Shooting Mrs Nagel

Shooting Mrs Nagel, originally uploaded by mavenimagery® Bringin Artist 2Gether For Cancer.


DAVY JONES’S LOCKER


PROLOGUE




Oh, Mr Jones, said Mrs Nagel in an utterly calm voice, a mask of composure over her sweaty, pale face. She knew she must call upon all her savoir faire (a vast collection of skills that she had learned by rote long, long time ago when she used to teach psychology class and help problem kids at Critter Rock High School, and she’d known a lot of violent and enigmatic men in her rock-of-ages allegiance, all right: putting up with years of her step father and husbands and bully lovers beating her, for example, supplied her with methods of how to cope with quandaries, how to fight back against bullies in life) to fight against a boy who seemed to want to possess her mind.

You present yourself with such self- assertive and audacity. But your fear and anxiety showing through. Beneath your bluster, you’re self-doubting and vulnerable. You’re here to feel security by turning to your conflict. You’re safe as long as you’re near those who arise fear and anxiety in you. So, you strike out at them, even though they may not have been the real cause of your suffering, violently, to overcome your weakness once and for all. Because you’re petrified of being seen without disguise, the only source of security you feel you have. I’m surprised though you didn’t figure it out yourself… an intelligent boy like you?

The last words were so contemptuous he expected a great burst out of laughter from her malicious mouth.

Screw you! he hissed fiercely through his clenched teeth.

Am I hitting a sore spot, exposing a concealed hurt, Mr Jones? she asked with mock innocence, her terrible eyes riveted on his eyes; they were gleaming with an intense satisfaction . I can see that my comment struck some deep chords in you. Upsetting chords you’re in most agony to hide. Nagel felt a heat in her face, her anxiety was mounting, but she managed to suppress her justifiable fear, at least for now. She paused, then, giving a pained smirk, revealing reddish-brown stained teeth, she said, Afraid to succumb to your…what psychiatrists call inner reality?

He could no longer tolerate this particular interlude of sadism to which she was subjecting him. He felt his sinews were tightening.

This must end. Now.

ANYLIZE THIS, YA OLD SKAG! He roared, and, then, like a flash, he leaped out at her and punched her hard across the face. For a moment, she didn’t move, as though trying to grasp, then she began to writhe, moaning frantically, in vain, trying to free her both hands that were tied, with a blue and white scarf, to the bedposts, her wrists now pale purple and puffed up from rubbing. He punched her hard across the face again and sent her black out. Blood trickled slowly down the corners of her thin, wrinkled, mouth. Lips like a slit of a crimped cunt.

After a while, Mrs Nagel had barely gained consciousness when she saw him standing over her next to the bed; his horrifically irrational maliciousness and madness; this dark, hidden side of him, which she could see now, filled her with mind-boggling terror.

You shoulda just left me alone, Nagel, he said frostily.

Bound and gagged, he stared at him, a cold anxiety in her shinning eyes, her crumpled lips frozen in a little O. All the color had drained from her face so the wrinkles stood out like some plant roots. She was horror-struck and at the sight of it he felt a powerful flow of satisfaction that wavered through him. His whole facial expression seemed to have changed abruptly, more in control of feeling. He was not the person who moments ago had exhibited a blustering belligerence. His features, his voice, and even the way he said the words—a soft, firm and more articulate enunciation—made him look different. You shoulda stopped snoopin, he continued. It didna concern you. That was a mistake, Mrs Nagel. A real fuck up. He paused dramatically, took a large emotional breath, then, after closing his eyes, oblivious to her wailing, he was transformed into an inconceivable metamorphosis. After ten seconds or so he opened his eyes and smiled ritually as if he was about to reveal the secret of the universe. His full lips pursed, becoming a thin line, his shoulders composed, and his eyes blazing and contrasting. It was as though he had calmed and collected every each part of his body to put into words. I’m gonna take off your gag and you better not utter a ghuh. Okay?

Mrs Nagel nodded gravely.

Cool, he said, and pulled out Mrs Nagel’s gag.

Bastard, Mrs Nagel hissed, coughing. You will not get away with this. They will cage you in like a rodent, and I’m going to enjoy every minute. They will house your ass till eternity.

Yeah, right, he scoffed, looking at Mrs Nagel, arching his eyebrows, Did you know That in today’s calendar the leap year is excluded every hundred years, and every four hundred years February 29 is restored at the turn of the century. Year two thousand will be one of those exceptions. So we’ll have an extra day to enjoy that comes round only once every four hundred years, that occurred only once before, in the year 1600’s. And for mysterious reason, I was born February 29. And you know what day is today, Mr Nagel? It-is-February-twenty-nine.February fucking 2-9! It’s my b-day today!

Mine, too, you bastard, Mrs Nagel murmured.

I know…I know, he nodded, his voice still strong and different. Kicking one thousand? But we’re not gonna celebrate. I don’t believe in celebrating birthdays. They’re not occasions for joy, but are sad markers of our lives passing by. And we shouldn’t attempt to deny sadness. We must embrace sadness. For man’s greatest crime is to have been born. Which means you and I are both criminals today. Today is our birthday! Whaddya say to that, Nagel? Is it…just a freakin coincidence? Is it a fate? Karma?

Mrs Nagel bit her tongue and said nothing.

Hell, no! he answered his own question, shaking his head, looking closely at Mrs Nagel whose haggard, venomous face now turning redder and even more anxious, wide eyed, obviously losing control of her was never-there-in-the-first-place-calmness. No, not a coincidence. I believe it is nothin but a natural accident. You see, the accidents of evolution could have given us a different number, one that would have been as functional. Had it been so, we wouldn’t be here talkin about it now, would we? Nature fucked up, Nagel. Things just happen and, unfortunately, can’t be understood by human mind. And you can’t imagine how infinitely fuckin mad that makes me. Sometimes I wonder, If God exits, He musta have an infinitely twisted sense of humor or he’s a lousy Maker of all things. A rat’s ass Creator, I’d say.

Ye bastard, she murmured in a low, tremulous voice. Ye Godless, evil bastard. Haven’t you done enough?

Not so enough as you have, cunt! he snarled, looking down on her, his face distorting in disgust and like a streak of lightning, he raised the claw hammer and brought it down hard and fast on her head, with all his strength, goring into her skull and blood spouting into the air like discharging liquid from a container. He wrenched the hammer out, gazing into her frozen eyes as he stepped back, suddenly his expression changed into hilarity and began laughing, as if he was thrown back into an irrational, pre-intellectual state, where the natural-emotive-self was put off by something to all appearances not earthly. Inhuman. Happy birthday, Nagel! Happy fuckin birthday! then, he turned and moved swiftly down the old stairs into the street, feeling an ecstatic rush of thrill as he ran. Fuck the world! Nothing more delightful than a vengeance!

Recommended read: