House of Skin

VICTIM

Gulliver was learning to hate his life. Not what it was, as such, but what it had become: a joyless celebration of paranoia. There was nothing left in it that brought him even a moment’s pleasure. Every act, every movement, every thoughtless mundane activity which he’d once went about with a self-hypnotic banality now had to be thought out carefully. The world, his world, was now fraught with dangers. Simple things that one rarely gives a moment of thought to like taking a walk or going into the bathroom, now had to be plotted carefully.

Eddy Zero was to blame.

Gulliver saw him in every dark alleyway, every shadowy alcove. And each time he did, which was painfully often, he drew in a sharp intake of trembling breath and waited for the knife to fall. He was no longer living, he was only existing in a world in which the rules were dictated by a homicidal maniac, ever changing.

He’d liked his life, such as it was. Barren of love and family, it was still good. It was still something he clung to with repetitious ferocity. He liked the normal, dull channels of his existence, each day resembling the one it replaced. It was boring. It was predictable. But he’d never been one to seek excitement, never one to live on the edge. He liked the monotonous grind of things. No surprises, just quiet living.

Gulliver had few close friends and dozens upon dozens of acquaintances. He’d never had a steady lover since he’d abandoned the ministry and his wife had left him. There was only a weekly fling that had lately become monthly with some stranger, sometimes male, sometimes female, occasionally both. It was enough to satisfy the animal urges.

Now even that had been shattered.

He didn’t dare frequent the bars and clubs he’d once visited nightly. If Eddy was out hunting him, it would be the first place he’d look. He hadn’t even gone to work since Eddy had stabbed him. His supervisor understood, thinking the reason was because of physical duress from the knifing. But that wasn’t it at all. Gulliver was afraid to go anywhere or see anyone. His personal bogeyman was always near, he felt, waiting to strike and butcher. He missed his job. It was tedious, but he’d liked it. Work gave a man a sense of worth to himself and his fellow creatures. He was part of the art department of Macy’s in Union Square, handling window displays. It gave him a chance to express his creativity and the pay wasn’t bad.

Eddy Zero had taken that away from him, too.

He had learned, since the assault, to hate Eddy like he’d never thought he’d be able to hate another living soul. To injure someone was one thing, but to steal their life was quite another. He saw only one way of bringing things to an end and that was to find Eddy himself. He trusted Fenn, but he knew how the police worked. He’d always likened their methods of justice to that of a man circling a house and hoping he’d fall through the front door by accident, rather than just proceeding up the steps and letting himself in. It wasn’t entirely their fault. Their hands were duly tied by laws that were set to protect the individual. Laws the criminal could work to his own advantage.

If Eddy was to be stopped, then Gulliver decided he would have to do it. He had no set procedures to follow. He could walk right into the front door, as it were. He wanted only to locate Eddy and he’d let the police handle the rest.

Fenn had come a long way in a matter of days, as far as Gulliver was concerned. He’d transformed from a cynical, bigoted cop into a real human being with an open and thinking mind. Yet, Fenn was still a cop and bound by rules. And he was also hopelessly distracted by his worship of Lisa Lochmere’s face. And under the might of such infatuation, he saw only her.

His head wasn’t clear enough to deal with the task at hand.

No, Gulliver would have to do it himself.

With this in mind, he took to the streets and took his chances. If he was going to put an end to this madness, he had to start somewhere. But first, he was going to buy a gun. The sort of weapon that could send Eddy spinning into hell to join his father.

The idea of this brought a smile to Gulliver’s lips.