something new.....part 2

Later that day.....somewhere south of Tijuana, Mexico

Mason Thomas squinted out onto the beach watching the waves ebb and flow and wondered how long it would take for the average 30 year old to drown. If they were unencumbered, say.... without two ten-gallon buckets of hardened concrete affixed to the ankles, it would probably take at least fifteen or twenty minutes. First you pass out from the lack of oxygen. Then your throat and mouth relax just enough to take a big-gulp of salty ocean water. Finally you stop breathing, because you're not a fish...and then you die. The most peaceful way to die, quite possibly.

Mason nodded, with shot glass in hand, threw back the tequila and chased it with a beer. Some crappy mexican beer that was more water than hops. He shook it off, slapped some money on the cabana bar, and walked towards his Jeep.

For a moment he thought of running out into the sea and pulling the poor guy out, but he shook that off as well, hopped into the Jeep and headed north towards San Diego.

He had some business to conduct there as well.

~~~~~~~

Mason Thomas had not always been an evil man.

But the lessons that Grandma Kate "laid into him" on a daily basis didn't seem to stick. Growing up in a rural, religious household in the hill country of Texas did more harm than good, many people would later say.

"He was such a quiet boy.....I never would have guessed that he would turn out this way!" or "He was so shy....and never had much luck with the girls!"

Cliche' now that you think about it.

Isn't that what everybody says about the serial killer after they have been caught, or killed?

But it wouldn't be cliche' if there weren't some truth to it.

Mason was a sensitive, caring, emotional, and highly moral young man. The year that his parents sent him to live with his grandmother seemed to be the turning point.

Something soured that spring.

His sensitivity turned detached. His caring nature disappeared. He was still emotional, but rarely showed it. He kept his feelings bundled up in his bowels. Ready to explode at any time. His morals, well you can imagine he wrote his own rules. Marched to his own proverbial drummer.

One small mistake and his life became the hell that he welcomed so lavishly. He didn't want this life. But he was destined to live it. He couldn't change his lot even if he was given the ability to. It wasn't his choice to make.

He pondered these things.

All of it. All the time.

But right now he had the next fire to put out.
The last person to know.
As he approached the customs gate at San Ysidro he smiled.
It wouldn't be very long until it was finished.