Ben C. O. Grimm

He didn't feel at all well. He knew that silence on her part was never without significance. And this silence had lasted all day, way into the part of the evening that enveloped the room they were sitting in, together, but as far apart as two people can be. Usually, she would look at him at least once or twice a day, albeit with unmasked dismay. If she chose to speak a few words to him, it would be words without feeling, without bonding, without temptation or understanding. The first time they had made love had been the last time. He had done everything to please her, but the feeling that she condoned his presence, rather than appreciated it, never left the scene. So, he left it at that. They shared a bed, but they didn't share anything else, not even a conversation. He brought his body to work, and delivered the money to her. She would be there every single day, no matter what time his boss let him go. She would sit on the couch or on the bed, watching a rerun and smoking a cigarette. She never said 'hello' or 'goodbye'. She hardly ever acknowledged his presence or absence. His questions would lead to the shortest possible answer, accompanied by a pointed finger or a movement of her head or eyes at best. In the few months they had been together, or more precisely, in the few months they had occupied the same space, she had managed to suck out every ounce of free will he had ever possessed. His life revolved around her, and she didn't even have to command or direct him. He did everything, cook, clean, work, talk. At times it seemed like he was the only one breathing. She lived in a parallel universe, hardly visible, almost inaudible, certainly untouchable. Still, he would manage to hear some sign of her presence. A sigh, the rustle of her clothes, the sound of her lighter. This silence was unusual, even for her. So he felt awkward. He was convinced that she did everything in her power to contain even the slightest noise within her bubble. Not to annoy him, but to prepare him for something. A cold sweat. Nausea. Trembling hands. He knew that she would only take the trouble to speak to him on matters of life and death. Her life and death. His were of no significance. He knew that much. He was pretty sure she wasn't dying. It wasn't that kind of silence. So the silence had to relate to her life. And since her life consisted of sitting there, with him added to the scene for no reason at all, he knew that any change in her life would mean her departure. Without him. That thought bothered him a great deal. He didn't exactly share his existence with her, but she was at the core of his daily life. The black hole in his house, with him barely managing not to disappear completely, but his energy and money were sucked into the void. And wherever he went, he could feel her hands holding him back, dragging him back home to feed her and pay for her cigarettes and nail polish. A forced balance, but a balance nonetheless. He knew he would collapse without a center of gravity close to him. And then she spoke. "I need you to listen to me. I don't want you to interrupt me. Understand?". She didn't look over to assess his reaction. She had gotten used to his silent resignation. After a short pause for her convenience, not his, she continued. "I will leave you tomorrow." He froze on the couch like a ton of bricks in wet sand. "Unless ..". She took a cigarette from the pack and lit it carefully. Only after the third cloud of smoke had disappeared from her silent mouth, the conditions followed. "Unless you do something for me that will prove your love beyond doubt." He didn't move, but a faint hope crossed his face. She was actually discussing their life together, she was acknowledging his presence, with the L-word thrown in. The second time he had heard it from her lips. The first time had been the night they had met for the first time. She had asked him if he loved her, within minutes of meeting. He hadn't hesitated and she had gone home with him. He had made love to her, not the other way around, and she had been there ever since. His heart was racing, and a tight knot formed in his stomach. He wanted to scream out that he would do anything to prove himself, but he didn't dare. "Just wait", he whispered to himself, "don't lose your cool now." Maybe she had been testing him all these months. Maybe he was on the brink of the final test, the deciding stage. Maybe she was about to give in. The train of thought stopped. He watched her hand going into her purse. She took out a revolver and held it up, the barrel pointing in the direction of the light. "Empty chambers", she said. She opened up her other hand. "Six bullets.", she said. He didn't know what to think. What was this, a suicide pact? Russian roulette? "No games", she said, "although there's a set of rules involved." She filled the chambers with the bullets. He sat up straight. Was she about to shoot him? Or herself? She took the revolver by the barrel and handed it to him. Still hesitating, he leaned forward and took the revolver. "Good", she said. "That's the first step". First step of what? She looked him in the eyes for the first time, and said: "Six bullets for six eyes of a different color." Before the message had had a chance to reach him, she went into the bedroom. She came out one minute later, carrying a suitcase. She put it beside the couch. "I will wait for you until eight o'clock tomorrow morning. If you're not back by then, or if you fail to do what I ask ... well." He looked at the suitcase. He looked at the revolver. "You mean", he said, "that you want me to go out and shoot six people, take out their eyeballs and bring them to you?" "Six bullets for six eyes of a different color", she repeated, emphasizing the word 'different'. "You don't have much time. The deadline's at eight. The decision is yours." She rested her hand on the suitcase and looked at the nails of her other hand. He panicked. He had never killed anyone in his life before. And now six in only a few hours. But the thought of her leaving him panicked him even more. "I love you", he said, but his weak voice broke. He had never found the opportunity to say these words, and they sounded out of place. But it seemed like the only way to keep her there, at least until eight the following morning. He got up, put the revolver in a plastic shopping bag, and left. He heard her say "goodbye", and he quickened his pace. It took him some time to adjust to this unusual situation. He didn't usually look around on the streets. All he wanted to do was to get to work and home again without wasting any time. He needed a different perception now. The vision of a hunter. The instincts of a predator. He held the plastic bag close to his body. He circled his block for almost an hour. Conflicting emotions in a tug-o-war. He felt hot and cold from one moment to the next. He thought about her. He thought about himself. He fingered the gun. He sat down for a few minutes, his head in his hands. When his head went numb, he got up. "It has to be done." About two blocks from home, he stumbled upon his first possible victim. A sleeping bum, only a pair of shoes showing from under a pile of cardboard and paper. He looked around, and saw nobody. He took a deep breath and kneeled on the pavement. He unwrapped the revolver as quietly as he could. With the barrel, he lifted the newspaper where he suspected to find the head of the sleeping man. He saw hair. The back of a snoring head. Good. He aimed the revolver and remained in that position for over a minute. He needed a little time to remove the final road blocks on his neural pathways. Then he pulled the trigger. "Oh shit!!", he yelled out when he saw the red slush in front of the bum's head. His fears came true. The face was gone completely. Including the eyes. He got up immediately and ran, cursing himself for not thinking one step ahead before shooting. Only five bullets left. He wanted to give up straight away, but he didn't. Maybe, just maybe she would be content with only five eyes. Five's way better than zero, and it's the intention that counts. "Isn't it?", he asked himself, over and over again. He didn't dare answer 'no'. He felt sick and went into an alley to throw up. He put the gun away. After he had been walking five minutes, he saw a bar. He went in and ordered a glass of warm milk to silence his stomach and his shaking hands. He took the spoon and pocketed it. A faint smile crossed his face. That would certainly make things easier. He put some money on the table. As he was about to leave, a young man approached him and asked him for a light. He took out his lighter and lit the cigarette. His heart jumped when the young man looked him in the face and said thanks. His eyes had different colors. He reacted straight away. "Listen. I'm having car trouble. Can you come out and give me a push?" "Sure", the young man said, and he followed him out. "Where's your car?", he asked. "Only about a block from here. We can take a shortcut through this alley. Look out, someone's been sick here." The moment the young man looked down to avoid the puddle, he received a bullet in the temple. He went down without a sound. "I'm sorry", his executioner said, and he took out the spoon. Still warm. Taking the eyes from the sockets was surprisingly easy. Just slip the spoon in, just below the eyeball, push it in gently, and pop it out. Cup your fingers around it. A short pull to snap it loose. Two eyes of different color, with two bullets. Blue and grey. He was relieved, and didn't feel sick at all. But he realized the hard part was still to come. He had to watch out for different colors from now on. He returned to the main street and decided to walk in the direction of the park. There were always a few hookers there. He had only gotten halfway there when a car pulled up to the curb beside him. Someone inside the car leaned over to the passenger's side and tapped the window. He leaned toward the window. It went down. A woman. A green-eyed woman. "Do you know the way to this address?". She handed him a piece of paper. He had no idea where it was, but that didn't matter. "Yes, I know where this is", he said. "But it's kinda hard to explain. As a matter of fact, i'm heading in that direction myself." He paused for a while. She produced the desired reaction. "Well, get in and show me! I'll be happy to give you a ride!" She opened the door from the inside, and he got in. He told her to take a right turn past the lights. Straight to the industrial zone. The area was totally empty. "Are you sure this is the right way?", the woman asked. He told her to stop the car for a minute. "It's different when you're not behind the wheel", he said. "Let me think for a minute." She never got around to saying "okay". He dragged her away from the car and took off her shirt to wipe the blood from the seat and window. He took out one green eye and drove back to the city, rubbing his ears from time to time to get rid of the partial deafness. He parked the car just outside the reach of the city lights and walked to the park. He juggled the objects in his trouser pocket. "Blue, green and grey. Blue, green and grey", he recited to the rhythm of his footsteps. The objects had lost their wet and smooth structure. Just small dry balls, separated from any link to life and death. Flexible marbles, dried pieces of chewing gum. Three down, three to go, three AM. It didn't take him long to reach the park. He could see five girls leaning against the fence. Three white girls, one asian and one latino. They were a few feet apart and looked bored. Traffic was slow. He walked straight up to the asian girl. Black eyes. Good. "I want two girls", he said. "You and a dark girl." The asian girl looked past him and called the latino girl. "Teresa!". Teresa approached them. She didn't need any explanation. "Two girls, right?" He nodded. "Let me look at you", he said. Light brown eyes. "I'm good for the money", he said immediately. "One hundred each, one hour". "My place", the asian girl said. Teresa followed them without a word. Up a flight of stairs. A simple room. Double bed in the middle, a small bathroom to the side. The asian girl took him into the bathroom. "Wash first", she said. "Why don't you help me?", he said. "Whatever you say, but it'll cost ya extra." He slipped her a few bucks. She went in with him. As soon as he had closed the door behind her, he quickly took out the gun and hit her hard behind the ear. She went down with a sigh and he took care not to let her fall on the floor. "You okay in there?" Teresa asked. "Yes", he said, "the water's a bit hot, so it hurt." He could hear an insincere snicker. He put the asian girl down and opened the bathroom door. "Take your clothes off", he said to Teresa. "Where's Toy?" she asked. "Undressing in there", he said. Teresa bent over to take off her boots. He kicked her in the temple with the heel of his shoe. He went back into the bathroom to check up on Toy. She was still breathing. "Can't have that", he said, and hit her over the head a few times. The breathing stopped. Teresa was already dead. He collected the double prize and left the building without a noise. Five balls, two bullets gone. He felt pleased with himself, but worried about the next color. Blue, grey, green, black and brown. He knew he would have to come up with an unusual color. Purple. Yellow. Something like that. He stood still for a minute and listened. All quiet. No sirens. Good. Very good. He started walking the streets again. Nobody around. Should he go to a bar once again? He didn't feel at ease. He was afraid he would tell someone by mistake. Suddenly, he heard a noise behind him. He stood still, but didn't feel brave enough to turn around. The noise continued and closed in on him. It was a familiar noise. But what? His lips produced a smile. A dog! He looked around, and there he was. A little dog, filthy but friendly. No collar, no tag. Yellow eyes. He knelt down and stretched out his hand. The dog didn't hesitate. A stranger with a late snack. But as soon as he felt the strange hand grabbing him by the neck, the dog tore loose and ran into an alley. The first bullet hit him in the back. The dog went down, yelping and convulsing. The second bullet followed shortly thereafter, accompanied by a heartfelt 'Fuck!!" Lifting the eye from the socket was hard. The dog's skull was hard. It took him over five minutes to pry the eyeball loose. The dog was covered in blood. A gaping flesh wound in the back. Victory with vomit. Somehow, the dead dog affected him more than the others. Still, mission accomplished. Six AM. He hurried home. She was still on the couch. "You're early", she said. "I guess that's a good sign." "Yes, it is", he said, reaching down in his trouser pocket. "You've been thinking, and now you've come back to tell me to go fuck myself, right?" He looked her in the face, trying to find signs of sarcastic mockery. "What do you mean?", he asked. He took out his hand and showed her the six eyeballs. "Blue, grey, green, black, brown and yellow. With only four bullets." "I cannot fuckin' believe this!", she yelled. "You should have slapped me around after I told you to go out on a hunt!", she said. "But honey", he said, "I've done exactly what you wanted me to do. I love you, and this is the proof! What more do you want?". "It's just that I don't like weak men who can't stand up for themselves", she said. She left, carrying her own suitcase, the crumpled shell of his life tucked away between her underwear. And after she had closed the door, he realized he had two bullets left.

© Ben C. O. Grimm