by steve higgs
The thing was half a metre in every direction and housed within a steel frame that formed a cube. It was dark in the room so making out details was hard, occasional flashes of lightning lit the room though to reveal a jumble of electrical cables connected here and there and circuit boards on one side. It was sitting on a sack barrow, the type with two wheels so that you leaned it back and wheeled it around at an angle. It looked heavy. On one side, a long, thick cable about three metres in length ended in a spike.
‘They fit them in nuclear submarines. I couldn't tell you what purpose they were used for, but it was jolly hard to get hold of and modify. Apologies if I bore you with the details. It takes a while to charge up.'
‘Oh, no problem.’
You complete psycho.
‘This is where you beg for your life.’ She prompted.
‘Sorry to disappoint. I would rather know how many people you have killed.’
‘Men.’
‘Hmm?’
‘Men. I only kill men. And the answer is seventy-three… I think. I lost count at one point, but I think it is seventy-three. Do you want to know why?’
‘Let’s circle back to that.’ I was buying time. I didn’t know what for, but it had to be a good idea. The lights were off in the house. At least they were in this room and the lobby. ‘What was with the semen?’
‘Oh, that. Well,' she grabbed a bag from the floor next to the capacitor, unzipped it and pulled out something I couldn't make out. It looked like a large pile of cloth. ‘the semen is something I collect. I get some from every man I kill as a reminder. I lost some a while back which is why I don't know what the true number is. I also used it to make the act more convincing. I can't let my sisters know who I am. They all believe the story of the spell. They like the runes bit, it's so mystical to them, makes it all so real and they collect for me the hair and the blood and the semen. I don't keep the blood or the hair, but the semen is a fun souvenir, don't you think?'
‘What about me. You didn’t get my semen.’
‘Yes, I did.’ She held up a test tube sized thing that had some liquid in it.
She had taken it while I was unconscious!
Unnerved and wanting desperately to check my junk, I watched as she unravelled the pile of cloth. It was a pair of rubber overalls with built-in boots.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to know why?’ she asked.
‘Oh, go on then.’ I encouraged, faking my enthusiasm.
‘Quite simply, all men are scum. The first one I killed was my husband. He cheated on me and had the audacity to tell me it was my fault. My father had cheated on my mother and bragged about it. I would have killed him too, but the bastard died before I had a chance. Killing my husband was so liberating, so rewarding. I knew I had to help my sisters out by freeing them from their cheating, lying bastard men.'
She moved to the device, checking something. ‘Nearly there. I don't always use this, of course. It would leave a trail even I couldn't cover up. Sometimes it is poison. A few of them I drowned in the bath. A quick hit with the chloroform, hold them under for a bit. Easy. Then I turn up, do the autopsy and declare it accidental death. Fool proof.'
‘All for a fee.’
‘What? No! I never charge for my service. I do it for love. My sisters deserve my help. Have you not seen the joy I have brought?’
‘What about my client? He was distraught at losing his father.’
She laughed at me. ‘That loser? He bedded me without a second thought. Happily came in my mouth, so I could run to the toilet and pretend to spit it in the sink and then was generous enough to drink some Anthrax. You men make it all so easy. Except you. You turned me down. Twice. You are an odd character, Tempest Michaels. Anyone would think you were in love. Your client though? He’s long dead.’
She started putting on the rubber overalls.
‘He’s not actually.’
‘He’s not what?’ she asked the question without pausing her movements. The overalls were over her shoulder and she was fiddling around behind her to catch the zip. ‘Awfully dangerous this bit. Need to wear the right protective clothing.’
‘He is not dead. Mick Cotton was rushed to the hospital and recovered from the poison.’
‘Impossible.’
‘I spoke with him earlier this afternoon. When I left he was about to talk to the police. They have your picture.’
‘Nonsense. You’re making it up to delay your death.’
She reached back into the bag and pulled out a helmet with a visor.
‘You told him your name was Emma Stone.’
That stopped her. Her face was showing anger for the first time. She threw the helmet back down. ‘You’re lying.’ She roared.
‘How could I possibly know that if I hadn't spoken to him.'
She was trying to find an answer. Something she had missed.
‘Then I'll have to kill him too.' She snapped at me.' You couldn't stop me, and you came closer than anyone. If I have to kill a few police officers, then so be it.' She picked the helmet up again. ‘No. I have a better idea. I'll move again. I have moved plenty of times before. Maybe I'll go to America.'
She jammed the helmet on her head, then flicked a switch on top of the machine. Thunder clapped overhead as the noise from the machine changed pitch.
She picked up the electrode just as a loud noise came from the lobby the other side of the closed dining room door.
Her head snapped toward the noise. ‘It looks like your big friend wasn’t dead after all. He must have a tough skull. Do excuse me, I won’t be but a minute.’ She put the electrode back down on the floor, making sure the steel spike at the end was off the ground and resting on one of the insulated coils of the lead so it would not prematurely discharge and picked up the gun. She held it confidently in her right hand.
As she opened the door and stepped through it, I heard more noise. This time it was Hilary's voice!
He yelled, ‘Take that, you psycho bitch.’ And I could hear a struggle and the sound of the gun skittering across the tile. The umbrella stand next to the door went flying. I could tell because it was made of wicker. Nothing else makes a sound like that. I tried struggling free of my bonds but the frame I was tied to held me firm.
The fight between Hilary and Victoria was still going. I could hear Hilary losing though. A blow would land, and he would make a noise, an outrushing of air from his lungs as she hit his breadbasket or a gasp of pain as she grabbed or twisted or punched. I had been beaten by her in seconds and could testify to her ability. She had fight training, lots of it by my judgement.
‘You pathetic sack.' Her voice carried through from the lobby before she came back through the door pushing Hilary ahead of her. She had his right arm by the wrist and had it twisted up under his armpit It was folded against the joint and she was forcing it upward so he had to walk on his toes. Her other hand was gripped around the back of his neck giving her control of his head.
She wheeled him around to face me. 'Another one of your friends, Tempest?' I said nothing. ‘You really have let them down. I guess I'll just have to kill you all.'
At that precise moment, Hilary let all his weight go. He just folded his legs out and dropped. I heard a sickening crunch as his shoulder dislocated, but he caught her by surprise and dropped free.
In one smooth, fluid motion, he grabbed the electrode by its insulated sheath, came up to his knees and jammed it into her as she lunged for him.
In front of me, there was a blinding flash as the capacitor dumped its full charge through her body. She was propelled backward, hitting the window behind her with a sickening crunch. Hilary was blasted back to the opposite side of the room to fetch up against the patio doors.
Even I was shunted back, but the wall was mere inches behind me.
I was momentarily blind and deaf, but the terrible ringing in my ears was like sweet music because I was alive.
‘Hilary?’ I called. I could barely hear my voice. It was like my head w
as underwater. He might have answered but I couldn’t tell.
‘Hilary?’ I called again.
‘Here. I'm here, Tempest.' He was touching me. I couldn't see him but the big white nothing that was my vision was slowing fading in its intensity.
‘Are you okay?’
He snorted with laughter. ‘Never better.’
I wasn’t sure what that meant but it sounded positive enough, so I left it alone. ‘Did you see Big Ben? Is it true?’ I didn’t want him to be dead. It would leave too big of a hole in my life. Plus, I didn’t want to go to his funeral and see eighteen thousand women turn up to mourn him.
‘He's alive. I saw him moving. I think he is hurt though. There is blood coming from his head.' One of my feet came free. Hilary was untying me. ‘Sorry this is taking so long. My right arm doesn't seem to want to work.'
‘It’s dislocated.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘I watched it happen. The hold she had on your arm is designed to pop the shoulder out of its joint if the captive struggles.’
‘What did I miss?’ Big Ben’s voice came from my left, over by the lobby door.
Improvised Pub O’clock. Friday, November 11th 2012hrs
Twenty minutes later I slugged down a long draft of cold, crisp beer. Big Ben had placed a call to Jagjit who was sitting with Basic at The Dirty Habit pub around the corner wondering where on earth the rest of us had got to.
Jagjit had grabbed Basic and shouted to Natasha that there was trouble at my place, then the three of them ran to find Big Ben, Hilary and I all sat on the floor in the lobby with our backs to the wall and a very, very dead, attractive blonde lady lying in a heap in my dining room.
Natasha was incredibly sweet in her concern for me. I assured her I was the least injured of the three and was only still on the floor because my eyesight was still not fully returned, and my balance seemed a bit off. I told her that I was only alive due to Hilary’s bravery and watched as she gave him a lip to lip reward. His chest and his very being seemed to swell as if his soul was glowing and growing.
We asked Basic to put the kettle on and sent Jagjit to buy beer from the village shop – to hell with my diet, I needed a beer. Only once those tasks were performed did I place a call to the police.
Jagjit got back before the police arrived so I was happily downing a can of Cobra lager when flashing blue lights started to reflect through the frosted pane of my door.
By then, we had moved through to the kitchen and had fetched chairs from the dining room for Big Ben and Hilary. We had fashioned a makeshift sling from a tea towel to support his arm and given him paracetamol and ibuprofen to take the edge off the pain. He was bearing it really well.
Big Ben had an egg-sized lump on the back of his skull that had split the skin and spilled a good amount of blood before the flow had stemmed itself. He acted as if he was already recovered in typical Big Ben style and was most likely considering who he could call upon to play naughty nurse.
The dogs tried to bark at everyone that came in to start with but as the procession of police, paramedics, coroners and then crime scene chaps kept coming, even they gave up.
‘Reload.' I requested as I held my empty can above my head. I was sitting on the kitchen tile on a cushion with both dogs on my lap. I was comfortable enough and very glad to not only be alive but to be surrounded by people that I could trust.
While the police and paramedics and others buzzed around us, we chatted like we would on any other Friday night.
A female paramedic was dressing Big Ben’s head wound and, as usual, she was not immune to his charm. As he blasted her with his best smoulder, Jagjit tapped him on the arm.
‘Yes, mate?’ he asked.
‘Erm, just curious about whether there was an update on Bethany, Britney, and Bianca?’ Said Jagjit.
The smoulder faltered. ‘I can report that I am out of the mire with Britney. She messaged yesterday to let me know she was surfing the crimson tide.’
Natasha screwed her face up. ‘Surfing the… Oh, my God, Ben. That is a horrible turn of phrase.’
‘Not ambiguous though, is it?’ He pressed on. ‘I appear to still have an issue with Bethany and Bianca.’ He sucked his bottom lip for a second, deep in thought. ‘I honestly thought I would never get caught.’
The paramedic lady finished what she was doing and moved away, sensing that Big Ben was the player he looked to be.
‘Having babies could really cramp my style. Girls will assume I am married or at least involved monogamously with someone if they see me pushing a pram.’
‘Two prams.’ Jagjit added helpfully.
Big Ben scowled at him.
Hilary had something to say on the matter. ‘I think you are coming at this from the wrong angle, Ben. Kids are great, and you are all getting older. If you don’t start procreating soon, you may miss out on one of the best things in life.’
Unintentionally, I caught Natasha’s eye. She gave me a smile that could have meant anything.
Big Ben looked to be considering Hilary’s comment but hadn’t been sold on the idea.
‘Okay, how about we come at it from another angle?’ Hilary tried. ‘A few months from now you are presented with a son. What do you call him?’
‘No idea.’ He shot back, a trace of annoyance in his voice.
‘How about Harry?’ Natasha suggested.
‘How about Ace?’ asked Jagjit. Big Ben seemed to consider that one. However, before he could finish thinking and speak Jagjit continued. ‘Middle name would have to be Hole though.’
There was a moment of silence as we all looked at each other, then simultaneously we all burst out laughing.
‘Ace Hole.’ Spluttered Big Ben.
And so there followed a competition to come up with the best boy’s name for Big Ben’s son.
Chief Inspector Quinn arrived twenty minutes after the first uniforms had started coming through my door. I recognised his annoying voice giving orders.
I called out, ‘In here, Quinn.' Then realised my error. I had shown an interest in him and thus opened a door for him to ignore me and pretend I was unimportant.
A paramedic knelt in front of me. They had spoken to me already and moved on to examine Hilary and Big Ben as the priority patients. Now he wanted to check out how I was doing. As he flashed a light into my eyes to see what they did, I asked him about the body in my dining room.
‘I heard them say the spike had gone through the rubber to reach her skin. She died instantly from the charge.' He stopped talking and looked around. Big Ben, Jagjit, Hilary and all the others were listening intently to what he had to say. ‘Err, how much do you want me to say? It's a bit gory.'
‘Tell us everything.’ Hilary demanded.
‘Was it you that got her?’ he asked.
‘Yup.’ I replied before Hilary could decide how to answer. ‘Bravest damned thing I ever saw. Dislocated his own arm to do it.’
The paramedic's face was filled with awe. He turned his head to find a colleague. ‘Here, Wendy. Come listen to this.'
Wendy was in the lobby where she had been talking on the radio, most likely with their dispatcher or the hospital, but she did as asked, and crossed the kitchen to join the man tending to me, drawing half a dozen other cops and random uniforms with her.
The paramedic, that had largely forgotten about my eyes, then regaled a growing crowd with Hilary’s courage in facing down the crazed serial killer.
Encouraged to talk, Hilary launched hesitantly into a retelling of the tale from his perspective. He had gone to bed with a migraine in the middle of the afternoon and had awoken when Big Ben came in and called out for me. Hearing a scuffle downstairs, he slid out of bed and poked his head around the landing. What he saw was the witch standing over Big Ben as he lay on the tile in my lobby. Blood was creating a pool by his head and the witch had a steel bar in her hand.
Then he listened to her chatting as she performed unseen tasks in the dining room. She was a
ddressing me by name, but I never answered or responded. Eventually, he concluded that I must also be unconscious.
He snuck carefully down the stairs, praying they would not squeak under his weight, then wracked with indecision, he waited and waited. His legs were going numb from standing still, but I had come around and was talking to her, talking about who she really was, and she was explaining that I was about to die. He heard her tell me all about the capacitor and what it would do.
To his great credit, Hilary didn't embellish his story at all. He described himself as terrified, the conviction of his tale drawing utter silence from the sea of faces now staring at him. When finally he could wait no longer, he had taken his keys from his pocket and thrown them hard at my front door to create a noise, then leaped at her when she emerged from the dining room with her back to him.
He admitted that he hadn't thought beyond tackling her but wasn't surprised when she proceeded to beat the crap out of him. He laughed at himself at that point, winning yet more appreciation from the crowd.
As he reached the end of the story, the crowd in front of us began to part. Someone was forcing their way to the front. As the paramedic that had completely forgotten about me and his colleague Wendy finally stepped aside, it was Anthea's form that they revealed.
‘Hi, Anthea.’ Hilary managed with a smile.
‘Oh, baby. Baby are you okay?’ She had tears on her face. Her mascara now on her cheeks and making a bid for freedom.
Hilary shrugged, the foolish move rewarding him with a hard jolt of pain from his ruined shoulder. Anthea rushed to his side. ‘I’ll heal.’ He replied simply. It was the exact right thing to say.
Wendy pulled out her phone and took a picture of the wounded hero and his loving wife. She was crying too. ‘That’s so beautiful.’ She said. ‘You are such a lucky lady.’
‘I'm sorry, sweetie. I have been so wrong about you.' Anthea said. ‘I have missed you so much.'