Into the darkness quiet I crept,
Until into the darkness the angel stepped.
That angel, my angel, Oh celestial scent,
Oh, Angel of Death, you’re heaven-sent.
Dexter Aloysius Harvey slumped back against the support brace of his chair, hanging his head and closing his eyes. Even the dim lights in the hotel restaurant irritated his tired eyes. It had been a wearisome day. Where are you? I know you are in this town. But where? He heard the clicking of heels on the tile. They stopped at his table.
“Hi, my name is Mary and I’ll be your waiter.” An overly chipper voice asserted. “What would you like to drink today, son?”
He would have liked to say ‘Nothing, thank you. Now would you leave me alone?’, but he didn’t. “Water,” A little curt, but that was the best he could do at present.
“Water...” She made clicking noise with her tongue, and Dexter could hear her shaking her head. “Well, you’ll get over her soon. So, chin up,”
He snorted. Angels weren’t girls, obviously— and he didn’t think that girls were angels either.
Mary stooped down and asked him quietly. “What’s her name?”
Dexter didn’t know what to say to that. His mind was a bestirred beehive, thoughts bouncing about like Ping-Pong balls. She was waiting, so silence was not an answer. He did not want to make something up but couldn’t tell this inquisitive elderly lady that he was surreptitiously stalking the serial slayer of all mankind, hereafter referred to as the Angel of Death, following the wake of his destructive path to stop the scythe of the Grim Reaper. But inspiration hit, just as it always did, a moment before it became too awkward to answer. “Angel,” He answered, his voice muffled.
Brilliant.
“Angel…” Mary walked away, to fetch him his drink and to help another customer to a table. He finally opened his eyes and stared at the menu, vainly vying to decide what to eat while his mind wandered. He was tired. Mary suddenly appeared with his drink and promptly disappeared again. He sipped it, scalding his tongue on the hot tea.
OUCH! I didn’t order tea, did I? I hate hot tea. He thought, bemused. But the pain served to awaken his deadened senses. He blinked, suddenly observing a woman covertly staring at him from the booth where she sat. Have I seen her before? He felt sure that he had. But before he could connect her to a name, she had realized that she was spotted. She quickly turned away and busied herself with a menu, despite that she already had food in front of her. Even from where he was, he could tell it was upside-down. Odd. But an instant later, he had something else to think about. The feeling he had anticipated all day suddenly coursed rippling down his spine and limbs, ripping through his gut.
Aha! Knew you were here, somewhere! He leapt up, knocking the table and its contents onto the ground. The kitchen. He ran toward the back of the restaurant. He nearly laughed at Mary’s surprised expression as he rushed by. He pushed into the door leading into the kitchen— and was immediately thrown back by the exploding stove. He was slammed against a wall, cracking his head, and everything went black.
"The only thing that anybody really knows about this author is that he is a real nutcase."
-Anonymous reporter
Well...