Half Moon Hypothesis

A story about a person born into a world where everyone is perfect except himself. He lives in and in the end maybe changes that world. A father daughter relationship grows throughout.

Prologue

 

“He’s a Shepherd, I’m sure as I’ve ever been.”

“We’ve only been watching for 2 weeks and you said the same about the others.”

“I was wrong about the others, they were all leading us here, all affected by this one. We should have been here sooner”

“You think his influence is that strong? He’s too malleable. Too willing to submerge himself in someone else’s will. I can’t believe this is him”

“Not if the other person is his enemy.”

“So what do we do? Surround him with enemies?”

“We do what it takes.”

 

The wind ineffectually tore at the window smearing the tear stroked raindrops. The rain beat mercilessly on the hardened concrete outside. Trenching men and women hooded and cowled, scowled at one another through the downpour. Left of the bustling flow of humanity sat less fortunates in a beautifully manicured park as the world spaghettied by on twisty multifaceted roads. Stonework next to stone people lost in the cacophony of time itself, solid existence, no forward, no backward only onward to the abyss itself - you have to admire them. “Nihilists” I whispered steaming the membrane window before me.

 

Warm, soft robed I watched the torrent of humanity channel its way through cement and old yard rusted steel promenades. Above me, the morning sun breaking down angry bulbous clouds that provided the rain so suited to these people. Dark sombre business attire jigsawed the streets in grey-black. Peak hour. Money Monday.

 

Unconsciously I tightened my robe, the expensively soft woollen fabric smoothing me like a lamb’s mother. For some reason, unknown to myself, I let the robe fall. The crowd did not stop, four floors up I doubted anyone would notice. The back lit plate glass giving me double vision of interior and exterior. I stood there proud of this... I did not really know what, but I was proud I had done it. A minor victory. It that was never mentioned. Me. An encapsulated face looked up from the crowd as if it sensed someone viewing the seething mass. I stood proud, still, my deformed warped body reflecting back and through me, smashed face and spindly misshapen arms.

 

The face in the crowd was a face I'd seen a thousand times, generic chiselled jaw, ash white perfect skin, luminous large eyes, thick dark lips the slight twist on a classic; a harsher mouth than usual, though that could be the sneer befouling this genetic artwork. Despise glistened in her dark brown luscious eyes. I stared, straightened my curved back, gaining strength from every moment as I felt her malicious gaze waver then relent as she dissolved into the anonymity of the people river. Smiling to myself I picked up my robe and donned it, a short flourish to bring the soft collar high, one small lonely victory.... no..... not alone... she knew.

 

As I retired looking back I spotted a commotion in the sky. Two darting Jackdaws viciously dive bombing a lonesome Sparrow. I watched as they clawed and ripped the small intelligent bird to tatters. The Sparrow began a slow inanimate decent, bird elegance evaporated as it spiralled to the ground its wings locked in deaths embrace. I turned and flicked the kettle on and waited for it to boil.

 

Chapter one

 

I was a little man, a crooked man with an equally crooked six year old daughter. We were firm friends as well as being father and daughter. My name was Garfield. I worked at home in cantankerous safety. I laughed and played with my daughter while tinkering and tailoring with my newest piece of work. This dearest future is no certainty, I see it often amongst many others like burning pages scattered in a high wind.

 

My daughter is named Annabelle and she is and was the product of myself and an actress named Simone. This eventuality is already deeply embedded in the stone of time.

 

Now I wasn’t a pleasant looking chap. Though many people said I was good natured (you have to be in my situation). I had an unfortunate and difficult birth. The right side of my head was slightly crushed inwards like an over-ripe grape imploding unceremoniously. My spine was twisted and curved. I was what you would call mal-formed. Mal's don't tend to exist anymore, as they had done before, and I am a rarity, as all impediments were eradicated during the Great Scientific leap of Genetic Choice. I am an everyday constant reminder of man’s barbaric history and its medical incompetence. I’m the Spartan baby not left to perish on mount Tageyteus, always to be a burdensome weight. I see this every day in their eyes.

 

My parents, I never knew. I was taken from their care at an early age and placed into a parenting scheme. The reason for my removal from their care was due to their disregard for producing a healthy baby. It was ‘an assault on my person to have allowed my birth’, an argument to this day I still do not understand. However the professionals involved made a concise and engaging argument and I was summarily removed from their care. After all who would subject a child to an existence such as mine? Poor parenting indeed. But... I was alive and now needed fed, clothed and loved. The first two I had in abundance, the last would remain elusive for some time.

 

Just to return on that point, I have no hatred for the people who removed me from the care of my parents. They were just fools, which we are all guilty of being from time to time. They followed idealised cultural norms and applied this normality onto people who had never subscribed. Many similar acts are viewed with similar disdain many years down the line such as concentration camps, genocide, industrialisation, the nuclear family and medication for psychological disorders to name but a few. However I'm sure in their own way they felt they were protecting me, Gerbils no doubt would have made the same argument.

 

My parents did however bestow one great gift on me before we parted company forever. My name. Garfield, a cynical 21st century cartoon cat, while being a pet he was also a very influential character. I hope my parent’s ironic humour will not be lost and though I may never meet them, I am proud.

 

A long time later… After a succession of temporary homes, against the odds I became a scientist. I still am and a good one at that. The reasons for choosing this course I will address another day.

 

To how Annabelle entered my life, this is a strange story indeed. I’d have hardly believed it had I not been there.

 

Chapter 2

 

I was hard at work in the rigours of Research and development. I had exceeded all expectations and was driving a new field of science frontiers never thought possible. However the thought of talking to another human being brought me out in a cold sweat, teaching a class unthinkable and discussing my work with a colleague unimaginable. This is very bad for sharing ideas. It was identified that I was gifted but socially inept, I was ‘backroomed’. A Jekyll with the need for a Mr. Hyde. The politics of the academic world were a mystery to me as were my fellow man. Jericho one of the more outgoing researchers of my class was given the task of managing the political minefield that is Academia for me and is my link to the outside world. Jericho’s job was simple build a rapport with myself and feed my discoveries back to the management.

 

 

Now around about the same time and a world away an up and coming actress was told about my exploits in Medio-Cartholous, a new branch of science (that I created). Over cocktails and hor-dourves people I did not know poured over my achievements. How I was a genius comparable to Archimedes, Faraday, Einstein, Socrates and Newton, a truly great thinker. The world was alight with my ground-breaking ideas, barely understood.

 

Now Simone while she had attained a level of recognition and notoriety, she was ambitious beyond this. Simone knew that there was something else, she wasn't quite sure what it was but she could smell the power as she climbed the slippery social ladder. She wished to join the Executive.

 

Simone was equally ambitious for her offspring so she decided she wished to have a clever child. Nothing could stop her once her mind was set and she wanted the best. Simone unfortunately had never seen me at this time as I was famed for my reclusiveness.

 

Simone arranged for me to attend a party at her place of residence. I couldn’t understand why I was invited but decided it would be most rude to not attend. My anxiety overridden by receiving a personal invite by one of my favourite movie stars, this was too good to miss (all academics have their guilty pleasures). I placed the letter on the top of the out pile with the others declining attendance of exhibition openings and faculty strategy meetings. I wrote back accepting the invitation, yours affectionately Garfield. No too much, yours sincerely Garfield.

 

Chapter 3

 

The day of the party....

 

I was nervous, a slick cold sweat matted my thinning hair… the day of the party had arrived and I was in the throng of queuing beautiful people. My warped little body ill-fitting the tailored suit feeling ill at ease with this glamorous environment and no-one taking a blind bit of notice of me except for the occasional sneer or inquisitive stare. I had always felt different but this was big leagues different. I felt as if I should be kneeling and praying to these human demigods apologising for being so pasty and pathetic, licking the ground they walked on to one day hopefully become a beautiful person like they were, it was my fault I was ugly and mine alone, smite me oh god of fashion.

 

A man dressed in black approached with stereotypically dark sun glasses and pulled me gently from the queue and ushered me towards a nearby parked limousine. “Mrs Simone would like to speak to you more privately sir” the man in black said without looking at me, solely concentrating on where he was going while pushing me to that very same place. I was relieved to be out of that queue I wondered how long those beautiful people would wait to meet other more important beautiful people already inside the ‘la mansione du sinne’. As I heard someone say almost salivating as the words rolled out of a perfectly sculpted mouth.

 

I was ushered and awkwardly clambered into the proffered nearby limousine. The door was shut behind me and the automobile started rolling forward. When I looked up the face of a million posters greeted my eyes. Simone - movie star, she was staggeringly beautiful in the flesh. Lit by a single cigarette protruding from scarlet red lips her face was everything that the public wanted, that any man wanted, perfect in every way. The darkness enveloped her face at the end of every puff and the world seemed a duller place. She turned towards me, I longed for the next inhalation, a masterpiece waiting to be cast.

 

Simone could barely contain her disgust but she’d had done worse to get where she was today and it was her children she was thinking of. “Your condition” she said, I could not see the ugly sneer on her face as the cigarette gently illuminated her maternal bust. “Is it genetic or caused by some freak accident” I had never had somebody talk to me so matter of fact. It was the white elephant in the room, so to speak. I quite liked the straightforwardness of it all, different. “Accident at birth and some genetics” I responded in the same bureaucratic manner. The reply, swift hands undoing my belt, I didn’t move an inch.

 

A few awkward minutes were spent in the back of that plush limousine and it was all over. I had been touched as I’d never been touched before. Simone pushed me panting off her-self and ordered the driver to stop. She then opened the rear door and pushed me into the street while uttering the words “You filthy little man” and spat in my face. As the car pulled away and the saliva dripped down my face, a smile broadened across my mouth, it was my first time.

 

I meandered home and later the next day went back to my work...

 

Chapter 4

 

Weeks passed. Then months I went to work and spoke not a word of what happened. Well I had no-one that I had spoken to before, especially of such things, and who would believe me? I began reading the glossy chat magazines like Who’s that?, Goodbye! and Frolic. I kept up to date with Simone’s activities. It seems she was doing well for herself and landed the new big movie script from some art house director. She’d also got a new boyfriend which mildly annoyed me but she looked happy in the photos, his name was Kurt something, an older well established star apparently. He was certainly handsome.

 

I worked and worked and worked some more, days upon days lost in my work. I enjoyed it this way but I always felt there was something missing, a link broken in a chain. But the weeks were flying and my work became more and more important to me and other people less so. I was close to a breakthrough, I could feel it. Yet I could not shake the feeling of desperate loneliness. Though I could never have articulated this myself, I had never had anyone else, as the saying goes you don’t miss what you never had.... On an instinctual level however I knew there was something more out there.

 

Reading the front page of 'This and That' I saw Simone was with child, a wave of disappointment passed through my body. I resigned myself to the fact that now I and Simone would never be lovers like we once were. Months passed and I stopped reading the glossy magazines I fell deeper into my work and made a monumental amount of progress. But at night I watched old Simone movies and reruns of interviews, watching that million dollar smile charm the world.

 

Eight months had passed and I returned home, with my recently purchased box of comfort chicken sizzlers. As I kicked the door open of my musty apartment the smell of the unwashed hit me full on. It was something you acclimatized to after ten or so minutes, until then I bore the stench. I set down the pile of rented videos from the store, the top one entitled 'Simone and the Stranger of Doom', (I was of the old school. I preferred to peruse the aisles rather than import videos straight to my home entertainment system. Though the advice of the attendants was dubious at best. At that point the phone rang, now this was a rarity in my home since I had no friends, I had a private line and work never rang. I had a wrong number, once.

 

I let it ring the obligatory four times and then picked up “Hello”

“Hello” came the reply.

“Hello can I help you?” replied Garfield.

“Yes you may” the voice cunningly retorted.

“How may I of be assistance then?” I hoped this conversation would get to a point.

“Are you Garfield?”

“Yes”

“Do you know Simone…personally?” emphasis was put on this last word, almost seedily.

“We have spent some time together” There was no point in outright lying, I thought.

“Did you know she is carrying your child?”

I almost dropped the phone. “WHAT?”

“Yes Mr. your child, I will phone back in twenty minutes to help let this sink in.” The line went dead.

 

I sat down and began sucking on a chick sizzler, sluicing the bread crumbs off the processed meat. My mind budding thousands of possible futures stemming from that single psychological seed. I hadn’t moved when the phone rang again. I spat the sizzler out and gazed at the rubbery white meat as I picked up the phone.

“Well?” came the voice down the line as if from that one word the meaning of life could be gleaned.

“Well, what?”

“Have you made your decision?”

“About what, I thought you said twenty minutes?”

“It has been 20 minutes, about what you wish to do, sometimes twenty minutes is twenty minutes too long Garfield”.

“What can I do, and who the hell are you anyways”

“I’m a reporter with the dog and terrier”

“The private-eye magazine?”

“Yes, look we can get your child for you it’s just there have been complications the child is about to be born but in scans they found it to be well.... deformed like yourself... Mrs Simone wants the child destroyed, she fears it will ruin her and it looks as if she will get her own way”.

“What can I do?”.

“Nothing, look a nurse called me from the private hospital, she will abduct the child before it is to be destroyed and give it to me. You were the next logical step, will you take the child?"

“Yes of course” I spoke before thinking... but it was my child, things were going so fast. A child though.

“Good, I don’t usually get involved in this sort of crap but the nurse is a.... well that doesn’t matter. I won’t be reporting on this story and once you get the child I suggest you do not make it public because Simone has become quite powerful. She can make things happen if you know what I mean. I shall be in touch in a couple of days, goodbye Garfield”

“Yes I will see you soon” was my weak reply, the man had sounded anxious. I assumed child abduction was quite a nerve racking experience.

 

I called in sick, it was my first day off in 6 years my boss Jericho shouted down the phone in jovial tones “Take the week off old boy and only come back when your top notch”. Jericho was a 3rd rate scientist but what he lacked in scientific knowledge he made up in people skills and administrative abilities. That’s why he managed the facility. I never knew what to make of him it always seemed a little forced like I was a genius idiot child he had to look after. Though I know he would never display these feelings to me.

 

Waiting was not one of my strong points. I sat around and peeked into the tree lined street below from time to time, waiting for the reporter to arrive. My mind was approaching boredom meltdown. My inventive brain finding nothing to do in the confines of my apartment, my work no longer providing that mental retreat, I began to think I had imagined the entire scenario to un-believe.

 

The reporter would not show for the next 3 days.

Chapter 5

 

There was a rap at the door. I sat up and brushed the crumbs of another takeaway off myself and stood. The rain was beating hard outside and lightning flashed intermittently, betraying a hooded figure through the frosted glass. I felt the rush of excitement, a new life waiting on the other side of my front door. I stopped “Yes” I inquired “Who is it?”

“It’s me” came the curt response.

“Who is me?” I retorted through the glass.

At this point I could see the man on the other side take something from under his jacket. I got closer to the glass to enquire as to the fuzzy nature of the object. The glass shattered inwardly and a gloved hand seized me by the throat.

 

I was too shocked to move and was thrown across the room hitting the back wall, not before crashing into a priceless family heirloom, a mahogany coat stand, breaking it cleanly in two. I recovered myself as the hooded figure stepped through the doorway, after deftly unlocking the door. H e began moving swiftly towards me. He has done this kind of thing before, my analytical mind judging the calm way this was all taking place, an almost business-like air. Calm violence is much more troubling than emotive I thought. I looked around for something to use as a weapon, the coat stand, it was close and would make a good club. The wood felt heavy and reassuring in my hand.

 

Armed my crooked body stood to face my assailant; a man of athletic build probably 6’4. I 4’2 considered disabled by most definitions, a warped and crooked body which never did a day’s exercise. My stomach was dropping through me finding the lowest point. This wasn’t a contest, this was a slaughter. Academic prowess what did it count for now? Books cannot save you from this!

 

I attempted a feeble resistance. The first swing of my improvised club was caught deftly by the intruder and taken from my grip. Then in a casual manner he tossed it over his shoulder. I watched longingly the coat stand bounce on the concrete floor behind making the tuneful noise of fine wood when dropped on something solid. My eyes went wide as my assailant moved closer, I could smell his expensively sweet aftershave, and then I felt the wind leave my lungs. As if I had never moved my attacker had punched my fragile chest. My legs gave out and I hit the floor wheezing for breath.

 

“Where is it” asked the voice, a nice voice, a sensual voice like a radio presenter’s deep, resonating and casual in tone. I thought how beautiful it was.

“Where’s who” I wheezed from my foetal position on the floor.

The man bent down towards Garfield’s face, smiled and said “You know who and it not who”. A slight simplistic turn of phrase I felt. I then noticed a slight movement behind the intruder, my head was spinning though, also the poor grammar was taking me off guard.

“No I don’t, now get out my house!” I tried to sound angry but my voice cracked sounding weak and pathetic.

The hooded man threw his head back and laughed, his hood fell back and black dark oiled curls of hair cascaded down from his tanned dark face. His laugh seemed to last forever, becoming more and more hysterical. At its crescendo when the tone of the laugh had gone very high, his head jerked violently to the right and he fell. Now lying opposite me my assailants glazed eyes stared sightlessly back me.

 

An even taller thin man stood in his place holding the discarded coat stand, he stretched his hand towards me, I accepted and stood regaining my breath.

“Hello Garfield” It was the voice from the phone.

“Hello? who on earth was that?” I rather alarmed pointed to the now inert figure lying on my parquet living room floor.

“Your guess is as good as mine, my friend, you certainly do have a head like a bust couch” I looked quizzically at him. The man smiled playfully back at me with crooked nicotine stained yellowy teeth “Ah my friend the nurse she did have a way with words, and describing your good self was no exception” Frank said while looking back to the man on my floor.

“He attacked me” High pitched, I looked up to this man who was taller than the hooded man but much thinner.

“I know” He turned and smiled benignly at me “This doesn’t bode well, I’m Frank by the way” He offered his hand to shake. I did not take the proffered hand.

“I am... well you know already don’t you” I replied looking a tad dejected after being beaten senseless in my own home, a sought of male castration.

“Yes I do, come on let’s go and see the little lady that’s caused all this trouble and bring anything you might need we’re not coming back”

Frank knelt down by the fallen man and put two fingers to his neck, then rolled him over and put his head against the man’s chest, then his hand lightly to his mouth.

“S**t” Frank’s face contorted into one of anger

“This guys dead! Oh f*****g great”

“Oh please Frank you’ve got to help” Frank put on a whiny impersonating voice.

“The nurse?” offered Garfield.

“Yes the f*****g nurse!” Frank was none the happier, and began pacing.

“Well were together in this now and Simone obviously knows”.

“She did this” Garfield’s face turned to one of shock.

“I thought you were some sought of genius?” Frank looked at me disgust in his eyes.

“Supposedly” My reply flatly came, feeling rather more inadequate this time round than the physical assault I had just experienced.

I gathered my things, Frank left, popping his giraffe’s neck through my broken window shouting in jovial tones “hurry Garfield we shan’t let this blanche our evening!” and I left in great hurry I thinking my accomplice was possibly quite mad.

Chapter 6

 

Frank’s car was outside a battered Silver Volvo we both got in. Frank began driving.

“Where are we going” I struggled to get comfortable in the seat, my body not being ergonomically sound.

“I don’t know” Frank’s reply came flatly, the air of the car was still and quiet as the city rushed by.

“Who’s the most important person you know” Frank asked leaning over to depress the cigarette lighter, a long since designed out part of cars, tearing the cellophane off of a 20 pack of cigarettes with his teeth. Journalism didn’t pay well or this car was a classic, I thought the latter was the less likely of the two options.

“Jericho I guess, the manager of the facility I work at”

“Well we’ll go see him then where does he live?”

Now I prided myself with remembering facts I had an almost photographic memory and though I had never been to Jericho’s house I knew where he lived. I had absent mindedly committed these facts to memory when looking at the staff roster, the first day of work seven years ago. I related these facts to Frank and the car changed direction and we drove on with a purpose.

 

Frank dragged hard on the cigarette. I could hear the crackle of the burning tobacco as Frank tried to suck his cigarette into an alternate dimension.

“So aren’t you going to look at her?”

“Look at what?” I asked

“Your daughter, look over your shoulder” Frank nodded into the back while keeping his eyes on the road. I looked, a small bundle was swaddled in white linen. I reached over and picked the package up, brought it into the front seat and began to unwrap the folds searching for the contents. A small head appeared with golden hair protruding out of the top, then a hand, then an entire body, weak and fragile like my own. My eyes watered when I stared into those milky blue eyes watching them stare back intently. That was the first moment I felt love and in that moment I could say yes, yes... I would die for you. The moment however was interrupted.

“Not for all the plastic toys in China, aye, aye?”

Frank was manically staring at me.

“what?”

“So what you going to call her, aye? I thought up a name, Annabelle! Suits the little dear, isn’t she something just entered the world and already one man has died for her”. Frank let out a small laugh but seemed pleased with the name so I let it lie.

“Annabelle means grace and favour in Hebrew, I think it suits her” Frank said mostly to himself...

“Yes she’s beautiful” I said in a dreamy voice not really listening transfixed by those milky blue eyes.

 

They drove on in silence and an hour later arrived at Jericho’s house. It was 1am on a Sunday, I couldn’t imagine what Jericho would say or if he would say anything and just ring the local security militia. Frank had said what to do if the authorities came into the equation. Run, the authorities would not be able to protect us from Simone. As Frank so eloquently put it “She’s sucked off more high court judges than I’ve had hot dinners”. I cringed at the crudeness shown to one I held so dear.

 

Chapter 6

 

Jericho’s house was large and ornate. It stood alone and had a large drive with those little stones that were devilishly expensive to import. Two cars sat on the driveway a Volvo estate the same but a newer model and allot less beaten up electric version of Frank’s car and Jericho’s pride and joy his Aston Martin. Frank and I carrying Annabelle approached the house and the security lights flicked on showering them both in high wattage daylight. Squinting we carried on and rang the doorbell. All the interior lights were off the house inside was eerie darkness. The doorbell chime broke the cool night’s silence, a classical tune called Greenflies that was popular at the moment. I felt households less tasteful were trying too hard to be accepted into the higher echelons of society to which they obviously had so recently stratified. I felt I was becoming a snob. Doooo ba doo ba dube doo doobee do.

 

A light flicked on and someone inside descended the stairs the dull thuds coming one at a time. Bolts on the other side of the door were being removed and a low muttering was heard from inside. The door flew open and a similarly squinting Jericho angry faced stared out at the trio.

“What the hell… Garfield!” Jericho’s face and tone changed at once, grew softer and more gentle.

“What’s the matter” Jericho and I were not friends and had never met outside of work.

A voice came from inside “darling is everything alright?”

Jericho turned and spoke into the blackness “Yes, yes, just a friend from work something’s gone on at the office, go back to sleep darling”. Jericho turned back to face the ragged group and I continued

“I need your help Jericho in fact we all do, can you help us?” Jericho’s face softened “Sure, sure come in don’t worry about it I’ll get some coffee and biscuits and we can have a chat” Jericho had slipped back into being the boss, taking control and looking after his most prized commodity, Garfield.

 

The morning arose with the patter pat of tiny raindrops on the glass roof of Jericho’s Georgian town house. A feature that wasn’t common in these period houses or noticeable as the blackout filter dissolved itself and daylight sprang forth. The inside of the house was bathed with natural light, the open plan design was not a feature of this type of house which Frank observed must have cost a ‘a fair few bob’ as he once again so eloquently put. Jericho’s face was blemished by a slight tick, noticeable for a fraction of a second upon hearing this gem at the breakfast table.

 

Morning came and went and later that afternoon two black cars arrived at the house. Jericho called them friends, amigos, associates and told Frank and I to go with them and that they would be safe. The two men driving the two cars led us. Frank held Annabelle who had become very attached to him through the night. Crawling all over him and staring into his spidery black eyes. At first Frank seemed unnerved by this but soon she began to grow on him. “That’s right Annabelle let uncle Frank carry you.” As she reached for his shirt I attempted to have some semblance of control due to the loss of my daughter to this overgrown beanpole. “Less of the uncle” Frank said with a smile cracking his face to reveal nicotine yellowed teeth and blackened crowns. I realised in the little time I’d known Frank this was the first time I’d seen him smile. I hoped this wouldn’t become a regular occurrence. I jealously followed the smitten couple trying to keep up with Frank’s loping strides. Frank got into the car followed by myself. The car rolled forward down the drive at an easy pace the auto engines purring whine under the drivers command.

 

Chapter 7

 

The two cars sped along, I wondered the need for two cars since they were all travelling in one. When I asked the man driving I said “I don’t know I’m just a driver” He certainly didn’t look like just a driver. With his lean muscular Adonis body moulded against the well cut Gavarni suit, he looked like a damned catwalk model. I frowned at this homoerotic thought passing through the electrical canals of my brain and whisked it away with a gender affirming frown in the same instant.

 

The car sped on and we went further into the countryside passing rural hamlets and isolated houses. I looked out the window and saw desolation and bleak nothingness. The only indication of the technogical society beyond its borders was a mobile phone mast. The only concession made to the surrounding countryside was to paint it green. I was not a country boy I grew up in the city. My idea of countryside was a green suburb with plenty of trees and un-tarmacked paths. This was brutal and unforgiving for someone such as me. With a body that five hundred years ago would not allow me to survive without aid from my fellow humans, that I no doubt would not have received. I mused that on my birth, I would have been picked up by my malformed legs and dashed off the nearest rock. Thus putting an end to the defective gene pool, simple, brutal, yet effective.

 

Escalators, Lifts, double glazing, Gardeners trimming your lawn, Road workers, Hot water, 24hr shops manned by bored looking Asians or now more commonly mindless clones and various other necessities. This is what makes my world go round I thought as the car sped under a canopy of deciduous trees light playing over the interior. And it is not here, not for miles and miles…

 

We arrived at a dilapidated farm house. The cars pulled up and Frank and I got out instinctively. It had been almost six hours of continuous driving and when a car stops after that amount of time the most natural thing to do is get out, Frank later mused. The driver never said a word. Frank and I were out the car and walking round in circles assessing our environment, Annabelle was fast asleep belted into the child safety seat the driver had provided. The other car had pulled up a short way off its darkened windows giving it a sinister edge. The gravel stones under their feet grated against one another as our clumsy footsteps circled. There was a small stone farmhouse with half a roof as a backdrop from where the cars had parked. we were standing on what probably was, when the cottage was in use, the driveway. Now long overgrown sporadic chest tall weeds swayed in the afternoon’s half-light as if dancing to an unheard song.

 

“We’re not staying here are we driver?” Frank craned his head towards the driver’s side door and addressed his question through the tinted glass. The driver made no response and carried on staring forward. “Friendly” Frank thumbed the direction of the car while strolling towards me, he seemed to walk everywhere with a cocksure swagger. That instant the car wheels span throwing stones wildly around. Frank and I stared in shocked silence pelted by small rocks as the car hurtled down the gravel driveway towards the road; doors flapping like aghast fish mouths gaping for water. The other tinted car did not move Frank and I stood in the wide open staring at the other car awaiting a response of some sought.

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Meanwhile....

 

Terry Truss grasped the steering wheel. The patented leather grip felt good to touch and provided ample grip to swing whatever litre beast of burden he was given to drive round the corner. He swerved violently round the next corner and also onto the road slamming shut the flapping back door and gunned the engine up the road. He thought yeah it may bring a little suspicion, driving like that, but it felt sooo good. This could have been any other day taking my beau out for a spin, except it wasn’t and there was still work to do.

 

Truss thought to himself ‘we could of offed the lot of them in one go but she who must be obeyed always has to have some complicated means of disposal. Stupid b***h, men are simple A to B. Women oh f**k that A to B to C then to Z and then if they feel like it back to B to get the job done if it ever gets f*****g done. F*****g idiots’ Terry had begun muttering the last of these thoughts under his breath. He ducked across to the passenger’s seat and opened the glove box, inside was a small firearm which he removed. He then examined it, sunlight pouring through the windscreen, watching light being absorbed by the weapon’s dull matt black finish. “See this” Terry said holding the gun up in-between the two front seats “This is for you” at this Annabelle let out a childish expectant giggle. Terry turned back around and through gritted teeth barely audible “You laugh it up you little freak you won’t be laughing so much when the flies lay their eggs in your splattered little brain”

 

When Terry Truss was a child the other children used to point and laugh at him. They taunted him by chanting ‘WE DON’T TRUST TERRY TRUSS’. Terry you see had been and was to a certain extent a compulsive liar. Which is to a certain extent is a lie, he was a complete liar. Terry had lied his way into different organisations and groups all throughout his life, and they had accepted him. Until one day they would catch him out and he would be ejected, kicked out, dismissed, removed, fired or abandoned. One day on a particular creative outpouring Terry got into organised crime. When once, as it always did come, Terry would be found out he did something completely different. You see, Terry would be very dead. There was no disciplinary procedure for the line of work he’d lied myself into and Terry was clever enough to know this. Though a little too stupid to never have begun in the first place. Terry needed to kill and in a well-reasoned thought it was either kill or be killed. Terry’s lies about hits, murders of entire families, bombs under cars, knives in the back and poison in your cornflakes became a reality. Soon no-one would question Terry Truss because everything he told you was true. He was dangerous and he grew drunk on the power that began to slowly consume him. He was very dangerous, borderline psychopathic.

 

Annabelle knew all this but not in the way you or I would know something. It was in the scent of a thought without overlaid values that we everyday put on such things. You see Annabelle was different Annabelle was pure.

Chapter 9

 

Back with Frank and I….

 

The two men stared at the car not moving, not saying a word. Time passed. The car door opened and a man got out, dressed in Hawaiian shorts and a faded Sri Lanka T-shirt a sunset emblazoned across it. The man began to casually walk over.

 

“Hi” the casual man said with a flash of a smile though his eyes were as expressive as buttons on a machine. He looked quite friendly and relaxed, with that soft doughy fat like a bulimic that had forgotten to throw up. Just like he was strolling up to the beach bar I thought, although I had never seen a beach bar. Frank was furious however his face reddening “what the hell does your friend think he’s doing?” he screeched while gesticulating wildly, pointing this way and that or at nothing while stomping angrily towards the casual man. A meter or so away the casual man produced a small silver object and I heard what sounded like the tweet of a bird twice in rapid succession. Frank turned towards me. Frank’s face made my stomach icily sink, the expression was genuine abject terror his limbs had frozen as if in a wild dance, only his eyes were moving. Two small feathered darts stuck out his chest. Frank fell forward as steady as a newly felled tree. I watched with the same horror as the casual man carried on walking toward me. My own face, I thought, now must mirror Frank’s as the horror of the situation dawned on me. I had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, I crouched down, covered my face and curled into a dark little ball where no-one could find me. I heard the tweet of a nearby bird once, and again. A warm feeling passed over me. I slept like a babe in the arms of my mother. It was a nice feeling I thought as I drifted away. My mind’s analytical side telling him this was an opiate based compound, my functional side not caring. I knew I would feel nauseous when I awoke... if I did wake up that is. I now understood why people took drugs and I no longer blamed them.

 

I awoke after what felt like a millennia in the back of a slow moving car in heavy traffic, darkness was creeping into the day outside. As I opened my eyes I heard what sounded like a watch alarm go off. In the front of the car a balding sandy blond haired man with a comb over sat in the driver's seat. He turned and looked at me while pressing the off button on his digital watch. He offered a winning smile that looked as if it had been learned from a manual and said “Good evening Garfield”. He was an Australian it seemed by his accent and he had well-tanned taught skin. “Now you’re both awake” I looked across to see Frank resonantly staring out of his passenger window as the rain flecked it a drop smeared down the outside. He looked a bit glum. “And your perfectly on time” The Australian continued while moving to watch the motionless traffic “I’ll tell you A) How I knew what time you would wake up and B) What is going to happen now” He said while sticking up one finger then two without looking back. “I’ve had to talk to this prick for an hour and a half” Frank said to me under his breath while not looking round. “As you are a man of science I will tell you that you have been shot with primarily a nerve toxin that froze your limbs but allowed the continuation of your primary bodily functions, then an opiate for an induced period of rest, I shoot the occasional addict in the middle of the street when no-one’s looking people just walk past thinking it’s another wasted bag head and you’re giving them what they want so all’s good in world, though as a tool of the trade so to speak it’s marvellous. Say you have an individual you have to…. cease from existing, you can just wait until he travels into one of the shadier areas of town and pop he or she collapses and people just walk on by another drunk, junkie, wino, fuckup that nobody cares about. Then you come round play the concerned citizen pick him/her up and pop the car off a cliff/burn it/drive it into a river and viola one dead person " also my personal favourite creative suicides” With this he turned round while leering smiling into the back passenger seats with his brilliant sun bleached white teeth exposed into a dirty smile and a fiery light burning behind his eyes " this man was insane and he loved his job I thought. “Of course you have to let them wake up for those, so the drugs can vacate the system, but this is all very expensive you know” As he began to turn his attention back to the slick wet road which was opening up. Frank muttered “what an idiot” barely audible. The car swerved violently to one side and I careened into Frank butting Frank’s face against the rain streaked window. The car then screeched to a halt on exposed gravel the sound audible, then nothing quiet " Frank looked petrified and had gone quite white. Only then did I see that Franks hands were cable tied behind his back. Our eyes met Frank was lying length ways his head in my lap, we both stared at each other as we listened to the clink clak of the car door locking mechanism opening the driver’s side, then the soft chimes of the light’s still on warning system followed by the soft crunch of footsteps on gravel, getting closer, moving round.

“What the f**k!,” The tanned Australian thudded and thumped the closed car window, his open palm squeezed up against, his face close salivating, frothing bottom lip, his spit jumping from mouth to join rain streaked window " this man obviously could not take a joke, “what the f**k” thud, “what the f**k!” thud “WHAT THE F**K!”, I looked at Frank who was now corner hugging, bolt upright, petrified and as far from the gesticulating Australian as possible. “This guy cannot take a joke” Frank commented under his breath. As fast as it had begun, it ended, red faced but visibly calmer the Australian got back in the car and they moved off " it was as if nothing had ever happened a calm came over the car’s atmosphere which Frank and I were loath to break lest another violent outburst from our Australian abductor would ensue. Frank looked at me, I looked at Frank the silenced poured on and the car sped onward.

 

Chapter 10

 

Annabelle…

 

Terry was the best, the best of the best he’d killed them all, Politicians who’d become too popular for his client’s liking, Investment Bankers who lost millions of client’s monies, witnesses providing evidence his clients did not want to hear and the list goes on. He’s the greatest ‘removal expert’ of his time, Terry was now a " Salamander - he’d started at the bottom - P***y Willow -, well middle actually thanks to a little fabrication, working his way up the organisation that whored him out to the highest bidder and now he was ‘high class’ only the best work, the tastiest morsels, the finest hookers. This was another high roller, he dropped the Gear of the Citizen and its engine roared round the corner, combustible fuel how archaic he thought, a toy of the rich but he would always just be renting.

 

Terry glanced into the rear-view mirror the child was firmly swaddled into the seat, unmoving and staring firmly back at Terry. Terry’s eyes flickered to the road ahead and back to the child. There was something disconcerting about the child’s features, something familiar and something that he knew…. Intimately, he looked again. Terry careened the Citizen into the embankment and skidded to a halt churning the sodden ground, destroying a small ecosystem. He looked round craning his body into the back seat, there he saw something he could not quite believe… he saw himself. Terry looked disbelieving, unable to comprehend, eyes blind but it was himself, a small boy he looked up at himself from the back seat seeing through those innocent eyes at what he had become. He was the boy, the innocent young boy who’d loved his sister, cared for an injured cat, cried when Mr. Perkins went to cat heaven and believed in all manner of silly things he long put away. The boy looked at him, through him, into him. Like a thousand mirrors in a hundred halls. He could see what he had become, the perversion of what he once was. Terry unbuckled his seat belt, opened the door and rolled from the seat onto the sodden muddy ground, he shivered, choked, and vomited into his hand it was too much to comprehend as he crawled the length of the car to the back passenger door a dirt streaked shaking, retching hand reached for the handle. He clipped the door open and fed his hand into the gap prying the door open. Terry cried, screamed, bellowed and prostrated himself to his younger self as those knowing eyes gazed steadfastly on. He begged as a sinner would for his life confronted by every person he had ever wronged holding boulders ready to loose them on his papery bare skin. Once Terry broke, cracked, fell apart he sat back in the rain and mud wailing as if for his mother and drew the matt black pistol from his jacket, tears streaming from his eyes the blackness of the pistol held no beauty now all it held was darkness and blessed silence as he pressed it hard into the soft meat of his gaping mouth, he looked into his childlike reflection and murmured “I’m sorry” with the gun between his lips it was a murmured sound but Annabelle understood. His saliva dripped down the gun barrel to mix with the tears. Here Terry Truss would have ended an essentially sad and miserable life in which he’d been loved by few and liked by even less but in his mind as his finger began to depress the trigger he heard the words… I forgive you, It is ok " Like an explosion in his mind. Well they weren’t so much the words but a feeling, words are hollow things which can mean many things or nothing at all, too simple to describe this. Terry felt the feeling of being forgiven, forgiven for everything, and that it would be ok, it actually would be ok. Unfortunately Terry was still depressing the trigger as these synaptic explosions of love and peace were going off in his brain and he heard the mechanism click into place and felt an enormous kick in his mouth. Terry’s body crumpled to the ground, face half destroyed, eyes staring blankly out, however those streaming tears of sadness were now of joy…

 

 

Chapter 11

 

Frank and Garfield….

 

Frank idled softly in his seat head bobbing to and fro, I swore that he was asleep. I peered gloomily on. “Don’t look so glum mate this is peculiar enough but for you it is solely a retrieval. I won’t be taking you both into some lonely woods and blowing your brains out mate, na na na mate, it’s strictly transference this one” I didn’t know why but I was slightly cheered by this information and I was relieved when the car pulled into a generic fast food parking One that served every kind of food a man could imagine, as long as it was a burger. Though I fleetingly thought 'do dead men get a final meal?’

 

The Australian head to the side, speaking from the corner of his mouth like a father to his sons “can I get you boys anything?”, I felt my stomach groan and my mouth begin to salivate “Chicken sizzler meal...please” well it just didn’t seem right not to be polite, Frank just looked at the Australian bemused at his now casual attitude “I’ll have a coffee black and one of them foreign meal things” the Australian turned to him eyes alight “ YOU LOVE THEM TOO, the Zinger Max Taste tm meal!” Frank looked at him flatly but it did not diminish the Australian’s fervour “Yeah…. that one”, “good choice sir, BRAVO” the Australian sat back in my seat clapping his hands to a slow theatrical beat, then without a word further he got out the car, a few meters away from the car he waggled his finger back at Frank and I staring out the blackened unseeing windows and we both heard the double ‘clunk’, ‘clunk’ of the automatic lock.

 

I looked out of the window at an empty generic parking lot with those ugly hardy shrubs which hide a multitude of sins. Apart from ourselves there was a car a few meters away with two rather large ladies tucking into what appeared to be an Extra Value Super Mega meal, oblivious to our desperate plight. Frank began to wiggle going nowhere really but up and down. I looked at him and was reminded of a fish landed on an embankment, memories from a fishing trip with one foster family or another. “That guy has a very large screw loose” Frank said the panic slightly showing in his voice “He is stone cold insane and we are at his mercy kid, M. E. R. C. Y., do you know what you need for mercy to occur? Empathy, do you know what a Sociopath is?” Frank had stopped bouncing around and was staring seriously into my eyes the seriousness of his stare not matching his words “A Sociopath is someone who is unable to feel empathy, I could give you this guy’s life history, wet the bed, emotionally cold parents, tortured the neighbourhood cat… to death, bullied at school, non-existent in University, good grades, kills people for a living. We are at my mercy and killing us would incur the same remorse as taking a s**t, I’m not going to turn out like Mittens”. Frank’s eyes were now wide with fear once the enormity of his own words had settled into his mind, “Frank” I said “He’s not going to kill us” I smiled at Frank; Frank looked flatly back.

 

I sat and thought about nothing and everything. I knew there was little hope of escape; the people that have me within their power are connected, powerful, organised and thorough. I decided we just had to wait and see what providence may throw our way. How was Jericho connected to this, to these people. I idly thought of the two fat ladies scoffing the remnants of their meals in a rushed glee. The Executive had brought in a new food subsidy and popular food was the cheapest it’s ever been. It was worked out with a simple equation that was agreed by all leading scientists to be positive for State progression: Food popularity = higher production = reduction in costs = higher consumption = higher employment + Popular food subsidies to encourage business = self-perpetuating market economy " it all made perfect sense and had seen a boom in popular food outlets that now encrusted all populous hubs. All this was great for the economy as masses gorged on these food groups. Many had been eager to put the vote through on their Demcro-pads (personal computers issued to every person once they reached voting age). The media storm of journalists and celebrity endorsements urged voters to put their money where their mouth is and support the new Executive suggestion to subsidise everyone’s favourite foods. With the new on-line democracy it was instantaneous policy decisions. For the first time in history a true democracy where the masses ruled, even I in this current position felt pride in the freedom of choice and governance the Executive represented. I soon switched out of it.

 

I by this time had rationalised a positive end to this journey and saw the Australian as less of a threat. Rationality was no longer the dominant force in my mind however, I wished to see the best in everything and an optimistic outlook this helped calm my nerves " survival mechanism. Though nagging at the back of my mind was the ever present doubt pushed further and further into my subconcious that Frank and I were in a truly grim situation. Frank on the other hand was greasy with sweat his lank sandy brown hair pasted to his scalp, red effusion colouring his face, eyes darting back and forth looking for the non-existent exit from this reality. “Frank we might as well go along with this man and clear this all up” Frank looked round at Garfield, the terror evident in his eyes “Do you know how many journalists work at the Dog and Terrier?” His voice had become flat and low almost a breathless whisper. “What kind of question is that?” I perplexed by the change in tone. “Do you know?” Frank said with more conviction “No of course I do not know” I said rather irritably adjusting my odd shaped body to look directly into Franks eyes. “3” Frank said, a sadness in his voice “3 f*****g journalists Garfield, me the News editor and another old hack like me… Do you know how many there used to be?” I did not dignify this with an answer “28 Garfield, 13 years ago there was 28 full time journalists, many friends, close friends” Frank almost longingly said. I mildly irritated by this continual journey of reverie said “So what Frank, yes I’ve heard about your publications and honestly not that much of it good and the condemnation you have shown for the Executive, so your people left a failing media dinosaur, a relic to the past, it was bound to happen the people voted with their feet and your out of business, I’m very sorry” I said rather sarcastically “but I have no time for your reminiscence of your good old days, they left your publication because it will probably no longer exist in a year but SO WHAT!!!!” I throughout the whole rant had begun to raise my voice and realised I was shouting these few last words, frothing at the bottom lip, I calmed myself realising my rising agitation and straightened my shirt, I looked back at Frank and met only an unnerving stare. A passivity that could only come through the burden too much emotion, too many tears, Frank looked back at him a imperceptible sneer on his face and then said with a quite conviction “Not one left, No one left even when they started to disappear Garfield, not one left” Frank said those last words almost to himself as a broken man chants his mother’s name in the middle of a burning battlefield, a cold shiver ran down my ragged spine.

 

Frank awoken from his reverie… “Sod this” and began gyrating into a lying down position sitting on his bound hands and kicking out at the window thus making the car shake “Frank what are you doing?!?” I said rather alarmed. The car was obviously sound proofed as not a thing could be heard from the outside the entire journey and the air inside had a strange quiet quality to it, but the car shook violently and whether any sound did get out I did not know but it got the attention of the two fat ladies in their comically small car. One chubby dark haired individual got out and slowly began to walk to our car, like a migrating penguin. I said excitedly “It’s working Frank she’s coming over!” this only increased Frank’s gyrations “here fishy, fishy, fishy, fishy” he said rather comically for the true desperation of the moment, she approached rather shyly then stopped a way off a smile broadening her fat face as the rocking increased. She took a few more tentative steps “Keep it going Frank!” I was now rocking with him throwing my small frame around with gusto. The fat lady waddled the last few steps almost stealthily squashed her  fat face against the blackened out windows in order to see the events unfolding within, at this point we both stopped and began screaming “Help!, Help!, HELP!” repeating those words understood the world over. A frown began to spread across her podgy face. To my dismay there was no understanding in that face, she could not hear us and I doubted that she could see us either.

 

At that moment I saw the fat face spin away like an orbiting moon, she looking at something back over her shoulder. The Australian casually striding towards the car was saying something, words unheard. The Australian spread two arms holding two bags of fast food to each side, tongue licking rapidly in and out of his mouth, jaws agape, rapidly thrusting his hips at the fat lady who was now swiftly retreating to her automobile, a look of sheer disgust on her face. We watched as the Australian walked over and put the bags of fast food on top of the car, while smiling and shouting unheard obscenities. The two fat ladies looked on at this keratinous gutter dweller. The Australian gave them an arm gesture that I had not seen before while they gave him back the universally recognised two finger salute back and screeched the tires of their tiny car onward and out of the car park, all hope of escape leaving with them.

 

The Australian got back in the car the cargo was comfortable, fed and watered. They drove on with no words exchanged and the dull quiet noiseless sound of the engine pushing ever forward.

Chapter 12

 

Annabelle…

 

Terry blinked once and then blinked again. His tongue felt the warm hot salty caress of blood coursing through his mouth, he spat it out and blinked the tears from his eyes. Terry lifted his head from the sodden ground, the pain ringing in his head was Unbearable. Terry looked at the open car door he had been thrown from, lying on the blackened asphalt of the quite country road. Terry gathered himself; he’d been shot before, well not in the mouth and not by himself but he’d survived.

 

Terry broken faced and winded lifted himself to his knees, the dull ache turning into excruciating pain as his consciousness came back into focus. Terry struggled to think how this eventuality had come around and why he was lying in the middle of the road after blowing a hole in his face, but that was secondary and could be thought about later, survival was now key, instincts took over. Human instinct was only able to cope with so much though, a gunshot wound to the head was not something that the mind had learnt to deal with over a millennia of evolution so Terry fought down waves of panic as his body rather mechanically opened the ajar car door and leant over the seats, blood splashing the leather, gathering in globules and then streaming away down the lined leathery cracks. His hands fumbled what would have been a deft movement, and he struggled to pull the glove compartment lever, once open, in the glove compartment his heavy pawed hands engulfed the spray can labelled ‘Quikclot’ dragging it out despite its light weight. Terry jammed the nozzle of the can into the aghast hole of his face and depressed the button while collapsing across the seats with a sigh. A cloud of white foam began to build within the free flowing wound expanding inside and out his tongue trying to avoid the metallic taste of the foam, unnatural to his palate. Once the wound was covered Terry let go of the can and let it roll from his outstretched hand into the well below. Terry closed his eyes, his deep breathing became shallow and the pale foam engulfing his ragged tear began to brown hardening crustily closing the wound and stemming the tide of blood. Annabelle watched quietly on, a passenger to the carnage brought forth by this man-boys guilt.

 

Chapter 13

 

......

 

 

“Jericho” the voice was sinuous like the tendons of an organ stretched over a light breeze, she continued....

“You need to understand that this is all over now and he is no longer a consideration” Jericho leaned forward and clicked a button to turn the ethereal voice of the speakerphone to a more intimate setting. “I understand your position but you have to understand mine, he is a great asset and mind. He is pushing the frontiers of our understanding and to lose him would be a great loss to our organisation, there must be some form of compromise that we may be able to come to, after all the world we live in is built on compromises known or unknown.” Jericho said this in a jovial almost conspiratal tone. There was a long pause and the ethereal voice continued “You seem to understand little of your position, you and your organisation” particular vehemence and menacing was put to the words organisation “You are borne on the sufferance of us and you do not bargain with us, we command you and you would do well to understand this, does a tin soldier argue with the child that casts him into the fire? Understand your station and do not ask of us again, we bear you on our sufferance” Jericho realised he had overstepped the mark and his palms began to sweat profusely he replied simply “I understand”. They had made Jericho who he was today assisted his transition into a powerful position which he could never have achieved through merit alone and now he was repaying the favour, albeit tenfold he felt. The voice continued smooth like lava down his ear “You will forget everything you saw, that you were ever contacted by us or we shall destroy you from inside out” Jericho’s teeth clenched he didn’t like to be threatened but fear held his tongue, he’d heard stories... destruction of people’s lives and the unconventional methods used, it was not something he could not consider for himself or his family. “Yes” was his curt response and the line went dead.

 

Jericho felt no real remorse for turning them over to these people, it was world built on favours and occasionally people had to be stepped on… but Garfield. A great asset to the organisation was not just a pawn that you could just cast away, he was a real thinker, yes, Jericho thought even though he was not the most academic of sorts he still had appreciation for the mother science. He understood the basic concepts unfortunately there the thread of understanding was lost. Jericho could see Garfield for the modern magician he was and as so many great thinkers of their time are, but he could no more understand his method than the apostles of Jesus truly understood his miracles. Garfield created around him through manipulation of mind, body and elements astounding feats that even Jericho to this day had difficulty understanding. This twisted little man was a Goliath in his field and to no-one except to himself understanding belonged, since he alone had created and defined it. It was a loss perhaps to Humanity as a whole, but a flickering light is often blown out before it creates a raging fire mused Jericho. He thought that was rather poetic and mentally noted the phrase. He walked the slow casual walk of a man accustomed to luxury and in no particular hurry to be anywhere, out of his kitchen and began to dress. Life strides continuously on - he pondered.

 

Chapter 14

 

Frank and I....

 

I sat placidly, hands in my lap noticing details of the journey however light quickly faded out of the day and the details became fewer and farther between. I began to realise I had no idea where I was. The darkness was complete by the time the night sleek car drove into the gated avenue. The gates slid silently closed behind us like an awaiting lovers arms. Not a word had passed between the occupants of the car following the incident in the car park. Frank and I feeling the tension in the air and not wanting to disturb the volcanic man mountain chauffeuring them to their unknown destination, we kept our mouths firmly shut, an unstated agreement.

 

The Australian turned in my seat as they rolled to a stop on a gravel driveway. “This is it, last stop, I’ll open the back door and you will follow me, your hands will be untied, I warn you I will not stand for a repeat of the previous episode. There is no-one here that will help you and it is wilderness for many miles around, no-one misses you, no-one will find you and no-one will hear you, are we clear?” The Australian looked intently shifting his gaze from Frank to me, we were stared dumbfounded back “ARE WE CLEAR!, DO YOU UNDERSTAND!, COMPREHEND WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU!” He screeched at us and Frank and I nodded vigorously, “good” the Australian said sitting back in his seat and got out of the car.

 

Frank and I stood looked solemnly at front of the Georgian Townhouse which looked out of place in this country setting, high red walls which cast deep shadows into the surrounding well groomed gardens. My bonds were cut and I flexed my misshapen hands feeling the blood rush painfully into them. At that moment a god cursed scream, a strain of catastrophe pierced the cold night air. Frank and I looked at one another. The Australian began cutting the ties restricting Frank’s hands with a small pair of silver nail scissors. Snip, snip and Frank’s hands were free, he flexed those long pianist fingers and I unconsciously rubbed my arthritic wrists. The Australian began to speak “Right lads.” Frank judging where the Australian was standing using the sound of his voice swung what looked like a cricketer's arc, slow with a balled fist. I stood in awe of Frank and waited to see what the outcome would be as Frank’s fist connected with the Australian’s jaw with a heavy wet thump. Frank triumphant checked to see the devastation he had inflicted upon his opponent, the Australian took the blow in his stride, stepped forward and plunged the nail scissors into the Frank’s meaty shoulder. Frank’s eyes grew like saucers and stared at the pair of nail scissors protruding from his shoulder, aghast at the dark thick blood oozing from his body Frank began to go into shock. The Australian took a step back and smiled calmly back at Frank, appraising his work. Frank looked genuinely distraught now, fear began to dominate him and he looked for somewhere to run. The Australian to Garfield’s eyes fed from the fear like a wolf sensing the weakness of its prey, Frank began to edge backwards every step matched by the Australian’s casual stride his smile becoming wider, toothier and more menacing. Only now did Frank realise how un-cut-out he was to assail a person such as this. Frank had been in fights but they were drunken brawls, people trying to intimidate him, junkies trying to rob him this was different, this man was confident and violence was just a tool. No this was very bad he had awoken the sleeping beast.

 

Frank carried on edging backwards, I stared onwards strangely fascinated by the violence one human can inflict on another. I knew I could not intervene it would only incur the further wrath of this violent man, besides what could I do? Frank edged himself to the flower bed surrounding the house, he could feel the soft earth of the gravedigger underfoot, he carried on edging mind frantically searching, eyes darting, for a means of flight but finding none, finally there was no more edging to be done and Frank felt the cold hard press of the blood red brick wall. The Australian marched ever forward.... Matching Him step for step, in close, so close Frank could smell his oniony breath as he almost whispered, the condensation of his breath forming the words “hit me Frank… do it again” he hissed. Frank more terrified by these words than anything else looked down at his hands like they were not a part of him, like they had a mind of their own and it was these, these offending articles that had begun this terrible cycle of violence. Frank meekly held up both his palms open-up and looked into the Australian’s eyes, but there was no mercy there to be found and Frank knew it. Frank’s face contorted to one pure animal rage backed against the wall he let out a cry “Youmotherfuckingbastardcunt!” and with this a flurry of explosive force flew through his body. Frank lashed, scratched, bit, hit and kicked. I marvelled at the enfolding scene but it was not Frank who I watched it was the Australian. With every uncoordinated kick it was blocked by a stolid knee, with every wild punch the Australian bobbed lithely out of the way avoiding the raining blows. Then it came, too brutal to watch I cringed as I saw the brave bean pole battered, up and up and up though his legs had long given out. The Australian beat Frank back to standing as my legs gave to sink low. The Australian was slow, methodical and repetitious something disturbingly mechanical to the violence like a slaughter man at play. The everyday violence of a mechanical bull. Then did I truly know that Frank had never stood a chance. As the beating subsided and Frank slid to his knees, broken and glassy eyed the Australian yanked the scissors, a long hot squirt of thick dark blood came steaming into the night air. Frank collapsed face down in the soft garden bed.

 

The Australian breathing heavily, his breath smoking the cool night air but he was outwardly calm. He cleaned the scissors with a white handkerchief, produced with a flourish, staining the virgin linen blood red. After jauntily wiping the scissors clean and popping them into his top pocket he tutted at the inert body then looked round to smile benignly at me. I felt a chill run through my curved spine and abhorrence at the lack of remorse or humanity in the Australian's face.

 

"Get inside" the Australian said simply, I made an attempt to go to Frank's side "No, leave him" then he bellowed "Manuel, Manuel come I have some dirt for you to clean!". Lights flicked on inside the house and a stooped man came fumbling out the front door tripping over his long stained yellowed nightgown he landed on all fours like a dog "Ahahaha!!!" a guttural laugh came from the Australian, "you old fool you have as little co-ordination as you do self-respect" the Australian kicked a clod of soil at the dogged old man striking his shoulder, further dirtying his besmirched bed gown. The old man, Manuel, got to his feet and straightened his back. The Australian pointed to Frank's prone form "there, inside now" and kicked the recovering old man’s bottom as we meandered past sending him sprawling again. With a curt laugh the Australian thumbed me to go in the house and I wandered inside, no resistance from a crippled little man.

 

I arrived in an ornate hallway a plush dark red carpet flanked by deep mahogany furniture displaying a cacophony of objects from around the world. I noticed a theme running through the items - war. "Now we visit the Colonel, Manuel bring that tall fellow into the dining room, go in Garfield he's waiting for you". I pushed the half ajar heavy oak door in front of me, a strange smell met my nostrils exotic incense mixed in with something unidentifiable like old wet wood with a touch of burned honey, not a nice smell. The door opened and I stood on the precipice of the high windowed dining room, its contents giving me no inclination to enter.

 

A kindly old man stood in the room smiling benevolently his wizened face giving him the look of a shrivelled prune. It was not the old man that made me fear to tread another step into the room cooler than the night thrashing at the windows. Phil Collins played softly in the background. The old man seemed unperturbed by my reaction, actually he took great delight in it, and his smile broadened further as I recoiled and turned to leave, but it was too late the Australian was close behind and I had no hope of retreat as he pushed me deeper into the room.

 

 

 

The colonel strode forward and said "down boy, they are mine and mine alone, you've already damaged some of the goods. Information is king boy" He said shaking one withered finger in the air, if we were not in this situation I may even have found the gesture endearing but it just added to the horrific farce. The old man continued "well after money of course and it pays us to reclaim what these two know, so quit dawdling and put them in their places so I may begin" the old man's eyes lit up with glee as he passed his hand over a tray just out of sight. His hands though old were as dextrous and delicate as a pianists. I recoiled as I watched them crawl over the silver implements in the tray, testing the keenness of edges and the sharpness of points. I hated this man more than the abhorrent thuggish Australian. The Australian's anger was swift like the current of a river but quickly abated, brutal though he may be he was not thoughtful in his malice. No the Colonel appeared to be a different kind of evil cold, dominating, tyrannical and calculating like a chess player three moves ahead. That was to say if evil truly existed thought Garfield, but then again was there time for Philosophical debate when your life wasn’t in the hands of madmen.

 

Old man Manuel came in dragging an apparently lifeless Frank. Only when cast to the ground did I see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Frank was alive and that instilled some hope, meagre though it may be at least I wasn’t alone.

"Uhhhhh" moaned Frank, the Colonel doddered over to him and swiftly booted him across the jaw. The damage was negligible as the colonel weakly raised his jack booted foot again. The second swipe only served to arouse Frank out of the comatose stupor "what no, no" Frank cowered before the wizened old man, to the colonel's great amusement. The colonel booted foot placed on top of Frank's hunched shivering body shouted to the Australian "take the other one over there and fasten him, this one will not take long and take a photo". My heart sank and gorge arose as I was pushed past the horrific site of the former person that had been in the colonel's company.

 

“So you’re a smart one aye?” tattled the colonel as he picked up a sharp looking implement and examined it in the bad light. “Do you know why you’re here Garfield?” the colonel turned and looked into my face only then did I see how truly wizened he was. “No” my arms were now firmly tied to the gilded chair the flight and fight drained from me, I’d always wondered how those people murdered in concentration camps had faced their inevitable deaths, I sank back into the gilded mahogany chair. There was a slight anger in my voice obviously detected by the wizened old man, he nodded to the Australian who stepped forwarded into the light and slapped me hard across the face; I came up tasting salty iron blood. “Less attitude please, have you ever heard the phrase anger only hurts yourself? Well in this context it does” He laughed to himself, I only stared at the back of his head as the Australian put the finishing touches my leg bonds. “I see you are now firmly ensconced” He turned and smiled " good teeth. I glanced over at the thing next to me that was once a living human being, gorge rose in my throat. I remembered a character called James Bond that would come out with a witty sardonic comment “treat all your guests so well?” (Raise one eyebrow). I only felt the clamminess of my hands and the panic beginning to rise like a kettle boiling in my chest.

 

“A man about to die I feel should at least know why he is about to die” an air of self-importance surrounded the colonel like a cloak. Nose high, he was an actor on a stage and I could not help but feel this well-rehearsed show was for my benefit, the deadly dance begun. “You ever hear of Genghis Khan? Of course you have! Or Malcom X, or Bin-Laden, or Plato, or Bowlby, or Lennon, or Thompson? What do all these people have in common? They influenced history! They are players and we!” He held a tiny sharp blade so close to my eye I could not focus on it, the colonel’s eyes however were somewhere faraway. “We are but mere sheep for them to corral” he withdrew the knife and strode the floor with animated hands “We are dead Garfield, society is dead, old wood lives on and on and the young are weak, pathetic shadows of humankind. You see Garfield old friend we need change with no change there is stagnation. Mother Nature has a funny way of balancing the world. For instance Garfield no-one knows why there are equal men and women in the world, no-one! It just is. Now there is one thing your science cannot explain! Ha” He almost spat the word science as the feverent speech continued, I began to think he may be quite mad.

 

“You Garfield are the exception in a genetically perfect world, you are the freak. Natures balancing act. You are the Shepard and we your flock”. He swept his arms and pirouetted as a man half his age and finished kneeling before me looking intently into my eyes his hands digging into my thighs. “For years however Garfield the sheep have not been placid we ‘the sheep’” he embedded his claw like hand deeper into my thigh, hot pain shot through my leg and I winced into my chair “have been controlling the shepherds for many years. We identified them long before they gained notoriety and if they did not dance to our merry song… poof… we destroyed them. Simple, yet effective way of making life bearable, being a sheep that is.” He stood back now turned and began sharpening a blade, the sound grating up and down my spine. “You Garfield are a Shepard, you don’t know it, you may never have known it, but they are sure, well as sure as they ever are” shrugging he said back still turned. “You see Garfield I have been retired for a very, very long time. The last Shepard appeared many moons ago and since then I’ve had no work because well… your kind don’t pop up no more. Nature isn’t allowed to play its lottery and all the numbers are fixed. Sad really… but I was retired and took up golf. I hate golf Garfield.” He looked strangely round at me his tone changing to that of the enthralled scholar “You are a genius I hear. I don’t doubt you are and I would be doing the world a disservice letting you die. However my employers have decided that it is extremely unlikely that you would cooperate with our ventures and you should pass like a moth before the flame.” He fluttered his hands like a butterfly in front of a dim lamp while smiling into my eyes. I seized my chance “I’m sure I could help out” The colonel’s smile broadened further; he then nodded to the Australian, slap, the blood taste washed again around my mouth. “Silly” he waggled a finger in front of my face “Silly, Billy. We have not tested you yet” In a fluid movement he picked the sharpened blade. My eyes stuck to the blade, his other hand grasped my arm and pinned it to the broad mahogany arm which it was already tied.

Chapter 15

 

Annabelle…

 

Terry awoke to a thundering headache. His hand clasped his head slowly running the tips of his fingers down his eyes, cheek, chin, throat… Terry realised he had a tear in the side of his face. He felt the rough crumbly basilic feel of the Quick clot. The memories came flooding back. The memories. Everything, mother, father, childhood, him beating us, us beating each other, the confusion, the hate, then one day we all turned. Father waltzed back into our lives again, stereotypically drunk, we all knew what that meant. mother was a strong woman " I once saw her head-butt a neighbour breaking her nose, a large aggressive red haired woman who threw her weight around on our street it was the first and the last time I heard her swear “served the fat b***h right” she said as she straightened her already perfect hair as the woman ran from our house holding the bloody mess that had been her nose. My mother no matter what she had she had her pride, a smart, delicate, well-dressed woman who spoke with an accent belying her true heritage. To cross her however was a mistake.

 

He went for me first, stumbling and grumbling towards me, she got in the way. Usually she would take the punishment but there was defiance in her stance rhis time and she swung for him first. Drunk as he was he caught her hand deftly in a vice like grip. “Got a little fight in ya, aye? I be gan soft on ye!” He smiled even from my vantage point I could smell the stale beer, cheap whisky and the ashtray mouth. My mother looked to one side and said in a flat calm tone “children, get him”. I mechanically moved towards the man I called father as did my wide eyed brother and sister. I wrapped round his legs, my sister one arm, my older brother the other and my mother clawing at his eyes and smashing any ornaments she could lay hand to over his head. I remember the look of childlike fear on my father’s face as he pleadingly looked down at me and began to topple, that moment I saw he was weak like me. I scrunched my eyes shut and held on ever tighter, I imagined a coiled snake, but I wasn’t a snake. I was a scared eleven year old boy. I never let go even as he tried to pleadingly say sorry. I even never let go as my mother, bedraggled hair, screaming picked up the metal carriage clock from above the hearth, a present from Uncle John and Auntie Hillary, and bludgeoned the man I called father to death. The police officer untangled me from my father’s twitching corpse.

 

That was the day my family evaporated and from that moment a whirlwind of self-destructive pain began. Mother was incarcerated, that took everything from her, self-respect and pride was gone and I hardly recognise the woman that was left, she died soon after release, state power in full swing and as compassionate as ever. We the children went into ‘care’. My sister is dead, I believe she killed herself after being abused by a foster family. My older brother by two months is an abuser of almost any substance he can find. I never blamed him but could never save him, he runs from that day and if he finds any solace there he is welcome to it. We live in the same city yet I haven’t seen him in at least twenty five years.

 

All that weight, that crushing knowledge was gone and that was it. It wasn’t like anything I had felt before. A blessed calmness was over me, I knew what I had been and what I had done but she understood me, this child. THE child.

 

My face slowly peeled from the soft leather seat. I   looked around blinking flaky crusted blood out of another man’s eyes. The road outside was quiet, the soft vibration of a phone could be felt in my suit-jacket pocket. I rolled over onto my back and with a sigh reached into my inside pocket and pulled the phone from the silken fabric. “Hello” I must sound weary, weary and rough. “Is it done?” A female voice, hard as ice. “It is done”. “Bring the proof” The line went dead. Ah, I hadn’t expected that but I supposed this was a job that most people would have baulked at so evidence would be required. I began thinking of ways to retrieve the body of a child around the same age. This thought evaporated almost as soon as it was formed " I sat up and looked at the child and smiled “ah well, the old tricks die hard”.

 

Chapter 16

 

Jericho…

 

Jericho kissed his wife goodbye, he detected a new fragrance, it was not for him he knew, but he still uttered the obligatory "you smell nice darling". She smiled that playfully innocent smile which had captured his boyhood many years ago. The smile disappeared as soon as his back was turned and Jericho sloped down the chalk white steps of their home he had conned, swindled, double-crossed and lied for. He thought about the crushing of his boyhood innocence for the powerful man she had wanted to emerge and did. He thought back to when he and his wife had first met, now more than ever he was sure he had been pursued, brought down and devoured by a far deadlier opponent. She will have her games and I will have mine he thought, have your luxury b***h, with the clunk click of Jericho’s car he got in and allowed himself to once again enjoy the hollow luxury.

 

Jericho began to drive not noticing the little details of a journey he’d made a thousand times. He felt empty, the kind of emptiness that let him know that he would never be with the woman lest his wife discover. She could not bear suitors to their little paradise. Her paradise not his minimalist clean lines, bleak furniture, little warmth and cats. I f*****g hate cats thought Jericho. Maraji had a dog, a scruffy house with a pot of soup on the constantly on the boil she was the polar opposite of this s**t he had somehow landed himself in. This cold slow death, clawing at his neck like a plastic bag slowly being pushed down his oesophagus, F**k! He knew he needed out, he was cornered his f**k wit children another creation of her. They were corrupted, a part of her she was a cancer and it was too far gone. Panic rose in his chest, he began chocking, wildly looking around, pawing the car windows, sweat creasing his brow. His hand slipped across the slick wheel.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Hope you enjoy.

I put this on here hoping some feedback.

If it held your attention a (1) in the comment box would be appreciated, if not a (2).

I'm not going to be upset - criticism is a growing process!

Cheers.