Last Days by Brian Evenson;Peter Straub Read Free Book Online

you're all we have."
    "May I ask who was murdered?"
    "A man called Aline," said Borchert. "He organized this community, this brotherhood. A prophet, a visionary. Both arms lopped off at the shoulder, legs gone, penis severed, ears removed, eyes removed, tongue cut partly out, teeth removed, lips peeled away, nipples sliced off, buttocks gone. Anything that could be removed removed. A true visionary. Murdered."
    "How was he murdered?"
    "Someone broke open his sternum, chopped his heart out."
    "Do you have any idea who--"
    "No," said Borchert. "And we'd like the heart back if possible."
    "Why do you need the heart back?"
    Borchert smiled. "Mr. Kline," he said. "We're a brotherhood. This is a religion. His heart means something to us."
    Kline shrugged.
    "I don't expect you to understand," said Borchert. "You're an outsider. But perhaps you'll understand one day." He moved awkwardly in his chair. "By the way," he said, "What became of your own hand?"
    "I don't know," said Kline.
    "You don't know," said Borchert. "Imagine that. Colonel Pierre Souvestre's leg was buried in a full-blown state funeral when he lost it in 1917. Your hand, on the other hand, is probably rotting in a pile of garbage somewhere."
    Kline stood up. "When can I see the body?" he asked.
    Borchert sighed. "I've told you everything you need to know about it," he said. "There's no need to see the body."
    "You don't have the body anymore?"
    "No," said Borchert. "It's not that."
    "Then what?"
    "His body is sacred to us," said Borchert. "Even without the heart."
    "Are there any witnesses?"
    "You're not to approach anyone with more than ten amputations without an invitation."
    Kline looked about the room. "That makes the investigation a little difficult."
    "I'm sure you'll manage," Borchert said.
    "Can I at least see the room?"
    "Yes," said Borchert, slowly. "I suppose we could manage that."
    "So I'm to investigate a murder without seeing a body and without being able to interview witnesses or suspects?"
    "Don't exaggerate, Mr. Kline. Just don't break in on anyone unannounced. Talk to me and I'll make arrangements."
    Turning, Kline made for the door.
    "Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Kline," said Borchert.
    "What's that?" asked Kline.
    Borchert held up one of his two remaining fingers. "As an act of good faith," he said, "to show you I have nothing against self-cauterization, that I'm an open-minded man, I'd like your help removing the upper joint of this."
    "You want me to cut it off."
    "Just the top joint," Borchert said. "Little more than a symbolic gesture, a pact if you will. You'll find a cleaver in the top drawer," he said, gesturing to the back of the room with a flick of his head. "There's a stove there as well, Mr. Kline, built into the counter, which I'll ask you to turn on."
    Kline looked at him, looked into the back of the room, shrugged. "Why not?" he asked.

    Opening the drawer, he removed the cleaver. He placed it on the counter, resting it on a butcher's block, the wood of which was laced with dozens of thin crosshatched marks. He went back to Borchert, and dragged his chair to the back of the room, set it flush against the counter.
    "You don't know what an honor this is for you," said Borchert. "It's quite a gesture of intimacy. Almost anyone here would kill for it. A shame it's wasted on you."
    "I'll take your word for it," said Kline.
    He took Borchert by the wrist and placed the hand on the butcher's block. He folded the index finger back into Borchert's palm, leaving the remaining finger, the middle finger, angled down against the butcher's block. The burner had warmed now and was glowing red, smoking slightly. He rested his stump just above Borchert's knuckle and held the finger steady, pushed it down slightly so that the first joint was firmly against the wood.
    "Just the first joint?" he asked.
    Borchert smiled. "For now," he said.
    He lifted the cleaver and brought it down hard and fast, as had been done to him, to his hand. The blade was sharp;