CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw (20 page)

The rock is raised high over
my head. Even though the stone is fairly small and light, my arms begin to
waver from its heft. Do it! I thrust the stone forward with all of my might. It
smacks against the window… and bounces off. G-D-it.

My lower back cringes slightly
as I elevate the stone above my head once more. This time I employ the use of
my legs and really snap at the hips to generate tremendous amounts of force
(something Wilmer mentioned to me long ago – how to create torque for power
output). The rock flies from my hand, hitting the window with a boisterous
clatter -- shattering to bits. Pieces of glass fly back at me with a few
bouncing off my face. I’m thankful none caught me in the eye. However, the
noise was a bit more intense, sonorous, than I anticipated. To such a degree
I’m left
really
hoping no one calls the cops. Perhaps it was a falling
pot or someone dropped a dish?

Now I find myself confronting
yet another obstacle. A few shards of god-awful, jagged, dagger-like pieces of
glass remain at the base of the frame. How am I supposed to climb through
that
?
It’d cut me up like a turkey on the Thanks Giving table. I look around and spot
the only object light enough for me to lift. This will do nicely to clear away
the glass with. A plastic lawn gnome wearing a red pointed hat. Yet another
cliché belonging to Wilmer. How unoriginal.

It’s tedious work, but easy
going. A few seconds later I’ve knocked out the death shards allowing myself to
scurry inside freely. I feel for the pills once again. Still have them. Before
climbing in through the window I wipe down the rock and gnome with a
handkerchief. Let’s be safe about it. No prints to prove I was here. G-D-it…

Here this point reminds me
I’ve already made a folly. I should have put my gloves on much earlier. Drat!
Better late than never I suppose. I bought a pair specifically for this little
murder. A nice black leather pair. The typical kind you see a murderer wearing
in a crime movie. I imagine the camera zooming in on my hands as I pull them
over my slender fingers. Now pan to the left as I hoist myself onto the window
sill before gracefully dropping down into the room… Although -- that’s not
exactly what happened. I did hoist myself onto the sill. This was done by
placing my hands on the frame and then propelling myself forward with a shove
from the legs. Unfortunately. they gave out on me halfway into the jump and my
gut landed directly on the sill, nearly knocking the wind from me. After that,
my head tipped forward, causing me to fall inside with my feet kicking up and
over my noggin -- resulting in me landing flat on my back with a dull thump. It
hurt like hell. But at least I’m inside the abode. No complaints.

The room is completely dark.
I’m already a bit discombobulated from the tussle with the window.

Cling. Cluuung.

What the hell?! Some one is in
the house!?

I can’t believe it. The sound
comes from off in another room – the one directly in front of me.
My only
escape.
Stay calm, boy… Think here! Feel around, scope out the area.

A dim outline of a low-lying
rectangular shaped object comes into view. I reach forward, swatting at it. The
object is soft and covered in a blanket. A bed, of course. This must be the
spare bedroom. Good. It’s smooth sailing from here on out. Just make my way
into the kitchen, find the protein powder, and dump the poison in. Then sit
back and reap the rewards of this most fructifying act. Wait, you idiot. What
are you saying! Some one is in the house! Investigate!

Rallying together what little
courage I can muster, I forge onward, inching my way to the doorframe. A light
shines from the adjacent room – where I presume the person must be scampering
about. Intermittent sounds of running water and dull
clungs
and
clings
coming from the same direction. Dishes?

Finally, I am near the
doorway, preparing to make my initial peek. Take a breath and go… just do it!
And I do – jerking one eye into the light, allowing myself to take sight of the
nefarious evildoer.

34

I found it to be an altogether
peculiar sight… Looking at this rather well muscled man (appearing to be of
Asian descent) wearing an overly tight, short sleeved shirt and bizarrely
revealing pants (colored purple and black in a half and half fashion).
Skintight muscle wear. The ballooned biceps and pectorals clearly on display.
His neck and legs seem rather small in comparison to the rest of his physique.
He must be one of those bench press and curl monkeys you see at the gyms. A
beach muscle boneheaded beefcake! In fact that’s just what he looks like. I
recall Wilmer showing me a few pictures of bodybuilders from the 90s. Real
cartoonish. And yet, this is exactly how the Asian fellow dressed. A better
question might be: what the hell is he doing in Wilmer’s house at this time of
night? But, I’m not one to pry. It doesn’t concern me, not in the least. None
of Wilmer’s private affairs do. My only worry is how to get the heck out of
here with this numskull in my way! And perhaps more importantly, how to plant
the poison…

He’s busy rummaging around the
kitchen area, coming and disappearing from sight again and again. It looks like
he might have been doing some dishes. A good thing for me, as the sound of
breaking glass was unnoticed by the Asian. I hope he refrains from venturing in
here. That’d be quite an ugly scene… With that amount of musculature he’d
probably drop me quickly if a scuffle took place. Unless I can jam some of this
poison into his mouth. Yeah, now there’s an idea! Just put some in my hand and
go straight for his lips -- Hell! What are the odds of
that
happening.
He’ll probably jam something down my throat before I even got the cap unscrewed.
Rip my arm off and beat me to death with my own appendage. Better play it safe.

The man is prancing about –
quite light on his feet actually. Perhaps he’s a dancer of some sort. There he
goes flitting to and fro with a joyous smile on his face. Now, this is not
racist comment in the least, believe me, but because of the dim lighting I
can’t see whether his eyes are closed in reverie or left open as he continues
twirling. Judging by the bouncing, lively quality of his movements, I’d assume
they are being held shut most of the time. He’s humming a tune to himself.
Yadda
dee da, yadda deee daaaa.
Something along those lines. It takes every ounce
of my strength to refrain from yelling, “Get out you duncepot! Sashay your
ridiculous beefcake body out of this house and let me kill Wilmer for Christ’s
sake!”

How am I supposed to complete
this all important mission of mine with a dullard trying to play evening fairy
goddess, muddling up the works! And then I hear it. The dancing stops as a
finger draws to his lips and he says aloud, “It’s back there in the bathroom,
yes that’s where it is! I’ll take a quick shower too.”

The twit continues yapping,
something about
loving that, me using the same soap scents.
And with
this, the man of Asian descent takes off bounding toward a back room and out of
sight. Thank god! What a stroke of luck! No more delaying. Wilmer will be
returning soon. Be brave! Be bold! It’s time to make my move.

Without so much as a second
thought, I race from the shadows, straight into the kitchen. The overhead
lights fall on me as I go. I’m sure anyone looking in from the outside has
spotted my silhouette behind the curtains. Probably that peeping tom in the
bushes… Oh well. They’ll assume it is the Asian fellow. That’s a good excuse,
isn’t it? My eyes dart from cabinet to cabinet. Where does Cromwell keep his
muscle shakes, damnit! And wouldn’t you know it, before I can make any progress
at all I am met with a grave, unnerving interruption. There’s a noise coming
from the backroom. Footfalls approaching. The confounded Asian man is
returning! Good grief! Where to hide!

There’s no time to retreat
back to the shadowed room I had secreted myself in moments ago. The feet grow
closer and closer. A demure pitter patter of oiled skin on hardwood flooring.
Ahh,
the center kitchen island!
It’ll have to do.

I throw myself to the floor at
the base of this island on the far side, facing away from where the Asian man
will be approaching from. The pounding of my racing heart, finding its way up
to my ears, is only intensified in sound by the labored, bated breath escaping
from my lungs – despite my best efforts to hold back the gasps. Sporadically I
hear a thunderous booming of the organ followed by a quiet slapping of the
Asian man’s feet.
BOOM!
Slap.
BOOM!
Plap.
Again and
again. I have no alternative plan in mind. So much for thinking on the go. What
am I to say if he catches me?
Here to clean the floors?
No, it won’t do.
A friend staying for the weekend?
Yeah, I just got into town
.
That might work. I thought he was a burglar so I hid down here on the floor.
But even if the story fools this goon, he’s sure to tell Wilmer later on.
Despite his stupidity I’m positive the ol’ boy would be a bit suspicious
hearing a
friend
of his was spending the weekend without his knowledge!
Needless to say… my entire plot would be in shambles.

Plap. Slap. Plap. Slap.

The feet approach to my right
– estimating from the sound, not more than 3 steps away from rounding the
island and stepping right on top of me! I’m clutching at my heart with both
hands, attempting to lessen the infernal pounding. Quiet down! Suddenly the
slap-plaps
stop. He must have heard the sound of my heart or sensed my fear like some of
those wild, rabid dogs can do. Who knows what powers these Asians have! My face
is certainly purple by now. I haven’t taken a single breath in, not even once
-- for the last 10 hours it feels.

Plap.

Another step… “Oh, that’s
right,” I hear his higher pitched voice begin emanating, only feet above my
head, “I can handle that afterward.”

Thwack!

Something lands on the
countertop above me. Our Asian friend probably dropped an object. I hope to the
high lord almighty it doesn’t come sliding off onto me, causing us to meet face
to face. There is a tense moment where time stands still. But thankfully, it
doesn’t, and he doesn’t… The sounds of
Plap, Slap
heading off into the
distance inform me the twit leaving.

Whew… Good thing the buffoon
didn’t come any closer. I might have had to use desperate measures. Like
screaming for help and running for the front door before he could rip me in
half, or worse… Now back to work.

A shower of some kind kicks on
in the background. Mmm, good. You go rinse yourself off, big boy! And stop
bothering me with your overinflated, muscle-bound, mildly handsome, minority
lummox of a physique! Hold on a second here. Recompose yourself. Focus on the
task. Remember why you’re here. Muscle shakes. Yes, that’s right, muscle
shakes. Check around. Look in that cabinet. No… Suddenly there is a clicking in
my mind.
Thwack!
I recall. What
did
this Asian dandy drop? Over
there on the counter. Let us have a look -- I’m inspecting the object. It
appears to be some sort of necklace. There are rather large oval shaped beads
connected together, what I think is a purple color in this lighting. The entire
necklace feels quite rigid. Nothing I would wear. Totally ridiculous! But who
am I to judge his taste in fashion? I never wear any such things. In fact, I
hate anyone who does. Incredibly distasteful. Especially one of this variety.
How conceited you must be to even consider draping such a gaudy object around your
neck or anywhere else! Oh well, back to the search.

Now let me see here…

Where would a fitness nut keep
his protein powder? Somewhere accessible, that’s for sure. These health nuts
want to be able to ram a spoonful of that crap down their throats at a moment’s
notice. And here I see, thankfully, the kitchen curtains are pulled shut. There
should be little chance of me being seen from the outside, as long as I stay
flush against the cabinetry. Oh my, I notice Wilmer has very nice wooden
cabinets and steel countertops. They’re quite befitting of a wealthy man I
suppose. Not only that but I can sense the arrogance wafting out from them. The
condescension of an “all-important” man. Yeah, Wilmer? Well choke this down.

I swing open the cabinet
nearest the fridge.
No luck… Look in the cupboard there. No… Look in the
corner drawer. No…
Good lord what is this! I open the pretentious doors
located above the dishwasher… to discover what? That’s right, a cupboard full
of my nightmare dishware!

Clean, sparkling, and ready to
clank and clink glassware. I feel myself weakening at the mere sight of these
demons. The memory of Wilmer’s treachery sweeping over my body like a bolt of
lighting thrown down by Zeus himself. No! Dwindling strength… Waning vision… It
can’t end this way. Stay afloat, fight off the devil! The all too familiar
clanking begins resonating within my cranium. An overpowering sensation. Each
clang accompanied by the mental image of his dastardly spoon whacking against
the glass. They’re jumping out at me! The bowls are on the attack! Wilmer’s
henchmen finally here to bring about my death!
Ahh…
I can’t think
straight. My body is vibrating with such intense violence, keeping perfect
rhythm, staying in time with every clank, every lowering of the spoon. I feel
my knees buckling. The descending of my feeble, worthless body. Defeated.
Clang!
Clank!
Blackness… Blackness… all consuming blackness...