The Steel Kiss

“If I don’t hear from you, I’ll just come over. If that’s too late, it’s okay. Just call me.”

Alicia’s that way. Afraid something will break if she causes any disturbance, asks too much, disagrees even if to anyone else it’s not disagreement but just asking a question. Or wondering.

I can do anything to her. Anything.

Which I like, I must say. It makes me feel powerful. Makes me feel good. People have done things to me that aren’t so nice. This seems only fair.

I look out the window for Red or any other cops. None.

Paranoia…

I check the fridge and pantry for dinner things. Soup, egg rolls, chili without beans, whole chicken, tortillas. Lots of sauces and dips. Cheese.

Skinny bean, Slim Jim. Yeah, that’s me.

But I eat like a stevedore.

I’m thinking of the two sandwiches I had at Starbucks earlier, particularly enjoyed the smoked ham. Recalling the scream, looking out. See Red scanning the coffee shop, not turning toward the scream, like any normal human being would.

Shopper…  Spitting out the word, in my mind at least.

Furious at her.

So. I need some comfort. I collect my backpack from its perch by the front door and carry it across the room. I punch numbers into the lock for the Toy Room. I installed the lock myself, which is probably not allowed in a rental. They don’t let you do much when you rent. But I pay on time so no one comes to look. Besides I need the Toy Room locked, so it’s locked. All the time.

I undo a strong dead bolt. And then I’m inside. The Toy Room is dim except for the bright halogens over the battered table that holds my treasures. The beams of light dance blindingly off the metal edges and blades, mostly shiny steel. The Toy Room is quiet. I soundproofed it well, carefully cutting and fitting sheets of wood and acoustic material over walls and mounting shutters on the window. One could scream oneself hoarse in here and not be heard outside.

I take the bone cracker, the ball-peen hammer, from my backpack and clean and oil it and put it into its place on the workbench shelf. Then a new acquisition, a razor saw, serrated. I unbox it and test the edge with my finger. Whisk, whisk…  It was made in Japan. My mother told me once that it used to be considered a bad thing, when she was growing up, to have a product made in Japan. How times have changed. Oh, my, this is really quite the clever device. A saw made from a long straight razor. Test the edge again, and, well, see: I’ve just removed a layer of epidermis.

This, which already has become my new favorite implement, I place in a location of honor on the shelf. I have the absurd thought that the other implements will be jealous and sad. I’m funny that way. But when your life has been thrown off kilter by Shoppers, you breathe life into inanimate things. Is that so odd, though? They’re more dependable than people.

I look at the blade once more. A reflected flash from the light smacks my eye and the room tilts as the pupil shrinks. The sensation is eerie but not unpleasant.

I have a sudden impulse to bring Alicia here. Almost a need. I picture the light reflecting off the steel onto her skin, like it’s doing on mine. I really don’t know her well at all, but I think I will, bring her here, I mean. A low feeling in my gut is telling me to.

Breathing faster now.

Should I do that? Bring her here tonight?

That churning in my groin tells me yes. And I can picture her skin reflected in the metal shapes on the workbench, polished to mirror.

I reflect: It will have to be done.

Just do it now. Get it over with…

Yes, no?

I’m frozen.

The buzzer sounds. I leave the Toy Room and go to the front door.

Then have a fast thought, a terrible thought.

What if it’s not Alicia but Red?

No, no. Could that have happened? Red has such sharp eyes, which means a sharp brain. And she did find me at the mall.

Get my bone cracker from the shelf and walk to the door.

I push the intercom button. And pause. “Hello?”

“Vernon. It’s me?” Alicia ends many sentences with question marks. She is such a bundle of uncertainty.

Relaxing, I put the hammer down and hit the door release button and a few minutes later I see Alicia’s face framed in the video screen, looking up at the tiny security camera above the doorjamb. She enters and we step into the living room. I smell her odd perfume, which has to me a faint scent of sweet onions. I’m sure it’s not. But that’s my impression.

She avoids my eyes. I tower over her; she’s tiny and slim but not as bean as me. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

We embrace, an interesting word, and I always thought it meant you brace yourself to touch somebody you don’t want to touch. Like my mother near the end. My father, always. The word doesn’t mean that, sure, but it’s what I think.