CORRELATES TO CHAPTER 66 & AFTER
ZAYNE
The delicious scent of death. A smell that is warm and inviting. It’s a part of everyone’s lives and should be welcomed and embraced as such.
Cut open his stomach, watch the organs fall out.Zayne’s illogical voice is frothing at the mouth over the latest victim. And he has to agree, the sight of freshly spilt organs is delightful.
This latest victim is an added notch to his collection. And who can blame him? He’s on vacation, in a new country, connecting with the locals. It’s whatnormalsdo after all, they connect to locals and share stories of their travels.
He should do that. Take up the age-old tradition, and he’s heard Australians are very friendly people who love to chat. So . . .
“I’m on vacation, you see. I am exploring the wealth that the locals have to offer.” Zayne crouches over the man who is whimpering on the dirt.
In a dug-up patch of soil that did not take kindly to the struggle between Zayne and his latest victim. It’s in some park that has no lights, and is so far from any houses even if the guy screams it will do no harm.
It’s something he has discovered while exploring the towns of Australia, they have random patches of forest everywhere. Or as the locals have informed him,bushland.Which, looking around, is probably what he is standing in. There are all sizes of brittle trees, spindly branches that look half dead. Which on his webbrowsing of Australianbushlandinformed him they’re called gum trees. And the chlamydia Koalas live in them.
Fucking Australia. Why did his brother move here?
There are signs next to his hotel warning him there are crocodiles in the golf course ponds. And one at the beach down the road listing all the things that want to kill him in the water. Small jelly fish being right at the start.
Going back home will be a gift. At least you can see the bears coming for you, they don’t hide in your shoes. Like the spider he found when he was leaving this morning, the spider that was the size of his damn palm.
A whimper draws his eyes from the gum trees back to his victim. He trails his gaze over the blood leaking from his victim’s split lip, to the cut on his cheekbone from the brass knuckle Zayne has on his left hand. Not bad a hit considering left isn’t his dominant hand. He left that side for his knife and the fancy twirling he will do to cut open skin and sink into muscle.
His victim mumbles something incoherent, trying to drag himself backwards on his one good arm, his other hanging limp, pouring blood from the shoulder where Zayne inserted his knife at one point in their scuffle.
Flipping said knife in his gloved right hand, he aims at catching the light, letting the suns sharp ‘fuck you’glint off the steel and into his victim’s eyes.
He has a whole plan, an entire elaborate, drawn-out death to inflict on his victim.
A phone’s ringtone cuts off his next move.
Ignore it, stab him.His illogical voice rages. And he would usually give in to it, he would have if the ringtone didn’t come from the burner which only his brother knows.
Plucking it from the pocket stitched into the lining of his boot, he answers on the fourth ring.
“Yeah?” His hand automatically slaps over his victim’s mouth, giving the soon to be dead-sack-of-meat a pointed look.
“I was told to call to inform you of Jasper Marcelo’s release, he’s out in an hour.”
Zayne blinks, pulling the phone from his ear, no caller ID just a pattern of numbers. He does not recognise the voice.
“Who?”
“Jasper Marcelo. Sinn'ous told me to call you.”
His true self is out so the noise of annoyance he makes cannot be held back. He knows who Jasper is.
“Who areyou?” His victim whines, so he squeezes his hand scrunching the lips and other facial features together.
“Collin Rogers. Correctional Officer.”
Ah, yes, the one Dante had organised wiring money too.
“An hour you said?”
“Yes.”
