giving in to It. And that, Alex vowed, he never would.
But it had been a close call this time. He'd had to
exert tremendous willpower and control to avoid hitting
the elderly woman at the pedestrian crossing. He'd been
cruising along just fine, trying to distract his mind from the
Enemy and enjoy the summer sunshine, when suddenly
his Skin began to itch and crawl maddeningly.
And that's when he'd seen the woman crossing the
street, obeying the traffic signal. At that moment he'd
experienced the uncontrollable urge to floor the
accelerator and run her down. Mad lurid visions of her
battered body, blood gushing from jagged wounds,
assaulted him. He’d felt a lunatic glee at the thought of
murdering someone in cold-blood. (He'd actually closed
his eyes for a few seconds, then quickly realized the danger
of that trap). With a monumental effort he concentrated
on moving his foot to the brake pedal, wrenching the
steering-wheel and swerving to avoid the collision.
He had time to see the bewildered look on the
woman's face turn to one of fear before he sailed past her.
He managed to drive a few more blocks, then pulled over
to the side of the road, shaking with agitation.
His Skin screeched in frustrated agony. Alex felt
the prickly sensation magnified in strength, like a million
needles stabbing him. He knew how close he'd come to
losing control and killing that woman. His Skin assaulted
him mercilessly, itching, tingling, prickling, punishing him
for disobeying Its directive to kill. He had to restrain
himself from flinging off his clothes and tearing at his
exposed flesh.
22
Instead he wrapped his arms around his body and