IV: Inevitable Suicide 

Jack replayed the last moments he had with Heather in his head. He remembered how vague he was with her on the phone. How he yelled at her to let him in. He looked at the busted door that laid in pieces on the floor a few feet from him. She had died believing that he was going to kill her. Jack looked at Peter with fury boiling behind his eyes. “I’m sure the reason your restraining yourself right now is because you have another question.” Peter said as though in full control of the situation.

“That doesn’t explain why she shot herself. Why didn’t she just shoot me? And how did you know I hid a gun in the house?”

“She told me when she first called the suicide hotline and I actually had planned for her to kill you. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting her to shoot herself either; Ironic isn’t it? In any case, I think it’s rather sweet: she knew you were no good all along but couldn’t help loving you anyways. Even when she thought you were going to kill her. Talk about a twisted sense of right and wrong. Not that it’s a competition or anything but would you call that one your kill or mine?”

Jack had had enough. He pulled out his four-inch long hunting knife. “What’s stopping me from killing you right now?”

Without so much as batting an eye Peter assured him, “Nothing at all. If you hurry you could kill me and even rip out my other eye before the cops get here; but I already won Jack. You’re going to be charged for Heather’s murder, and she died feeling completely betrayed by you. You’re either going to die by some cop’s trigger finger, or you’ll die in prison if you manage to not get the death penalty. Either way your days are numbered Jack. By all means kill me. I won’t even struggle.” And with that Peter grabbed Jack’s hand holding the knife and pressed it against his own throat, reopening the recently sealed gash.

Jack dropped the knife horrified at Peter’s self-mutilation, “Why do you want me to kill you so badly? Why the fuck haven’t you killed yourself already?” he yelled in frustration.

“I’m done answering questions Jack. If you’re not going to do what you intended then I’ll be on my way.”

“Fuck you. . . Why did you stop me yesterday when I was going to kill you if that’s what you really wanted?”

“I never stopped you from killing me Jack, even now you still can; you’re the only thing stopping you. Every time and each time you’ve disappointed me. Your girlfriend was much more decisive.”

Jack knew that Peter was goading him, “Your right Peter: I’ve lost. But that doesn’t mean you’ve won. I understand now why you want me to kill you. I could see it in your eyes; you’ve been dead a long time.”

Suddenly Peter’s sense of control waivered. Both men sat opposite one another defeated. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Peter felt compelled to speak, “You never asked me what was my ‘tool of the trade’ when we first met. Would you like me to tell you?” Jack didn’t give any sign that he was listening. Peter continued anyways, “If you haven’t figured it out already it’s the spoken word. I talk to my victims into taking their own life.”

“That’s not such a surprise since you never shut the fuck up.”

For the first time Peter lost his composure, “God damn it Jack! you’re right that I want to die! I want it all to end but I won’t do it myself. But you don’t understand why, do you? Do you know what it’s like when you see someone kill themselves?”

Jack looked at Peter knowingly, “it’s absolutely silent.”

Peter smiled as though finally being understood, “That’s exactly it! It’s completely silent. You’re left there feeling more broken and shattered than they could ever imagine because they aren’t there to witness their atrocity; if they’re the ones that have fallen then why are we the ones left to pick ourselves back up? I hate them Jack! They leave me feeling envious because they take what I want most, and I want it more than they do. Want to know how I know? Because I’m in love with the idea of dying, they just hate the idea of living. Each one of them defiles the thing I love the most. I can’t help but be filled with rage and envy. I hate them Jack. I hate them because they’re cheating. I want to cheat too, but I don’t because Death is my coy lover; I’m just waiting for her to embrace me.”

Having witnessed Heather’s death moments ago Jack couldn’t help but feel part of what Peter said resonate with him. “If that’s true then why did you originally plan to have her kill me?” Jack asked.

“Like I said: I don’t cheat. I welcome Death with arms wide open but that doesn’t mean I’m like some lemming jumping over a cliff. Either I would have killed a murderer—someone even more grievous than those that commit suicide—or you would kill me; either way, I would have been content. When I saw you sitting on the couch I was overjoyed because I thought I was given the better of the two endings”

“Sorry to break it to you but you didn’t manage to kill me and I’m not going to kill you either.”

Peter’s lip rose with a look of disgust, “I couldn’t care less. You have given me nothing I wanted so I have taken everything you had. It’s like I told you before Jack, your story has such limited endings, it’s only a matter of when; I think you said it best at the diner: ‘In my eyes, you’re already dead and there’s no fun hunting a corpse.’ Well this is goodbye Jack, have a nice death.” Peter stepped over the broken door and walked out the apartment. As he made his way down the sidewalk he heard jack yell out, “You were supposed to save her!” Peter turned down the block and was passed by 3 police cars speeding in the direction he had come from. There was a second gunshot fired that night. It was 8:47pm.

Peter made it back to his apartment; he cleaned his wounds and took a long hot shower. He looked into the mirror and saw an animated corpse stare back at him. It was 11:31pm.