like this?"
Lightning flashed and Becker could see Kom's eyes, wide, wild, and red, but no longer frightened. In the second's illumination, Becker thought he saw Kom grinning insanely at him.
"Is this the way?" Becker asked. "Is this what it felt like?" As he squeezed he saw Karen's face before him, her beauty covered with her own blood. His arms were shaking with the strain but jealousy and fury flooded him as he squeezed even harder.