Excerpt: TWO GRAVES by Derek Graystone

TWO GRAVES, book blurb:

He was bullied all his life. But now he has killed. Now he is getting even and
everyone is a target.

But with Lieutenant Gregg Mann's task force looking for him, he should have remembered the Chinese proverb, "Before you set out on a journey of revenge, dig Two Graves."

EXCERPT:  TWO GRAVES

The strap slipped easily around her neck and he snapped his hands back. Taken completely by surprise, she fell backwards. He dragged her into the alley and moved behind a huge garbage container. He used all his strength to pull the ties tighter around her neck.

  She clawed at the strap.

  A gurgle escaped.

  He heard the sound and pulled the straps tighter.

  Even as she died, she laughed at him.

  Would he ever escape the laughter?

  She stopped moving after a minute or so. He released the strap after five. She fell backwards into the garbage. Her tongue was sticking out at him, taunting him. He kicked her in the face. His foot connected just under the chin and almost totally severed her tongue.

  Flexing his cramped hands, he felt the pain for the first time. He looked down at his bloody hands and realized it was his blood. The strap had cut into him. He sucked the blood and took a step back, careful that the garbage bin still hid him from the street.

  Shoving one hand in his pocket, he felt the boy’s knife. He pulled it out, looking at the black handle with the thin red stripe. He thumbed the button and the blade sprang out. Bending down, he finished cutting through her tongue until it fell onto her chest, landing right between her breasts.

  Was that enough to stop her laughter? He looked at her throat, pale against the dark blood and bright yellow plastic. Why not be sure and take her voice with him? The Egyptians and the Vikings believed you brought your world with you into the afterlife. What if she went without her voice? Forever mute?

  He stabbed the blade into her throat and cut around her larynx. He reached his fingers in and pulled out her voice box, silencing her for all eternity.

  He stepped back and admired his work, his hand still wrapped around the bloody bit of flesh in his jacket pocket. He had done it. He had struck another blow for the used and abused. Once word got out, all those like him would feel uplifted and rise up in his support. They might not be capable of acting but they could live through him. They would take pleasure in his acts. Their support would be spiritual but support nonetheless.

  But how will they know? She’s just another slut in the trash. Who will understand? It isn’t as if your last kill made any difference.

  He had to leave a mark. But what mark could represent him? Whenever his mind played through his years of torture and terror, there was a single focus. His signature was obvious.

  Like an artist examining a sculpture, he decided on the perfect spot.

  Using his foot, he kicked her over. She landed with a wet plop in the soggy garbage. Too bad it isn’t mud, he thought, surveying her smooth slim back.

  Kneeling down, he started to cut.

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