The Impossible Future: Complete set by Frank Kennedy (mini ebook reader .txt) 📕

Sitting next to her watching the final hour of the sun never got old. They finished with mangoes and pineapples sautéed in jubriska, an ancient liquor with a touch of mint and a sniff of bourbon.

He toasted her. “I’ll say this much. Anybody back in Alabama want some good damn food? Just cross the fold, baby.”

“Must be something in the water. Right?”

“Or the cook.”

They finished their wine and settled back as the sun dipped close to the horizon. They took it in for a few minutes. Michael waited until he saw just the right measure of peace in her features.

“So, um, what do you say we head in for some real dessert?”

She spit out a laugh. “You haven’t tried that line in two weeks.”

“What can I say? They’re on rotation.”

She sat up and gave him a long, excited grin. He thought she would nod. Instead, she said the thing he most dreaded.

“No.”

Her grin did not diminish. Michael saw this look before.

She was bracing him for unpleasant news.

“What? Something else happen with the presidium?”

“No. Has nothing to do with them. But something else did happen today. I waited until now because I didn’t want to ruin dinner. It’s always perfect. Just the two of us out here.”

He sensed the good vibes running aground. “Tell me.”

“A file was transmitted into my personal stream stack. My encrypted administrative level. At first, I wanted to delete it, but I can’t keep something like this from you.”

He heard the crack in her tone. This was bad.

“Who sent it?”

She tapped her amp, fingered directories in her cube, and threw it out in front of them. The sunset disrupted the image, so Michael swiped behind to fill the background. He didn’t have to read far to know what he was seeing:

I used to play in the river when I was little. I swam naked because nobody was around. I liked peanut butter and jelly. Skippy was my favorite brand. I wanted to draw comic books for a living.

When I was twelve, I started smoking. My best friend and I walked the long way home from school and shared a cigarette at our hideout.

We decided to become world-class burglars. We weren’t very good at it, but we stole our first car when we were fourteen.

It was fun, and nobody got hurt.

We knew our hometown could never contain us. But we weren’t stupid, so we planned to wait until graduation, then we’d be off. Where? Who knew? We just wanted to have fun and ignore as many rules as we could.

Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe I was never that boy. Maybe I will stop killing people someday. Maybe they will figure out how to kill me before the dark drowns them all.

The message continued, but Michael trembled. Samantha slid her chair close and grabbed his hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “How can this be, Sam?”

“It’s him, sweetie. Look at the last part. Remember what he told us after Seneca? About wanting to kill again? Maybe I will stop killing people someday.”

“No. Not now. Not after four months. After everything he did?”

She kissed his cheek. “Keep reading.”

I never believed in love at first sight. Why should I? My so-called parents might have loved each other, but they never showed it.

At school, the kids called it love, but it was about sex. Every dude I knew just wanted to find a quick way under the covers. They shared stories every time they conquered somebody. And if they didn’t finish the job, they’d make up whatever came to mind.

Mostly, they just wanted a trophy at their side. It’s not like they were going to marry these girls. Sometimes, they’d make a baby. Most girls thought I was a freak. Or dangerous. They talked to me, but usually so they could twist my words when they texted about me.

Turns out, I was the most dangerous freak they’d ever know. Did I kill any of them before I crossed the fold? Those who lived will always be telling stories about me.

You see, I know the truth: Love at first sight is real. It’s the most powerful obsession a man can have. Once it grabs hold, you got no choice but to play.

I knew it the second I saw her. I knew I’d kill for her. There’s so much blood, but she leads me on. These things I hunger to do …

Samantha leaned in. “That hunger was one of the last things he told us about. He must be with Rayna. The reports are true.”

    “So, this is about what? Blame it on Rayna? All those deaths?”

“No, sweetie. He’s not making any excuses. Read the last part.”

Michael’s day was ruined. Also, his week and the rest of the month. He wished Samantha had deleted the file.

I was once told there were no evil men. The quote went something like this: “Nobody wakes up in the morning and decides over eggs and bacon to be evil that day.” One of my teachers even said the word ‘evil’ was a matter of perspective, and everyone – even insane people – thought their actions were in the right.

If true, I can justify every thousand people I kill by pointing to the new and better future I am creating. I can say these people were obstacles on a necessary path. Then I can look forward in hopes of scaring away the next thousand in my way.

Better yet, if I ever have a moment of weakness, all I have to do is listen as she whispers in my ear. My mind will calm, and my nerves will settle. I will not think of myself as a psychopath because when I look at her, I will know love.

Can a psychopath