This Time of Night

by Jon F. Merz

  Dmitri finished his second glass and poured himself another. “Aren’t you ever curious?”

  Henry eyed him. “Listen, if it makes you feel better to talk about it, then feel free. We’ve some time to kill anyway.”

  Dmitri nodded. “Do you believe in ESP, Kent?”

  Henry frowned. “Psychic phenomena? I’m not sure. To be honest, I’ve never had occasion to consider it.”

  Dmitri smiled. “Think of a number.”

  Henry chuckled. “Oh, come on. You can’t be serious. Really, I’m inclined to consider that something more of a parlor trick.”

  “Very well. Then pick something else. A name, perhaps? A special date you hold close to your heart?”

  Henry looked at him. “I don’t know.”

  “You said yourself we had time to kill. Why waste it only on vodka?”

  Henry smiled. “All right. I should tell you I’m-”

  “-very skeptical, yes I know,” said Dmitri. “That one was free, by the way.”

  “Huh?” Henry blanched. “Oh, for crying out loud. All right. Let’s go with the date. I think that’d represent more of a challenge to you anyway.”

  Dmitri nodded. “Good. Close your eyes and think of the time you wish. See yourself there now in that time and try to remember everything you saw, heard, felt and smelled and touched. Try to recreate that time in your mind as if it was actually happening. That’s it, just let yourself be there now.”

  Henry heard deep breathing from Dmitri but did not open his eyes. He stayed in the memory and enjoyed it.

  “All right.”

  Henry opened his eyes and saw Dmitri smiling. “Interesting choice.”

  Henry folded his arms. “So?”

  “The date in question? June 7, 1973. It was ten o’clock at night. You were in a field in some part of England, losing your virginity to an especially aggressive woman of considerable beauty. She had blonde hair and green eyes. One of your tutors, I believe.”

  Henry’s jaw dropped. “That’s amazing!”

  Dmitri demurred. “Hardly. That’s merely hocus-pocus type foolery.”

  “But you saw what I was seeing. You even knew she was my tutor, not that I needed one, but-”

  “-when you saw how lovely she was, you let your grades slip deliberately. Yes, that would make sense.”

  Henry shook his head. “Is this why your coming over to us?”

  “I wish that was the extent of my abilities. Tragically, it isn’t. You see, I am the head of all Soviet psychic research projects. I have everything stored away in my head. I know what they have been successful with, what has failed, the experiments, the long-term effects and even current projects.”

  “Good lord,” said Henry. “If they knew you were defecting-”

  “They would kill me, yes. I have accepted that fact.”

  “And you still want to go? That’s very courageous.”

  Dmitri shook his head. “Courage is something I have never had, Kent. If I had, I would have left a long time ago. Instead, I stayed around and watched the programs grow, the results stack up higher and higher in favor of aggressive experimentation.”

  “What kind of experimentation?”

  Dmitri finished another glass and looked at the lone bulb over his head in the small kitchen. “We experimented on human beings.” He frowned. “Not the simple thought projection experiments, mind you. We weren’t satisfied with those. We knew there was more awesome power to be had. We tried to increase abilities through bioelectric circuitry implanted in our subjects.”

  “And?”

  Dmitri poured another glass of vodka. He was silent for a minute. “Sometimes things worked well. Sometimes the implants were accepted.”

  “Sometimes?”

  Dmitri looked at him. “Have you ever seen another human being try to literally rip their eyeballs out?”

  Henry raised an eyebrow. “No.”

  “Nor had I. Pray you never do. It is a sight all the vodka in the world could never erase from my memory. Sometimes, the implants did not take. Our experiments died agonizing deaths.”

  “The ones that were successful?”

  Dmitri shrugged. “We never knew. Once their powers were increased to the point where they could utilize telekinesis, that is moving objects with their minds, or clairvoyance and clairaudience, they were sent elsewhere. We heard rumors the GRU, that is the Soviet Military Intelligence, was using them to help recruit spies abroad.”

  “Surely you must have known, if you were in charge of these programs?”

  Dmitri shook his head. “No. The information was compartmentalized. I knew only what I needed.”

  Henry shook his head. “You’re telling me these people were unleashed?”

  Dmitri sighed. “Yes. We heard rumors, of course. Whispers about what they were doing, these...experiments. But we never knew for sure.”

  “What kind of rumors?” asked Henry.

  Dmitri looked away. “You do not wish to know.”

  “I do,” said Henry. “It could be extremely important.”

  Dmitri looked at him. “Assassins.”

  Henry frowned. “Assassins, what do you mean by that?”

  “Psychic assassins, Kent,” said Dmitri. “People who could kill you just by thinking. Can you imagine a more horrible way to die than by someone turning your own mind against you?”

  “Are you sure they exist?”

  Dmitri shrugged. “I have no idea. As I said, they were rumors.” He poured another glass of vodka. “I have seen enough anyway, without this idea of mental murder.”

  Henry leaned back and clenched his jaw. Dmitri had intelligence the rest of the world needed to know about. If there were psychic assassins around, they’d represent a serious threat.

  “When does our transportation arrive?”

  Henry started. “Huh? Oh, around five.” He checked his watch. “That’s a few hours away.”

  Dmitri nodded.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” asked Henry.

  Dmitri smiled. “Down the hallway. First door on the left.”

  Henry stood and walked down the hall. It was dark, but he could make out the shape of the door. He turned the door knob and stepped inside, fumbling for the light switch.

  It smelled funny.

  Henry finally found the switch and flipped it on.

  There was a body on the floor of the bathroom.

  “Jesus,” said Henry quietly. He knelt and felt for a pulse, knowing there would be none. He turned slightly and looked in the direction of the kitchen. Dmitri had known where the bathroom was. Surely he would have seen the body-?

  Henry did two things then. First he took the pistol he carried out of his coat pocket. Second, he searched the corpse’s body. He found the wallet in the back trousers pocket. He opened it and saw the identification card identifying the dead man as Dmitri Grevzchenko.

  I didn’t hear you flush, so I’m assuming you’ve made the discovery.

  Henry pivoted and brought the gun to bear behind him. No one was there.

  Now, now, Henry, that gun will do you no good. Don’t even bother wasting time. I can make it quick or very, very slow.

  Henry frowned. “What do you want?”

  Isn’t telepathy amazing? You can hear me inside your mind now just talking as you crouch there panicked and unsure of what to do. Can you bring that gun up and try to walk back to the kitchen where I’m sitting enjoying another glass of vodka? Could you even shoot me?

  Henry stood up. “I can try.”

  The pain smacked him sideways into the wall. I don’t think so, Henry. Not tonight. Tonight, things go a little differently.

  Henry clawed for the door, sweating. His heart thundered inside his chest. He could hardly breathe.

  Awful isn’t it? It’s like having twenty tons of pain squeezing your head and heart from the inside out. I can make it sharp-

  Henry screamed as the needle pain shot through his chest and head.

  -or I can make it
slowly suffocating...

  Now the pain vanished but Henry couldn’t breathe. His heart felt crushed.

  Which one do you prefer, Henry?

  Henry struggled to get the door open, barely able to use any strength. Finally, it cracked and the rush of air brought a small measure of relief. He fell into the hallway, clutching the small pistol with him still.

  Tsk, tsk. Shouldn’t have done that!

  Another wave of intense pain made Henry claw at his head. He cried out again and again as his skull throbbed. He crawled along the hallway floor. Ahead of him the kitchen beckoned him.

  Can you make it, Henry? Can you make it to me? Are you strong enough?

  Henry grabbed at the walls to help pull him along. Every inch felt like a mile.

  Come on, Henry. You’d be the first one who hasn’t keeled over from a heart attack. Maybe, I’ll even let you live...maybe.

  Henry finally reached the threshold of the kitchen. He looked up at the man who sat there calmly smiling at him. He held a glass of vodka.

  Incredible isn’t it? I don’t even have to lift a finger. Yet you lie there, bathed in your own sweat, soaking wet from crawling down a measly hallway. All the strength in the world couldn’t save you.

  Henry brought his hand up and tried to steady the gun on the man. He pulled the hammer back.

  You know what the best part is, Henry? It’s watching the person try so hard to overcome the pain, just like how you’re trying now. See that? Got the gun on me, have you? Convinced you can pull that trigger? Go ahead and try. Go on...

  Henry tried to retract his index finger over the trigger. It didn’t move.

  Pity, isn’t it? Remember how I told you about the person clawing their eyeballs out, Henry? I used to think that was the worst thing I’d ever seen, but now I know better.

  Henry managed to get his other hand up by the gun and tried flexing that finger over the trigger as well.

  All right, not going to listen anymore, are you? Very well. It was fun talking to you, Henry. I imagine your death will be a puzzle to your MI6, but that’s how it goes. Your last memory will be one of incredible pain as your brain explodes, but before I kill you, I just wanted to let you know that this is the best kill yet. Nothing like the Shepherd being killed by a wolf in sheep’s clothing, eh?

  Henry screamed as the first wave of pain ripped through his skull. He slumped to the floor, his world going black. He heard the pistol clatter to the floor, useless. How long would it take?

  Under The Gun

  Fun with dialogue or just funny? You decide…

  Gun barrels always loom larger when you’re looking down one of them. This time was no different than any other. Except for the fear. As many times as this had happened to me before, as many times as I had flubbed something up and encountered that gaping black maw , you might expect me to be overcome with the fear. Nope.

  It simply wasn’t there anymore. It was gone. No remnants of the stuff. No spike in my adrenaline. No dump afterwards that would leave me feeling woozy. Nothing.

  It wasn’t ego that made me feel this way, either. I try my damnedest not to let it affect me. Certainly only fools think they can remain calm when looking at potential death.

  Or are they? I can remember reading stories of guys that had been in combat so often that they felt immune to the normal paralyzing fear the overtakes a greenhorn. Had I been through this so much before that it was finally what my system was recognizing as “normal?” It seemed peculiar to me.

  It also put me in a potentially bad situation.

  I tend to think there is a definite measure of psychological superiority that occurs when one person has another cornered with a chunk of metal that can lob small projectiles into them. But then that’d just be obvious, wouldn’t it?

  Such was the case for Louie. He was the guy holding the gun on me. Big, hairy, and smelled of fried onions and stale salami. I think his breath was deadlier than the 9mm Hollow-points his Beretta was stocked with. But that’s merely my perspective.

  But that’ll have to do for now. Considering I was there and you weren’t.

  So there’s Louie, disgruntled son of the World Wrestling Federation, looking at me with that look. You know that look? No? Well, you’ve seen it before on TV or in movies, I know you have.

  It’s the look that mocks you.

  “I’m gonna kill you now, Billy. You know that?”

  No shit. That’s pretty much what the look was saying, too. Louie was never big on subtleties.

  “Yeah?” It was the best I could do after his brilliant comment.

  “Yup.”

  I nodded. Slowly. “I figured that.” He grinned.

  “Shouldn’t have pissed Mr. Jennings off.”

  “Well, I’m kinda sorry he took it that way, Louie. You think maybe we could go talk to him again?”

  Louie smiled and then shook his head real fast. “Nahhh. I don’t think so.”

  “No? Why not?”

  You could almost hear the little hamsters running around the wheel that probably powered most of Louie’s thought process. He looked confused for a moment. Finally he said, “I’m supposed to kill you.”

  I nodded again. “Uh huh, well we already established that, now didn’t we?”

  “We did?”

  “Yep. That’s why you have the gun and I’m here moving very slowly.”

  He grinned. “Oh, yeah, right.”

  The moron should not be behind the trigger. Probably didn’t know the first thing about using a gun. Unlike yours truly. Gifted, if I may be permitted a momentary self-indulgence. The Heckler & Koch P9 I used to carry had been upgraded earlier this year to an H&K USP, in 10mm. Beautiful gun. Great shot groupings at the range. Works like a charm on the street, too. I loved that piece.

  Louie’s beefy stubs looked less than comfortable holding the Italian-made pistol. I couldn’t see from my angle of view but I was intensely curious as to whether or not he’d even remembered to take the safety off. I couldn’t actually risk finding out.

  “Say, Louie, if you’re gonna kill me, you know I get a last request, right?”

  “No, you don’t,” he said momentarily serious.

  Damn. “No? Okay. So how are you going to do it?”

  “Do what?”

  I sighed. “Shoot me, you idiot, how are you going to shoot me?”

  The look on his face told me he still had no clue what I was talking about. “Louie, where do you intend to shoot me?”

  “In the head?”

  “No, no, no. Too much chance of the bullet hitting a bone and rebounding off of it. Better choice would be center mass. Best chance of striking a vital organ, hopefully achieving a mortal wound.”

  He nodded. “That sounds good. What’s center mass?”

  I blinked. “The middle of my body Louie.” I grabbed the barrel and placed the muzzle against my heart. “Here.”

  He grinned. “Okay.” And then I heard the clicking of the trigger pulling back, the inevitable release as it fell back to the round and then the minute tap of the hammer striking the bullet before the roar of exploding gunpowder that jettisoned the bullet into yours truly.

  I looked down as Louie struggled with the recoil. There was a large hole in my chest that was spewing lots of blood. I groaned. Then the pain hit. I fell back and slumped down to the floor, already slick with my life’s essence. My eyes clamped shut to try to ease the pain and I was aware of my jaw grinding into my teeth. Waves of agony washed over me and then my pores opened to release sweat to cool my overheating body.

  In the background I could hear Louie mumbling. He sounded like he was amazed by the damage the gun could do to me. Must never have fired one before. I knew damn well what the effects of a bullet at close range can do to a person. It ain’t always pretty.

  His footsteps slogged away, most likely to dispose of the gun. He was operating now by rote. He’d obviously been made to memorize a certain amount of instructions about how to kill me.

  Gr
adually the pain began to recede and I was left feeling rather airy. Like I was floating. But then this feeling passed too, and I realized I had read and seen too many accounts of after death experiences.

  My breathing had slowed, but my body was cooler now. It was very interesting. I heard Louie come shuffling back and I risked opening my eyes. He was looking pleased with himself. And he had every right to be. He had carried out his orders to the fullest. Killing me was an easy way for him to earn some brownie points with his boss. His back was to me and I knew my time had come.

  He never saw me rise up behind him. I tapped him on the shoulder and he jumped, as much as his hulking mass was able. He turned around slowly.

  “I just shot you.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, you did.”

  “How?”

  I shrugged. “Just one of those things.” I smiled. His jaw dropped slack as he saw my canines expose themselves. I was drooling uncontrollably. I love it when the shock hits them. Makes it easier for me. I could see Louie’s pulse jumping around his neck. Looked delicious.

  “I’m afraid,” I said with a slight lisp, licking around my teeth, “that you won’t be waking up. You see, that bullet of yours did a lot of damage. As you can see, I’ve lost a lot of blood.” And then I moved onto him.

  Sinking my teeth into his neck was tougher than I thought it’d be. There was a lot of fat. Still, the blood tasted like ambrosia. I drank for a long time. I had to replenish my stores.

  Finally, I lifted my mouth from him and belched appreciatively. Such sweet blood. Louie’s diet must have consisted almost entirely of Hostess cupcakes. I was at the point now where I could differentiate blood like a wine connoisseur. Most people think it’s just coppery. To me, it’s a smorgasbord of discovery.

  I looked down and frowned. Another shirt ruined. That meant another trip to the store before it closed tomorrow evening. What a pain in the ass.

  Louie’s body lay still. I could hear the last beats of his heart as he neared death. He was watching me. His lips moved. “....Jennings.”

  Hmm, I’d forgotten about him. Jennings, the man who had ordered Louie to kill me. All because his daughter had disappeared and she was last seen with yours truly. When Jennings had asked me about it, I told him to run away. I told him I could kill him easily. So he dispatched Louie, the missing link, to kill me. That’s the thanks I get for telling the truth. Some people are so unappreciative.