What Goes Around
By C.G. Durrant
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About this ebook
His victims were easy prey. But this killer is about to meet his match – his own conscience.
Malachi works for a delivery company. He visits his languishing mother in the nursing home. And during his spare time, he likes to murder people with his weapon of choice– scissors. He buries his victims out at his special place–the barn. As they rot, so he strengthens finding power and growth in their eternal state of unrest.
He stood over the body, wanting to feel what any normal person should feel. But since the deaths of his brother and father he had never been normal.
Someone is following him, has been for days. The police? A confrontation leads to the unveiling of secrets, of a past that awakens an inner enemy that is greater than any he has faced: compunction.
Will Malachi fall victim to his own conscience, or can he bury his contrition as easily as he has his victims?
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What Goes Around - C.G. Durrant
Chapter 1
protected by obliviousness
Malachi stood in his usual spot at the entrance to the nursing home dragging on his cigarette, trying to prevent that here-we-go-again feeling from turning in to that time-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here thought. He exhaled, the day’s winter breeze whipping billowing smoke from his lips before it had the chance to plunge his features into obscurity. He dropped the butt, crushing it, heal to toe.
He flung open the door and strolled into the reception. The smell of old-age struck him. He guessed it was a mixture of pungent incontinence mingled with the faint scent of perfume and cheap air fresheners. He glanced at the tall cactus to the right of the front desk and thought that there could not have been another plant in the world that was as unwelcoming as this. It was perfect.
He walked up to the dragon lady with the blouse buttoned to her neck. Hi. I’m here to see my mother.
And she is?
She made small, circular motions with a pen as though summoning the answer from the middle of the desk.
He hated the bitch already and somewhere in him, he wondered if she’d make a good addition to his barn. I hope,
he jested, that she’s somewhere in there, unless you’ve let her off the leash and allowed her to wander... again.
He pointed beyond a set of glass-panelled doors.
I’m not smiling.
He huffed. He wasn’t surprised. Her mouth was like the slit of a letter box in a wooden door, incapable of stretching even to the accomplishment of a smirk. Two weeks ago, she was in the dining room wearing nothing but her Birthday suit. I love the old girl to bits, but you know what kind of damage a guy could suffer when faced with the sight of his mother’s nipples hardening in the breeze of this piss-poor excuse of this air conditioning of yours?
Wide-eyed and still, she said nothing. After a moment she found her voice. I find you quite rude.
Malachi, leaned into the desk. And there I was hoping we could go for dinner sometime.
The woman shook her head as a younger lady moved in behind her. Certainly not.
Then I guess a blow job’s out of the question then?
He didn’t smile or even grin and it was the sternness of his expression that kept the woman in check. He had learned that you could get away with saying almost anything you wanted if you said it with a particular expression.
The woman behind the first stepped in. I’ll handle this.
The dragon lady grabbed an aerosol can and sprayed above Malachi's head before pulling away.
He waved his hands like a demented controller, bringing a plane to the ground of an equally insane world. What the hell’s with the spray?
The woman smiled, grabbing the register. She’s a non-smoker. She can smell it a mile off.
One of those, huh? Thought she looked a little too healthy.
Been a few weeks. Good to see you haven’t lost that charm of yours.
I aim to please.
He grabbed the pen on the counter and scribbled his name in the register.
The woman grinned. I’ve heard that from you before.
She leaned forward. I’m curious as to what form your aim would take.
I bet you are.
Malachi wondered if any part of her, even the darkest foulest part of her that spawned her taboos of which only a fraction had probably ever seen the light of day, could understand let alone share in his definition of pleasure.
Over the last three years, he had watched her change and grow as the mother he came to see changed and withered by an almost equal measure, as though the youth