PART FIVE
BASEBALL AND BLOOD
THE BOOK SIGNING
Descending the stairs, I hear the music and ignore the sweat trickling down my side. I enter the living room to encounter the residents of the house watching baseball while the radio plays. Scott lifts a beer in the air and waves at me to join him on a leather recliner. Eyes invade and inspect me, but not one person speaks or attempts to acknowledge my presence.
Taking one of my books from the coffee table, I stand next to Scott and ignore his indications for me to sit on his lap. I must take the attention from the ball game on the television. Scanning the room, I see one man tapping a baseball bat on his hand and another throwing a basketball into the air and catching it on his palm. These men could care less about my book.
Clearing my throat, I open the book and read the first sentence. The music continues to play and the ball flies in the air time and time again, a metronome signal of the futility of this endeavor. My eye catches Scott smile and it sends a ripple of anger into my belly. Closing my eyes, I let the blood red coat the walls of my mind before I speak.
"I am a serial killer," I say in a soft voice. All will be quiet. All will hear me.
Opening my eyes, I grab the bat from the young man's hands and squeeze until my fingertips go white with effort.
"I am a serial killer."
The ball lands with a thud on the man's hand at the moment the music stops. All eyes on me and I manage to smile. Gripping the bat and tapping it against the table, I turn my gaze from man to man.
"What's a girl gotta do to get heard?" I say, lifting the bat over my head. Into the silence, I smash the bat onto the coffee table sending beer bottles and video game controllers flying.
Finding my book, I open it and clear my throat to read. All eyes on me.
"Why do the papers call you the Butcher of Vegas?" the man asks. He attempts to move, but he is bound to the bed with plastic sheeting.
I drag my knife along his chest and a thin line of blood rises on his skin. Pressing until I hear him grunt in response to the pain, my eyes connect with his and I smile. Climbing on his torso, I lift the blade high in the air.
"You want to know why they call me the butcher? Because I'm going to hack you into pieces as if you were a side of fucking beef."
Closing the book and grabbing the bat once more, I lock eyes with Scott and speak into the silent room.
"Who wants me to sign their copy?"
Taking one of my books from the coffee table, I stand next to Scott and ignore his indications for me to sit on his lap. I must take the attention from the ball game on the television. Scanning the room, I see one man tapping a baseball bat on his hand and another throwing a basketball into the air and catching it on his palm. These men could care less about my book.
Clearing my throat, I open the book and read the first sentence. The music continues to play and the ball flies in the air time and time again, a metronome signal of the futility of this endeavor. My eye catches Scott smile and it sends a ripple of anger into my belly. Closing my eyes, I let the blood red coat the walls of my mind before I speak.
"I am a serial killer," I say in a soft voice. All will be quiet. All will hear me.
Opening my eyes, I grab the bat from the young man's hands and squeeze until my fingertips go white with effort.
"I am a serial killer."
The ball lands with a thud on the man's hand at the moment the music stops. All eyes on me and I manage to smile. Gripping the bat and tapping it against the table, I turn my gaze from man to man.
"What's a girl gotta do to get heard?" I say, lifting the bat over my head. Into the silence, I smash the bat onto the coffee table sending beer bottles and video game controllers flying.
Finding my book, I open it and clear my throat to read. All eyes on me.
"Why do the papers call you the Butcher of Vegas?" the man asks. He attempts to move, but he is bound to the bed with plastic sheeting.
I drag my knife along his chest and a thin line of blood rises on his skin. Pressing until I hear him grunt in response to the pain, my eyes connect with his and I smile. Climbing on his torso, I lift the blade high in the air.
"You want to know why they call me the butcher? Because I'm going to hack you into pieces as if you were a side of fucking beef."
Closing the book and grabbing the bat once more, I lock eyes with Scott and speak into the silent room.
"Who wants me to sign their copy?"
BEGIN READING -PART ONE - THE BOOK SIGNING IN #VEGAS