by Mark Holme
Sorry we missed you,
gone to the cinema with kids,
enjoy your food, we will be back around 9:30
love,
Felicity
This was the third night Jack had returned to find his wife and children had gone out without him.
He lifted up the silver plate cover to find a Chinese take-away menu. Great. With a mobile phone next to it. Even better. He rang the number and ordered two number 7’s and a number 22 with a side of fried rice. Also known as two Szechuan beef and half a crispy duck with fried rice.
The perfect partners for a sweet black tea.
Jack slumped on his cosy brown leather sofa and put his feet up on the matching foot rest, stretched to reach the TV remote and put on the news at six, which was halfway through.
He was more interested in the skating squirrels than the family’s asking for help, who wants to go home to work? He switched channels again and again to avoid the pleading adverts. The doorbell rang.
A brief excitement overtook him as he anticipated the arrival of his family. Then he opened the door and was greeted by a spotty faced teenager, with greasy hair and a large paper bag containing a feast of Chinese food. Jack gave the deliverer £30 although the cost was only £23, he did not wait for change but slammed the door in his face. His trench coat on the wooden stand swayed in the breeze created.
At 9:30PM precisely his family arrived. His daughter Marina ran to hug Jack, her blonde her trailing behind her, and her little red dress swaying like a fairy princess. She was smiling so broadly that her cheeks were aching a little bit, but she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She missed her daddy so much.
Jennie also ran to hug him, she was a couple of years older than Marina at eleven. She had taken her dads brown hair; Jennie was wearing denim jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt with white writing across it.
John ran to the bathroom and a couple of minutes later exited, shouted “NIGHT”, and went into his room. John was the youngest at seven years old.
Though hugging his daughters Jack never took his eyes from Felicity, raising his eyebrows when John made his speedy exit. It was a look that only the two of them will fully understand, but it is clear to everybody that something is wrong here. Something in this marriage has not gone to plan, if there ever was a plan.
Felicity was not the most attractive lady, but she was certainly one of the kindest. Most of the time. Tonight she was not feeling so kind.
She picked up her book, from the glass table next to the sofa relatively close to Jack hugging the girls, and without looking him in the eyes said very calmly, “I told you we were going to the cinema five times Jack, the film was great thanks for asking, goodnight”.
Nighthawks is a 1942, oil on canvas painting by Edward Hopper, showing three figures in an all-night diner on a sharp street corner, all in their own insignificant worlds. They are portrayed in a simplistic picture book manner, because Hopper realised, just as I have, just how simplistic the vermin on the street can be. The painting wasn’t even intended to be called Nighthawks. It was intended to be called Night Hawks, but the mass bulk of idiotic reviewers decided to rename it for him. Artists are only recognised once they die? Edward Hopper received $3000 a month after completing his work, from the Art Institute of Chicago. Will you recognise my art before the end? Or are you a simplistic Night Hawk to?
I thought Jack Spencer had some of his ancestor’s blood in his veins, literally he may, but the blood pumping through his heart and mind is as thin and disgusting as an American Hot chocolate. Of course American hot chocolate does not exist anymore, how can it? America does not exist anymore. The German Empire has reached to the edge of the earth and still seeks more. Mark my words, there will be mass killings next.
Spencer’s heart just isn’t in the job anymore, he’s distracted, and he isn’t giving us the respect I deserve. I’ll get his attention, don’t worry about that; his respect will come tumbling after.
I can’t believe Jack hasn’t caught us yet, he needs my help. What help can I give him? I give Leo my entire body, what more can I give to Jack that can help against that? I could commit some small crime to get us locked away, but as the thought goes through my mind...
It goes through mine...
...and my problem still remains. How do you cause an accident?
Waking on the sofa, Jack didn’t even check to see if his wife and children were in or not, did not bother to splash his face with water. He stood up fully dressed in the clothes from the previous day.
Cigar, trench coat, breakfast skipped, gone.
He was at the Manchester Art Museum within thirty minutes, even with the rush hour traffic and one way systems and beeping horns.
It did not take him long to find the security office. The security guard, as large as he was, virtually bowed before him when he showed his badge.
Black fabric suit. Black tie. Short tight angled lapels. White buttons down the centre of the jacket, and white buttons above each pocket either side of the chest. Walther PPK 7.65mm pistol at his side. Black boots. Black cap. Black heart. Thick red band on the left arm, with a white circle and black swastika. He was government security for sure. On the lookout for Jews, not crimes.
Jack felt like spitting at him as he walked past. The guard had the smug look on his face of someone who knows they have an enemy that can do nothing to harm them.
The camera film technician was dressed in smart trousers, white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a black tie. Two cups of coffee beside him. He already had the films set up ready to view.
Jack asked the Security guard and technician to take a break, so he could puff on his cigar and think for a while alone.
All that could be seen in the room was the glowing computer screens lighting up Jack’s face, and the orange end of a brown Cuban cigar. Jack sat with his feet up on the desk, with the leather chair at his back sagging slightly under his weight. The door behind was open and blazed with white light from the 17th century life and death exhibition. In the light a silhouette of a tall man with a grey suit could be seen.
Silently he stepped into the room, standing directly behind Jack’s seat. He raised his arm as though about to strangle Jack, before lowering them and resting them on the back of the chair.
I really thought he was going to do it then. I really thought he was going to try and kill the lead detective. I must stop this. I can’t live my life always wondering if I’m going to kill every person I ever meet.
“Find anything detective?” my mouth spoke.
“Let us hope I do soon, this man will not stop” he responded, not even flinching at the sound of an unexpected voice in the room with him.
“I cannot bare to see any more school trips laughing at this priceless art, look here at the children mocking; formidable years lie before us one way or another”
He made me watch it all. Every last drop of blood dripping onto the milkshake bar’s floor. Made me look into their eyes and feel their fear and sorrow as I killed them all. Made me think of all the people who would be affected by their death. Made me think that I was making him do this.
I made him respect me.
I watched on trapped in my mind, looking through two portholes in my head. Two prison windows. I knew where we were headed, the moment my Dad’s side panel van was reversed out of the garage. The butcher’s knife on the passenger seat and the barb wire rattling in the back.
Of course he knew, I let him know.
She would not get away with this. She would not be allowed to treat us like scum and live. Nobody would. I should have seen this coming. I should have prevented it. I can’t prevent it, I can’t stop him.
No Leonidas, I cannot stop you.
It was 11:00 PM, just before closing time, when we walked into the shopping centre. Butchers knife and barb wire in my plain black rucksack. I must have looked like I’d just been to the gym, I must have looked so harmless.
I slid down the blac
k rubber handrail at the side of the escalator, getting dust and dirt from a million people’s hands onto my favourite grey suit. My brogues landed next to the bin were I had thrown my milkshake away.
White marble effect tiles at my feet, a sharp corner with large glass windows and the black and pink sign “Naked Beans”.
Silence.
I slipped in behind the bartenders, who were all gossiping at the opposing corner of the triangular counter, gliding into the bathroom were I waited.
The rattling sound, as the corrugated metal shutter slid 4/5 of the way shut, hid the sound of a bathroom door sliding closed. It was the zip of the rucksack they noticed.
With garden gloves on and barb wire roll in one hand, butcher’s knife in the other, I approached the closest bartender.
Before I got there Natasha screamed, running to press the button that raised the shutter. I sprinted across the glass bar and rugby tackled her to the floor. I watched as Leo hit her again and again with barbwire wrapped around his knuckles, tiny deep cuts littering her uniform. Red seeping through the black, as in her shock she lay still. Unable to defend herself.
The bald male manager grabbed me in a vice around my neck, he was very short but with thick biceps.
Slicing his fingers with the butcher’s knife his biceps counted for nothing, I spun around kneeling over him. One blow was all it took, one blow to turn something into nothing. My knife stuck in his skull, blood spraying out like a sprinkler on a golf course.
It was beautiful.
It made my stomach churn, though Leo held his nerve, smirking at the final waitress. Unravelling the barbwire as he walked.
She tried ducking and running past the approaching line of razor blades, but my hands lowered, the barbwire catching her around the neck. Leo launched her backwards using the barb wire as a slingshot around the poor waitress’ throat. She screamed, floating through the air until her head bounced against the sharp corner of the bar.
As she Drifted in and out of consciousness I grabbed the barbwire, tied a noose, and pushed the knot tighter and tighter, until blood flowed from the pale skin around her neck like Niagara Falls.
I approached Natasha laughing, Leo placed his arms either side of her face, “Natasha, die mürrischsten Suche nach kaffee Distributoren in Manchester.” Then Leo twisted his arms abruptly, snapping her neck like it was a cocktail stick.
“Auf Wiedersehen“
Chapter 7
The Lady Jew
Rufus was practically dancing around the bar, looking closer and closer at the wounds until his large nose was almost in the dried blood. His grey hair looked as thin and greasy as ever. Jack wasn’t even trying to stop him from creeping out the rest of the forensics team, as he half-heartedly took pictures to look at later.
The scene that he entered did not make him feel anything, his mind was back home. His mind was with his wife and children.
Leo had used the barbwire for a lot more than just killing; he had tied the deceased up to the ceiling so that the barbwire looked like puppet strings. The bald man was hunched over in the centre of the triangular glass bar. The two waitresses sat next to each other on the stools around the bar, as a couple perhaps. Leo? Leo had taken his seat on a separate side of the triangle; made himself a hot chocolate, sat down, and drank half. He had done it again, he had made art real. Jack did not see it, Jack did not see further than his own front door. Rufus realised the brilliance, Rufus appreciated the monstrous beauty of it all. Night Hawks was real.
Day and night the rat like creature studied the glass for fingerprints and saliva, turned the butcher’s knife over and over looking for any tiny bit of evidence. His job was an eerie task, but he loved it. Every tiny blade on the barb wire was examined. The floor was searched for the outline of a footprint. The dust from Leo’s seat was examined to bring back hundreds of suspects; every corner seemed futile. Then Rufus got to his favourite part of the scene, he always saved his favourite while last. Rufus examined the artefact bites.
Leo has gone too far this time, the first bites were made with a clamp and a set of dentures. These bites were made with my teeth. Blood, veins, artilleries, flesh, blood cells, plasma, tiny fragments of bone that my teeth scraped against; all being processed by my stomach. All being savoured by Leo.
How can such a monster be trapped inside me? I’ve had enough of this, this is too much. This is too far. This is the end for me. He cannot stop me.
I do not wish to stop us.
Today will be my last day on this earth; I’ve seen how easy it is to turn something into nothing, I’ve seen Leo do it without batting an eyelid. I’ve seen my own hands kill before, and felt Leo’s rush of excitement. There’s so much I wish I could have done.
There’s so much more chaos I could create. Do we really think that by killing ourselves, nobody will be murdered ever again? Over sixty million people died in WW2, what is a few more seventy years later? Life is nothing. You do nothing with your life. You are nothing.
Rufus rummaging around the scene proved useful. He almost exploded with excitement as he found miniscule fragments of skin flakes, on the seat of the chair were Leo had sat. He called Jack at once, but Jack did not share in his excitement.
Evidence had been found before on this boy, and he had led them astray like a true con-artist. He had led them to Harry Dert. Who’s to say he wasn’t going to do the same again?
Jack was right to be suspicious; the DNA from the stool returned hundreds of matches from within a ten mile radius of the crime. A lot of hands had touched that rubber escalator rail. Could this have been planned? As far as the police were concerned it was. He had led them astray before, he would try to walk them in circles again. Jack felt for the first time in his life like somebody had a leash around his neck, somebody was restricting him. Leonidas had one hand on the leather strap, Felicity had her hand on top of Leo’s. Spending so much time chasing death, eventually death catches up with you. Is the truth so far ahead that you can’t see it? Or is it standing right behind you? Sometimes you may get a chill down your spine, sometimes you sense that you are being watched when you aren’t. What if you were? What if Leo was stood behind you right now? Don’t look. It’s too late to look. Even if it weren’t you’d be too scared to turn around anyway. You are merely human.
What’s knew Jackie? What’s changed? There’s no message. No point to this madness. He was just testing himself, he was curious to challenge himself against Edward Hopper.
Jack gave up with his entire day. What could he do without Felicity at his side? He was nothing without her, she was the strong one, and she was the one with the heart of a hero and the resilience of Churchill. She held his family together, if he could still call it his. Jack Spencer brought tumbling down by a woman and three children. Jack Spencer will soon be nothing.
Constantly this boy was nibbling at his thoughts, nit picking at his sanity. Teeth sinking into his own as much as any of the victims.
This boy was brilliant, but disgusting. A brutal brain with no mercy; no understanding of right and wrong. No understanding of how to be human.
It's impossible to leave so many dead bodies without a scrap of evidence, some would say it is impossible to escape Jack. Some people would be correct.
Jack will catch me eventually, he knows it, I know it, and you know it. Leonidas does not. Leonidas would not accept that this murderous adventure ends in a cell; if it be a wooden box or behind steel bars, living on tax payer’s food.Leonidas is a romantic, he has had no reason to live for years, yet romance has stayed in his heart. That constant feeling that he will find the 'one'. When he finds this 'one' she will destroy him far better than I ever could, though of course I shall help him on his path to hatred. Born bad. Brought up by the devil. Tormented all his life by me. How long could you last before you snapped?
Have you ever snapped at something so insignificant that looking back you feel embarrassed at yourself? Losing your temperament, over something so small y
ou need a microscope to see even a blurred image of the situation. What if this happens when you have something truly worth getting angry about? What happens then is me. You will find out how I came to be this way, how I ended up sharing this brain like the homeless share the streets. How weak the human mind is.
It never ceases to amaze me how much 'love' can cause hate. You can aim for kindness again, again and again, but if you cut corners, if you don't concentrate on this love all you pathetic creatures search for, you will cause pain beyond belief. You will end someone's life. Maybe metaphorically, maybe literally. Maybe by then you won't care anymore. Maybe by then you will have found somebody else to care for. You humans are all evil creatures, doomed to hand out the will of the devil like the postman delivers bills.
It never ceases to amaze me how much love there is in this world, you can stop on any public transport, any bus, train or plane, and you will see (or more likely eavesdrop on) so many words of kindness.
You will hear these minute words of affection through a surging ocean of hatred.
I will find my person to share words of passion with. No. More than words, my lady to share my life with. My mind races again and again, fantasising about friends I have met. Wonderful women who I could spend my entire life with, share my thoughts; share my entire being and possessions with. Women I could make my wife.
I wonder which woman will be his downfall, or which woman I shall make his downfall. It's impossible to describe how much pleasure can be brought from torturing a fool like Leonidas.
We all know love has two sides - joy and sorrow. What about the things we love to do? What about exhilaration.
Amy Wolf. Those brown eyes have been in my mind for hours, if circumstances were different I would have liked to see more of that beautiful receptionist. Who knows she could be the one. She could just be another one.