by Park, J. R.
We didn’t know he was going to flip out as bad as he did.
And it was an unfortunate turn that he offed your girlfriend, Norton, but there are always casualties.’
Norton’s anger boiled over when he heard this. If what he said was true, then the agency man was as responsible for Mel’s death as if he had pulled the trigger himself. Enraged, the detective leapt up and took a swing at Royal above him. The MI5 agent recoiled backwards, avoiding the large fist and fired a warning shot across the car. Norton jumped back, simmering with fury.
‘You bastard,’ Norton swore through gritted teeth.
‘Shut your moaning mouth and give me the stick before I shoot both of you,’ Royal demanded, leaning forward and holding out his hand.
At that moment the power flickered on briefly, the lights flashed and the lift car shot down a few feet, before stopping again, plunging them back into darkness. Norton took that moment and grabbed Royal’s hand, shaking the gun from his grip and pulling him into the car. The lights began to flicker again.
‘Get out the lift,’ shouted Norton, ‘it looks like the power is coming back on!’
The car had fallen in line with the doorway Norton had previously spied below them. Taking the moment whilst it presented itself they all ran out of the lift, getting to the safety of the office floor just in time to see the car plummet to the ground.
The three stood alone in an empty, harshly illuminated office. Computer monitors sat on top of each desk and the screens began to flicker in unison. They began to flash as the twisted skull of static appeared in the centre of each one. The Death’s Head program had them back where it wanted and now it was going to eliminate its targets, regardless of who else it took out in the process. The computers started to make a crackling noise that quickly turned into the deadly, high-pitched sonic attack. Orchid and Norton dived on to the floor to avoid the flashing lights and jammed their earplugs back in their ears. Royal looked around, not knowing what to do. He cupped his ears trying to block out the sound, but the whine penetrated his make shift protection and his head pulsated with pain.
He dropped to his knees and tried to scream but was silenced by the contents of his stomach erupting out through his mouth. He retched and retched, unable to stop the flow of bile and semi-digested chunks of food from being forced up from his gut and onto the floor. Unable to catch his breath the uncontrollable heaving was causing him to suffocate. He flailed his arms around in a desperate attempt to find something that would aid him.
‘Help me,’ came a pathetic and desperate cry for help from the MI5 man.
In mid swing his fingers caught the wire of a monitor. He pulled at it wildly bringing the monitor and its attached computer crashing down on his head. The weight of the heavy hardware caught him full and he collapsed to the floor; his face was badly cut from the impact and blood poured from deep gashes. As he fell to ground he began to shake violently. In pain he let out a scream, but another seizure forced his jaw shut causing his teeth to sink into his tongue, biting through the soft flesh. He opened his mouth again releasing a torrent of blood that poured from this horrific wound. His skin grew pale as slowly, life drained from his weakened and wretched frame.
Orchid could see Norton curled up in a fetal position. His back was facing her so she couldn’t work out if he was alive; if he was then he was surely in pain. Her head throbbed and her eyes watered as the sound affected her balance. She tried to stand but it was like they were at sea in a terrible storm. The floor seemed to rock violently up and down and side to side. She gritted her teeth and fumbled around in her pocket searching for something. She prayed she hadn’t lost the Flame. It must be here. At last her fingers found the disguised USB stick, the seemingly innocent charm that had held a secret for so many years. Holding on to the edge of a desk she pulled herself up trying to keep her vision away from the strobing lights that flashed wildly from the screens. Using her hands as a guide she thumbed a computer and through her touch she found a USB socket. The sonics increased in pitch and she began to heave as her stomach tightened in response to the disorienting sound. Orchid pushed the Flame into the USB socket and hit the enter key to run the program. She collapsed on the floor, all her effort now spent, and prayed it had worked.
The screen began to flash a red colour.
The strobes stopped and all the screens began to display the same message.
Target located.
Verifying………..
……target eliminated……….
The noise ceased and the static skull that hung in the centre of the screens began to melt away, piece by piece, returning their displays back to normal.
The Flame had worked as Jon had said it would. It had fooled the Death’s Head program into thinking its targets had been killed, making the deadly program run its last command and delete itself.
The gunshot wound to her calf, although clean, hurt like hell. Orchid wiped the bile from her mouth and hobbled over to where Norton lay. He was still curled up in a ball with his back facing her. She looked over to Royal who lay motionless. His face, twisted with fear, held lifeless eyes that looked back at her in a putrid pool of his own juices. A mixture of blood and vomit.
‘Norton?’ Orchid nudged him on the shoulder, hoping to get a response.
Norton held a thumbs up to her and slowly rolled over. He looked at her with a pained expression on his face.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
He looked into her eyes with a deadpan expression and said, ‘I think I’ve shit myself.’
The day was characteristically grey as Norton walked out of the police station and headed to his car. His face was bruised and scabby, his wounds were bandaged underneath his suit. The last few days had cruelly punished his body. The wind picked up as he made his way across the car park and blew a gentle, soothing gust across his face. He closed his eyes and let the breeze bring him a much needed freshness before he stepped into his car. He didn’t drive off straight away but sat back to watch the pedestrians strolling along, the traffic zooming by, people going about their business.
‘So they believe you then?’ Orchid’s silky tones startled the detective and he rose from his introspection.
She was sat in the back seat, but Norton did not turn around, he did not look directly at her.
‘It’s a long and complicated story but the Chief Inspector believes me enough not to fire me,’ he replied, keeping his eyes fixed on the view through his windscreen. ‘He isn’t going to investigate, he knows it will do no good. The back up files of the room scan shows that my finger prints weren’t originally at the scene of the crime, and neither was a gas canister.’
‘Saved by computers,’ Orchid joked.
‘I think he’s going back to the notebook,’ Norton retorted.
The two laughed together.
When the laughter died down Orchid spoke with a half serious, half playful tone, ‘I suppose you should arrest me.’
‘Not today Orchid, I’m off duty,’ he sounded relaxed and gave a deep sigh. ‘I’ve been given a couple of weeks off.’
‘Good you need it,’ Orchid sympathized with him. She opened the door to leave but before she did she had one last thing to say, ‘Thanks for helping out, but listen, I don’t ever want to see you again. You’re bad for business.’
With that Orchid shut the door and walked away. Norton didn’t look back to watch her leave, instead he kept his eyes focused forward. A mother and daughter walked down the street. The child was excitedly telling her mother the wonderful things that had happened at school today. Norton smiled. He would take a couple of weeks off. He needed time to grieve.
The world could turn without him.
Around him.
He needed to bleed for a while.
To feel the pain and accept it.
But at least the world was a safer place, whatever he did, or didn’t, know.
His mobile rang as he watched the young girl jumping in puddles. The child shrieked with
excited and unbridled joy as she came crashing down into the water, soaking herself. Norton reached down to his phone and put it to his ear.
Had he looked at the screen he would have noticed the name of the caller.
Mel.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. R. Park stopped writing when he left university and didn’t start again until over ten years later. He has always had a love for all things horror and although he can’t change a tyre on a car he can tell you the full history of Italian zombie cinema.
He currently lives in Bristol, in similar conditions as a student, which is probably not very becoming for a man of his age.
It’s carnival night in the seaside town of Stanswick Sands and tonight blood will stain the beach red.
Punch and Judy man, Martin Powell, returns after ten years with a dark secret. As his past is revealed Martin must face the anger of the hostile townsfolk, pushing him to the very edge of sanity.
Humiliated and stripped of everything he holds dear, Martin embarks on a campaign of murderous revenge, seeking to settle scores both old and new.
The police force of this once sleepy town can’t react quick enough as they watch the body count grow at the hands of a costumed killer.
Can they do enough to halt the malicious mayhem of the twisted Punch?
J. R. Park
“It’s a heartbreaking tale. I’d strongly urge anyone, looking for a straight forward raw read to buy this as soon as possible.”
DK Ryan, author of Egor The Rat & creator of HorrorWorlds.com
“Graphical nightmares effectively place the reader in an uneasy position.”
Horror Palace
“A rousing combo of parental angst and seething evil. A great spin on the post-modern serial killer.”
Daniel Marc Chant, author of Burning House
“A hard hitting story of the darker side of life in a sleepy little seaside town.”
Paul Pritchard, Amazon reviewer
What woke you from your sleep?
Was it the light coming through the curtains? The traffic from the street outside?
Or was it the scratching through the walls? The cries of tormented anguish from behind locked doors? The desperate clawing at the woodwork from a soul hell bent on escape?
Welcome to a place where the lucky ones die quickly.
Upon waking, the nightmare truly begins.
“It’s basically like John Doe’s murderous fantasies in Se7en with Clive Barker dancing naked on top of it.”
Daniel Marc Chant, author of Maldicion & Burning House
“Sick. Demands a re-read.”
Duncan P. Bradshaw, author of Class Three
“Such vivid images. J. R. Park is a sick man.” – Mistress Fi, fetish model
For up to date information on the work of J. R. Park visit:
JRPark.co.uk
Facebook.com/JRParkAuthor
Twitter @Mr_JRPark
For further information on the Sinister Horror Company visit:
SinisterHorrorCompany.com
Facebook.com/sinisterhorrorcompany
Twitter @SinisterHC