He was in an alley. He could see the cans, the filthy cardboard boxes. He could smell the exhaust. The piss and shit stink. Directly in front of him was a wall of dark, scummy brick. And that little blonde girl, that beautiful little girl, sitting there where no little girl should be.
What the fuck? He tried to speak, but all he could do was whisper. “Go away,” he said. “You don’t want to see this.” But she said nothing. She just stared.
Sun glare warmed the back of his head. He could see the dark red stretching out from under him, suddenly brighter, and in the center, like a ghost, the vague shadow of the handle, sticking out of his ear.
He tried to think, and all he came up with was that guy in the yellow sweater, waiting for him, here. So here was someone who knew what an ice pick was, after all. Some yuppie kid in a stupid yellow sweater. But still, he managed to do what JK never could.
“Go away,” he said again, and the handle jerked, and suddenly he could see through that brick wall, and everything beyond. “Go away. What you see, you can’t, un-see, you know?”
But either she didn’t hear, or she didn’t listen. Where were her fucking parents? Her eyes so big, she’d never forget him. It wasn’t right. But there she was, so beautiful over there, and him so ugly over here. Then the handle jerked, and jerked again. And there he was.
Ugly Behavior Page 21