Monstrum
You are driving home. It is late. It is dark. You are pleased. Today, you have crushed the competition and won the contract. Suddenly, you hear a thump. You stop the car. You get out. You see a pile on the road. You approach it. It is a kid. No, a teenager. It is dead. You look closer. It is Danny.
Your son.
Damn, you think. You must now deal with this. That celebration drink at home will be delayed. You are angry.
“What the hell were you doing here at this late hour, you fool?” you ask the body.
Silence.
You look around. The road is deserted. No one saw you. Good. You get back into your car. You drive away.
You arrive at home. You park the car in the garage, closing the automatic door behind you. You check the hood. Hardly any damage, just a little blood. Good. You go to the bathroom. You get a towel. You go back to the garage and wipe the blood off the car. You burn the towel. You wash the car. You inspect your hard work. You are pleased. Nothing ever happened.
Drink in hand, you read the newspaper. Your stocks went up. Your company is moving like a predator, devouring the competition. You smile. It is the smile your enemies have come to dread. It is the smile they see just before they fall — forever.
The phone rings. Your ex-wife. The first time she has called since the divorce. What the hell does the bitch want? She is worried. She says Danny is missing. He should have been home hours ago. You tell her you do not know a thing. You tell her to go to hell. Then you throw the phone.
You fill your glass. You think about the fiscal benefits. Without the stupid kid, you calculate, the monthly alimony check can be cut by fifty-seven percent. Fifty-seven. You will put your lawyer on it as soon as the news is announced officially.
Eleven o’clock. You turn on the television. They are running an interview you gave this morning. You are pleased. You look like a winner. You are a winner.
You go to bed. You fall asleep immediately. You awaken after six hours precisely. As usual. You wash up. You shave. You feel invigorated. You are ready for battle.
You have breakfast. Two hardboiled eggs, three slices of toast, and one cup of coffee. Exactly the same breakfast you have had for the past twenty-three years. You fire up your laptop and go online. Nothing about the accident. It annoys you. You will have to wait for that call to your lawyer.
You finish breakfast. You walk to your car and drive it out of the garage. You stop and step outside. You inspect the car in broad daylight. It is in mint condition. You are pleased.
You drive to your office. You slow down as you pass by the site of the accident. The body is gone. Excellent. You smile as you think of those fifty-seven percent. Hell, the bitch deserves it.
You enter your office. You scrutinize the new secretary. She looks sharp. Good. Maybe she will last longer than the previous ones.
The mail is waiting for you, laid out neatly on the desk. But not in alphabetical order. You call in the new secretary. You scold her. She seems flustered. Good. You think she might be easier to train than the others.
At ten o’clock sharp you enter the meeting room. The entire board is already seated. You are pleased. You hate tardiness. You have fired all the tardy ones.
Each board member presents his daily report. One report is not up to standard. You make a mental note of it.
After the meeting, you summon the faltering board member. He says he is sorry. He explains it is due to his wife’s cancer. You remember your mother. Cancer always gets worse. You fire him.
The secretary will bring in your lunch at twelve-thirty precisely. Wednesday’s menu: raw salmon and green salad. You finish the meal at twelve forty- seven. Thirteen minutes till your next meeting. You use them to examine the woman’s dossier.
She has applied for a job with your company. You never hire women of course. But you have to be careful. You cannot be seen to reject her outright on a gender basis. Stupid law will not have it.
Her record is impeccable. Top school. Top of her class. Top job at a top company upon graduation. Flawless performance.
She shows up one minute late. You grin inwardly. Fifteen minutes later she rushes out of your office in tears. You were right as usual. A loser. Women are secretaries.
At four o’clock you are on the tennis court. Your new partner is two minutes late. The game begins. You hate to lose but you let him win. He is happy. You smile. The fool does not know he has just been caught in your net. In no more than one month his company will be yours. You wonder whether he is the suicidal type.
You go back to the office. The secretary is gone. You are angry. Her resignation letter is lying on your desk. You call up your lawyer to see if you can sue her. He finds a loophole. You can. You are pleased.
You leave the office at eight o’clock. Sharp. You drive home. As you approach the curve you feel a surge of power. You accelerate.
You are in the wrong lane. You have failed to notice. A car suddenly appears in your headlights. It looks familiar. It is your ex-wife’s car.
Instinctively, you swerve to avoid the crash. You see the surprised look on her face.
As your car tumbles into the abyss, your mind incessantly replays the image of the person seated in the passenger seat. It is the last image you will ever see.
It is Danny.
Danny.
Danny.
Darkness.
