8. Siccome La Casa Brucia, Riscaldiamoci

8

Siccome La Casa Brucia, Riscaldiamoci

 

There’s something incredibly beautiful about fire. It’s colors and movements can be appreciated by even the least arson-partial of people. There’s fewer things more satisfying than sitting and watching a good blaze, even under the circumstances in which I’m watching this one; I’m enraptured by it’s beauty and presence. The flames flicker up from the car I’d set alight, licking the air and continually growing higher.

           I’m sat in a disused business park, built as part of a government scheme to bring jobs and industry to the area but never used. It’s in the middle of nowhere and rarely had visitors. Sitting next to my pre-packed rucksack that contains a bottle of water, some matches, a head torch and a hammer. Around an hour earlier I’d successfully dragged a dead body down a flight of stairs, rigor mortis begins to dissipate at around twenty-four hours after death but Paul’s body was stiff and difficult to move. With great effort I’d hauled him down the stairs and lugged and stuffed his body into the boot of a car. The car I was now watching burn. After two attempts I’d managed to get the car going and driven for an hour. A task I anticipated being difficult but was easy, I didn’t see a single driver on my journey, not one. I’d been careful to use back roads, winding through the country. Free of cameras and nosy watchful eyes. As a result I’d arrived here in, as close to ‘good spirits’ as a sane man can be when he’s disposing of a body. The business park is a strange place. There are no streetlights meaning that the entire dwelling is enclosed in darkness. The headlights of Paul’s car occasionally offered a glimpse into the modern and unfurnished office interiors but as I’d driven through, most of it was left to my imagination. I’d picked the place for a number of reasons, because of its remoteness and seclusion but also because it was roughly an hour’s walk away from the nearest train station, an ideal way to get back home again.

            I’d parked up in the middle of the park, between the two largest buildings put my head torch on, gotten out of the car and commenced with the two more gruesome aspects of the job. The first was syphoning the fuel from within the car into a container I’d brought with me. I’d inserted the tube down into the tank and sucked hard. Nothing happened so I sucked some more and it took me by surprise. I’d taken my eye off the tube for a split second and the petrol had shot up and filled my mouth and lungs. It burned my chest like holy hell and made me cough up violently. My eyes watered profusely and getting the tube from my mouth to the container was harder than it should have been. I’d knelt on all fours for a while and coughed my guts up, my chest and eyes stinging me harshly. Once the container was full I emptied it onto the car, inside and out. Taking extra care to ensure the majority of the fuel went into the boot and all over the dead body inside it.

                 The second task was the one I was dreading most of all, a seemingly unnecessary job but one I felt must do anyway. I knew from TV and books that a prominent way to identify a corpse that had been burned was through dental records. I have no idea when the car and body inside will be discovered but I do know that when it is; I want to make things as difficult for the police as possible and this is why I’ve brought a hammer. I looked in the boot already open from my fuel dowsing and split open the plastic sheeting at the area Paul’s head was. His face in the hard lighting of my head torch looked like something fresh out of a horror film. The hand I was holding the hammer in began to shake, I didn’t want to do it but it felt like I had to. Like my future freedom might rely on it. I had to destroy his teeth and jaw area, beat them to beyond recognition. I took deep breaths in and out my shoulders raising and lowering, trying to psyche myself up for the task. Using my left hand to steady his head, I raised the hammer aloft in my right. A huge intake of air filled my lungs, in preparation for the first blow. At the first attempt I couldn’t do it, my hand dropped back to my side. It took me around twenty minutes to talk myself into it again, Paul’s death could be linked to me, even in an obscure way �" it could be. His identity had to go. Again I steadied his head with one hand and raised the hammer with the other. I screamed a tribal, primal scream and brought the hammer crashing down on Paul’s face. Repeatedly striking him with the heavy blunt object. It’s a memory I’ll struggle to ever get rid of. A sensory overload of sickening proportions. The sound of dense metal on bone was horrific; worse though was the sight of him afterwards. The skin that was once supported by teeth and jaw just draped inwards, shattered bone lay in a huge gap where his mouth used to be. I stepped back in horror and thought about what I’d become, how just days ago I was a regular guy with regular problems. Now, here I was in the dark middle of nowhere. Caving in the face of a man I’d murdered. I searched my mind to justify it, an increasingly difficult task. My tired brain deserting me when I needed it most.

              After this I’d lit a match and threw it on the car. It went up quickly and as the car began to catch the flames I felt myself relax a little. The worst was behind me, a feeling I embraced. Now here I sit watching the blaze and all of its pretty nuances. The warmth of it is nice and comfortable and I know I’m just a walk and a train journey away from the possibility of getting back on with my life. My tired mind reminds me of an Old Italian proverb that translates to: ‘Since the house is on fire, let us warm ourselves.’ It means that even in the face of extreme adversity, good can be found. That with the right attitude, positives can be taken from any situation. In England we have the saying ‘Every cloud has a silver lining’ but I always preferred the Italian version, with its added jeopardy and drama. I smile, the last few days were worse than any I’d experienced. Worse than anything I ever thought I’d have to experience but the house was already on fire. All I can do now is get warm. Move on, better myself and dedicate my life to helping others. I need to focus on the good that can come of all this and put the nightmare behind me. I’m tired, I stand up picking my rucksack up as I do and set off in the direction of the train station. Guided only by the light of my head torch.

              By the time I get back to my flat, it’s morning. The sun had come up on a new day, the walk and train journey home had been uneventful. I’d worn my cap low and jacket collar high to avoid my face being caught on CCTV and as expected there was hardly a soul to be seen, so early in the morning. As I enter my front door all I can think about is getting some sleep. It had been three days since I’d gotten some proper shuteye, and my body is crying out for it. Screaming at me to shut down. I duly oblige and head for my bed.

               My phone ringing awakes me hours later. Wearily I pick it up to see who’s calling, the display reads; ‘Incoming Call �" Work’. I opt to ignore it and try to go back to sleep. Try and fail, turning in my bed and fidgeting for a while doesn’t help and I am forced to get up. Frustrated, I walk through to the kitchen, dreading what state the floor might be in. To my surprise and delight it’s still covered in blood but for a twenty-inch square that’s absolutely spotless. I smile, a bit of sleep and the relief of successfully removing the body from my flat has seemingly done me wonders mentally. The clock reads midday, a few hours deep sleep in my system feels good and I stretch, satisfied. This is a new day I think the start of a new life and a better Stewart Evans. That kind of American self-help mumbo jumbo usually irritated me but on this occasion I was thinking it because it was genuinely applicable. Everything to do with Paul was behind me; a severe tragedy on many counts but it was over. I’d been careful to ensure that none of it could be linked back to me and I felt comfortable in the knowledge that it never would. I can hear my phone ringing for a second time and I walk back through to my room to answer it. It’s work again, “Hello” I grumble. “Stewart, it’s Steve, how are you feeling?” Steve’s tone is weird and his asking how I am is unchartered territory. “I’m better, thanks,” I answer slowly and cautiously. “Great, great… listen Stewart, do you think you’ll be able to come into work tomorrow?” Tomorrow is Tuesday I never work Tuesdays. I think about it for a second, I need the extra hours after the shifts I’d missed. It’s also vital that I don’t do anything that could be considered suspicious; my life must go on as if nothing’s happened. “Yeah sure,” I reply, “whose shift will I be covering?” Steve clears his throat. “Oh no, not ‘come in’ like that. There’s no shifts to cover, I just need you to pop in around one for about half an hour.” Confusion fills my head, am I going to get sacked? “Oh ok, why?” I ask nervously �" I didn’t want to lose my job, I had rent to pay and no other work lined up. “Don’t worry Stewart, you’re not in trouble or anything” Steve is reassuring with his tone, sensing the nerves in my voice. “No” he continues, “Just today, we’ve had the police come in, they want to speak to you.” I gulp hard. There’s an awkward silence as the line dies for a minute. Steve fills it “Not uniform either, we’re talking suits and ties. Proper detective sorts, asking about Paul, said they’ll come back tomorrow and they want to speak with you.” “Ok,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant and unfazed. “Seemed pretty serious” Another pause, I can’t speak, have no idea what to say. “So come in about one.” Steve confirms, “Yeah ok” I mutter. The line goes dead.

                My head reels, why did the police want to speak with me? Had I missed something? Did Paul have a safety net incase he never returned from my flat? Had I been spotted last night? Paranoia and the terrible kinds of thoughts that come with it consume me. One of which dominates my mind more than the others. The police must know something; the nightmare isn’t over.  

 

 

Reviews

[Jennie Baron]

Definitely gory and ghastly and I could imagine every second of it! And yes, you have ended this well; I'm reading on to find out how much suspicion is actually on Stewart at this point.

[AprilRN1210]

Ewwwww this one has gore.... shows a different side to the otherwise likeable character.... love the way the chapter ended...