Colors Ch. 02

Colors (1981) - Pt. 2 - Anatomy

Was asked, tonight, "How do you do the things you do?" Got to thinking about it, haven't really done that in a while. Like a guy who goes to work in a shirt and tie everyday--don't think about why I do it, just do. Wouldn't take the question seriously, but Artie asked it and Artie always did right by me. Deserved serious consideration. Hard to hang out with good people, still want to do horrible things to every last one of them. Still have daydreams about the two girls in '66. Still tastes sweet.

Distracted.

Artie is good people. Not scared of me. Time with him is time spent thinking about the future and dwelling on the past. Only ever jumped him twice. Came to my senses enough before I gutted him, both times. Doesn't hold either against me. Been better than ten years since the last time. Figure I've got it all under control. Least with him, anyway. Dragging him down makes it easier to stay up here. Sorry Art. No real choice in the matter.

Distracted still.

So, was asked how I do it. Figure I have an answer. Going back to Artie's place to tell him, soon as I'm done tonight. Strange one, tonight. Hope to make it to the apartment by dawn. Could take all night. Got a term for this type--Carib. Name comes from a tribe in West Indies. Gruesome people. Eat other people.

Subject is a cannibal. Wouldn't mind so much if he didn't insist on sharing perversion with women in his apartment building. Two gone missing, so far. Grace Columbus, Christine Columbus. Roommates. Cousins. Vanished four days ago. Carib hasn't left apartment in same time, except to deliver statement to police about not knowing anything. Hard to confirm suspicions while he stays at home. Tired of evidence pointing there. Figure its time to pay a visit.

Been thinking about Artie's question while watching through kitchen window. Carib is sleeping. Lots of towels in garbage can. Brown stained towels. Blood turns brown when dry. Brown and maroon. More brown than maroon. Carib doesn't have fireplace. Can't drop towels in dumpster. Too afraid. Washer is in basement of building. Probably waiting for clear opportunity to move them down there.

Waiting for him, now.

Been watching for three nights. Guy's first time, it seems. Gets up frequently at night. Drinks water. Won't open fridge. Won't look at garbage can. Shame. Nerves keep him up. Got a plan. Scare him. Waiting for him to get up, again. Have page from old anatomy book. Red marker dissecting colorfully diagrammed body. I'll tape it to bedroom window while he's gone. He'll come back. Scream, likely. He feels like a screamer.

He’ll run and check on the garbage can he never looks at. In kitchen. Make sure evidence hasn't left his place. Check fridge, likely, too. Tap from kitchen window. Red eyes staring at him on other side of glass. Not moving. Not blinking. Big, yellowed teeth smiling under them.

Scream.

Panic.

Probably won't move. Think "Just imagining things". Won't budge. Keep trying to wake up. Crash through window. Talk. Dies.

Then, back to Artie's.

Want to tell Artie it's because I'm trying to make good on a bad world. Want to give him hope. Want to let him think something corny or tragic or trite. Won't happen, though. Promised I wouldn't lie to him, last time I jumped him. Not sure how he'll take the truth. Some might do this stuff to make world a better place. I'd like the world to be a better place.

A reason. Not the reason. Artie wants the reason.

Probably stop talking to me, again, if I tell him. Can't break a promise, though. Kind of interested in the reaction, anyway. Wonder what he'll say when I tell him I do it because I like it.

Light comes on in the bedroom. Time to go to work.