Mr Muir part 3

The erratic beeping of the little blue alarm clock awoke me with an inexplicable dread. Something terrible loomed over me as I began to recount the events of last night. I looked around and light was shining through the window. It was late morning, I had overslept, and my routine was ruined. But what was this dread feeling that lingered. I’m late for work but that can be explained away, worst that’ll happen is I lose a few hours of pay—I doubt they’ll fire me. No, there was something else. I rubbed my eyes to clear the sleep out of them when I brushed up against my nose. It was sore; tender; slowly, I prodded it with my fingers where I discovered a residue had caked my upper lip. Blood. Not just blood, some mysterious white powder, too. My medication! I remembered now that I crushed and snuffed it.
 Doreen.
 I don’t know what I’ll do about her but I need to go to work. I need to get back on my schedule. That’ll make things right; and once things are right, I can solve this problem. I got ready and left as soon as I could.
 I arrived at the office at 11:56 AM. Walking up the stairs took four seconds longer than it did previously because I had to use the hand rail to support my legs. I opened the door and tried to make a quiet beeline for my desk only to be stopped.
 “Kirby! Kirby, where were you, man?” my boss calls to me. A hawk with his talons on his prey, not just rolling out but blocking me from weaving around.
 “Do you have any idea what time it is?” he berates me.
 “I-I’m really sorry, sir,” I say.
 “Sorry isn’t gonna cut it, Kirby. Me and Jack here have been holding down the fort all morning. How do you expect us to curb global warming when half the team isn’t here?! I mean, Doreen… Doreen didn’t even show up today either.”
 I look over at her desk. It’s neat and tidy, not a speck of dust, exactly the same as it was yesterday, and easily welcoming to any replacement.
 “I’m really sorry, I had a rough night. Uhhh, l-look, how about I make it up to you? You know what my mom always says: nothing a good meal can’t fix.” I say.
 “Well…Alright, you know what I always say: never pass up a free meal. But don’t let this happen again Kirby!”
 “Yes sir, won’t happen again. And come by around 8.”
 Tonight I don’t make any pretense about preparing dinner. I race between the living room and the kitchen looking for something heavy and blunt. There’s a small skull nestled in the bookshelf in the living room. Picking it up though reveals it to be too fragile. It wouldn’t get the job done. Perhaps… But my thought is cut off as the doorbell rings. There he is, that douchebag boss, still wearing that revolting sky-blue shirt and slicked-back hair.
 “Welcome, sir, so glad of you to join me.”
 “Thanks for having me, Kirby. You know I biked over here. Yup, just doing my part to keep the planet green and healthy,” he starts to monologue.
 “That’s great sir. Here, come and wait in the living room while I finish up dinner.”
 “You know, Kirby, I recently started hand washing my clothes. No more waste, and I’m using a biodegradable soap that I picked up from the farmers’ market,” he says.
 Meanwhile, I’m looking for something. I open my kitchen drawers and pull out a knife. I give the air a few stabs. It would be messy and slow.
 “Yeah, just hand washing down by the river, all natural. Kinetic energy, Kirby,” my boss continues, “wow, Kirby, this candle… It smells amazing!” I peek out from the kitchen to see he’s grabbed something from the bookshelf. “I don’t know what it is but I wanna fucking eat it! Speaking of eating, how’s dinner coming along?” he asks.
 “A-Almost ready,” I call back. I smile creeps across my face as I decide on my weapon. I lay it on the stove top and stride out, my arms clasped together and held high.
 “So Kirby, you got quite a few book–”
 Whack.
 “Kirby!? Kirby, what the hell are you doing man!?”
 I let out a wail and hit him with my clenched-together fists. I hit him again. And again. He buckles and falls down. I turn around and grab the item I left on the stove top. I hoist the frying pan to the heavens and bring it down with all the force I can muster. It makes solid contact with the douchebag’s head and he crumples to the ground; out cold. I look down at him. He lies still. Breathing slightly. Not dead. Blood trickles down from where contact was made.
 I turn him over and grab him from under his arms, dragging him down to the basement. I drop him on the floor and stare at him. What do I do now? Why did I do this? Well, he had it coming for being such a douchebag. He never should have hired Doreen. A woman like her would only bring trouble and ruin my schedule. And I don’t care about his ecological crusade. He’d just be an eco-terrorist if given the chance. I need to dish out justice. I run back upstairs and open my Clint Eastwood shrine and grab what I need.
 I shake my boss to wake him up, holding him by the collar.
 “Wake up, wake up,” I bark.
 He wakes in a daze. “Huh? Kirby, is that you?”
 I shuffle and push him back. “Suck it. Suck my gun,” I order him.
 “W-What?”
 “Suck the dick of my gun,” I say, taking care to enunciate the words while shoving the revolver into his mouth.
 “Koby, aw yoo kiwweh me?” (Kirby, are you kidding me?)
 “Y-Yeees!!?”
 Bang!
 A flash, ringing, and a red mist envelope the basement. I jump back, letting go of his collar, and look at the lifeless body. I look at my hand holding the gun. I throw it away and kneel down behind the body, scooping the fleshy matter back into the exit wound. It makes a sickening, squishing sound as all manner of blood and guts mix inside the empty, cavernous cranium. Nothing sticks; as soon as I push something in, it spills out as I try to scoop more back in. I flick my hands aside to shake off the blood and then run over to a sink. I wash my hands once, twice, three times, using all the different kinds of soap I had but the blood stains won’t leave. It’s then I notice my body start to seize up and convulse. My medication! I hadn’t taken any all day. I throw open the lid and empty the contents into my mouth, grinding the bitter pills to dust with my teeth.
 I scurry back downstairs to the basement and look to see if anything has changed. My former boss is still dead. Ascending the stairs to the top floor, I peek at where I left Doreen in my bedroom but all I see is her stiff and putrescent body. Returning to the main floor, I sit down on my sofa once again and close my eyes until sleep takes over, while replaying today’s events back in my head.
 This morning there is no little blue alarm clock to wake me but instead the stench of death. There’s nothing left for me now. I throw on my jacket and grab my Walkman and favourite cassette and shove them into my jacket’s inner pocket. Outside the house is a small shed hidden below the front porch. Inside I grab a jerrycan filled with gasoline and get to work on the house.
 Hours later I’m sitting down in the foyer of an office building, my headphones on and the Walkman playing Santo & Johnny. The slow tempo and cool beats calms my nerves and my worries drift away. As the music and the wail of the steel guitar fade I can hear the wail of a siren.