Kelius read on. The murderer, as yet faceless, spread a plastic dropcloth over the tiles in the kitchen and drew a surgeon’s hacksaw from the lining of his overcoat. He began to disremember the body. In detail. Kelius was sickened, recalled to himself that it was only fiction, and read on, oblivious to the jolting of the bus. The murderer wedged the torso into a suitcase, arranged the limbs around it, packed tight, before the stiffness began to set in. It was 4:51. The girl’s father was due home at 5:00. Even now he was out in the street, striding along in the welter of heads and shoulders, handbags and briefcases. Kelius watched the glow of the kitchen clock as the murderer hurried to hide his traces. Suddenly the bus was stopping. Kelius looked up and his stomach clenched—they were at the border already. Half a page left in the chapter. His eyes rushed down the ranks of columns and letters. The murderer was rinsing his dropcloth in the shower, water running red against the porcelain.
What do You think about Rock And Roll Heaven (1976)?
