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By Root 462 0

a good scrap. He believed there was nothing better than hearing the crunch of somebody‟s nose breaking beneath his fist, of knocking somebody to the ground, spilling somebody‟s blood. Just recently, though, the desire to inflict violence on other people had grown into an obsession, an addiction. It was as if something had taken him over, latched on to that desire within him, and had begun to feed it. In turn, the desire had responded, growing and flourishing like some rampant weed in his brain, and in the process strangling all other thoughts and needs. Today Guy didn‟t just want to hurt people, he wanted to kill them, wanted to rip them apart, bathe in their blood. The sheer ferocity of his thoughts was terrifying and exhilarating. Yet although his bloodlust had engulfed him to the point where he could barely function on any social level, he had never felt more alive.

All week he had been roaming the streets for stray animals or raiding people‟s gardens for their pets, bringing them back to the house, torturing and killing them in his room. It assuaged his desires a little, but it was not enough. Sooner or later he knew he would have to move on to people. The only thing that had held him back was the extra attention it would bring, the fear of getting caught.

It was not prison that scared him, though; far from it. He was simply terrified of being deprived of what he needed to feed his addiction. The buzzing urge to kill was so overwhelming that, were he to be denied the opportunity, he honestly believed his body would be ripped apart by the build-up of pressure inside him.

So, who to kill? Who would he most like to kill? His drunken widower of a father who had never given a sod for him? Mrs Raymond, the vicious old cow of a headmistress who‟d expelled him? Sergeant Weathers, who never got off his case, even when he wasn‟t up to anything? Or how about that stupid bird, Janice Crooks, who had shrieked with laughter when he‟d asked her out in the pub a few months ago?

Anyone would do, right now. If an opportunity were to present itself where he knew he could kill Carl, his life-long mate, and not get caught for it, he‟d do it. He‟d kill old women, little kids, babies...

Through the buzzing cacophony of his thoughts he heard the doorbell ring downstairs. Was this it? Was this what he‟d been waiting for? Had a victim come to his lair? He scrambled out of bed and ran downstairs, only half-aware that he‟d been wearing the same crumpled T-shirt and jeans for several days now, that in all that time he hadn‟t washed or brushed his teeth or combed the lank, shoulder-length hair that he kidded himself made him look like Charlie George.

He saw the man blink in shock and disgust as soon as he opened the door, saw it in the split-second before he covered it up. Guy was disappointed. The man looked lean and fit, as though he‟d be hard to kill if Guy decided to try it, as though he wouldn‟t go down without a fight.

The frustration gnawed inside him, seemed to awaken the terrible itching that constantly simmered just beneath the surface of his skin. He wanted to tear at his own chest and arms with his fingernails. He gave an involuntary moan and the man looked at him curiously.

„Are you all right?‟

„I...‟ Guy‟s voice was a croak; his face felt like a loose rubber mask he was trying unsuccessfully to control. With a gargantuan effort he pulled himself together, though his voice sounded slurred and rasping. „What do you want?‟

„My name is Mike Yates,‟ the man said. „I‟m looking for a Mr Derek Elkins. We have an appointment.‟

As the information seeped slowly into his brain, Guy could only stare at him.

„Er... I was told he lived at this address,‟ the man added helpfully. „Perhaps I was incorrectly informed?‟

Guy knew some sort of reaction was called for. He stepped back, dragging the door open as he did so. „No,‟ he mumbled, and nodded at the door on his right. „There.‟

„Thank you,‟ the man said, stepping inside. He gave Guy an encouraging smile. „Is it all right to go in?‟

Guy could only grunt and nod. The itching was becoming