I look away. He's right. But then, Spartacus killed Marie; he deserved to die. Is it a sin to kill a killer? Simon didn't think so. My only regret was that I failed to finish him off. I knew he killed Marie because I was in the club that night, hiding behind a glass of lager and a concrete pillar, as usual. I watched and waited, bided my time until I'd pumped my body with enough alcohol to numb an elephant. I was terrified. Maybe what I felt between us on the dance floor was all in my imagination? What if she didn't even remember me? I had nothing to lose, though, did I? I just had to be brave and fight through the fear. Finally, after yet another jackass turned away from Marie and towards her friend, I took one final glance at the photograph in my wallet, thrust out my chest and headed towards her. Only, Marie stood up, didn't she? Then, with the briefest of waves to her friend, she headed to the door.
Nothing was going to stop me then, though. I was on a mission. I followed her. Of course, something did stop me. He stopped me. Spartacus. I was too damn slow. By the time I reached the brightness of the hallway, he was already there. It was the first time I'd set eyes on him. Despite my twisted resentment, I was mesmerised. My feet sunk into the floor as Marie's eyes followed the movements of his mouth. He'd already cast a wicked, evil spell on her. How could I be so ridiculous to think a beautiful girl like Marie would even consider the likes of me – a fat, frumpy, awkward boy – when she could be with a man like this? Just as I turned to disappear into the safe, dark obscurity of the club, he looked up. Eyes fixed on me. And I'm sure he smiled from one corner of his mouth.
Of course, in the days and weeks that followed, Mum knew I was planning something. She saw me change overnight the week before, on the 24th day of the month, when the final victim died. The girl saw me hiding in the overgrowth on the other side of the river, and it was like my mother could smell the fear the next day on my unwashed body. Naturally, she was terrified that something might happen to me, but she understood why I had to take revenge. Mum knew better than anyone what it was like to love and to lose. She'd lost one of her two angels, through no fault of his, and through no fault of her own. She'd have killed with her bare hands to bring Luke back. She never told me not to do it. That was crucial. She never tried to stop me. Mum only asked me be careful. And I was careful. I was inferior, but I was careful.
I wasn't drunk the night of Thursday 30th June 1988. This time, the alcohol I'd drunk couldn't numb a mouse, let alone an elephant. I was so good at being the drunk, however, that I was a natural at playing the drunk. My pint glass was primarily refilled with lemonade. Adrenaline killed off the rest of the alcohol. I trawled the usual hot spots until, finally, I hunted him down. Spartacus. Stood on his own, blending into the background like a book in the library. He couldn't ignore me for long. Spilling my drink every time I slammed down my pint, speaking loudly and randomly to nobody in particular, I was ideal fodder. An easy, defenceless target; a zebra enticing a tiger. Up to a point, it was the perfect plan.
“After all this time, Jeffrey, you still don't realise I played along with your little game...?”
My eyes widen, just like his smile.
“Seriously?” he says. “Maybe I overestimated you. I saw you, remember? A puppy pining after that young girl. What was her name? Marie, that's it. Pleasant girl. Carried too much weight, of course, and she had absolutely no self-esteem, but then, none of us are perfect, are we, Jeffrey? If it is any consolation, at first I wasn't sure whether to kill her. She was just so easy and willing. Where was the challenge? She simply wasn't worth the effort. But then I looked up and there you were, all distraught and pathetic. There was the fun. You decided for me. She'd still be alive if it wasn't for you, Jeffrey. Does that make you feel important...?”
My eyes fix on the knife, then on the razor.
“Choices, choices, hey, Jeffrey. Not only can you not decide whether to kill me, but you cannot decide which weapon to use. I don't want to make things any more complicated than they need to be, Jeffrey, but does that gorgeous little girl of yours, Emma, really deserve for her daddy to spend the rest of his life in prison? What did she ever do to you? But there again, I guess you've already abandoned her, haven't you...?”
“Whose fault was that...?”
“Now that is more like it, Jeffrey. So you have been using your brain, after all. I applaud you...”
I slam my fist down on the table. Spartacus' smile widens.
“So tell me, why didn't you stay with Jenny?" I ask. "What was the point of your affair? Why did you abandon her?”
“I never intended to keep her, Jeffrey,” Spartacus says, crinkling his nose with distaste. “She wasn't the lure. You were. Again, you were the reason
