|The Story||The Authors|
|Matthew on the other hand had refused his meal once again, much to Nurse Doetze's dismay. He was a miserable creature, wallowing in self-pity. Matthew Hickey believed without a shadow of a doubt that his life was over. What kind of man (not to mention rock star) could he ever hope to be now that he'd lost his very manhood? He cursed the wretched animal that had done this to him. He cursed the surgeon for not trying harder to save his severed member. He cursed Jeremy Crink just for being Jeremy crink and he cursed his parents for having brought him into this God forsaken world in the first place. With all his hopes and dreams of fame and fortune shattered as his testicles were being digested, Matthew no longer possessed the will to fight the inevitable and he resigned himself to become a cop, to follow in his father's footsteps like his mother had always wanted him to.|
Hopelessly Matthew chased the spectral phantom of his grievences with Jeremy
Crink like a man chasing his hat on a windy day, forever just beyond the reach
of his fingertips. he couldn't exactly place the blame for all his suffering
squarely on Crink's shoulders but the two seemed eternally Siamese-twinned in
his mind. And here it was yet again with Mother's untimely passing by her own
A half mile ahead of Hickey's cruiser Crink in his ambulance lurched drunkenly around the light backroad traffic, siren's blaring. Hickey kept pace but didn't try to overtake him. He still had a lot of figuring to do. He also knew that he'd never actually get Crink. Thirty five years of Crinkly experiences had taught him that much. But the chase, just the chasing, that always felt good, hopeful even. The very idea that he might this time bring his nemesis to ground. Just this once.
Today this whistfulness was mixed with the grand new found sense of impending freedom that Mother's death promised. It was a strange and discomforting feeling. Like walking up a dark stairway and missing that nonexistent last step. Hickey's mind hung there in that moment of temporary panic between the footstep and phantom. His future lay spreading out before him in a panoramic vista of the possible, and he just began to realize really began (or would end) with Jeremy Crink.
Hickey gunned his cruiser.
This would be somewhere in the hundreds of dead bodies Hickey would see. They
say you never forget the first time you see someone die.
For Hickey it wasn't actually a person, it was a deer that was just crushed in front of him in the road. However, that didn't kill it.
Hickey slammed on the brakes as the Toyota hatchback sped away. The young buck was left lying in the drainage ditch, obviously in some frantic deer shock. Hickey went back to his car and pulled out his newly acquired Blue Steel magnum and spent a round.
It was the most God-awful sound imagineable. The deer's head jerked back and then came this hissing like a tire going slowly flat. Near the end was this gurgling noise. That was blood pouring out of the wound in the mammal's neck.
Fuck! Hickey though to himself. He had missed the beast's head and put a clean shot through it's larynx. Hickey inched closed to the dazed deer and fired again, this time accomplishing his mission.
He always remembered that deer. With each hit, everytime he saw a dead guy; there was the image of that damned deer.
In all actuality the first time Hickey saw a man die was before he had been corrupted, when he was the point-man on the SWAT team. It had been a suicide. The guy walked out after a two-hour standoff, hands raised, and stuck the barrel of a shotgun in his mouth before pulling the trigger.
Hickey hardly remembered that, but he could remember the vivid details of his deer killing. He even remembered how the blood had turned its white tail dark red.
He was thinking of the deer when he crashed his van into the side of Crink's Honda. And just like that, Crink was dead. His head hanging lifelessly out of the driver's window. The smell of urine mixed with the leaking gasoline made Hickey gag.
Then he lit the match.