02:00 ~ The Arrival

    The Detective checked the time. 02:00 exactly as his tires made a crunching noise on the gravel. He was accompanied by the young sergeant who he had first met in the Theatre. The officer, whose name Gast knew to be Allan, had then ventured to the bare railway station with him. For that he was grateful. He was also grateful for the work Allan had done - tracing them all to this remote location.
    The clouds were being boiled as they appeared to cascade over their blackened pot toward the bustling house. The starlight disappeared and with no lamps on the pathway leading to the house, everything went black beneath the trees.
    The two policemen got out of the car and looked on in terror at the looming house. The wind caused the leaves to spiral in its direction. A warning? A signal, that everything and everyone involved with the evening was inside?
    Across the roof of the car, Gast said to Allan, ‘I need you to round up everyone inside for me. I’m going to walk around the building. I need to check that nobody is left outside.’
    
    The Detective began his circle of the stone mass that was this country home. Through the windows he saw a crowd of party people dancing to ‘The Mission’. He felt disgusted and disgusting. Like a pervert eagerly gazing into a secret affair. He saw Allan go in. Through the glass, he saw him ask for the owner. The terrified boy met by a man wearing a wonderful dress - The Queen, Jerry.
    Nothing was sinister on the outside, only sinful. Groups of three, four. Gast ushered them inside, using his police badge as a source of support and protection. He envisioned them as lizards and snakes, poised to bite. ‘Alien Sex Fiend’ began to pulsate from inside. Anonymous, ghost like figures were now retreating to the inside. The news had spread among the creatures of The Detective’s arrival. They were obedient, but reluctant. Whatever they were, they were now gathered entirely into the ball room, like sheep.
    Jerry took to a small platform at one end, motioned to the DJ to lower ‘London After Midnight’ and raised his voice. He was carrying a lit pumpkin in one hand which threw orange onto his gown. They were all at his command. Tears were rolling down his already saturated cheeks, revealing reddened skin beneath the makeup.

    James watched on the floor as the speech unfolded from a weeping Jerry. The f*****g drama queen was making a horrible situation worse with his worrying intro:
    ‘Dear friends,’ he cried wearily. ‘I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you all this dreadful news, but…’ his act was monumental. He threw himself inward with sadness, ‘…but. But. Michael is dead!’
    James’ heart shifted to the right. Shock, gasp and fear took them all like huge blocks of ice, hurtling from the fragile ceiling. Michael, The Angel, The Actor, had left our plains, to graze elsewhere. The Lover was left alone now, only a human admirer of the divinity that lived in Michael. He should have known that he wouldn’t be able to hold him forever, but the pain forced him to the floor.
    And there, kneeling, James swore he would have revenge on the killer - the treacherous non-believer - for what had happened to Michael. As he looked up, he could see Jerry.
    The Detective came forward from the back of the platform, with cautious Allan trailing behind.
    ‘This isn’t all. Do we have a couple here, hmm - a man and a woman, by the name of Mr and Mrs, erm, Darling’
    ‘Yes Detective,’ one aristocrat ventured whilst sobbing, ‘I don’t know if they’re here now. They took a walk a couple of hours ago - they could still be out. They were getting very worried you see. The lady wasn’t feeling well and wanted to return home.’
    ‘And why was that?’
    ‘She had had a bad feeling about her children. A dream, or an instinct or something. We all tried to console her, but she kept taking it out on her husband! A strange lady indeed.’
    ‘Yes, very strange.’ However, deep inside, Gast was horrified as to the reasons why a mother should fear for her children’s safety, at the same time as they were being kidnapped.
    The Detective stood back up from his kneeling position from which he had gained this information. The room was in chaos. A mess. A sea of mourners and consolers. He needed them to listen to him again, but didn’t have very much energy. After a few failed attempts at regaining control, Allan, having noticed this, stepped forward and bellowed that the room turn silent immediately. Gast Acknowledged him.
    ‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ now feeling like a game-show host, ‘I have not finished! I need your uppermost cooperation! Now. Several horrific events have occurred tonight. These involving murder, kidnap, assault, children, m-m my own wife!’ The crowd were astonished at the newly fangled passion in the otherwise drone-like voice of The Detective. ‘Yes. You heard me correctly! My own f*****g wife is caught up in all of this. I don’t even know if she is alive or not!’

    Fin stood leaning against a door frame on the edge of the ballroom. He watched, with fascination, Gast breaking down on stage. He wanted to scream and shout at the detective.
    ‘My God! What is wrong with you? You’re a single man again. You can f**k who you want. What are you doing getting attached to this one b***h?’
    He was still a bitter man. Wilhelmina had wanted to play rough. He sure as hell gave her rough. There’s a point where a man needs to put his foot down - on her. Obviously, he regretted how things turned out between him and Mina, but now looking at this weeping puppy on the stage, struggling to remain a complete pro, Fin felt free. Besides, this ‘lady of the manor’ had needed to be taught a lesson. Fin’s no nonsense logic had spoken to him. It was just wrong to inflict that much pain in the bedroom, he thought. It was wrong not to expect the same back. His shoulders were scratched and there had been blood around his neck.
    From the field they ran back, Fin and Mina. The cold and wet had finally won and chased them from the outside of the barn back to the house. And then, in the house, the real fun commenced. Violence of violets and crimson and blue. Bruises had been exchanged in the pink darkness.

    The creatures had been briefed. They knew all they needed to for now. Gast had been reluctant to feed them this much. Their sovereign, Michael, was now art, and they knew also of the attack at the hospital. Every time it came back to Gast that fate should come back to him again, he headed straight for the small drinks table, and poured out a shot. The brown liquid and the antique furniture seemed to him to be clotting his blood. The temperature and grief began to make things hard for him to continue his duties.  These included interrogating everyone present at the party.

    Mrs Darling saw the police car on the drive as she ascended a small bank on the damp grass. She let out a few grunts to her husband, to tired and angry with his ignorance to care very much at all about whether or not he understood by them. Running, her heels were digging into the pristine lawn and leaving a trail of terror. Her blue body and dress surged like a beam toward the house.
    ‘Oh my God!’ said her husband, when he finally understood what had prompted this outburst. This walk was meant to help calm her down. It had been the best time both parties had had in a long time. They both agreed that it was time to return, lest they be left out in the countryside till dawn. Now, broken, now, what now? Now, ‘Oh God!’ Now, maybe their worst fears had been realized and  maybe she had been right all along. Perhaps HE had found them.
    This was now a two man race - not that it mattered much who won. Two ugly, ungraceful beams now bobbing on an ocean of mist and lawn. They reached the door together.
    The Detective was waiting in the porch. He put his arms around the distressed couple and led them to the study in which he had taken residence. In that room, he confessed to the man and the woman that he had failed them in rescuing their children thus far, but would continue to try. Continue to try.

    A taxi trudged up the drive, destined to take the frantic Mr and Mrs Darling to alternative lodgings.

    Alex walked hand in hand with Mina up to the house. Not phased by the temperature in the slightest, warmth seemed to flow from her hand into his, maintaining his entire body temperature. He saw the fire-fly taxi part with two familiar faces inside.
    His thoughts then turned to Fin. A man from whom the two had fled. He didn’t even know of the existence of Alex. Alex wondered if Mina was going through the same trauma - she didn’t appear to be.
    He now recognized the couple in the taxi. They were the two who had almost seen him earlier that night, crawling around in the dark. They had bickered. Compromised. Perhaps the woman had finally got her way and they were returning home. Home to their big suburban house, where they might pay the babysitter and possibly look in to check on their dreaming children.

    Out of the corner of his ear, he heard the door creak and felt her presence again. It was exhilarating. From the corner of his eye, Fin caught the velvet dress of Mina as it glided up the stairs, with a young boy behind.

    Jerry had plonked himself down in front of the dressing table from which he had risen so many hours previously. The luxurious bedroom still echoed the racket of the guests downstairs. He thanked God for the silence, or rather, quiet. He sighed. He cried. He drank. All the time staring at himself. His fabulous dress had now found a new use for itself - as a poignant reminder. The sash, a river of golden tears. Poor Michael.
    The heavy door at his rear flew open and in came Mina.
    ‘Jerry!’
    The deflated host turned around wearily.
    Mina repeated her statement, ‘Jerry!’
    He could only reply with logic, ‘Mina. How nice of you to rejoin the party. I’m afraid the mood has become somewhat mournful.’ He was pissed in that stereotypically English fashion - slurring and blurting.
    ‘What on Earth is happening?’ She begged, ‘Please explain!’
    ‘I’m afraid we have lost our king. Our precious saviour. Our - our, Michael.’
    ‘Lost?’
    ‘Dead, my dear. Crucified, as I understand it my dear.’ The pink of the bedroom was unbearable when digested with the information. ‘Like art.’
    ‘Art? What the hell is this?’
    ‘He has been framed! Dear girl. Framed and exhibited in the very theatre we had all just sat not very long ago. Well, you weren’t there of course.’ He halted and looked behind the flustered Mina to the small escort behind her. ‘Nor were you, young man. And who might you be to enter into my, fabulous, sprawling, broken home?’
    Mina spoke for the timid Alex. ‘This is Alex. He is my protector now.’ She looked back and smiled at him, but he was too horrified by the severity of the situation.
    ‘Are you really? Well, I could do with some protection also if you’re interested, young Alex,’ Jerry went on, winking at the boy.
    ‘That’s enough Jerry,’ Mina scolded. ‘Michael is dead and you start your disgusting flirting already - with a young straight boy no less. Well!…’
    But she was cut off by the figure now blocking the doorway. Jerry’s eyes were already there by the time Mina and Alex had swivelled. With animal strength, Fin lunged for Alex. His iron hand locked itself around Alex’s throat and  forced him down onto the bed.  Mina’s screams brought no attention and Jerry sat paralyzed, oblivious because of the speed of the events. She then decided to take physical action. She gathered her things quickly into her purse; a radio, walkie-talkie and a small blade.
    With this, Mina took a stab into Fin’s meaty arms, causing him to let go. Her own strong arms allowed her to remove Alex from beneath Fin and together they ran. As before, they ran back again into the night.

    Detective Gast only heard faintly the cries for help. He did however hear clearly the stomp of running feet on the stairs. Then a man’s cry. After sprinting from the study, he only missed Mina and Alex by a matter of seconds. Looking around outside from the doorway, there was no trace of anyone. The Detective slammed the front door shut again.
    He leaped the stairs to the bedroom.
    Among the pink cushions and decorations, he found a now hysterical Jerry, and an equally, yet contrastingly hysterical Fin. The latter of which was bleeding.