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Chapter Eighteen
Journal Entry
Author Unknown
There are two ways to kill a person. The easy way and the hard way. All depends on the circumstances. It's rather subjective, I'll say.
Will Davenport died like a man in the middle of telling a story. Like the jettisoning of a big secret. His mouth remained open, a story left unspoken, his eyes transfixed, his arms remained outstretched, as if he were still in the very moment of speaking.
The kind of poison that killed him was called “curare.” It is strictly tropical, and it looks like small salt crystals in the light of day, but at night, when moonlight turns it opaque, it looks like small wax candles.
Not the kind of thing that can be easily detected.
Nevertheless, there was the element of surprise in the undertaking. For him, sure. But for me, too. The poison took longer to take hold than I expected. Will Davenport was a large man.
He twitched like a nervous bird, gurgled, and his lips shivered out of control. Eventually, his eyes rolled back until only the whites showed. That was the final signal that his time was up. Will Davenport died with the eyes of a man who had seen something terrible, and, of course, he had.
