Rising up out of the subway staircase and into the busy street, I brought Marie closer to me. The pavement was still wet from rain, puddles gathered by the curb. We strolled arm in arm, listening to the sounds of downtown traffic, absorbing the odors of diesel from TTC buses and fried grease from cheap Korean restaurants. All the cabs on the road looked the same. A white Winnebago with Winnipeg plates drove by.
Marie said something, but I wasn't listening, too busy eyeing the people around us, nervous about seeing Will standing in some dark corner, spying. It's almost ten but the city nomads are scattered about, mostly ordinary loiterers, but some are bustling and secretly alert. There is no admission fee for the creep show that is downtown Toronto at night -- gangs of boys roam the sidewalk talking loud, rough housing each other, sending passersby into states of self-protectiveness.
Arriving at the front steps of Marie's work, she kissed me three times and said she'd be okay going home in the morning. I felt relieved, secure for her, knowing that the sun would be up by then. Watching her through the store window, I saw her disappear into the backroom.
Taking a different way back to the station, I entered the financial district, walking along the foot of the TD tower. There was a ghastly corporate art piece displayed by the entrance of the skyscraper – it looked like a gigantic fruit bowl made of black polished stone. A propane fire burned in the middle of the bowl, like the cauldron at the Olympics. I stared at the flame and thought of Will.
My mission started now, I thought – a mission I could only seek out alone. I had to lure him to me, wait for him and bait him. The single most glaring characteristic Will possessed was his animal temper. How easy it was to make him riled, I thought. I could mock him. I could fan the flame of his anger and bring him to me, and I would be ready for him.
In my pocket was the old copper pipe from my sink. The pipe was heavy, and it sank into my left pocket, pulling the left side of my pants lower at the waist. It was only eight inches long, with one end protruding out of my pocket, but it was dense and could crack a skull in two. I wasn't frail like Mindy, I reminded myself, or an old man, or a bum. I was young, just like him, and I was armed with a weapon.
In the heat of the flames from the corporate cauldron, I took out my new iPhone and opened my email app, just as Marie taught me moments before. I opened a new message window and typed:
Date: September 23, 2022 10:19:37 PM GMT-04:00
To: iamwillforever(at)gmail.com
Subject: (No Subject)
You're pathetic. A sociopath. A fucking psycho. You're hiding because you're nothing. You're no one. Tell me where you are if you're man enough. What are you waiting for?
Metal wheels screeched on steel tracks. The seat under me shook my body. I awoke from a daze. A voice from the speakers announced, "next stop, Kipling Station."
As the train slowed to a stop, the squealing of the breaks dissipated, leaving only the chime from the doors opening and the faint beeping from my iPhone. My palms itched as I swiped my finger across the touch screen and uncovered a new email. It read:
Date: September 24, 2022 12:39:07 AM GMT-04:00
From: iamwillforever(at)gmail.com
Subject: RE:
I am on the twenty seventh floor of the Barlow Hotel. Come see me.
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