By J. Robert King
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Additional resources for Angel of Death
These late nights and long drives must be getting to you. In a matter-of-fact voice, she said, “They’re artwork as far as the killer is concerned. Erotica. Look, here – the smudges on the card table – those are from the victim’s hands, not the killer’s. He was using the victim’s hands to get out the cheese. ” Leland felt suddenly awkward, and she did what she always did – launched into theory. “Maybe he used them to pull down the bed sheets, even to turn on this touch lamp, here beside the TV. Whether or not the killer knows it, that’s symbolic for his own lack of power.
He pauses now for a comment from his bride, but when she does not immediately volunteer, he turns up the CD player and points at intervals toward it, as though a guitar solo could be seen as well as heard. Sighing at the sublimities of feedback, he clutches the wheel in large, strong hands. Since puberty, those hands had moved with the rhythm of mantis claws. It makes sense. He has spent much of his adolescence in trees. A bit of egg and Canadian bacon is perched on a groin fold of his thin canvas pants.
There comes a pause. ” “My son, this is a holy place. ” There comes another pause. The Father is speaking, but Keith hears another father, a father long dead and gone. “Oh, so you don’t like that? You don’t want me doing this? Or how about this? Well, that’s too bad, Keith. ” “Go ahead and be angry. Go ahead and go in the back yard, spitting and kicking the cat. The neighbors know what you are, what you’ve been doing. They could care less. The cops know, too. They just say, ‘Well, he’s a retard.