Pure Hate (29 page)

The sounds of a struggle echoed
through the halls as Reed searched classroom after classroom on the fourth
floor. He could hear screams, grunts, curses, and savage growls. He recognized
both voices, Malcolm’s and Natasha’s. He was killing her, but she was fighting
back. If she could only hold out until he got there. He still had the gun. He
could . . .

Reed turned a corner and there, in
the middle of the hall, he saw the dark familiar shape of Malcolm Davis
crouched over a prone figure that could only be Natasha. Malcolm was tearing
into her with his knife and his fangs as she kicked, scratched, and bit him.
She had done some damage. Malcolm was bleeding and in obvious pain, but her
struggles were subsiding, her strength waning. Reed watched Malcolm raise the
knife and slam it down again and again. He could hear the sound of the knife
slamming through her chest and puncturing the vinyl tiles beneath her. The
blade dug into the subfloor, and Malcolm had to wrench it out each time in
order to bring it down again. Finally, her struggles ceased, but the horror
wasn’t over. Malcolm bent down over her lifeless body to feed.

Reed could tell by his motions that
he was also fucking her. He’d been fucking her while she struggled for her
life, as he’d stabbed her repeatedly. He was fucking her as her life bled out
on the dirty school floor. He was fucking her and eating her alive. Reed aimed
the gun at them and fired. He wasn’t worried about hitting Natasha. By now, he
was sure that she wished she were dead if she wasn’t. If Natasha was dead,
perhaps she’d thank him when she joined the infernal choir in his head.

The bullet punctured a locker above
Malcolm and he looked up, pausing in his feeding frenzy. Reed ran toward him,
firing the Glock. Malcolm rolled off Natasha and fled down the hall. Reed
continued to pursue him. He was determined not to lose him this time. He
glanced at Natasha as he passed. She was torn apart, but still breathing
shallowly, gurgling out her last breath. Their eyes had locked, and her voice
joined the chorus.

Kill him, Reed! Get that bastard,
Reed!

Reed continued running.

Uncannily, the shadows swallowed
Malcolm whole. Reed darted from room to room with the Glock leading the way.
Malcolm was still there, still somewhere. He was stalking Reed as Reed was
hunting him.

Reed roamed the school, carefully
checking every room that held specific memories for him and Malcolm. The
Creative Writing Room where he and Malcolm worked side-by-side for four years.
The English Room, Expository Writing, Journalism, the cafeteria. He found no
sign of Malcolm. The sun was starting to rise and Reed found a blood trail.
Malcolm was hemmorhaging heavily. Reed followed the blood as best as he could
in the growing light.

The trail led to an art room with
large crimson splatters on the door and shadows dancing across the walls as if
a candle was burning within. Reed slid the door open and spotted the source of
the flame. A Bunsen burner sat atop the teacher’s desk, casting just enough
illumination to reveal a decomposing skull with long blonde hair. Even in its
advanced state of decomposition, even though it had been fifteen years since
he’d last seen her, Reed had no trouble recognizing her.

Who else would it be?

Renee’ Volare’. He backed out of the
room, pointing the gun at the shrinking shadows. Any one of them could have
been Malcolm, but none of them were. Still, he felt Malcolm’s ominous
suffocating presence emanating from every dark corner of the room.

The sounds of the early morning
janitorial staff making their way up the stairs came to him through the riot of
voices in his rapidly fragmenting mind. They were all in danger. Reed fired the
gun, aiming it down the stairwell. He waited a moment and listened. When he
heard the sound of running feet, he knew that they had left the building. Fewer
victims for Malcolm.

Reed continued to search for Malcolm.
He passed Natasha’s lifeless form several times as he hunted through the dark.
The last time he passed her, Natasha’s chest was cracked open and her heart was
gone. So was her head.

Haunting echoes surrounded Reed. His
family, Natasha, Renee’, Detective Baltimore, those other cops, the faceless
victims that stretched back over a decade. He tried to isolate each voice,
hoping they could help him, give him some clue of where to find Malcolm.

He
proposed in the gymnasium.

The gymnasium was where Malcolm proposed to Renee’.
He’d interrupted the entire gym class and produced the modest diamond ring. The
gym teacher tried to interrupt his proposal, and there was a tense moment where
Reed was sure that Malcolm would kill him. That was followed right away by
another long tense moment as Renee’ looked across the gym at Reed, begging for
help. Malcolm appeared to be growing impatient and angry as Renee’ stalled and
continued to stare at Reed. Reed had been afraid that Malcolm would notice the
way Renee’ was looking at him and know that he’d been fucking her, but just as
Malcolm seemed ready to snap, Renee’ said, “Yes.”

Look
in the gymnasium. Kill him, Reed. Kill him!

Taking the steps two at a time, Reed
hurtled down to the school’s basement, to the gymnasium, where Malcolm was
waiting for him. He opened the door to the gymnasium and was struck in the
chest by something heavy that knocked him backward, bounced off, and rolled
across the floor. He looked down and watched Natasha’s severed head roll across
the floor and disappear into the darkness. Malcolm stepped out of the shadows
and kicked the head back across the room at Reed.

“You still want her, Reed?”

Malcolm’s voice reverberated in the
empty gym. His face was covered in blood. He smiled carnivorously. His platinum
fangs were streaked with gore. His mouth was a horror. Reed didn’t need to ask
what had happened to Natasha’s heart.

“You’re a fucking animal!” Reed
brought the Glock up in what seemed like slow motion. Malcolm charged.

Before Reed could get off a shot,
Malcolm was on him, stabbing. Reed felt the blade sink into his chest and rip downward.
Then it was in his gut tearing its way upward. Finally, Reed managed to get off
a shot. The bullet ripped through Malcolm’s abdomen and exploded out of his
back. Malcolm howled and spun away into the darkness. No way he could survive a
wound like that without immediate medical attention.

When Malcolm charged from the
shadows, Reed spotted his other wounds. He was bleeding profusely from his
chest and hip. His penis looked like it was missing a chunk. He had a wound in
his stomach. Malcolm was starting to look like one of his own victims.

Reed looked no better. His guts were
on fire and blood spurted from the wound in his chest. He slid down to the gym
floor, still clutching the Glock, but losing sight of Malcolm. He looked around
in a panic.
Maybe Malcolm was dead?
But the voices said no. They were
just as loud as before. If anything, their agitation had increased.

Kill
him! Kill him! Kill him! Killhimkillimkillim!

Tthe chant began to swirl around his head, the words
blurring together into a steady roar. The shadows shrank as the morning sun
beat the night into submission. Reed took it as a good omen.

Then Malcolm attacked again. This time Reed popped off two
rounds before the blade sank into him. He felt the knife ripping a new wound
open as Malcolm stabbed him again and again. He could feel Malcolm’s fangs in
his skin. Then Malcolm rolled off onto the floor, wheezing and coughing blood.
Reed was hacked up bad, dying, but Malcolm was dying, also. Reed had no more
fear. He had nothing.

The voices were gone as well. They were finally alone. Just
Reed and Malcolm. Reed struggled to catch his breath. Waves of gray obscured
his vision as he struggled to hold on to consciousness, to hold on to life.
Malcolm lay beside him, dying. Listening to Malcolm’s ragged breathing, Reed
finally allowed himself to remember what had happened in that bathroom fifteen
years ago.

Malcolm walked in, wielding that black switchblade with the
leopard on the side he’d had that night at Natasha’s house. He knew about Renee’.
He knew about Natasha. He had just spent weeks in a hospital recovering from a
self-inflicted throat wound. He was murderously angry. His rage rippled from
him in shimmering waves of pure hostility. He
started toward Reed, and there had been nothing but hatred in his eyes.

Reed had watched Malcolm raise the knife. He felt the weight
of his own guilt bend him, crush him. He lowered his head, bowed by the sudden
force of his remorse. Malcolm had been the best friend he’d ever had. Malcolm had
taught him more about life than his own parents, taught him more about himself
than he would have ever learned alone, taught him his own potential, to believe
in himself. Malcolm had loved him and he’d repaid that love with betrayal. He
had acted out against Malcolm like a spoiled child trying to get its parent’s
attention through some shocking act of disobedience. Now, he was about to be
punished. Reed had known he was going to die, but still he’d wanted Malcolm’s
forgiveness. Before Malcolm could bring the knife down, Reed stepped forward
and wrapped his arms around him. He kissed Malcolm on the neck and whispered:
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”

Malcolm had paused then, unsure of himself. The knife
hovered in the air, ready to strike, but it didn’t descend. Malcolm looked down
at Reed with questions in his eyes, uncertainty distorting his hatred. He
stared into Reed’s eyes and saw his remorse and his love. Then Reed rose up on
his toes with tears streaming down his face and kissed Malcolm on the lips.
Malcolm dropped the knife. He wrapped both hands around Reed’s throat and began
to squeeze the life from him.

Reed never struggled. Tears continued to roll down his face.
He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” again and Malcolm let him go. Reed staggered,
choking and dizzy. Malcolm again lifted the knife and Reed closed his eyes,
again waiting calmly for death.

“I love you, Malcolm.”

Reed had heard the words leave his mouth before he decided
to speak. They came from a place in his heart to which his conscious mind was
not privy. They had an immediate effect on Malcolm. The knife clattered to the
ground. Reed opened his eyes and saw Malcolm’s face warp, contorting as if he
were in pain. He turned and walked out of the bathroom.

“Why didn’t you kill me then, Malcolm? Why didn’t you kill
me fifteen years ago, back in that bathroom? Why all this? All this death, all
those families, my family, those cops, why?”

“Because I loved you, too.”

It took a moment before Reed was certain the voice had not
come from his head.

“I loved Renee’ with all my heart. I never loved anyone like
that besides my own mother. I loved Natasha, too. But deep down I expected them
to betray me. But not you, Reed. I never thought you would. I thought you would
always be with me. When you hugged me . . . I . . . I realized that losing you
was what really hurt.”

Malcolm began to cough and blood bubbled up out of his
mouth.

“Why did you kill all those families? All those people? Why
didn’t you just kill me?”

“Because I loved you! But I wanted to kill you so bad, so
bad it was all I could think of. I hated you so much, knowing you were happy
and that you had forgotten all about me that . . . that . . . I wanted to hurt
you over and over again. So, I did. Every time I murdered one of those faggots,
I was killing you . . . and . . . and killing that part of me that still wanted
you, the part that still wanted to forgive you, that still wanted to be your
friend.”

“Did it work?”

Malcolm laughed and more blood bubbled up out of his mouth.
He coughed again wincing in pain.

“Well, here we are.”

“Yeah, but we’re still alive. You could still forgive me. I
could still forgive you.”

“You still want to be my friend? After all this?”

Malcolm’s face was a rictus of agony but it was unclear
whether physical or emotional. He pulled Rick’s nine millimeter out of his coat
pocket and slid it under Reed’s chin.

“Sorry, Reed but I can’t forgive. I can’t forget.”

He pulled the trigger. Reed’s head exploded like a rotten
jack-o’-lantern. The spaghetti-pulp of brains sprayed across the gymnasium floor.

Detective Bryant emptied his entire clip into Malcolm.

Malcolm growled and gnashed his teeth savagely as each
bullet tore through him. He’d finally killed Reed even after being mortally
wounded himself. But now this detective had come and Malcolm wasn’t sure he had
enough life left to avenge his own death. He held Rick’s nine millimeter in his
hand, trying to raise it by the sheer force of his murderous will, but a bullet
shattered his arm. He felt as if every major organ had been pulverized. The
short, fat, middle-aged detective loomed above him. Malcolm snarled with rage
even as his life fled.