Strange Magic Read Online Free PDF Page B

voyeurism, but Tom still preferred to describe himself in the ways of old. Remember, according to his admittedly twisted self-logic, a spade would always be a spade, and a pervert would always be a pervert, so naturally it followed a Peeping Tom would always be a Peeping Tom. In his disturbed, fragmented mind, it was simple common sense.
    From separate hangers in the hall closet, Tom dressed in a pair of black Levi’s jeans and an even darker black pullover sweatshirt. On another hanger, a black wool winter jacket hung, which he considered putting on but decided against. It was still a bit early in the year for that part of his disguise. On a shoe rack on the floor, a pair of black Adidas sat next to an equally black pair of Kodiak hunting boots. Tom selected the running shoes and quickly laced them up. From the wooden shelf near the top of the closet, he took down his hat and gloves. He pulled the black wool ski mask over his face first, then struggled to tug the tight leather gloves onto hissweaty hands. The only thing left on the upper shelf was a bright red high-powered flashlight.
    “Everyone needs a little color in their life…even sicko perverts,” Tom said, smiling behind his mask.
    Flashlight in hand, Tom walked over to where a full-length mirror hung on the otherwise bare wall. He always paused at this mirror to admire himself before heading outside. It never failed to thrill him, seeing his powerful six-foot frame wrapped in black. His penis started to harden at the thought of what other people must think when they see him emerge out of the darkness, revealing himself to them like this. They would fear him, of course, and it was their fear that gave him power. Craving this rush of power was what drove Tom out into the night, and also caused the urges within him to beat their drums.
    “Look at me. I look like something straight out of a sadomasochist’s wet dream.” Tom couldn’t help but laugh, loving every second of this. “Let’s go see what kind of fun we can find on the quiet streets of Billington tonight.”
    As his gloved hand grasped the back doorknob, his conscience, or maybe his real personality, broke into his dark thoughts and begged him to put away the flashlight and mask. The smile slid off Tom’s face, leaving him confused, but then the urges began to pound their drums again to the hypnotic, insane beat only he could hear. He stood leaning against the wall, flickering back and forth between his dual personalities. For a few moments he didn’t know what to do, but as the earth has no choice but to spin, and the waves of the ocean must obey the moon’s pull, the urges in his head could not be denied.
    The side of his psyche that called himself Tom snapped back in control and he quickly locked his weaker side away in the back of his mind. Back in undisputed control, with no more hesitation or doubt, Tom quietly slipped out the back door and disappeared into the chilly yet familiar embrace of the night.

C HAPTER F OUR
U NDER THE C OVER OF D ARKNESS
    “Let me out of here,” Wilson shouted at the top of his voice. “Hey, guard, can you hear me?”
    He was still decked out in his magic clown getup, but had managed to wash most of the face paint off in the small, stained sink hanging precariously from the graffiti-covered wall. He’d only been awake for fifteen minutes, which had been long enough to realize where he was, register it was dark outside the bar-studded window (which meant he’d slept the rest of the afternoon away), and discover how much his body and face ached. He sure could use a shot of vodka right now.
    “Come on, guys, somebody get back here,” he yelled, rattling his metal drinking cup against the small holding cell’s slightly rusting gray bars. Not the most original thing to do, but just like in the movies it proved to be rather effective, bringing one of the night-shift officers running. Wilson knew this cop as well.
    The huge black man’s uniform shirt was