“GOD DAMN him!” He swore as soon as he got into his apartment, throwing the bowl just inside the door across the living room. It crashed into a million pieces on the floor, though he barely paid it any attention. His rage was so high, he could hardly contain it. Not even the satisfaction of destruction could do anything for him right now.
The fucking Marine had gotten away. He thought that he’d been clever, scampering for the woods like a wounded dog, but he’d seen him. Damn, damn, damn! All that planning and preparation had been for nothing. Planting the bomb had been remarkably easy, and so had finding out about Barry’s grandmother in the nursing home. He’d just had to wait for Barry to show up to visit his grandmother. It had only been a matter of time. And sure enough, that Sunday, like most of the others before it, Barry had pulled into the parking lot. Of course, Phillip had gone along, so that was a complication. He’d had to set off the bomb when Phillip wasn’t with him. Still, he’d managed it, and it had seemed so perfect. But he’d hesitated a few seconds, and that damned wind had blown the Marine’s papers away, making him move away from the car. Even fucking Mother Nature was turning against him.
He stomped into the apartment, broken pottery shards crunching under his feet. Maybe all this wasn’t fucking worth it at all. After all, every time he got rid of the losers that Phillip dated, he just found another one. That had happened over and over again. He stepped into the bedroom and half ripped off his clothes down to the skin, shoving them into a plastic garbage bag, getting rid of any residue from the explosion that might be on his clothes. Then he showered, scrubbing his skin until it was red, before drying off and dressing again. He closed the plastic bag and rode down in the elevator, leaving the building and dumping the bag in the dumpster behind the building. They came on Mondays to empty it, so any lingering evidence would be gone.
Back in his apartment, he stalked through the rooms like a caged predator. He hated that feeling with a passion. Barry was harder to get rid of than the others. He yanked out a chair as he reached the dining area and slammed down into it. The bottom line was that Phillip was his, and he would be the one to decide what was going to happen to him. That was a fact, and as soon as he let his mind chew on it, his clouded vision cleared and he was able to think once again.
A plan. He needed a plan. Phillip was going to be at work the following day, or at least he’d better be. “Maybe….” He tapped his fingers on the top of the table. “Maybe it’s best to let the prey lull himself into a false sense of security.” Phillip’s guard would be up right now. But soon enough, he would strike. And that would serve a dual purpose.
He could give Phillip a chance to see the error of his ways, and maybe he would do the right thing in the end. If Phillip didn’t, then he could act and bring all this to an end.
A smile curled on his lips. “That’s the answer,” he said out loud, tapping his hands even harder on the wood surface. He would give Phillip one last chance before taking matters into his own hands. That way, it was up to Phillip—his choice—and any ramifications would be on him. Phillip thought he was so smart, but he refused to see.
One thing was certain—if he couldn’t have Phillip, then that damned Marine sure as hell wasn’t going to. Hatred bloomed like a fireball in his mind, pushing away the fog until only clarity remained.
He grinned. It was perfect. Phillip would be responsible for any fallout that resulted. Everything was in Phillip’s hands. Letting out a huge breath, he got up from his chair, a high-concept plan already coming together in his head. If necessary, he’d fill in all the details tomorrow.
With his mind calm and a clear path ahead of him, he pulled open the kitchen closet door and got out his broom to sweep up the mess, reminding himself that if Phillip didn’t do what he wanted, then Phillip would end up like this—broken into little tiny pieces that could be swept up and thrown away.
He cleaned up, throwing away all the pottery shards, then took care of the broom and dustpan before pulling open the refrigerator door to make himself some dinner. As he did, he wondered what Phillip was doing, and what he’d chosen to eat for what might be his last supper.