JACK OF DIAMONDS, REDUX

edits intended for Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Artie could feel the rage coming over him, and he told himself it was just like the first time he’d gone went over the top. It wasn’t something he’d call hatred—it’s hard to hate someone you don’t really know—but more of a kill, or be killed mentality you were quickly to learned if you wanted to survive. You gave up any hope of surviving once you climbed out over the top, running into a hail of bullets.

It was just blind luck that you were he wasn’t killed in the first ten seconds. So once you he actually encountered the enemy, he you did anything he you had to in order to survive and make it to the end of the day. He remembered once he beating a man’s face to a pulp with his rifle butt; another time, bayonetting three men; and still another time, clubbing another man to death with his rifle once he’d run out of bullets. He didn’t know if it was the sight of blood, or the scent of it—or even the sound of his fists hitting flesh, and breaking bones—all he knew was that he revelled in it.

“Stop it! You’re killing him!” Jenny cried out, jumping up off the bed. She picked up a heavy feather pillow, swinging it at Artie with all her strength.

Artie fell over—caught off guard—looking up at her, and then looking down at Roger’s bloody face. He slid off the man’s chest and sat on the floor, looking at her.

“He was going to rape you,” he said, as if that should’ve be explanation enough. Why did he even have to explain himself to her, he wondered. It was the only thing he could think to say. at the moment. She He didn’t expect that she’d wouldn’t understand the rage that had come over him—no one would—except maybe Reggie, but he wasn’t here, was he?

Maybe Roger would understand?

He sat back on his haunches, listening to Roger's laboured breathing before rolling over and crawling away, leaning back against the bed frame and wondering what sort of man he'd become. He looked down at the bloody mess he'd made of Roger’s face. The man’s eyes were swollen shut; his nose was broken, as well as his left cheekbone. His lips were split open and raw, a broken tooth visible through the top lip; his jaw broken.

“What makes made you think this is what I wanted?” she yelled at him, hysterical, tossing the pillow back on the bed and looking down at her battered husband. She threw herself down on the bed; hugging the pillow to herself, she screaming into it.