Ending Departures

            When I woke up, I found myself laying on the floor and bound by duct tape around my wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees. There wasn’t much light in the room, but at least the place was carpeted. I looked around a bit, and saw McFlaherty coming at me from the adjacent room. Tried rolling out of the way, but he kicked me something fierce. I admit, I screamed like a little bitch at that point, no shame in that. It hurt like hell. When I was done, he sat me up on my shins and pulled out his pistol.

            “Wha-why? I’ve only met you tonight! What have I done to you?” I begged him, trying to hold my hands up, but found (much to my chagrin) they were still restrained behind me.

            “You seem like a good enough fellow. I would have enjoyed your company.” Was his only reply. I thought about that for a second. Something about what he said just didn’t seem right.

            “That doesn’t seem right.” I said, figuring he may well want to know that, too. I didn’t see much point in keeping that thought to myself. “If I seem like a good guy, why are you not helping me out of this duct tape?”

            McFlaherty sighed, and told me “You see, I enjoy having friends, but they never really seem to stay around for extended periods of time. I hate saying goodbye, and with hello, there must also inevitably come goodbye, so I refuse to say hello to anyone anymore. I refuse to know any new people, there is no point to it. I haven’t quite gotten to know you, and I certainly haven’t said hello. My plan is to kill you so I won’t have to say goodbye at any point, as I would most certainly want to say hello.”
            “You could have just told me to fuck myself and go home. This is a bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” I said. If I could move my hands, I would have scratched my head. It itched really badly right about that point.

            “Hmm… You have a point, but this is much more effective. Someone may write a book about me some day. Then I can move into the mountains and become a successful recluse. The rum-“ and he would have gone on, but my security gopher bit his heels off and killed him when he hit the ground. It wasn’t pretty.

            But that’s neither here nor there, is it? Sorry for prattling off like that, the closest pharmacy is down on the right, near Sycamore St. Run along, now.