Dark Intentions

Chapter 9

When Evan regained consciousness, there’d been no sign of his target, but he heard sirens from the nearby freeway. His whole face was excruciatingly painful, and his nose was bleeding heavily. He picked up the dart gun, dripping more blood on the ground as he did so, and a wave of dizziness almost made him fall.

Next, he carefully removed his T-shirt, making sure not to catch it on his damaged face. He balled it up and pressed it gingerly against his nose. Even the gentle pressure caused the pain to intensify. While feeling nauseated and with a splitting headache, he held the shirt in place as he stumbled back to his car, careful not to leave a blood trail for the authorities to follow.

He could feel his left eye swelling shut, further intensifying his feelings of failure and self-loathing. This was his third attempt and third failure. The thoughts of suicide, which had been buried since devising his plans, returned.

He’d dosed his target successfully, but the guy had managed to do quite a bit of damage to him before running away. Evan didn’t know where his target went but knew the man had seen his face. If he survived the drug he’d been shot with, he’d be able to identify him.

As he stumbled, Evan knew he had a concussion. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted to lie down until the pain subsided, but he pushed on, unwilling to be defeated. Evan used his building anger as motivation and soon saw the road ahead. He’d parked his car two streets over and got there as quickly as possible while trying not to attract attention.

Once seated in the sedan, he headed home, thinking about his latest failure. He’d put months of effort into the planning and procuring the drugs for the dart guns. But clearly, they were the plan’s weakness and not necessary for the ultimate outcome. Next time he’d simplify things. There’d be no more failures. It was time for plan C and, for that, he’d need help.

Once at home, Evan struggled to get out of his car while holding his crumpled-up shirt against his mangled nose.

Inside the house, he swapped the blood-soaked shirt for a towel and tossed the shirt in the kitchen sink. He needed to rest, but he knew the throbbing in his face would keep him awake.

He headed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The nasal swelling was extreme, and the deformity was obvious.

He broke into a cold sweat, knowing what he was about to experience. Carefully, he grasped the bridge of the nose and yanked it straight, letting out a primordial scream. The pain was indescribable. His legs buckled, and he went down, almost smashing his face on the sink. Tears flowed as he gasped for breath, wishing he had passed out.

After several minutes on the floor, he slowly got to his feet and looked in the mirror again. His nose looked better, but Evan couldn’t determine if it was now set right because of all the swelling. The blood was flowing heavily again and he inadvertently swallowed some, which increased his nausea.

He took three towels and folded them together. He’d try to sleep on his side so the blood could drain until it stopped. Taking a gallon-sized plastic storage bag, he filled it with ice and zipped it shut. It should be large enough to cover the nose and swollen eye.

Lastly, he needed to deal with the pain, so he went to the cabinet in his workroom and took out a vial. It was the carfentanil. The temptation was huge, but Evan, while homicidal, wasn’t an i***t. He knew this would be great for the pain, but it was so potent that he could easily overdose, and there wouldn’t be anyone around to help him if that happened.

Reluctantly, he put the vial back in the cabinet and took out a larger one. This was the same drug that he’d used early this morning. It was still a bit extreme but was a safer option. Hopefully, he’d sleep for several hours.

Taking a 10cc syringe from the cabinet, he unwrapped it and stuck the needle into the top of the vial. He filled the syringe about a quarter of the way, then returned the vial to the cabinet.

Taking the ice and syringe to the bedroom, he sat on the side of the bed and let his left leg hang loose. It took several seconds to build up the courage, then he stabbed his leg with the needle and injected the contents.

Setting the syringe down on the nightstand, Evan positioned himself on his side with the towels under his head and the ice on his nose.

The bag of ice partially impaired his vision, but he made sure he could still see the far wall and the photos on it.

As he waited for the ketamine to take effect, he stared at the young girl in the multiple photos on the wall and wept for the person who’d led him down the dark path he was on.