by Mark Holme
I should not be thinking of her, it’s astonishing how your mind wanders when there is serious thinking to be done.
I need to die. How does anybody ever bring themselves to do it? How does anybody have the cowardice and bravery to end everything? To never know what will happen. Thoughts and sadness are temporary, there's always a way out. Except for me, for me there is no choice. For me there is death.
I wander these streets with all these thoughts toying with me, or is it Leo toying with me? Does it matter? I am him and he is me, yet I oppose every inch of him. Will he ever leave? Will he ever get bored of his little killing game? He does enjoy playing games.
My brogues tapped softly on the cobbled alley, the bottom of my grey trousers frayed and damp. My red tie lying perfectly in line with the buttons on my white shirt, rain droplets pounding against my forehead, as my hair was glued to my face. It was a dark night. A terrible night where only monsters dare wander. There is more than one beast that goes bump in the night. I must admit housing a creature like Leo inside of me does grant me an enormous amount of confidence. You are never safer than when sleeping at the devils doorstep.
My alley reached its end, the crumbling red brick walls and black bins lying on their side behind me, with a great choice ahead. Silhouettes across the road were stumbling around in another alley way. Not drunks, nor in a playful manor. Three men, dressed as casually as any of you are in your spare time, three men wrestling an innocent woman to the ground. She fought at first, then she became limp.
Who am I? A monster? A man? Even a monstrous man is capable of a moment of goodness, though this does not redeem him from his previous crimes.
It is in moments like these when you find out a lot more about yourself, it turns out I am incredibly calm in the ugly face of danger. I almost greeted it on a first name basis as I strolled across the street, my blazer held over my shoulder by my index finger. I felt great power. The power that only the greats should feel. I am great, monstrous, but great.
I stood a metre from the scene, the scoundrels so pleased with their catch. They did not even notice my shadow engulf them, as they ripped off her tights and rolled up the bottom of her black dress. I cleared my throat.
"Can't you tell we're busy?" Spoke the largest man, the other two sniggering like hyenas mocking their prey.
Realising two things, my unnatural calmness erupted into rage that surpassed even Leo's. I did not say a word, my blazer dropped almost silently to the ground, the raindrops bouncing off it as it floated to the floor, landing in a pool of dirty liquid.
The men wore black army uniforms with a red armband around their left arm. On the band was a white circle with a black swastika. Germans.
The sole of my brogue connected with the largest man’s temple knocking him unconscious. A split second later my knuckle connected with the second man’s jaw bone, the jaw swayed loosely, then the second creature fell on his back.
By the time I had brought my attention to the third attacker he was scrambling away backwards, both feet and hands on the wet cobbles. His eyes did not dare leave mine; eyes filled with fear. There is more than one beast that goes bump in the night, but tonight I am a monster that bumps back. I stepped around the confused lady, she had closed her eyes in fear.
Looking deep into his eyes we both knew he didn't stand a chance against me.
"Plea-"
I picked up a brick and he was unable to finish his sentence, long before I threw the rock at his head. In a flash the anger was gone, my attention was drawn towards the lady. The attention of my entire life was drawn towards Amy Wolf.
She, with as much dignity as possible, raised herself from the hard ground and pulled up her torn and filthy tights. She rolled down her black dress, and in the least expected event of the night, smiled warmly at me, before running in my direction.
Her arms wrapped around my body as her lips connected with mine, some nights really are unforgettable.
Chapter 8
Adopting History
Amy Wolf is the most unfortunate lady you will ever meet. Very few are fortunate enough to make her acquaintance, and even less are looked upon fondly by her dark brown eyes.
She has issues, scars from her past that will never really fade. I suppose her misfortunes started from birth, she was misfortunate enough to be born a Jew. The misfortune is not the race she was born, but the society that she was born into. A society forced to treat Jews like scum. A society designed by Hitler.
I am not a religious man, but I do not see religion as a wrong, no matter how much science fights against belief.
For many people religion is not about god or a greater being, it is about teaching your children morals. Showing them how a good man behaves. You may argue that religion has caused more wars than any other issues. Having the courage to announce to the world what you believe in is a grand thing. To have this throw in your face is atrocious.
Amy Wolf was not religious at all; she did not even know her parents who had passed on her looks. This may be why she wasn’t killed. She had great associations with the free folk.
Like Leo she had been forced to raise herself at times, not because of her poor foster parents or adoptive parents, but because she chose to. To prove to herself how strong she was.
Leo may think that she will be an easy target, a tiny woman waiting to be killed. Leo is in for a huge surprise.
She was found in a carrier bag on the doorstep of a police station, and had seven foster parents by the time she was eight. Nobody dared keep a Jewish girl for too long. At least that is what she comforted herself with. It must feel horrible, unimaginable, to be unwanted. Or even to feel unwanted. There is a question mark over your entire existence as you constantly swap families. It does not matter anymore. She is a strong intelligent young lady.
She is invincible.
Being attacked by those men in the alleyway like that, it would have crushed most women, not Amy. Amy is Strong.
Amy had given up on adoptive parents; she had been meeting with a lady that connects adoptive parents with their children for five years. She was wrong to give up. A family came along that was perfect for her. That loved her, and continue loving her until this very moment.
It has become clear to those working in the adoptive industry, as it is sadly known, that there are far too few adoption families. Too many scared that they are incapable of loving a child like their own. If a child sees you as their parent, can you not love them like your child? Biology has nothing to do with being a parent. If you care for them, protect them, and love them, then you are their parents. Nobody can take that away from you.
I’m sure many people who have had their children stolen away would disagree, would love to see their children again. Your children are fortunate. They have escaped your problems, and they have now got not two but four parents.
Amy has seen all forms of families entering her waiting room, she has seen why families sometimes have to break. From rich to poor, it does not make a difference what is good for a child.
It is about the only subject that is not divided between rich and poor. Even with the Germans, London is like a different continent to the North. The South think that Northerners are poor scum, like the kind found on TV help shows. The North know that Londoners are stuck up posh toffs. No matter what happens to this planet it is hard to envisage a world were money does not control everything.
A world that is just. Money does not have the right to take lives.
Money doesn’t have the right to dictate health care. We are very fortunate in England to have such a developed health care system, a free of charge system that benefits anybody in need. How can anyone with a conscience charge thousands of pounds for a pill that can extend a humans life? You don’t have that right. That is not your choice. That is something Leo would do, show you hope, then burn it down.
If a friend is ill, you show sympathy? Help if you can? If they break a bone you do physical tasks they can’t do?
If they have cancer you wish them the best of luck and do anything you can to help? What about if someone is mentally Ill? It seems like you run in the other direction. Abandon them in their time of need.
Amy Wolf would help them; she would help anyone in need.
What is it about mental illness that makes people change who they are? Your friend is in need. They are not a monster.
There are some truly weird and wonderful mental issues; an illness can even make you believe you are dead, when you are walking around perfectly healthy. This may scare you, but you don’t always have to run away from your fears. Your fears are there to be shattered in to pieces. All that you are naturally fear-full of is life threatening situations. Everything else is irrational.
If there was one thing Amy will never understand it is irrational behaviour. It is stupidity. She had dreams once, dreams of becoming a doctor. Now she must greet the very person she wished to become every day of her life.
University is no longer the obvious option it once was, the German Government made certain of that. The prices are so high that you have to be truly worthy of going to university, to calculate if it is beneficial for your or not to enhance your knowledge. The human mind is a powerful object. Do not abuse it. Do not put a price upon it.
Amy Wolf’s past is riddled with misfortunes, a lack of funds to learn. A lack of love to be nurtured. Through it all she remains hopeful, she has suffered from mental illness herself. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia six months ago, and has been taking drugs since. Drugs that are gradually growing stronger to keep the voice inside of her silenced.
Sometimes things occur that seem destined, that appear to be predetermined before the creation of anything. They are probably just huge beneficial coincidences. Leonidas saving Amy is one of these moments; is their acquaintance beneficial for Leonidas? Or for Leo? Or for Amy?
Leonidas is a good man, he will do his best. Leo is a strong man, he will be difficult to suppress. Amy has had true horrors in her past; a fountain of knowledge to aid Leonidas. An endless stream of terror for Leo to abuse.
Amy did not get chance to learn the surname of her biological father, the disgusting creature who left her on the doorstep. She chose her own name.
Dire Wolf: fearsome dog. The slicing teeth (carnassial) are superior to those of the modern wolf, but the lower jaw is almost identical. The dire wolf was a carnivorous mammal, its temporalis could display forces in excess of the modern grey wolves; suggesting stronger killing bites
Amy knew none of this. She did not care for the animal’s power, when she thought about wolves she thought of something much more important to her. Survival.
Chapter 9
Unconventional
'Rufus this must cease! Your... Techniques, well, they're scaring people you buffoon.' Spoke Jack, trying to keep his cool.
Rufus Brown's fingers gripped his wispy grey hair as he turned round and thrust his arms down in frustration. "My TECHNIQUES are the only reason you have any evidence whatsoever on this boy! You don't like my methods? Go find someone else with even half my talents Jack, go find someone else who will put up with your mood swings like I do, and still give 100%"
Rufus turned to face away from Jack, hunched up like a child sulking, grey eyes staring at the ground.
"I'm not questioning your results, I'm merely stating that your attitude at the crime scene was, unconventional. SCREW THAT, IT WAS DAMN RIGHT CONCERNING! You just can't act like that Rufus, I can't allow it." Jacks diplomatic approach was wavering, you can't focus on being reasonable when your focus never left your sofa from the night before.
To be unconventional is to be different. It is to act, dress, speak, or simply live your life differently. To exist outside of cultural normalities. Anything out of the ordinary can be described as unconventional, yet the 'ordinary' is different from culture to culture. It's context that's important when discussing the unconventional. You could argue that it is unconventional to even discuss the unconventional. It's strange to think that anything you think of as unconventional could be perfectly acceptable in another country, maybe even in a different city; what gives anyone the right to decide what is unconventional?
When Jack said the word unconventional, he did not mean it at all; what Jack meant was that Rufus was being disrespectful.
"Ok, ok, I'll tone it down, just who is it you want me to be Jack?" His steps were silent, and so was Jack, as Rufus left the room not sure where he was headed.
I've not sensed Leo's present all night. I hope he has left me, I hope that Amy coming into my life has caused him to leave it. There are only so many thoughts that can fit inside my head, and so many of them are absorbed by Amy; perhaps there is no room for Leo. Perhaps he has been squeezed out by love. I doubt it. My greatest fear is that he is plotting in the shadows, plotting something that hasn't been imagined since Hitler’s death.
We have a date planned already, me and Amy that is, scheduled for two days’ time. In a flash my life has turned around, it is like an epiphany combined with a sudden rush of happiness. It may seem strange but I have never felt so relaxed; I know I can do this. I know I can crush Leo. I made him, and I will destroy him. Maybe I've already won.
I took a day off, the day after I saved Amy. It did not seem right to work when I felt such joy. The time was almost upon us. The bronze flowers faded out of focus, the rusty carpet like discoloured television static. The blue light from the news channel flashing of the glass tables. Glass sparkling with horror, joy and overpaid celebrities. You could almost watch the plasma screen perfectly in the reflection, it was like secretly peering into others’ lives.
Suddenly it was peering into my life. I've killed again. A tingle crept over my skin, not an eerie ghost like scare; excitement. Had I killed Amy's attackers, it's a horrible thought, yet one so satisfying. I could have acquired my revenge on the SS officers, the same company that killed my parents, and the men who tried raping my lady. What goes around comes around boys.
Alas, life has not been so righteous to me of recent times. These boys did not deserve to die, and I'm certainly not in a position to decide who does. I am no god. They perhaps were a little disrespectful to one of my exhibits, but to punish this with death seems unjust.
I was watching television through the reflection in the table, I could almost see each of their faces as they died, staring back at me through the glass.
They were the adolescents who Jack Spencer commented on, during his little trip to my gallery. Spencer and Leo have more in common than they know.
Eyes at a humans death tell you more than you can imagine, how many of their dreams they accomplished; how many loved ones and children they have. The measure of their courage.
The eyes of these boys were sparkling in a daze, many had tear droplets rolling down their cheeks. Some ran, some froze, and some did not have time to choose. I wish I could block these images from my mind, how does Leo stomach it? Where has he gone? Is it possible that men need such a monster to put up with times like these? If not a monster, then he must become a saint to survive. I am no god!
The stench of one body was too much for me, the stench of so many must be overwhelming, I wonder if he held my nose. More likely he inhaled it like a sweet scent.
How does he manage to manoeuvre the limp bodies? Some of those boys were as big as any man, just as heavy. I doubt he uses pulleys or fork lifts. They aren't delicate enough, not as personal. My biceps must be stronger than I think. Each tendon in my forearm pulled tightly causing my fingers to clench. The muscle beneath my thumb aches from the grip. The soft skin so cold, so soon after death. Once sparkling eyes gazing into the shadows of darkness.
Constantly pushing the boundaries until I can be disgusted no further, Jack knew all along I wouldn't stop. I will stop. I will stop for the love of Amy.
What happens when the boundaries are pushed to their limit, until what you see affects you no more than what you saw last? You can see it in the horror movi
e industry; they don't know how to push fear any further. Each film almost a carbon copy of the last. They try pushing the boundaries in every direction, but the fear does not increase. More grotesque, harder to watch; but improved? Made even more frightening? Not in the slightest. Sometimes boundaries cannot be broken, the limit has been reached and you can go no further. This is not that day. This day is just another step on the journey to hell.
Thirteen dead bodies. Twelve dead heads. All in the name of art; he recreated The Last Supper. Not from the religious perspective, but from the painting of one of the greatest, and most misunderstood men of all eternity. Leonardo da Vinci. The boy portraying 'Jesus' was clearly the leader of the group at the gallery, now he had no head. On the long wooden table before them stood a bottle of red wine, a hand carved wooden chalice, and one slice of mouldy bread.
The table was badly made with huge knots embedded into it, of the type of wood used in most fence panels. The boys had all been shot clinically through the forehead. Some through the front with the back of the head blown apart. Some with bullets from behind so half their faces were missing. This is not Leo's way, this was rushed and barely planned. This is unconventional. Danger is on its way, we will be caught soon. He just wants to kill as many as possible before we go behind iron bars. There is no art in a prison cell.
Of course it was rushed, I was planning something much bigger at my next location, and how was I to know these meddling kids were going to be graffiti artist inside the building? It was only by chance that I had the two pistols on me. The foolish neighbours probably thought fireworks were lighting up the sky like the northern lights. You are all going to die. An atomic bomb mushroom cloud will seem like a speck of dust when I'm finished. I built the table with whatever I could find, and I removed the boy's head with my teeth. I do not even know their names, why do they deserve names?