Laying Claim To My Father's Heart

"Don't speak such things about my father."
Mr. Z looked me directly in the eyes, quite coldly. I'm not sure however if he was aware that he looked like this.
"Mr. Knight, are you accusing me of something?"
Obviously.
"Are you still unaware of the magnitude of the events that have occurred within the past several weeks?"
"I accuse you of nothing, but I know what you are doing. And I am well aware of my father's death and your foul screw-ups."
"Screw-ups?" he asked me, with an expression that said Mr. Z was confounded by this, though his tone of voice was much like that when he accused me of accusing him.
"Mr. Knight, I hardly believe this is the case. In fact, in this case, we are not at fault in any way that I myself can see. What say you?" He chuckled sarcastically. "Of course, it is apparent now to all of us what your say is in this predicament," he said, matter-of-factly as he gestured to several other well-dressed men around him, who all chuckled along as well. He then straightened his tie, and put on a serious face as the laughter died down.
"Mr. Knight, I-"
"Stop that."
He paused for a moment.
"Mr. Kni-"
"No."
He stared at me for another moment. He then shook his head.
"When your father, being in such good health, you'd agree, was asked if he would allow his organs to be donated once he passed away, he said yes. And so, as you of course know, after his passing, we had come to lay claim to these. You were there for this event, do you recall?"
I simply stared at him. He stared back for a moment, then started again.
"In any case, several days after the event his heart was donated to a patient with heart failure; she did seem fine for a couple days afterwards, bu-"
"Did you forget my father's conditions for receivers of his internals?" I interrupted once again. Mr. Z sighed in response.
"Yes, and frankly we could not agree to them as we said we would, for that would look bad on our part, as well as go against-"
"None of those people. He told you this."
"But, Mr. Knight, we... we just couldn't-"
"And now he's making your patient receiving his heart suffer. And then he will make you suffer."
Mr. Z pulled at his collar a bit.
"I do not believe in such-"
"Do you believe in acceptance, Mr. Z?"
"Excuse me?"
"Hmm?"
For a while his eyes darted around nervously, searching my face for something, though I know not what. I don't know if he knew I was searching his face as well. I could find a number of things, most of them, however, consisted of perspiration, and a mole on his lower right chin.
"Well," he chuckled nervously as well, to match his eyes. "I DO go to church, Mr. Knight, and I must say that-"
And then Mr. Z was interrupted for a final time, this time by a loud sound resembling a clap - perhaps it was more of a pop - a sound that hit my ears just as I saw his eyes implode in their sockets, blood and tissue flushing out of the dark holes in his skull. It was quick, and it looked painful. Like a balloon popping. He didn't seem to take this well - then again, who would - for he began to scream bloody murder as he dropped to his knees, gripping at his face, clawing violently at the skin beneath the pits where his eyes once resides. I could see his fingernails slowly sharpening themselves to a point as he clawed. Flesh began to tear off his cheeks, and his red colored life-sustaining fluid started to trickle out.
But this did not last long, for he stopped screaming and started choking and gagging when a long red gash appeared on his neck, as if a blade had been slashed across at the speed of lightning. And physics acted as if that was just what happened; more blood began to spurt out, in the direction of where the slash would end, splattering the walls and the carpet. Mr. Z fell down onto his face only seconds after he began to grip his throat under the cut, blood spilling out in pints around his face.
The other businessmen looked upon the whole scene with horror, and once one began to scream, so did the others, and they began to run out of the room.
I was silent however. I had known my father would make sure Mr. Z suffer.
Mr. Z mainly suffered psychologically. That's the kind of man my father was.
That's the kind of man I am.
That's what I think now.