Overbury Ink

Number 38 is a story about the intersecting lives of a serial-killer and his 38th victim. Luca “The Rock” Marrone, the serial-killer is a character from the pages of Blank Death, the first book in the Blank Must Die Trilogy. Number 38 is a new short story from Ian Eliot LeWinter, writer and creative strategist of the duo Brothers of the Silence with his partner writer & illustrator Don Richmond. The Blank Must Die Trilogy was set in motion in May 2009 when Blank Death debuted as the first graphic novel in history to launch and be continuously unveiled on Facebook and Twitter. The story is rich with mythic iconography, psychopathic megalomania, ghosts, murder and bloodshed.





Thrusting upwards and jagging the blade left, Luca’s forearm delivered destructive force. But the stroke was off — instead of a clean, nearly bloodless thrust into Brenner’s heart, the sternum caused the knife to catch, then swing wide, slicing into muscle and sheath.


Brenner’s eyes grew big. His right hand clutched instinctively for the Taser clipped to his belt. He felt the sharp sting of the knife in his chest and a strong grip on his shoulder, holding him upright. He gasped for air. The brightness of the bathroom blazed white and then pink. Flecks of black invaded his periphery like ash.


Luca pushed again, deeper this time. Nicking rib, the force behind the blade was so great that a piece of bone snapped off and smashed into Brenner’s right ventricle, ripping his heart. There was an explosion of blood.
The movement felt clumsy. The dark, red juice erupted from the knife’s widening gash, splashing across his shirt. He jumped to avoid a second spray. His feet slipped about blindly on the slick tile.


The guard’s body started to convulse and fall backwards in the throes of exsanguination. Luca regained his balance and moved his hand to the guard’s jacket collar, slowly lowering him to the floor.


Brenner stared into Luca’s eyes. He tried to speak, tried to scream, but the knife had opened several wide rifts and blood was quickly filling his esophagus. The sound struggled under the weight of spit and blood. His cry was muffled into a gurgling, popping noise. He reached at nothing and fell limp.


Luca stared down into the guard’s eyes. “Why you?” he whispered. “I never saw your face.”


******


Ms. Grievous text: “M-a-k-i-n-g–m-e- -r-e-s-p-o-n-s-i-b-l-e–f-o-r–t-h-i-s–.-.-.–f-o-r–e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g-“ She paused to add a dollop of preserves to the blintz. “T-h-e-r-e–n-e-e-d-s–t-o–b-e–a-n–a-d-j-u-s-t-m-e-n-t–a–c-h-a-n-g-e–i-n–w-h-a-t–c-o-m-e-s–a-f-t-e-r–.-“ She grinned.


******


Luca ran for the door and locked it fast. He looked down at his watch, but time was obscured by thick, drying blood. “Shit!” he muttered. “This wasn’t supposed to happen… you aren’t what I planned.” He looked down at his victim and frowned. The guard lay motionless, fat and bulbous like an overturned boat, white as a sail. Shipwrecked in a sea of blood.


The thoughts came rapid-fire. “Mother will be furious…The girl. All this blood… Just steps to the main entrance… the girl. I can’t lose the girl.” He dragged Brenner into a stall and sat him on the toilet seat. He removed the guard’s jacket, turned it inside-out and put it on himself. It was too small for him and the zipper was tricky. Seconds were precious and he knew it. He locked the stall door and hopped over it. He wiped the floor quickly and washed his hands. He flushed the paper towels before leaving the bathroom.


******


Mark looked at his watch and then at Frank, who was busy at the stove. “She’s going to hate us,” he winced. “Forever.” He placed his hands flat on the cold tile in front of him. There was a pleading in his voice that Frank hated. “She’s going to think we don’t trust her…that we didn’t think enough of her to be honest with her.” He looked like a cornered hare, gray and fidgeting under the florescents. “You’re absolutely sure today is the right day?”


Frank slowly stirred the bubbling red sauce and let out a deep breath. He remembered a time when he and Mark had no responsibilities. They rented a palapa on the Mexican coast and slept under the stars. Their friends had told them how to find it. “No one will hassle you there. It’s like a paradise.” He brought a book, but never read it. The tide lulled them to sleep. He dreamt he and Mark were seals, laughing and swimming, lost in the tangle of their own bodies. When he awoke, the sun drew him to the surface like a bubble.


He spoke calmly, resolved. “The longer we wait, the worse it will be and the harder she’s going to take it. Look past your fear, Mark. You know this is the right thing to do.”


******


“Mark sounded…funny on the phone earlier, I think he and Frank have been fighting. And I think it was about me.”


Savannah licked the bent tines of her fork. She looked around the restaurant. She and Ms. Grievous were seated in the back of a large room against a wall covered with photos of Charlie Chaplin. Near the front of the room was a sterile row of booths. Across from the booths were gray windows that went to the ceiling. She could see flies beating against the glass. In one of the front-side booths sat a young couple with two children, girls about Savannah’s age. The two girls were sitting on the bench facing each other. Each held a small game device and seemed to be waging a battle against the other.


Text from 847-651-5454: “Y-o-u–a-r-e–i-n–n-o–p-o-s-t-i-o-n–t-o–n-e-g-o-t-i-a-t-e-.–i-f–y-o-u–d-o-n-‘-t–a-c-t–t-h-e–c-o-n-s-q-u-e-n-c-e-s–w-i-l-l–b-e–o-n–y-o-u-.-“


“I’m sure that whatever happened to be going on with Frank and Mark,” she paused to choose the next words carefully, “they weren’t fighting…about you, Savannah.”


Savannah shot right back. “Why? Do you know something?”


Ms. Grievous shrugged, then glanced at the last text she’d received. She frowned and put her phone down. She used her finger to draw a heart on the table. “Well, I know your parents love you very much. And, yes, I know many things, dear one.” She chuckled. “For instance, I know these are excellent blintzes.” There was a happy lilt in her voice.


Savannah turned away and focused on the two girls sitting in the booth across the room. She noticed a bus shelter on the opposite side of Amsterdam Avenue. Sitting on the bench was the man from the museum, but his jacket was different and he looked worse somehow.


(To be continued)
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Dying for more? Have you read Blank Must Die? Tell us in the comments! Missed a chapter? Find Parts 1 through 5 below or in the Bookshelf page.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
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