by Ian Fox
Simon immediately became still.
“Good, then get on your feet. I haven’t the strength to drag you to my car. That’s where I have everything I need.”
Simon got up and Carlo followed him with the revolver in hand.
When they reached the car, Carlo said, “Stand next to that tree!”
Simon knew he had to do something, but he was scared of the weapon. And scared he’d make a mistake that would cost him his life. But it was clear to him that Carlo was going to kill him sooner or later.
Even though the moon wasn’t shedding much light, Simon’s eyes sensed the reflection of the blade of the knife, which Carlo had pulled out of the trunk.
“W-w-what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to cut it off. I want you to scream and wail in front of me. I want you to die from loss of blood. I want revenge.”
Simon remembered the dream he’d had not so long ago. “No, no, you can’t do that. I know you’re very angry and I understand, but this is madness. You need psychiatric help.”
“What? What did you say? That I need a shrink?” He was holding the knife in his right hand, the revolver in his left.
“Yes, yes, you really do need to see someone. I understand you’re angry, that’s expected, but you can’t kill everyone that upsets you. Sooner or later you’ll stand before God and what will you say to him?”
Carlo started laughing loudly. “You really are something special. You’re about to be castrated and here you are, lecturing me about God. I’m going to ask you something, Dr. Patterson. Can you tell me where God is this minute? Why isn’t he helping you?”
Simon stared fearfully, first at the knife, then at the revolver. Large drops of sweat ran down his forehead.
“And where was God all those times I sent people to Heaven? Or maybe to Hell, I don’t know. I have a certain opinion about God. If he does exist, then I’m his assistant. I send him different losers who keep on sinning. Isn’t that nice? I’m sure he’s thankful and he’s reserved a special place for me when I die.”
“What if you go to Hell? What if you burn in the fire and no one will be able to help you? What will you do then?”
“I’ll deal with that when it happens. But first I’ll do what I decided to do. My fundamental rule in life, you see, is to always finish what I’m doing before starting something else. And I’m about to. … Take off your pants! Now!” He poked him in the ribs with the revolver.
Simon wavered. He slowly moved a shaking hand to the button on his pants.
“Quick, damn it! I don’t have all night. Christine is waiting for me at home. She’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.” Turning his head upwards, he rolled his eyes strangely. “Mmm, what will I do with her? I’ll have to think of something original. The unfaithful bitch!”
When Simon saw Carlo looking upwards, he also looked to the sky. Staring at the brightest star he saw Christine in a white nightgown. He saw her lying somewhere on the cold ground, crying for help.
Suddenly her gown started changing colors, from white to red. He noticed Christine’s hands clutching her stomach, from where blood was pouring. At once, everything was red. She was lying in a pool of blood and only then did he realize how much she was bleeding and that he couldn’t help her anymore.
Shaking his head, Simon saw Carlo’s bulging eyes staring at his groin. Simon finally made up his mind. In the moment he’d spent staring at the sky, he realized that he didn’t have anything to lose anyway. If I don’t act now, it will be too late.
He stopped breathing for a second, then with all his might he kicked toward Carlo’s left hand so that the revolver flew more than ten yards away. Carlo looked at it in surprise, then immediately lunged for Simon with the knife.
Simon was expecting the attack and moved out of the way in time, so that Carlo hit the tree trunk with the sharp blade of the knife. Then Simon went for him with his bare hands, something Carlo certainly wasn’t expecting. Simon knew he had to do something. It was clear to him that just running away wasn’t going to be enough. Carlo would find him sooner or later and have him killed. He had to resist and somehow overcome him.
While Carlo was pulling at the knife which was stuck in the tree trunk, Simon kicked him in the stomach with all his might and then, as Carlo bent over, he hit him on the back of the neck. To Simon’s surprise and triumph, Carlo let go of the knife and fell to the ground.
Simon kicked him a few times, then tried to pull out the knife. He would have succeeded if Carlo hadn’t taken hold of his right leg, sinking his teeth into it.
“Aaaaa,” Simon screamed, barely succeeding in pulling his leg away. It hurt so much that he nearly collapsed. He kicked Carlo in the face with his other foot.
“I’m going to have you!” Carlo screamed, and he moved toward Simon again, on all fours.
Simon just managed to jump out of the way. In a panic, he stared first at his leg, then at Carlo, and decided that he would rather make a run for it. There was no point in fighting Carlo; he was stronger. Simon ran toward the road, shouting for help.
He tripped twice while running, bashing his knee on the ground. Somewhere in the background he heard twigs breaking, which meant that Carlo was very close. A little farther, he urged himself, just a little farther. When he sees a driver helping me, he’ll draw back.
But when Simon reached the road, there weren’t any cars. “Help!” he shouted even though he knew there was little chance anyone was around. “Help, help!”
Carlo had scrambled out of the bush. “You can shout, but no one will help you. I’m going to kill you, you son of a bitch.”
“Help! Help!” Simon started running along the road. He ran with all his might, shouting for help.
“You can shout all you like, but I’ll catch up with you!”
Looking back, he saw that Carlo was going to catch up soon. The wound on his right leg was slowing him down. “Help!”
From behind him, Carlo repeated, in a woman’s voice, “Help!”
Hoping that a car would drive by, Simon ran along the road a while longer, but then decided to go back into the woods. Picking up a big stone, he threw it at Carlo, who got out of the way and stopped for a moment to rest. Simon chose the first bushes he saw and charged through them, into the dark woods.
He was taller than Carlo, and because the bushes reached nearly to his neck, Simon figured he’d have the advantage and be quicker than Carlo in the woods. He ran and ran and all the time he heard Carlo’s heavy breathing behind him.
He called out again, “Help!”
“Help! Help!” Carlo repeated in a high-pitched voice.
They ran for quite a while and, to Simon’s dismay, Carlo was only about ten yards behind him.
“I’m going to strangle you with my bare hands. I just need to catch you.”
Simon hadn’t a clue where he was running, but the direction didn’t matter. A couple minutes later he caught sight of his car. He was pleased, although he intended to run past it, deeper into the woods. Panting heavily, Simon was surprised at Carlo. With his extra weight, he should have been out of breath ages ago.
Sure enough, Carlo suddenly stopped and screamed after him, “Son of a bitch!”
Judging by the voice that floated past Simon’s ears, he assumed Carlo had given up. Relieved, he looked back to make sure he was right, but at that moment he stepped awkwardly on a tree root and his foot got caught. He fell hard.
When Carlo saw what happened, he let out a cry of delight and charged toward him. Simon got to his knees and wanted to get up, but Carlo was faster. With all his weight he threw himself on Simon as if trying to catch a bird, so that Simon was trapped. He couldn’t move because of the weight on top of him.
Both of them were too out of breath to speak. Carlo lay on him for nearly a minute, holding Simon’s arms down and at the same time trying to catch his breath.
Simon was also exhausted and lay there, resigned to his fate, trying to catch his breath. He’d done what h
e could. He’d really fought for his life, but now it was over. There was no point anymore.
Carlo lifted the top part of his body, still pinning Simon’s arms to the ground. The sweat that was running in a stream from his forehead dripped onto Simon’s face.
When he’d finally caught his breath, he said, “I’ve had enough. You’ve tired me out so much I’ll be aching for the next few days. It’s time I finished you off.” He grabbed Simon’s throat with damp hands and started squeezing it vigorously. “Say good-bye to life.”
Bitter tears rolled down Simon’s cheeks. He was crying for life, crying for Christine, and crying for Helen. He regretted not being able to help anyone. He felt a humiliating pain for not being strong enough and letting everyone down. Feeling the fingers on his throat that were preventing the airflow into his lungs, he didn’t even resist. He cried and was angry mostly with himself.
For a while he was absolutely still, but when his lungs became really tight he started to resist. The pain was unbearable.
“You won’t be able to push me off. I’ve got a tight grip.”
Simon tried to knock him off, but Carlo had him firmly pinned down and was waiting in pleasure for him to finally pass out. Simon nearly pushed him off twice and both times Carlo shouted out with joy. “Yippee! Yippee! A little longer, a little longer and you’re dead.”
Simon was shaking and resisting with all his might.
“No you don’t!”
Simon’s strength was running short. He managed to loosen Carlo’s grip enough to partially breathe a gulp of air, but still it wasn’t enough. Simon felt dizzy and there was an awful pain in his chest.
“It’s over, just accept it!”
Again Simon tried to lift himself.
“You’re pretty wild. But I’m stronger!” Carlo squeezed Simon’s throat even harder.
Finally, Simon gave in and stopped resisting. His vision became foggy and even the pain started to fade.
For a moment he closed his eyes. Then through slightly open lashes he looked up toward the car door, which was only a few yards away from him. He reached out, as if seeking help. His arm fell to the ground. He accepted his approaching death.
“That’s right, Doctor. Drop dead! I thought you’d never stop.”
Something pricked Simon’s finger. Dazed, he wondered what it could be. He stared, catching sight of something white through his haze. Straining his eyes, he realized it was the hypodermic he had dropped.
“Unbelievable. Die!”
Simon gathered enough strength to grab it and swing it upward.
“What the hell …”
Then Simon lost consciousness.
Chapter 71
_______________________
Steven West was looking at his watch in irritation, eager to go home. He was on duty and his shift finished at midnight. It was now eight o’clock.
He had been playing computer games for at least an hour, instead of researching Dr. Patterson’s past on the Internet. What can I research? Up till now he has a clean sheet and apart from medical things I don’t understand, I haven’t found anything.
Taking a deep breath, he looked out the window.
He had the feeling someone was behind him and just when he was about to turn around, a deep voice confirmed his suspicion. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
He winced, as if someone had poked him in the ribs. He immediately recognized the voice as that of his boss, Richard Ross. Steven had been sure he’d gone home.
“Oh, of course. It’s not what it seems. Now and then I play a computer game, but it’s to help me concentrate. Haven’t you ever heard how important playing games is for your concentration? But of course I never play for more than five minutes. It’s like having a cigarette.”
“Unbelievable, every time I catch you fooling around you have an excuse ready. Well, you’ve given me a good enough reason to tell the IT manager to delete all the unnecessary programs from the computers.”
Steven was deadly embarrassed. Now his colleagues would be angry with him.
“Anyway, how’s your research into Dr. Patterson going?”
“Very good. Sandra is out checking up on something and I’ve been doing some background research on the Net. I think we’ll be able to get him behind bars tomorrow.”
“Good, I’m glad. One more question. Is Sandra still digging around Carlo Vucci?” His eyes became small and inquisitive.
“No, of course not,” Steven lied. “Like I said, Sandra is out, most probably talking to some acquaintance of Dr. Patterson’s.”
“Good, then get on with your work.”
Steven was relieved. It’s best I get out of the office as soon as possible. If that jerk isn’t thinking of going home yet, I have nothing to do here.
While driving, he thought about how he could do something useful. Oh, I know. What if I visited Dr. Patterson again? I’ll try to talk to him in a friendlier way.
When he arrived at Simon’s house thirty minutes later, he found no one there and tried the door. It was locked. Where’s the doctor? he asked himself. I’ll wait a while, in case he returns soon.
Chapter 72
_______________________
Simon came to half an hour later with a terrible pain in his neck. He could barely move his head. The thick layer of leaves and undergrowth refreshed his memory.
Quickly getting up, he looked around for his enemy. Not seeing him, Simon took a few steps forward, staring into the darkness. He ran toward the car and opened the door. With painful hands he felt through the glove compartment for the flashlight he had bought a year ago. He finally found it under the backseat. With relief he saw that it still worked and for a while circled the car with it. But he didn’t find Carlo.
Then he opened the trunk of the car where he had stored a few tools for emergency repairs. He dropped a longish screwdriver in his pocket in case Carlo attacked him again.
Simon went back to the spot where he’d been lying, while thinking, He must be feeling sick due to the insulin injection and has probably gone to his car.
With careful steps, Simon made his way toward the road. He was afraid that Carlo was hiding behind a tree, ready to attack. According to the plan, the mobster should be dead by now, but Simon wasn’t sure if he’d injected the full syringe. It seemed likely that he had. Why would Carlo have left him alive if he hadn’t?
On the way to Carlo’s car Simon examined the surroundings, scanning the bushes for a body.
When he reached Carlo’s car, Simon’s blood rushed to his head. He approached the limo, shining the flashlight inside. There was no one.
A few yards away he heard leaves rustling, as if someone was walking. He shone the flashlight in the direction of the noise and groped for the screwdriver in his pocket. For a few seconds he forgot to breathe.
In a low voice, he asked: “Who’s there?”
No one answered. What if Carlo’s lying there somewhere, fighting for his life? I have to finish him off. The thought disgusted him.
Again, a strange noise. Something was there, but what? He plucked up the courage to approach it. The beam of light created by the flashlight danced around due to his hand shaking so badly. His eyes focused hard.
When he saw a small hedgehog just as scared as he was, he laughed to himself. The poor hedgehog curled up in fright.
Simon started second-guessing himself: Should I get in my car and drive home? What if Carlo got to the road and called for help? What if someone stopped for him and he mentioned my name? If that’s what happened, I’m done for. The police will be at my house, ready to take me to prison. Then they’ll charge me with Helen’s death and attempting to kill Carlo Vucci. I’ll be locked away for life.
Angrily he kicked a dry branch out of his way.
Returning to Carlo’s car, Simon found it hard to believe that Carlo would leave. The doctor shone his flashlight into the car once more.
Something was inside. The thought of Carlo being there made him so s
cared he felt sick. With difficulty, he took a step forward. And then another.
He was right. Carlo had collapsed across the front seats. Simon hadn’t expected Carlo to be in this position. Obviously he’d wanted to drive off, but lost consciousness.
Then Simon thought: What if Carlo called for help? What if the police are on their way here? No, no, I mustn’t think negatively. I have to take action. He slowly opened the car door and Carlo’s head flopped out.
Then came the hardest thing. He had to touch Carlo to see if he was still alive. Simon grimaced and felt his artery.
He was definitely dead. Simon exhaled with relief, but the fear inside him didn’t lessen. Before, he was scared of Carlo, now he realized he’d committed the worst crime possible and if he didn’t want anyone to know about it, he’d have to cover it up. He leaned on the vehicle and started breathing heavily. Thoughts fluttered like bats in his head: What should I do? What if the police are on their way? What if he called but didn’t tell them exactly where he was? The police will be looking all along the road that goes through the woods.
Simon ran to the road a few yards away. Hidden in the bushes, he watched the cars driving past. None of them belonged to the police, he was sure of that. Again he started thinking it out: It’s best I presume he didn’t call the police. If he had, they’d surely be here by now. I have to do something. I have to do what I planned to do from the start.
In the next hour, Simon tugged Carlo’s body over to the passenger seat and drove the limo carefully off the road. Simon waited for it to be clear of cars and then accelerated jerkily and drove onto the road as quickly as possible.
He kept looking back, making sure no one was following. The most important thing was to stay on the road alone.
After about a mile he made a decision and swiftly turned right, into the woods. The undercarriage of the car creaked as he drove into the bushes, constantly accelerating. The car was being tossed around so badly that Carlo fell onto Simon’s lap. At that moment there wasn’t time to push him away. He had to rush onward and avoid crashing into a tree. He had to get the vehicle at least twenty yards into the woods so it would not be visible from the road. It had to look like an accident.