hot, thickheaded, and almost physically sick.
I don't want to grow up, either, he said to himself. I'm a Toys “R” Us kid killer.
He watched his chosen little boy as the kid wandered alone down a wide aisle chock-full of action games. The boy was five or so, a very manageable age.
The anger button inside his head was going off like a powerful alarm. WOM! WOM! WOM! The terrible feeling quickly spread to his chest. WOM! WOM! It was tense and uncomfortable. Both his hands were clenched tight. So was his stomach. The back of his neck. His brain was clutching, too.
Be careful now, he cautioned himself. Don't make any mistakes.
Remember if you do perfect crimes.
THIS WAS GOING TO BE a mite tricky going, though, working in the crowded Toys “R” Us store. What if the boy's parents were close by? WHICH THEY DEFINITELY WERE! What if he were caught? WHICH HE WOULDN'T BE! COULDN'T BE!
That was incredibly important to him. Just watching the attractive, round-faced, sandy-haired boy, he could feel how badly this particular kid would be missed and, even better, mourned.
He needed to imagine the stories that would bombard the television screens and the thrill of watching them, knowing he was responsible for so much pain and suffering and emergency activity.
The little boy was getting itchy in his woolens and starting to panic a little. He had big crocodile tears brimming in his eyes.
There didn't seem to be anybody, any adult, anywhere around him. Poor Little Boy Lost. Poor Little Boy Blue.
The killer began to move in on his prey, slowly and carefully.
He couldn't stop now. His heart was beating like a big tin drum, and he loved the powerful sensation. His legs and arms were a little wobbly. Jell-O city. His vision tunneled; he was dizzy with anticipation, fear, dread, exhilaration.
Do it.
Now!
He bent, picked up the boy, and immediatelyoking mothers and fathers, the whole raw deal made him feel hot, thickheaded, and almost physically sick.
I don't want to grow up, either, he said to himself. I'm a Toys “R” Us kid killer.
He watched his chosen little boy as the kid wandered alone down a wide aisle chock-full of action games. The boy was five or so, a very manageable age.
The anger button inside his head was going off like a powerful alarm. WOM! WOM! WOM! The terrible feeling quickly spread to his chest. WOM! WOM! It was tense and uncomfortable. Both his hands were clenched tight. So was his stomach. The back of his neck. His brain was clutching, too.
Be careful now, he cautioned himself. Don't make any mistakes.
Remember if you do perfect crimes.
THIS WAS GOING TO BE a mite tricky going, though, working in the crowded Toys “R” Us store. What if the boy's parents were close by? WHICH THEY DEFINITELY WERE! What if he were caught? WHICH HE WOULDN'T BE! COULDN'T BE!
That was incredibly important to him. Just watching the attractive, round-faced, sandy-haired boy, he could feel how badly this particular kid would be missed and, even better, mourned.
He needed to imagine the stories that would bombard the television screens and the thrill of watching them, knowing he was responsible for so much pain and suffering and emergency activity.
The little boy was getting itchy in his woolens and starting to panic a little. He had big crocodile tears brimming in his eyes.
There didn't seem to be anybody, any adult, anywhere around him. Poor Little Boy Lost. Poor Little Boy Blue.
The killer began to move in on his prey, slowly and carefully.
He couldn't stop now. His heart was beating like a big tin drum, and he loved the powerful sensation. His legs and arms were a little wobbly. Jell-O city. His vision tunneled; he was dizzy with anticipation, fear, dread, exhilaration.
Do it.
Now!
He bent, picked up the boy, and immediately started smiling and talking the happiest, friendliest barf-babble he could come up with.
“Hi there, I'm Roger the Artful Dodger. I work here at Toys 'R' Us. What kind of fantastical toys do you like best, huh? We've got every' kind of toy in the whole wide world, 'cause we're the world's biggest, coolest toy store. Yahoo! How 'bout that? Let's go find your superpathetic mom and dad!”
The boy actually smiled up at him. Kids could do weird mood changes like that. His beautiful blue eyes sparkled, glistened; something wet and wonderful happened. “I want Mighty Max,” he proclaimed as if he were Richie Rich instead of Little Boy Lost.
'Okay, then come with me. One Mighty Max coming up!
Why? 'Cause you're a Toys 'R' Us kid.'
He cradled the boy in his arms and began to hurry up the wide shopping aisle toward the front of the store.
