The Felix Chronicles: Freshmen by R.T. Lowe Read Free Book Online

enough to bring down a bull with just these mitts of mine.” He squeezed his hand into a bowling ball-sized fist. “That was the year my step daddy came at me with a pair of hedge clippers. They still haven’t found his body.” He doubled over in a deafening roar of laughter. Angela could feel the wall vibrating against her back.
    “They should’ve asked the pigs what happened to him.” A sly grin flickered on his face for an instant. “Anyway, I don’t mean to digress. So what do you think of my chompers?” He peeled his lips back and jutted out his chin so that even the teeth in back were visible. “I once had my own. They were as white as an elephant’s tusks. But a sniper in Afghanistan put a bullet through my cheek.” His jaw tightened and he paused for a moment. “The bastard blew ‘em out my mouth.” The tip of the knife settled on a round, quarter-sized scar below his cheekbone. “That and some of my upper lip, which I’ve been told makes me look like a perpetual snarler. I strongly suspect that’s the reason I’m finding it tough these days to maintain a proper social calendar.” He laughed at that, but not as loudly as before, and it made Angela think it wasn’t the first time he’d used that line. “And I always liked gold, so I thought why the hell not? Why shouldn’t I treat myself? Life can’t just be work, work, work, all the time, now can it?” He raised an eyebrow and added: “’But why the fangs?’ you might be asking yourself. Is it because”—he let the word hang in the steamy, dust-moted air, his eyes trained on hers—“I eat my victims?” He gnashed his teeth together in a hard click , drawing blood that dribbled over his lower lip and down his chin in two unbroken lines.
    Angela cringed and her hands involuntarily flew up to her face, then settled back down around her knees where she clasped them together. She was sobbing louder now, rocking herself, sucking in air in great shuddering gasps. Hysteria was beginning to set in despite her attempts to stay calm.
    The Faceman shook his head in response to his own question. “I prefer ethnic food. And by that, I don’t mean I eat minorities.” He grinned broadly. “I did this”—he tapped the knife against his teeth—“because it looks badass and scares the shit out of people. And I have to confess”—he leaned in close as if he was disclosing a secret to a trusted friend—“I love scaring the shit out of people. Because without fear, where’s the fun in all this?”
    A train rumbled by and the Faceman paused to listen. “Don’t you just love trains?” he asked cheerily after the rumbling had subsided to a faint, distant pulse.
    She nodded. She wasn’t exactly sure why, but the voice in her head was telling her that disagreeing with him could be fatal.
    “And this was once a fine dignified nose, I’ll have you know,” he resumed, slowly tracing the tip of the knife over the arched side of his asymmetrical upper lip. “But then a bunch of terrorists in Pakistan went and broke it. But don’t you worry. They got what was coming to them. Now that was a good time. And I got a medal of commendation for my efforts.” He looked up at the ceiling and smiled at the memory. “Sorry, you’ll have to forgive my vanity. This isn’t about me—I realize that—but I am trying to explain something to you. You see—if that wasn’t enough to spell the demise of my poor nose, I got into a little tussle with a boy of seventeen—the same age as you—and the little rascal tore most of it off with his bare hands.” He grinned wickedly. “Now that boy had what it takes. He passed the test. The question is… will you?”
    Angela knew she had to get a grip on herself, yet the fear was coiling around her like a living thing, leeching away her resolve and her ability to think. But she had to do something. So she swallowed down the dread and the terror, then drew in a deep breath and focused on one thing: getting out of