Snatched

by Ian Woodhead

  I dropped down beside his still body, watching his chest rise and fall. I moved his head to the side as I didn't want him to choke on the thick blood pissing out of both nostrils. He even started to snore.

  I allowed him to continue creating his disgusting bubbly farting noise while I proceeded to slice through his trousers. I silently congratulated the animal for retaining the blade's sharpness. It made mincemeat of his shiny fabric. Which is ironic as that was exactly what I intended to do to his thigh. Of the two pieces of material which I sliced away, one was crumpled up and stuffed in his mouth, while I wrapped the other piece around my hand. It was such a vile experience to have something ingrained with mud, grease, shit and piss next to my skin but it would provide some protection if he tried to bite me.

  I chopped at his leg, and I confess that a quiet squeal of delight escaped from my mouth as the blade bit into his thigh, just above his knee. I brought the knife down again and again, creating parallel lines, each one about an inch deep as I travelled along the flesh.

  With each blow, I felt the aching grind that had settled deep in my bones start to ease. I chopped faster and faster, moving up his body, past his hips and up his stomach. My fury only increased when the tramp writhed and bucked, not stopping or slowing down. My blade dug deeper every time he lunged. This macabre dance only eased by the time my knife had reached the man's shoulder.

  I don't know whether he stopped his movement because he'd drained all his strength or I stopped because I knew he would be dead in seconds if I chopped at his neck.

  I removed my hand then unrolled the material. I wouldn't need that again, the elation surging through my body while I watched him take his last few breaths drove away the last remnant of my urges. I felt almost normal, back in control and complete.

  “I have done you a favour,” I whispered, tenderly stroking his cheek. His hot blood covered both his face and my hand. This didn't matter anymore. In fact, I welcomed it, for the metallic odour of blood mixed with the pungent smell leaking from his insides which pushed against the slits up his stomach completely overpowered the tramp 's own body odour. It was a smell that I knew intimately.

  “Your life needed to end. In all honesty, you are a parasite, a burden upon society.” I leant closer. “I know it hurts but that is your fault for threatening me. If you had allowed me to continue without aggression, you'd be dead by now." I sighed in satisfaction at knowing that despite my initial reservations, I had taken the right decision in removing this leach from the street. He had done me a favour too. I now thought with total clarity without any undesirable urges tugging at my inner being.

  “You're almost there. In a few more seconds, you will be leaving this hurtful place.” Until I spoke, his eyes had zoned out and his eyelids were closing.

  EYELIDS! FUCKING EYELIDS!

  I shook away that random thought and put it down to the residual excitement. The dying man looked no longer content to leave his body. He glared right at me, and his lips curled into a snarl. He even managed to use his tongue to push out the sock. He uttered a single word. I wasn't too sure but I believe the derelict just called me a cunt.

  Some people just can't appreciate a simple gesture of goodwill. I couldn't allow him to take advantage of my hospitable disposition. He wanted to snarl at me then fine, let's make it permanent. It's not that surprising to me to see the terror come back when I grabbed his jaw, forced open that hateful mouth before sliding the blade across the stubbled flesh. With a couple more sawing motions, I found his jaw opened a lot wider due to the thick flesh at either side of his mouth had split all the way down to the jawbone's hinge.

  He still wouldn't die.

  I got off the floor, stood over him then bent over and positioned the blade across his throat. I rested my hand close to the edge and pushed down. There was very little resistance. He exhaled his last breath at the same time as I heard Bennie lock the main doors.

  His shadow made a brief appearance across the stone alley floor before vanishing again. A couple of moments later, Bennie's car alarm beeped. I was so glad that I didn't murder him and Adam. The time wasn't right, I suspect that somewhere deep inside my damaged mind, I knew this.

  That alone must prove that I was above them all on the evolutionary ladder. Even broken, I could still function far better than any of those poor fools. I licked the blood from one side of the blade. I was no longer broken, and I had a job to do.

  I walked towards the high street, aware that I must look like I'd just crawled out of a car pile up. This didn't concern me as I knew now that providence would not allow anyone to see me in this condition. Bennie's dark blue car pulled out of his usual parking space and headed over to the junction before turning right. He would be calling in his local pub for a swift pint before ringing in his takeaway order.

  His car vanished behind a row of shops. I had something very special lined up for that one.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I watched the city peek over the cityscape, its cleansing rays eating through the shadows left by the night. The streets are devoid of life. It would be another hour before the first early workers trudge past this window. It's been over a decade since I last heard the clinking glass and the electric whine coming from the milk float on its laboured climb up the steep hill to the left of my house.

  I used to retreat in here to be alone, to calm down, to stop me from doing something I would regret later. I think it is true to say that this room has helped to prolong the life of every Franco I owned. I idly ran my forefinger down the side of the cold glass, watching the collected condensation drip onto the dark green carpet.

  I looked down at the dark patch and noticed tiny particles of mould growing on the fibres. Were they there the last time I was in this room? I moved to the side, keeping my eyes on the floor. The carpet beneath my feet was worn down to the threads, again, I had not noticed this until now.

  Perhaps the time had finally arrived to shake off the last shackles belonging to my past and clear out this room once and for all. The idea did appeal. I became the sole owner of this property almost fifteen years ago, and since then, I altered almost every other area to suit my tastes, as opposed to putting up with what they preferred. “Except for your old room and Tommy's bedroom, James.”

  The sound of my voice echoed around the walls. It reminded me of exactly why my feet had brought me into here in the first place. I missed my Franco. I could not explain how this could be, how having no other person in the house made me irritable. I do not enjoy being in the company of others. The whole idea of engaging small talk with other people filled me with disgust. I am not what you would class as a social butterfly.

  I wandered into the kitchen and made myself a sandwich that I did not want before returning to the living room. I purposely walked past Franco's corner without glancing to the side. It didn't make any difference. Even staring straight ahead, my peripheral vision still clocked the empty walls.

  Less than seventeen hours ago I was congratulating myself on releasing my irrational urge to kill some random stranger, yet even before I was done with clearing away the mess, another emotion gripped me by the throat. This one was despondency. I even considered leaving the mutilated body where it lay. Thankfully, some common sense kicked in and I cut it into several pieces before dropping them into the sewer for the rats to consume. Last night, I put the feeling down to tiredness. It's true that I was exhausted, even my bones felt fatigued. Sleep was the answer, at least, that's what I believed.

  The food tasted like wet cardboard. Nevertheless, I ate every crumb. I was told never to waste food, not when there are people starving on the streets. My nerves should be buzzing right now. For this is the day when young Donnie starts on the path which will lead to him becoming the final Franco. I had just fifteen minutes before I needed to leave the house, so I should be spending my remaining time enjoying the solitude for once I return with the grand prize, there would be no running away from my responsibilities, no retreating into my bedroom and
either looking out of the window or sitting against the door in the hope that the other fuckers had left the house.

  I blinked rapidly, wondering why that thought had wandered into my mind. It had been decades since I gave my two dead brothers any thought.

  “Why wait, James?”

  I saw no reason to wait in here any longer. Leaving now meant that I had enough time to grab a bacon sandwich on the way. I know I'd be able to taste that, if I added enough salt and brown sauce. With my plan worked out, I left the kitchen, walked along the hallway and took one last look at my bedroom door before leaving the house. It occurred to me that even after some many decades, I still hadn't done anything about all the little holes in the wooden door.

  I remember one of the Franco's working up the courage to ask me about them. I replied with the stock answer of woodworm. I didn't tell him that when I was Franco's age, my two brothers used to order me to stand in front of that door while they took turns in throwing darts at my head. They only hit me four times, for which I was most thankful.

  As I walked over to the car, I stopped on a couple of old flagstones. Under those stones lay the decomposing body of the Franco who asked me that question. That error did not cause his death but it probably sped the process. I pressed a hot iron on his left shoulder for daring to ask that question which opened up a wound that took literally weeks to heal.

  The idea of a bacon sandwich suddenly sounded like the best idea that I ever had. I knew I was smiling and couldn't help myself. Perhaps the fresh air had cleared out the cobwebs in my head or perhaps the excitement had finally kicked in. I started the car and moved off while listening to some music. It did occur to me that the reason why the despondent emotion had sloughed from me was that for the first time since I killed all three, their influence was at last diminishing and the more I thought about it, the more convince I was that this was the correct reason. How else could I explain why I wanted to redecorate my old bedroom?

  There was a cafe on Foundry Street which put together a fantastic breakfast. I decided to stop in there for my sandwich. It was on the way to where Donnie's father lived. As I drove along the empty road, observing all traffic regulations, I allowed my mind to go over the events after I disposed of Mr Blue Eyes. Even with the despondency creeping into my body, I still was able to envisage a concept which had never before crossed my mind. It concerned the concept of souls. I have a soul. That much is obvious for I am a higher life-form. After all evidence of the derelict vanished, I seriously doubted that he had a soul remaining.

  I'm sure he had one before devolving into the parasite that I ended but did it stay with him until the end? It might sound like a frivolous and pointless idea to plague me while returning home but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of anything else.

  In the end, I came to the conclusion that he did indeed possess a soul. I seriously doubted that he had one like mine. I imagined that my soul would resemble a metaphysical pulsing ball of billions of colours whereas the tramp's soul would likely look like a lump of sloppy dog-shit, clinging to the pavement after a heavy rainfall.

  My thoughts went into free fall when I spotted another derelict huddled inside a closed shop alcove. I don't know why but I left the car and approached him. Predictably, he asked for some spare change. When I put my hand into my pocket, his face exhibited can expression similar to Mr Blue Eyes when I first chopped him with the knife. I had seen this one a couple of times at the soup kitchen so I asked the derelict why he wasn't sleeping at the hostel. The man began to cry and I honestly believed that his ruined mind had forgotten about the place.

  It then struck me that giving them money, helping them with feeding the homeless was actually prolonging their torment which further diminished their already damaged souls. This meant that I really did that tramp a favour. It was the ultimate good deed.

  I left the derelict to his own devices and returned to the car without giving him any money. Looking back to my state of mind last night, I think that was the only time when my mood lifted, for I found that my ambition to prove her wrong with Franco wouldn't stop once I had succeeded.

  I owed it to Providence to give something back, to perform the ultimate good deed. I stopped the car outside the shop, wound down my window and inhaled the wonderful smells drifting from the shop. My stomach growled. I was starving! I wouldn't be content with just a bacon sandwich. Only a full breakfast would fill me up.

  I opened the door and climbed out of the car while humming to myself. Not only had my appetite returned, so had the excitement. I guess that thinking about my new Franco, once I had rid him of his evil, and I, patrolling the streets and killing every homeless person we found had something to do with it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Once the first stage in Donnie's conditioning was complete, I would have to instruct him on the importance of security. At this moment, I was privately thankful that the forgetful boy hadn't locked the front door before climbing into the shower. It wouldn't have stopped me gaining entry to the house. The window on the other side of the house was open. Sneaking around the side might have attracted unwanted attention, which is something I didn't want.

  I think that something inside me has subtly changed since my blackout. I think that I've become a more cautious person. It is true that most people do not take much notice of their surroundings. They all think the universe revolves around them, because of this arrogant attitude, none of them takes much notice of their surroundings.

  I had walked right up to the front door, pushed down the handle and let myself in. I still radiated confidence, as the key isn't just boldness but to look like you belong. Even so, I could not help thinking that someone was watching me. The weird sensation didn't leave me until I shut the door.

  An ironic concept as I had spent the last hour observing the house and its occupants for the past two hours. His father left for work exactly thirty minutes ago, leaving the child alone in the house. Quite frankly, this appalled me. The man only sees his child on weekends at yet he still opted to work instead of spending precious time with his son.

  I used the limited time to quickly explore the house. My heart sank at the sight of a huge collection of horror movies, all neatly displayed on two pine bookcases, opposite the living room window. I might have even growled in disgust when I saw a games console on the carpet in front of the TV. The two controllers suggested that both the boy and father had been playing a game together. This alone sounded fine until I turned over the cover and a dozen decomposing zombies, all carrying various rusty weapons assaulted my eyes.

  This was just unacceptable. What kind of parent willing corrupts their child with such vile imagery? I would have to punish the man for this heinous act. I filed this away for later before completing my search. I heard the shower stop just as I reached what I guessed to be Donnie's bedroom. The Batman quilt cover was the biggest clue. I then recalled the horror collection downstairs and it is a true fact that all people who are obsessed with such a disgusting subject are mentally retarded, so this could be the bedroom of his father's.

  The bathroom door lock disengaged. I ground my teeth in frustration. I did not want to be in the wrong bedroom when he emerged. Next to where I stood was a bookcase, with a metal cage resting on the surface. Two black eyes peered at me through a pile of straw. I hadn't expected to find a hamster in here. The label stuck to the front of the cage announced that he was due to be fed tomorrow. It also said that his name was Gandalf.

  I grinned as it became very clear as to who used this bedroom. The bathroom door opened at the same time as I unfastened the cage door. A hamster is an ideal pet for girls. Not so for boys. I adore hamsters, they're so cute and cuddly. Poor Gandalf 's life was doomed ad soon as Donnie chose him. The inherent evil inside the boy would see this lovely little creature as a torture object. This is a true fact. I have seen it with my own eyes.

  The bathroom door opened. I held Gandalf against my chest, retreated into the shadows and waited for the boy to ent
er the bedroom. Torturing one hamster wouldn't sate the evil. He'd purchase more and more before moving to cats and dogs. Again, this is something that I have witnessed.

  He waltzed into the room, looking like he didn't have a care in the world. Donnie had wrapped a dark green towel around his side. It irritated me to notice he wore no slippers. The boy's gaze fell upon the cage and he froze.

  I had left the cage door open.

  “Gandalf?”

  He turned and his eyes found me. The boy shrieked and spun around, attempting to race out of the room. He didn't get far as I thrust my leg out. Donnie fell over my ankle, his towel fell to the floor and his face smashed against the carpet.

  “Go sit on the bed, Donnie.” I strode over his sprawled body and stood in the middle of the hallway, blocking his escape. I repeated my command when the boy refused to move. Donnie raised his head. I did not see fear, the expected emotion. Instead, his features screwed up in hate and fury. I'll admit that his reaction surprised me. I was not used to my Franco's showing resistance.

  I reassured myself in the knowledge that Providence had literally dropped this Franco into my lap. This was the one to break the curse. Donnie was the one, so I guess his behaviour would alter from the norm. I smiled back at him. It wasn't anything I could not deal with.

  I crouched, held the hamster by the scruff of the neck, grabbed it's left hind leg and savagely twisted it around. I'm not sure who screamed louder, the boy or the hamster. “Go sit on the bed,” I thundered. "Do it now or I'll bite its fucking head off."

  Donnie snatched the towel from the carpet, covered his crotch and finally obeyed my first ever command. He sat on the edge of the bed, shaking. He was no longer glaring at me so I took this as a step in the right direction.

  I cradled the animal in the palm of my hand while tenderly stroking its brown fur. It too shook like a leaf and just for a moment, I wondered if Donnie and Gandalf could be psychically linked. Just to make sure, I stared at the boy placing one of the hamster's ear between my thumb and forefinger.