Dirty Doves
Avant-Propos: The Devil's Voice
Unknown Date & Location
“Go!”
It was the last thing I heard that poor bastard yell to me. Go. He didn’t have the privilege to tell me where or elaborate on his demands - the bullet saw to that. The word repeated in my head, almost rhythmic. Next thing I’d known, I was inside the place I had longed to enter. Inside the place where the solemn lips of the devil himself spoke to me. I never looked away from those lips, chapped and cut, imprinted on the wrinkled face of this creature.
“Reginald Carter,” he muttered to me softly, as though reading an enchanting fairy tale. “You look at me in such warmth.” The devil laughed. “It is funny, is it not, Mr Carter, that we are to meet for the first time, but look as though we are twins, longing to be reunited. Listen to me.”
Mercy. Mercy for the devil.
“I will tell you why you look at me with the subconscious warmth that you are so attentive to be rid of. I will tell you why you and I are much the same, Mr Carter.”
I saw no reason to speak. No – it wasn’t that. I couldn’t speak.
“Some people may call us psychotics, Carter. We may even be branded as fuckin' lunatics. They don’t understand do they though? They don’t understand that we are not murderers. We are not people who thrive upon the kill of a human being or get spurs from the blood of them. We are not lunatics or psychotics, Carter. I shall tell you what we are. I shall tell you something I never want you to forget – even after you kill me.”
Still, I listened.
“Carter. You and I. We are merely people who have lost their mind. We search for that purpose. We search for that purpose in our kill.”
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