by Peter Spokes
Scene 5: Not of this World
I opened my eyes and was glancing around at the comings and goings of the officers when I noticed an attractive young woman in uniform. She looked over at me as my eyes followed her for several moments before she smiled at me and despite my headache, I smiled back.
A few minutes later she approached, sat down beside me and introduced herself.
“Hello, Mr Gibson. I’m Officer Waterhouse.”
“Ah, as in the painter?”
“Yes, indeed. You like his work?”
“God, yes. He’s my favourite. His Lady of Shalott is so beautiful, the way her hand is gently releasing the mooring chain to set the boat adrift and to her death. Just makes one want to weep.” I coughed gruffly wishing I hadn’t added the last bit.
“I so agree but my favourite is Lamia.”
“That’s also a favourite of mine,” I said honestly but it probably sounded a bit ingratiating.
“The look of intense love shared by the warrior and the Lamia is so powerful…” she started. “They appear so lost within their gaze with a contemplation and promise of something… more.”
I felt myself grow hot suddenly but deflected my awkwardness. I smiled, “The warrior does realise that the Lamia – beautiful though she is – is a demon.”
“Of course, which makes the painting all the sadder and yet beautiful. He knows she is not of this world but it is of no import to him. Her beauty and love is all to him. He knows he will die but he would rather be with her and die, than be without her and live.”
We looked into each other’s eyes, smiling.
Just then there was a shout from nearby.
“Hi, Mr Gibson…”
Reluctantly I tore my eyes away from Waterhouse’s bright emerald ones and my jaw dropped.
Standing among the milling officers were Mikey, Danny and Luis.
Danny’s right arm – or what was left of it – was raised and he was waving at me. The officers continued their investigation oblivious to their presence.
They looked as if they had been through a meshing machine and the bloody flesh was dripping onto the floor as the officers continued about their business.
I looked back at Waterhouse; she too appeared to be looking at them but her expression was more … curious.
Just then, Tommy got the better of me and my vision began to recede to a point of light which then became extinguished.
Scene 6: Corpses at the Door
Several days later I was staring at the chessboard on my table. It was there because I had hoped it might impress a guest or visitor to my abode but as I never had either, the pieces simply sat there waiting expectantly for the ‘games of kings’ to commence. I was just thinking to myself that one day I really must learn how to play it, when I was subjected to the persistent ring of the doorbell.
For once, I was thankful of the interruption to my otherwise mundane existence.
Naturally I had not been able to get the vision of Mikey, Danny and Luis out of my head. If the tumour was giving me hallucinations, what was real and what wasn’t?
Apparently, an onsite medic had checked me out but found nothing wrong and so Frank had brought me home.
The doorbell refused to give up as I wandered out of the sitting room. As I have already mentioned, I never got visitors and so my current attire consisted of a pair of three-day-old underpants. My current mental attitude was such that I cared not who it was and so I wandered out of the sitting room and opened the door.
I jumped back suddenly – and experienced a little accident that had not occurred since I was a very young child.
I looked at my compatriots in crime. Mikey, Danny and Luis stood before me positively beaming. “We’ve done as you asked, Mr Gibson,” Danny said happily.
I paused a while as I tried to find some words. They appeared as they had earlier – that is – deficient of much of their flesh.
My head hurt so I figured ‘Tommy’ was doing this to me.
The three living corpses stood – cheerfully – at my door, blood dripping onto my path from their ripped flesh. Their smiles appeared all the more eager as little was left of their lips.
Then Luis looked down awkwardly. “I know you told us we shouldn’t meet so soon after the theft Mr Gibson… and you said that you would contact us but… we wanted to tell you that all went well… and we’d like our money.”
“… All… went… well…?” I repeated looking at the living corpses standing – with some pride – before me.
“Yeah,” started Danny, “we stole the pictures like you asked.”
I looked between the three of them.
They looked at each other then back again to me.
“We’re good, Mr Gibson; we won’t swindle you if that’s what you’re thinking…” Mikey said with much concern. “We hid them where you told us.”
I looked at the three of them again still wondering how to phrase my words.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” I said and continued: “After you drove away with the portraits… what happened?… And stop looking at one another!” I said suddenly. “Things are… really not well just now.”
Despite my order, they looked at one another.
“Well, after hiding the paintings we decided to return to the gallery… I know that wasn’t the plan but there were more pictures… we could take… and get more money…” Danny started. Mikey’s dripping skull nodded in affirmation.
“… And…” I said.
“I’m not sure…” he said “… for when we returned… something was there… waiting for us… in the crypt.”
“What was it? What was waiting for you?” I asked.
They looked at one another – again. “I don’t know, but it was big and had… claws… very big … claws…”
“… And teeth…” added Luis. “They were big too…”
“Yes. It had big teeth too,” agreed Mikey.
There was a pause of several seconds before I finally spoke. “Do you not realise that… you… are ripped to pieces… and very possibly dead? And I use the word ‘very’ in a very extreme way.”
“But we’ll still get our cut; won’t we?” Luis said with some rare assertiveness.
I stared at him. “No… well… yes… of course… but… but… you’re dead!” I repeated.
“You’re not trying to renege are you, Mr Gibson?” Danny said with some menace.
“No… no… of course not,” I said more amazed that ‘renege’ was in Danny’s vocabulary than the fact that he stood before me devoid of an arm.
“It’s just that… you’re dead!” I repeated, again, unable to find anything else to say that was more pertinent.
“Danny…?” I asked. “Where is your right arm?”
He shrugged. “Dunno…”
“Jesus Christ, Danny! I’m not asking you where you put your car keys. You are missing your entire right limb! I doubt very much that it will be found down the back of the sofa!” I said unsuccessfully trying not to sound like an escapee from an asylum.
The others smiled, or was that simply the lacking of lips thing? I stared at them.
“Luis. The left side of your face is missing and – what the hell is that below your knee?”
“It’s a bollard, Mr Gibson.”
“What?”
“A traffic bollard; one of those things in the road that…”
“Yes. I… I know what a bollard is but what is one doing attached to your knee bone?”
“It was the right height… and well… hopping was hurting my left leg,” he said simply.
“He’s right, Mr Gibson. He kept falling into things,” Danny added.
“Your left leg was… hurting?” I said looking at the bones protruding from his torso.
I turned with some trepidation to Mikey.
“Mikey, you have always been the… let’s say… more cerebral of your friends, though from the brain matter oozing from your cranium, you may not be for much longer but… that aside… half your ribcage is missing.”
Mikey actually looked offended. “We haven’t all got perfect bodies, Mr Gibson.”
“No,” I said slowly and trying to sound sympathetic, “but we normally have twenty-four ribs, and organs generally… well… hidden from view.”
Mikey looked at the others. “I told you he would notice and it would be a problem.”
“Notice? You look like you’ve come straight from a Michael Jackson ‘Thriller’ video!”
“He was a singer and dancer, wasn’t he?” Danny said looking at the others.
“I can’t dance with this bollard strapped to my knee,” Luis said.
“I don’t think Michael Jackson did any hopping,” Mikey said.
Luis nodded and I shook my head.
Cretins in life and morons in death, I thought.
“Do any of you find anything… odd here… just now?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” Luis said sniggering. “This whole thing is crazy. You’re standing at your front door and wearing only your underpants – which you’ve soiled!”
I listened to the others laugh, though it sounded more like a gurgle.
I closed the door on them and went to bed – once I had showered.
Scene 7: Detective at the Door
I awoke to the sound of a persistent doorbell – again.
With serious apprehension, I wandered – hesitantly – down the stairs, stopping and bending forward to see if the anomalous shape I saw through the door’s opaque window indicated things that shouldn’t be.
Wearing only my underpants – currently unsoiled – I opened the door.
Detective Avery and Officer Waterhouse stood before me.
I looked behind them and to the left and right.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Avery asked looking around herself and then at the underpants.
“Ehm… no… not really,” I said cautiously.
“Good. I hoped you would be feeling better but…” she nodded downwards.
I ignored her and looked at the path, now oddly devoid of blood and gobbets of flesh.
“Could I come inside? I just want to check on a few things.”
I nodded and walked back inside followed closely by Avery and Waterhouse and wondering how I could rescue the latter’s likely perception of me.
Once in the living room Detective Avery and I sat while Officer Waterhouse stood looking out of the window.
“I was just thinking on my next move,” I said gesturing towards the chessboard and nodding sagely.
Unfortunately, Detective Avery looked worryingly interested and examined the board intently. I tried to distract her with an offer of coffee – but too late.
“I would suggest the Boden’s Mate or Lasker-Bauer combination,” she said. “Attack that king.”
I continued to nod; “Is that coffee with milk and sugar?”
“No, thank you.”
I looked over at Officer Waterhouse. She shook her head.
I felt more than a little disappointed by Waterhouse’s lack of eye contact. I guess she had to provide a certain professional protocol with her boss close by.
Finally, Detective Avery sat down. “I do love chess,” she said.
I smiled. “Oh, me too, the horses and the prawns…”
“Yes…” she said looking at me closely though I knew not why.
“Mr Gibson. If I may start on a number of anomalies to our investigation?”
“Certainly,” I said smiling.
“The security camera at the entrance picked up three males following you into the atrium. Did you notice or recognise them?”
“No. At the time I start work the gallery is still open to the public and so I often wander in among them,” I said reverting successfully to my rehearsed answer.
“I see,” she said looking down at her notes.
“Do you own a mobile?” she asked.
“No,” I said shaking my head.
Where was this one going? I hadn’t rehearsed this, I thought.
Then she removed her own mobile and prodded the keypad.
After several moments, I heard a ringing sound from upstairs. “Ah, actually, I do have one but I never use it – except in emergencies.”
The detective stared at me for a long time.
“How is it that one of the murdered men had your mobile number?”
I looked down. “I really don’t know. Could he have picked it up from the security office?”
“But you say you never have your mobile with you.”
“I had it with me the other night as I was waiting for an important call.”
“From…?”
“My mother; she’s not been well recently.”
She nodded. “Okay. Could you give me her number?”
“You don’t believe me, do you?” I said trying the ‘indignant’ approach, though when sitting in only your underpants, it’s not something easily pulled off.
“Just routine; crossing the t’s and dotting the i’s, you know.”
I nodded. “My mother is at the Sunrise Lodge in Wisconsin. You can contact her carer on 055577622478.”
She jotted down the number.
I had always felt rather sad regarding my mother’s recent abode but now I felt rejoiced about it.
Detective Avery took a deep breath and looked up from her pad.
“You said that the cameras were switched off.”
“Yes… yes, that’s right.”
“Would that have been easy to do?”
“Erm… certainly,” I said.
“It’s just that your associate – Frank – said it was rather a complex system… and needs a code.”
I looked down; thanks Frank, I thought.
“Okay,” I said. “I switched off the cameras. They said they would slit my throat if I didn’t do it,” I said with feigned anguish.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I know I should have but… well… I didn’t think it important, and thought I might get into more trouble.”
“Well, naturally the deaths are our only point of investigation. After all, nothing was taken. I guess whatever it was they were up to, something happened before they were able to do it… are you okay, Mr Gibson?”
I realised my mouth was open and so I shut it.
What do you mean, ‘nothing was taken’? I screamed in my head.
“Okay,” she nodded. “Thank you, Mr Gibson. It’s good to see you looking better. You really looked out of it when I last saw you, when you blacked out. You were lucky you had your friend, Frank, to take you home.”
I forced a smile. “He’s a rock,” I said.
I noticed Officer Waterhouse smiling at me and I smiled back.
They left soon after.
Scene 8: Understanding
I made a coffee and returned to my sofa.
I really needed to talk to my walking corpses again… and put on some joggers in case someone else came to the door.
Am I losing my mind?… Or already lost it?… It’s the tumour, I thought glumly.
It was not difficult to accept that the corpses at the door could not be possible; ergo, it didn’t happen and therefore had to have been an hallucination or a dream.
But it had seemed so real.
The detective had said nothing had been taken. She and Officer Waterhouse were real and therefore this must be the truth.
Oddly, I felt some relief, for if nothing was taken and I had nothing to do with their deaths then I was clear of any misdoings.
Still, maybe I should book an appointment with my consultant.
What I did next surprised even me. I called the local precinct to see if I could speak with Officer Waterhouse. The smile she had left I still saw like an afterimage from a bright light.
Chapter 2
Scene 1: The Consultant
“Hello, Mr Gibson,” said the consultant with his usual superficially cordial welcome.
“Hello,” I said sitting down into the unexpectedly low chair on the other side of his mahogany desk.
He sat resting his clasped fingers across the waistcoat of his three-piece suit and endeavoured to scrutinise me through his wire-rimmed glasses.
“This tumour…” I started.
“Ah yes… I understand you’ve given it a name; ‘Timmy’, isn’t it?” he said still smiling as if we were reminiscing on a recently enjoyed social occasion.
“Why is that? If I may ask?”
“Well… Firstly, it’s ‘Tommy’,” I said and continued, “I felt I needed a name to call it and ‘Astrocytomas the Tumour’ didn’t really run too well… as it were… and ‘tomas’ was in the name.”
“Good one, Mr Gibson,” said Mikey chuckling. The other two corpses joined in.
I looked over to one side and groaned. “Don’t go splitting your sides, guys – oh, you already have,” I said drily.
They laughed some more.
I looked back at the consultant and continued. “Well… I’ve been having some very strange dreams or hallucinations of late…”
“I see…” he said looking over his shoulder, “and what have these dreams or hallucinations concerned?”
“Well…” I paused. “Three persons were apparently… murdered… a couple of weeks ago… where I work.” I paused. “And I see them!”
“Please tell me more, Mr Gibson.”
“Well, it seems they were… well… butchered, and now I see them as they are… were… after death…”
The consultant’s fingers took up a steepled position under his nose. “I see,” he repeated and continued, “When have you seen these murdered persons?”