Author's Note No, I do not own any of the characters of the amazing Bret Easton Ellis. This chapter will be told from Patrick's point of view. It has been edited, with more detail and a more intake of his character before the dilemma.


101 Ways to Get Away with Murder

Original Plotting and Original characters by the Embedded Shame


I looked around impatiently, watching out for my damned driver. He was never on time, and ever so often he did show up, I'd try so hard not to strangle him. I decided to walk the rest of the way back to my building. I needed some exercise anyways. As I turned onto 56th and Hemingway, I tried so hard not to puke, since everything around this part of town had such a vile smell to it. The gutters were over flowing, and at every corner lay a man who'd passed out from the intakes of alcohol. My hands dug themselves in my coat, as the drop in temperature suddenly awoke me. I shuddered, and continued walking, making sure not to slip on the innocent little layer of ice which covered the streets. It would be such a shame to dirty this coat.
You see, though every part of my body functioned normally, and though I had the same components a normal human would...not one of my emotions were identifiable. Except greed. And jealousy. And my ever growing wants for blood lust. It was getting to a point where this need, this hunger, now controlled what I did, who I did it to, and why I did it. I was dead within, and all that belonged to me were these two eyes. But this impostor was slowly molding into them, as well.
I sighed, in frustration, shaking off every speck of doubt of my mentality away. My right hand studied the elements of the coat pockets.

Lint.
Lint.
Knife...

Huh! Must have left it in their from last night's...barbecue. I pulled it out and studied it, stopping in my tracks. My eyes rested on the silver handle, as my tongue caught the taste of blood which had dried out on the tip of the weapon. Just then, a deep voice pulled me away from myself, and a hand turned me the other way. For a second, I was confused. Then, the face became more clearer. A chubby, but not fat, man stood before me. How dare he show his face to me?

"Sorry, Mr. Bateman, I know I was supposed to ..."
"Where were you?" I managed to say this in a calm tone.
"Sir, my wife, she - she just delivered!"
"Oh, really?" A wide grin spread over my face. Not enlightenment, though. Oh, no. Not that at all.
"Yes, sir, and she needed me there... "
As he continued to talk, I smiled like I was actually listening, and wrapped my right arm around him, walking in the direction of a '94 black Mustang which rested on a curb down the street. Ah, crap. Have to walk there now and act as if I actually give a damn.

He mumbled a few apologies here and there, and asked if I was going to fire him.
I stopped him before he ran into the trunk of the car, and made him face me.

"Listen, Bill --"

"Kirk, Mr. Bateman."

Damn. He interrupted me. Why'd he interrupt me?

"Shut up. I don't care what your name is, who you impregnated, or what you're gonna name your kid. All I asked was for you to come pick me up, and make easy two thousand dollars."
"But, sir --"
"Shut up. Unless you want a fucking knife, which I used to just slit the cunt of a hooker yesterday night, up your ass, you will never be late again."

It was only then his eyes drifted down to see what my hands were playing with this entire, and lovely, conversation.
They went wide, at first, and then a smile spread across his face. The most disgusting, happiest, and full of life smile ever. Then, the most loudest laugh escaped his throat.

"You're funny, Mr. Bateman!" He walked to the front of the car, opening the door, and slid in the driver's seat.

I sighed, and opened the back seat.

Just as he'd started the car, a blonde bombshell, and I say this because no other words could come up, walked by. She looked to be around twenty … maybe eight? Close to thirty, but definitely not over that. The stern and depressed look on her face made me wonder what could possibly be wrong, and if she needed someone. As she passed me by, her hair made contact to my nostrils, as I whiffed a hint of what her shampoo could be.

Ah, strawberries!

"Bill, I think I'll walk."

"Kirk, sir."
I heard a scoff of disbelief from the character. As I shut the door, the man drove off. The girl looked in my direction, and quickly as that, looked way.

"Hey!" I yelled from the other side of the road, running towards her. And though I didn't know her...I didn't mind.

"Hi." She spoke, ever so softly, looking confused and dazzled at the same time.

The woman stopped in her foot steps, turning to face me. She didn't know me from anywhere, but tried to act as she did. I took a long shot here, and guessed that she either was a waitress, or a hooker. She stood at around 5'6, opposed to my proud six foot height.

The girl opened her mouth, to speak, but the first thing that escaped her mouth was a moan.

"Do I know you?"

"No, I don't think so."

She turned around, in disgust, and I took a deep breath.

"Do you … maybe want to grab some coffee?"

And I said that with a devilish smile, too, wondering how sexy I looked right about now. If only there was a mirror here...

She hesitated, but I knew she couldn't resist.

Hurry up, you bitch, I was growing more impatient inside, but needed to act calm and collected if I ever had any hope of getting laid tonight.

"You're paying," she finally answered, with a smile, and started to walk beside me.

I smiled at her, and sheepishly laughed at that. Was that meant to be a joker? Well, that sucked.

"What kind of client would I be if I didn't?"

There was supposedly a cafe a few blocks down. I guess we could walk...

It was a surprise she kept up with my fast pace, but she managed to be right next to me the entire time. Damn, I was getting bored. As the cafe came into sight, a sudden pour started, and we ran towards the entrance, careful not to slip on the sheet of ice laying underneath us.

As soon as we entered, a few heads turned our way. Old, horny and disgusting heads. I figured they weren't looking at me, since I didn't wear a skirt barely up to my knees. I ignored them, and walked to a booth next to the only window there was in the whole confined space.

What a fucking whore. I should slice her up right here, right now …

I forced a smile, as she sat in front of me, smiling.

"Thanks again for the coffee, darling. But don't expect something back," she continued, "I'm not that type of girl."

Oh, Really? Fuck, you had me all confused.

I just smiled back. By now, there was a waitress by my left shoulder. I looked up at the frail and petite woman, who presented them the menu. She was gorgeous.

"You know … with your cheek bones … you really shouldn't have your hair pulled back."

The waitress took a moment to take it all in. I could tell she hadn't received a proper compliment in a long while. Then a repulsed expression carried heavily on her face, which would have been apparent to anyone within a kilometer.

"What would you like to have?" she ignored me, and quickly looked at the woman. I looked to my right in embarrassment.

"Black coffee, please."

As soon as the waitress took her order, she proceeded to take my order. I didn't smile, embarrassed and outraged, but said I'd have the soup.

There was a moment of silence between us, until the food arrived. I watched my companion as she eyed my soup with hunger and want, even though she quietly drank the coffee.

What? You want this? Take it! It tastes like shit anyways!

I had another spoon ordered, and presented that to the woman, forwarding the bowl of soup to her, also.

She looked at me thankfully, and took the food.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Mary Sue, and yours?" she replied back.

Mary Sue? What a fucking hillbilly name! I laughed inside.

"Patrick. Patrick Bateman," I pulled out my card, giving her only a second to read it, as I put it back in my pocket, ever so smoothly. This gesture of mine didn't impress the girl. She was just grateful for a meal, paid by someone else. She'd pay. I had plans.

"You wanna come to my place after?"

She thought for a second, putting the spoon down.

"Sure," she continued, "Unless that's a bother."

"No, no bother at all. I'm sure we'll have lots of fun."


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