“Hurst.”
“Mr Hurst, everything is in order. Your compensation has been deposited,” said a gruff voice at the other end of the phone.
“Am I done?” said Richard in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.
“Yes Mr Hurst, your obligation to us is complete. Now, we do have an agreement don’t we Mr Hurst?”
Richard paused for a moment. “Yes, we do.”
“If you haven’t dismantled that machine and if we find any records of anything, there will be consequences for you. Do we have an agreement Mr Hurst?”
“Yes, we have an agreement, will there be anything else?”
“No, Mr Hurst. But just remember, the name Richard Hurst will have no association with this when it goes public and we want to keep it that way. You need to enjoy your retirement Mr Hurst and forget all about what goes on outside your cosy little world. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Goodbye Mr Hurst, your contribution to humanity will change the world we live in,” said the gruff voice and then the line went dead.
Richard looked at the phone and let out a long breath. Somehow he had lied to them and got away with it. He hadn’t dismantled the machine; it was still standing right here in this room. If he turned on the power and pushed a few buttons it would power up as it always did. But he was going to seal it in here, just like he had locked away the rest of the things that he hadn’t told his client about.
He stood up and made his way to the door which led back into the main part of the house. He was just about to pull the door shut behind him for the last time when he felt the cold metal of a shotgun press itself against the back of his head.
“Not so fast Dicky boy,” said a voice from behind him. “Get back in your chair.”
He walked slowly forwards, back towards his chair, all the time feeling that metal pressed against the back of his skull. He knew it was a gun, he knew it was his own gun. He sat in the chair and the man removed the gun from the back of Richard’s head and walked around to the front of him. The man pointing the gun stood in front of him. He was dressed in black that almost sucked the light out of the room. His slicked back hair was as jet black as his clothing. His face was hidden under a mask which only left his mouth and his eyes visible. That mouth was grinning, showing a collection of yellowing teeth. A small trail of drool ran from one of the corners of his mouth and dropped to the floor.
“Now then Dicky, I want to play with your machine. Shall we play?” he said.
“Whoever the fuck you are, I’m done here, the machine has been decommissioned, it doesn’t work anymore.”
Mask threw back his head and laughed, a high shrill and almost inhuman sound that echoed round the room and made Richard want to put his hands over his ears.
“Dicky, I didn’t think that even you could be capable of such a lie. We both know it still works, so come on, let’s not play greasy arseholes. I want to play, so let’s get to it.”
Richard stood up slowly, mindful of the shotgun that was tracking his movements. He stepped to the side of the main control panel and pulled the power lever that was on the wall. It made a loud metallic clunk as it dropped into place and then the control panel lit up. The small screen on the panel began to boot up.
“There we go Dicky, you see, it’s no good lying to me. I can tell when you are lying. God tells me when people lie, there’s no getting away from that.”
“What do you want from me,” said Richard trying to sound as tough as he could.
Mask laughed again, “I just want to play with the toys Dicky, now what’s say you start this thing running.”
“Not a chance,” said Richard. The words sounded strange, as if they had come from someone else.
“Tell me Dicky, have your brains ever seen the light of day?” said Mask brandishing the shotgun at him again.
“You’re just going to have to kill me, just as I should have killed you.”
“Oh really? So you finally worked it out eh? Well Dicky, now that we know who we all are....but you want me to kill you? Dicky, if you know me as well as you think you do then you know that is just not my style. I wouldn’t be so crude as to just kill you now. How about a little torture first? Perhaps I could take out a knee, or an elbow first. Wouldn’t that be nice eh? Now I’m going to tell you for the last fucking time, get it running.”
“Go and fuck yourself,” said Richard slowly and carefully.
“Right then, we will do it the hard way,” said Mask. He pointed the shotgun towards Richard’s right leg and pulled the trigger. The boom from the gun was deafening inside the room, even though it was a generous size. Richard’s right knee exploded. Bone fragments and flesh were sent flying in all directions. Richard crumpled to the floor and screamed until his vocal chords were unable to produce any more sound. He gripped his obliterated leg with both hands trying in vain to stem the torrent of blood that was coming from the wound. The lower half of the injured leg was hanging on by a loose flap of skin and nothing more.
“See, now look what you made me do Richard, this shit is just no good. I want to play with the toys and you gotta be a tough guy,” said Mask. He shook his head as if he was dealing with a naughty schoolboy and then he went to the control panel. He put his shotgun into an unseen pocket in his long coat and then regarded the control panel. He looked at it for a moment and then began to push buttons on the keyboard.
“You see Dicky, I made sure that before I came back here, that I knew what to do. I just knew you would try and be a tough guy, I just knew it. A smart guy like you Dicky, you really disappoint me. Still, never mind. My God told me you would do this, so I made sure I was ready. Why do you think I never came back sooner Dicky?”
Richard looked up at Mask, unable to speak. The pain in his leg was huge, burning and beyond anything he had ever felt before. Mask pushed a few more buttons and the machine came to life. The door on the glass chamber hissed open.
“Your carriage awaits Dicky,” said Mask gleefully and he reached down and grabbed Richard by the back of his collar. He dragged Richard across the floor. The lower half of his wounded leg tore off as he was being pulled across the floor. Richard couldn’t decide which part of himself to grab at, his stump or his throat which was being constricted by his own clothing as he was being dragged. They got to the entrance of the machine and Mask threw Richard inside with uncanny ease. Mask pushed the door shut on him and Richard heard the door lock itself in readiness for the sequence to begin. Mask stepped to the side of the chamber and stood at the control panel again.
“Say Dicky, the input power is a little bit low on this thing isn’t it? But don’t worry, I can soon fix that,” said Mask and he turned a dial on the panel. The titanium circles moved into place around the chamber and began to turn. As Mask turned the power up higher the circles began to whirr faster and faster and the lights in the room became brighter. Mask held his hand above the button that would activate the sequence and turned his maniacal grin to Richard who was looking at him through half lidded eyes within the chamber. The view of Richard was partially obstructed by the circles, but Mask saw very clearly what Richard was doing.
He was giving him the finger.
Mask laughed for a moment, a good hearty belly laugh and then he gave the finger right back to him.
“Goodnight Richard,” he said and hit the button.
For Richard Hurst, everything suddenly became very loud. Then there was pain that made having his lower leg blown off seem like a picnic and then there was darkness.
1.
Who the fuck would be knocking on the door at nine am on a Saturday morning?
He had toyed with the idea of just ignoring it, wrapping his pillow around his head and going back to sleep, but whoever it was obviously didn’t give up too easily. Besides, his mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage and he knew that nothing else on earth but a good cup of tea would sort it out. The banging came again. He sighed, threw back the covers and heade
d downstairs. He went through the kitchen and to the front door. He fumbled the key off the hook, dropped it, snatched it off the floor and rattled it into the lock. He tore the door open, balking he knee on it as he did so. There were two visitors standing on his doorstep, one male and one female. The woman was wearing a police uniform and the male was wearing a suit that had probably seen better days. His top button was undone and his tie was worn loosely around his neck. He held up an identification badge.
“D.C.I. Denton and W.P.C. Phillips. Are you Mr Patrick Hurst sir?”
Patrick blinked slowly, like an owl. He couldn’t take in the information; his brain was still in Neverland.
“Sir?”
“Oh....yes that’s right,” said Patrick. The fog in his head was still very dense. He felt a burp rising in his gullet and he suppressed it as best he could. Some of the gas made it to the surface and he could taste a slightly meaty substance courtesy of his insides. He had been pretty drunk last night; he knew that for sure. He just wasn’t sure what he had eaten in the early hours of the morning. It could have been a pigeon for all he knew.
“We need to talk to you about a rather delicate matter Mr Hurst, may we come in?” said Denton.
Patrick stepped aside and pulled the door open wider to allow them in. He quickly glanced around his kitchen and was glad to see that it wasn’t too messy. His almost obsessive cleaning habits were paying dividends. He offered the two visitors a seat at his small dining table and offered them a cup of tea. They both accepted and Patrick set about brewing whilst they exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the benefits of living in a place like Newtown. He brought the tea to the table and sat himself down. Phillips removed her hat. Her mousy brown hair was snatched back in a tight bun. She was young and her skin was almost unusually pale. There was a small scattering of freckles across her nose which Patrick felt almost hypnotised by. Patrick found himself taking an instant liking to her. At first it was Phillips who did the talking whilst Denton slurped his tea nosily.
“Is your father a Mr Richard Hurst?” she said.
“Well, let’s put it this way, I know that is his name.”
Phillips looked puzzled. Patrick saw the expression on her face and explained.
“I got put into care when I was about three or maybe four and then I got put with a foster family. I was only supposed to stay with them temporarily whilst I was waiting to be adopted, but I ended up never leaving. My foster father Derek Boston died about two years after I went to stay with them. Jane is still around, but she has been ill for quite a while. Jane is my rock. As far as my real Dad, I don’t really know him and I haven’t heard from him since I went into care.”
“What about your mother, your birth mother?” said Phillips
“Well, she died when I was very young. I don’t know what happened to her and I have never got round to finding out,” said Patrick and drank tea. The tea was like nectar on his raspy throat. It was usually at this stage of a hangover when he would declare that he was never drinking again and only sticking to tea.
“I’m sorry Mr Hurst,” said Phillips.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said Patrick and flashed her a smile. She smiled back at him, showing her small even teeth. Her eyes danced momentarily, almost as if she didn’t really want to look at him. Patrick was very taken by her. He wished that she had come alone so he could put his cheap moves on her. His best friend Jack Samson had once told him that if he had an operation to remove his vocal chords, then he might have more success with women. Patrick thought that Jack’s statement was a bit rich coming from someone that was equally, if not more, inept when it came to communicating with the opposite sex.
Denton suddenly spoke, shattering Patrick’s moment of temporary fantasy about the sexy policewoman in his kitchen. His voice was harsh and grating after the dulcet tones of Phillips.
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news Mr Hurst but I’m afraid that your father is dead.”
Patrick paused with his mug half raised. A strange feeling washed through him, almost like he had been expecting this to happen. He searched himself to see if there was anything inside him that felt anything for the father that he had never known, a faint sort of pity perhaps? But there was nothing.
Denton kept on talking, not even allowing Patrick any time to register the news properly. Phillips winced at Denton’s lack of empathy. Patrick thought to himself that Phillips probably winced a lot when she was on these types of jobs with Denton. Still, Patrick couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her, she had certainly caught his attention. He began to wonder what was underneath that uniform she was wearing and then quickly shut his head up. He didn’t want to become aroused right now, seeing as he was only wearing a t-shirt and a pair of shorts.
“The circumstances surrounding your father’s death are somewhat unusual shall we say?” said Denton.
That caught Patricks attention and wilted the beginnings of an erection that was threatening. He stood up before he could get distracted again and began to collect the empty tea cups.
“What do you mean by unusual? Anyone want more tea?” he said snapping the kettle on again.
Sticky seconds he thought to himself and nearly laughed out loud. That was what Jack called the second brew of the day.
“Yes please, you make a very nice cup of tea Mr Hurst,” said Phillips.
“Thank you, and you can call me Patrick.”
“O.K. Patrick,” said Phillips and then let out a little giggle. She lowered her eyes and began to blush. Patrick smiled to himself as he loaded the tea pot with a fresh set of tea bags.
“Erm, not for me thank you Mr Hurst. May I ask you, do you know anything about your father? Did you know what he did for a living?”
“Sure you can ask, but I would rather you answered my question first.”
“Question Mr Hurst?”
“Yep, you said he died in unusual circumstances, I want to know what you mean by that,” said Patrick. His head was beginning to ache. He mused that he would probably go and crash on the sofa for most of the day before going for afternoon drinks with Jack. Normally, afternoon drinks with Jack also meant evening drinks with Jack and possibly having Jack crash at his place because he was too drunk to go home. Not that it was a problem, they would normally keep drinking and watching shit films until they both passed out. Jack hadn’t come back with him last night. He had got lucky. There was a girl hanging around him all night that he claimed to have gone to college with. Of course she didn’t remember him, but then she wouldn’t, because Jack had made the whole thing up just so he could go and talk to her. Why he just couldn’t say hello like any other normal person was totally beyond him. Still, that was Jack, slicker than owl shit.
The sugar bowl needed refilling so Patrick fished the half used bag out of the bottom cupboard.
“Your father was found with the front half of his head and some of his torso burned completely off,” said Denton.
Patrick spilled the sugar.
“What happened?” said Patrick sweeping sugar into his cupped hand. Derek Boston, his foster father had once punished him for spilling the sugar. Even now, if the sugar took a dive he would feel his heart begin to race.
“We are not entirely certain Mr Hurst. The post mortem concluded that it was the burns that killed him and that they were electrical burns. There was a lot of unusual looking equipment in the room where your father was found.”
Patrick turned to look at Denton. “Why don’t you just tell me everything that you know,” he said. The kettle boiled and snapped off making Patrick jump a little. He turned his attention back to the tea pot and filled it up with the boiled water.
“Let me tell you Mr Hurst, that we might not have even found him had it not been for a loss of power that happened recently. Everything within a twenty-mile radius was affected. It lasted for two days.”
“Yeah, I remember it,” said Patrick bringing mugs of tea back to the table, one for him and one for Phillips. He ra
ised his cup at her and she returned it. She dropped her eyes and blushed again. He was very taken with her and he was pretty sure it was the uniform that was doing it for him. His mind flashed to a brief fantasy of her being on the edge of this very table, naked from the waist down whilst he was....
“Representatives from the power companies located the source of the problem. It was a malfunction in one of the pylons in Layton Valley,” said Denton, again, snapping Patrick out of his fantasy and again it was merciful.
“I know about the blackout, it gave me a hell of a good chance to catch up on some reading and I remember reading about the damaged pylon. It said in the paper that it had been struck by lightning,” said Patrick.
“That was the official story yes. Needless to say Mr Hurst that what I am about to tell you needs to remain confidential. The story that you read in the paper is the official story put out by our government.”
“What has the government got to do with this?”
“Your father was working for them. He was one of the most brilliant minds that our generation has ever known. His inventions and ideas have taken the human race in directions that we probably shouldn’t have gone in for at least another two to three hundred years. But, that is only speculation. Mr Hurst, your father was responsible for inventing a revolutionary chipset that could run at low power and still make millions of calculations per second. Most tech bods now call it a CPU. Now you must know Mr Hurst that a CPU is the central piece for every modern day device that we have, including every computer, mobile phone, T.V. box, everything. That’s why the government hired him. He was working on something for them that was going to cause another revolution. I have no idea what it was and there are no government officials that are ever going to give me that information. It’s classified. Now, when we were called up to Layton Valley, we found that the power company had located the damaged pylon and it just so happened to be the one nearest to a place called Layton House. Layton House is a custom built property and believe me it is one of the largest estates I have ever seen. It looks more like a hotel to me, lots of rooms Mr Hurst, and secret corridors, that kind of thing. Your father was found in a room towards the back of the house where the pylon stood. Inside that room was a contraption, a machine of some sort and it looked to me like the thing had blown up right in his face. A small section of the roof had caved in, probably from the explosion. The rest of the damage occurred outside. The pylon nearest the house had been bent out of shape, almost like a giant had walked by and tried to hammer it into the ground with his fist. Some of the wiring on the pylon had actually melted. It was lying on the ground in melted pools of burning liquid. Whatever happened to your father was pretty big and it seems to have been a tragic accident.”
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