When I awoke, the only thing I could think of was the pain. The only factor that was keeping the blood boiling in my darkened veins was the pain. I was awake and ready to kill the next living thing that appeared in my peripheral vision from the pain. Everything revolved around the pain that had leaked into my shivering body.
For a moment, I just lay there, my hand tucked underneath my chin, nose pressed half-way into the dirt, staring off into the cold darkness that enveloped the tiny house I stayed in. I feared that if I were to stand up and attempt to leave, Zack would burst through the door, ready to tear my head off of the scrawny neck it sat upon. Maybe he figured I was dead and just wanted to make sure that I really was. Probably not. That'd be asking far too much on his idiotic part.
Slowly, I rolled over onto my belly fully, and I rose to my knees in a crude push-up, groaning as the agony shot through my body. God, it was just a couple of scratches, so why did it hurt so badly? Ok, so maybe I had eaten something in the dirt that was poison and now I was going to die. Not a likely chance of that either, considering that I was immune to most biological warfare, along with other various diseases.
Finally, pushing myself up to my feet and pulling my tattered sweater on over my head that instantly warmed my prickled skin, I made a quiet promise: The next time Zack and I met up, only one of us would live. And it wouldn't be him.
Knowing that I needed to leave Chicago as soon as possible because not only had Carlos been my second killing, but the police would start looking for Carlos' murderer-and I really didn't feel like posing for the prison-house pictures-I began to get dressed for traveling. I wore my heavy serial killer clothes. This was an excellent outfit because it was bulky enough that I could safely hide the guns underneath my clothing without any suspicion from a normal passerby.
Once equipped with four guns, two bounty knives, extra medallions of the Blue Lady, and spare clips, I headed out of the house in search of something to eat. I may have been close to immortal, but unfortunately, my stomach was still an involuntary muscle.
The wind was starting to roll off the lake, bringing with it the stench of oil and gasoline that ran together to form one massive ball of smelly shit. Someone had once said that Chicago was one of the most beautiful cities in the world-or so I had read in an out-of-date pamphlet that I found in the garbage while disposing my first victim. A funny thing to think when you're gagging on fumes and slipping on grease just by walking down a sidewalk in the early morning hours, and trying not to inhale any unsuspecting moths that gathered around the streetlights. Crunchy little buggers they were and too dry for my liking.
Down the block, there was a tiny store with its lights already lit, despite the hour. I could make out the figures of assorted people, all of whom were stuffing their chipmunk cheeks with food. Reaching into my breast-pocket and letting my palm caress the cool metal of a gun, I pulled out the wad of bills that I had swiped off the corpses of the original owners of my house, along with the money from the immigrants in Miami. Forty bucks. That ought to be more than enough for a quick meal.
Inside, the store was warm and odorous, smelling slightly of garlic and burned popcorn. The lights were so stark that it made the building appear yellow, and a faded clock declared the time to be four-thirty in the morning. Three people sat at separate tables, hunched over and slurping noodles with chopsticks. Disgusting. Get some manners you pig norms. I nearly lost the last meal I had eaten as an older lady removed her dentures to finish off some broth.
Sitting down at a bar that looped around the main cashier, a pretty young Oriental skittered up to me, which didn't surprise me, considering that I was in Chinatown Chicago. She smiled with her tiny lips and offered me a menu that was basically unreadable to me. This wasn't because it was in her native language; the menu was so encrusted with dirt and filth that I couldn't understand the words. Good Lord, I'd be dead before dessert just by eating this food. Yet, food was food, and I was a starving fool.
"I'll take that," I said, pointing to a picture of what appeared to be chicken with rice. Either that or it was meat with maggots. Maggots that would ooze down the back of your throat, tickling your trachea as you ground their pussy little bodies in oblivion. Yum.
The lady, girl actually, nodded curtly and hurried off to get my food. Stroking my gun in reassurance, I kept my hand rested inside of my vest for a moment in case of a drastic emergency; I couldn't be too careful in a place such as this. Yet, intuition got the best of me, and I pulled my hand out of my pocket and continued to rest it in front of me.
I had just managed to make myself comfortable in the skank environment, which consisted of ignoring not only the grimy oil that stuck to my fingers from the countertop, but the cheap plastic covering on the seats as well, when the door opened, letting in another customer. Normally, I wouldn't have paid much attention to her, but this time I did; she was nearly impossible to miss to the normal human, and with my eyesight, she was blinding for one main factor.
She had blue hair.
Not a pale, washed out blue like denim. This was a "look at me" fluorescent, burning bright blue. Her hair, dyed that fierce blue, was jagged and edgy, coming down to her jawbone in a heavy shag. She wore dark glasses despite the weak lighting, along with tight leather pants that swooped around every delectable curve of her body and an expensive leather jacket that was unbuttoned just enough to show that she wasn't wearing a whole helluva lot underneath. She was slightly shorter than I was with pouty lips and harsh nails. This girl sauntered into the restaurant like she owned it and sat down a couple seats away from me. Immediately, the Oriental lady came back with my food and began to wait on Blue Girl.
Munching on the rice, which was not mushy maggots, I eyed her carefully, feeling strangely uncomfortable in my situation, something that was unusual for me. My barcode was unable to be seen and not a single gun protruded from my thick vest. Maybe it was because I couldn't see her eyes, so, knowing that she could be watching me, and I wouldn't know it, made me all the more nervous.
Between anxiety and pain, I could no longer eat the food in front of me. Pushing it away, I didn't even bother to pay because the food had basically sucked anyhow, and scurried away. I noticed how quickly Blue Girl's head snapped up as she watched me leave. Fortunately, she didn't follow me out into the whipping wind. I might have had to kill her then-literally.
Once outside, I sorted through the other miscellaneous items I had collected from my victims since Miami. Spare money, keys, tickets…wait…tickets. I snatched the peeling ticket and held it out in the streetlight so that my shadow didn't obscure my reading. On the back, a flowery hand signature smiled up at me, stating, "Ryan, darling, here are the tickets for your return back home. I hope you come home safely. Don't reimburse me for any costs. Love forever, Cynthia."
Ryan, huh? I could be a Ryan for these tickets. Flipping the bus ticket back over, I frowned in confusion. The place was out of my way, but I really didn't have enough money to go anywhere else. Well then, it was onto and up to Michigan.
