Parallel II - The Gift

by Paul Rice

  George apologised for the lateness of his call. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you – I know it’s late. I am also aware that you have had a very difficult night. Well done on yesterday, by the way. I didn’t contact you as I know that things may have become quite traumatic?” He looked sternly through the screen at them. “However, this time things will be a bit more personal, I am afraid to say, and isn’t something I would want at this particular moment, but, unfortunately the subject has killed once more and…” George paused, “And he has twisted in someway… inside… his hunger does not seem to be sated and we fear his next victim will be taken much sooner than was thought?” He shook his head in annoyance.

  Ken spoke. “Is it Peters?” He looked at his partners and they saw the fire within his eyes. It wasn’t something Jane had ever seen before.

  George gave it to him straight. “Yes, he will be with his latest victim in the woods at dawn tomorrow.”

  “What about Susan, where is she, George… he hasn’t got her yet has he, please tell me that he hasn’t taken her?” Ken almost shouted the final question, his hands clenched into balls, words lancing through the atmosphere.

  Their passionate volume caused George to blink, just the once. He drew a breath and said, “Stay calm, Kenneth. Peters does not have Susan, not yet. But he is planning on taking her very soon. We need you now as this one is going to be difficult. We require your inner strength and your fire!”

  It was Ken’s turn to blink. The reference to that particular element, the one he had only just been thinking about, shocked him. “I knew the old bastard could read minds… well, if you can read minds, George – then hear this: just fucking shrink-me-down so that I can get to the bastard and then it will be game over, OK?” He stared at the old man and waited for some sign. There was to be no acknowledgement of his attempt at telepathy.

  Instead, George calmly gave them their instructions and then began transferring all of the information into the Communicator. Mike used the same little disc over and over again, the end of one mission always erasing every piece of data from the previous. Ken had thought about the implications of that: what if they made a mistake, how would they prove they were not simply a random gang of vigilantes, but then again, who in the hell would believe their tale anyway? No, either way, they were screwed if they got caught and Ken knew that their only salvation lay in immaculate planning, and even better execution. He also knew that in reality it was exactly what they were, random vigilantes, it was just that they had some really good assistance, out of this world assistance. He smiled to himself and turned to listen to the old man’s voice.

  The latest briefing was very concise and almost impersonal in the way in which it was delivered. When it had ended, and without further ado, George had gone, he’d very politely said goodnight and wished them well, but he hadn’t hung around. After he had gone, faded back into the screen and left them with his latest gift… one which it appeared that only Ken really wanted to unwrap… they sat and watched the playback. Much to the other’s relief, it was he, Ken, who suddenly assumed command of the briefing.

  The time to go and take care of Peters had arrived.

  After fifteen minutes, the screen darkened. Ken stood up and said, “So, by the looks of things, Peters is going to be there at about three-am, we need to get into his place and get the things, the evidence that he’s got stashed away. Mike and I will go onto the property. Jane: you sit up in the lay-by and text me when you see him on the Scanner, I’ll have my phone on vibrate?” She nodded and continued to listen to his rapid-fire instructions. “We’ll use the lay-by up the road from his cottage as our destination point. You can watch the house from there, as soon as he’s in, then come and join us. Check the Scanner first and if there’s anybody else around, then just wait until they’ve gone.” He turned to Mike. “Is there anything new on the disc, Mike?”

  Mike looked up from the machine and said it was a negative, the download had completed and what they had was it. No more words. “All we have to do is stick it in the Spear tomorrow and away we go…” With a touch of his hand he ejected the disc and then closed the Communicator down. With a practised ease, the trio checked over their equipment, placed everything neatly away in the red case and then laid the whole lot on the kitchen table. Ken made sure Mike had his gloves and then placed a strip of the blue tablets where they would not be forgotten. After a final quick discussion, they were done. Ken suggested they get some sleep as it was going to be a very early start and he needed everyone to be as fresh as possible. By Mike’s calculations they could have the job done and be back in the Lodge by six the following morning, providing it all went well, that is? Mike and Jane agreed, and after making sure the house was locked, Ken turned off the lights and headed for bed.

  At just gone two o’clock the next morning, and after a few hours of fitful sleep, he dragged himself from under the warm quilt to make his way to the shower. Ken cranked up the heat and stood under the searing needles of hot water, which soon blasted the weariness away from his body. After finishing with the shower, and showing his mouth a quick flash of the toothbrush, Ken climbed into his clothes and headed downstairs for a rendezvous with the kettle. Walking past Mike’s room on his way to the kitchen, he was pleased to see the sliver of light shining from under the Australian’s door. “I’ll get the brews on and take one up to Jane; she must be shattered with all of this?” Ken felt a pang of guilt at the thought. He personally was filled with excitement with any thoughts of his own tiredness having been long since washed away by hot water and adrenaline.

  Thirty minutes later, blue tablets swallowed, suits on, and gear packed, they were seated in the Spear and waiting for the information regarding their task, to load. They made some small-talk but it was too early in the day for much else; plus, there was also some quiet reflection going on. Jane started the engine and Mike inserted the disc into the reader. To their surprise, George himself appeared on the screens, the news he gave them wasn’t good and included details of how they were going to use one of the pens on their target. Then, once he had been immobilised, they were to ensure that Peters’ death appeared to be suicide. The detailed instructions George gave, made Jane shudder; Ken saw the movement in her shoulder as he sat in the rear watching his own mini screen. George’s words penetrated the warm luxury of the cab: “It is doubtful the aerosol will work on this particular individual, some part of his mind seems to be void of reality. Just stun him and then, well… you know what is required?" It was the first time he had used a visual briefing, preferring to use the more normal, written method.

  His personal appearance made Ken realise that perhaps this one was a big deal. It was either that, or the old man was worried?

  Watching the data filter onto the dull blue screen for a while after George had gone, Mike stopped the player, reached down and strapped himself in: “Buckle-up folks.” He said, grinning over his shoulder as he caressed the consul and waited whilst the silver knob to slide into view. He answered the screen’s usual question, which ended in: ‘…are you sure…’ with a deft movement of his left thumb, and then, in a blink of an eye, they disappeared.

  Their arrival in the cold, dark lay-by caused a sleeping Blackbird to leap, chattering with surprise, from its cosy hedgerow roost. It swooped low across the road to their left and then stood on the verge with its head cocked, angrily looking at the strange vehicle, which had appeared as if from nowhere? Ken looked at his watch. “Let’s do this!” he said, and reached for the door handle. Stepping into the night, he waited until Mike was out and then placed his hand on the glass next to Jane’s head. She reached up and placed her own palm against the window and smiled at him. Ken nodded once before turning away into the darkness. Crossing the road, the two men walked down the hill towards the cottage; the Blackbird, shrieking in anger at the added inconvenience, flashed past them on his way to find some alternative place to sleep. Entering the back gate, and using the overgrown hedge as cover, they moved towards the co
ttage. Ken headed for the outhouse, whilst Mike used his mystical key and entered the cottage through the back door. He slipped from room to room, gathering items from their clever hiding places and placing them into the plastic bag, which he had stuffed in his pocket. Within ten minutes he had rejoined Ken in the outhouse. Placing the bag down, he whispered: “All good, where’s the rope and the ladder?”

  Ken pointed at the two items he had placed against the far wall. “Yeah, I got ‘em, but I need to try this pen, I fucking dropped it and the cap came off. I’ve got it back on but I still need to test it, OK?” Taking the pen out, he looked at the cap, twisted it, aimed the device at the wall and then squeezed off a shot, the pen functioned perfectly and they watched in silence as its green fire spread across the surface of the old wall. The liquid appearance of the spreading energy illuminating the darkened interior of the building, as it dissipated the room darkened once again, leaving only a strong smell of burning behind. “OK, that still works, I suppose?” Ken said. ‘If it doesn’t then I’m just gonna clout him one, either way – he’s coming with us?” He placed the pen back in his pocket and looked at his watch. According to the briefing, their target should be with them in eight-minutes. “I’ve put a roll of plastic over there, too. We should stick him in it maybe, just in case he’s bleeding or something?” Mike nodded in agreement. Looking at his watch again, Ken whispered: “Lets get out of here. Peters will be here in a minute or two.” He pushed the door open, and with Mike at his shoulder, walked around the side of the outhouse. As dawn began its lethargic climb towards the new day, they stood shivering in the shadow of the cottage and waited for Jane’s text.

  The vibration Ken’s his hip pocket wasn’t long in coming.

  ‘Target approaching, all clear.’

  Ken slid the phone back into his pocket and tapped Mike’s arm, nodding his head in the darkness in signal of Peters’ imminent arrival. Together they crouched in the darkness with their hearts racing, listening intently as the sound of a gate, scraping against stone, reached their straining ears. There was moment of silence and then the sound of a man whistling softly floated through the air; it was followed by the noise of a watery splash, the sound of which raised them to their feet once more. The signal for them to move came in the form of a clicking latch, followed by the sound of the outhouse door rattling shut. They ran around the side of the building, Ken leading with his pen in hand. The cap was twisted and his thumb was on the button. Reaching the door he stepped to one side and allowed Mike to raise the latch, which he did with all the skill of a cat burglar, not a sound was made as the door swung inwards, Ken stepped into the dimly lit room. Peters spun around with his eyes widening in shock. Without hesitation, Ken shot him with the pen. His action produced a beam of green light that leaped out of the pen’s nozzle and hit the man squarely in the face. Peters froze where he had been standing. They saw the energy reach out and touch every corner of his skull, staring in horror as it illuminated the blood vessels in his ears and raced down his throat. He was consumed by it.

  “I…” was the only sound to escape his mouth before he crumpled to the floor. Mike stepped over him reached for the roll of plastic and a ball of garden string hanging on the back wall.

  Ken swapped the pen for his mobile and rang Jane. “Come down and reverse onto the drive, keep your eye on the scanner, we’ll see you in a bit!” Ken pressed the call end button and turned towards Mike. He was in the process of rolling Peters onto his back. They pulled his coveralls back on, making sure the guilt-ridden gloves were in their pocket, and then rolled him onto a large flat piece of the plastic sheet before bundling him up and unceremoniously trussing the package like a giant, Christmas turkey. Within fifteen minutes he was dumped into the rear of the gleaming Spear, which Jane had rolled onto the gravel track at the side of the beautiful old cottage. A black plastic bag containing, amongst other things, his over-shoes, was put into the boot next to him. The final thing they did was to lay the man’s rusty old step-ladder across the top of his quivering form. After shutting the boot, Mike and Ken ran around and slid into the leather bound interior of the vehicle. Ken leaned forward and said, “Let’s go!” With its sweet engine purring softly, the Spear slipped away into the dripping dawn light. The only sound was a slight crushing of gravel beneath the tyres as it turned left and headed for the woods.

  They left not a trace of their presence.

  Jane looked across at Mike. “No worries, it all went to plan – well done!” He said, in confirmation of her unasked question. Without any need for further talk, Jane took them back to the wood, back to Peters’ abhorrent place. The place where he kept his secrets, his rights…

  Within ten minutes they had arrived in the wood, tiny beads of moisture began to settle on the windscreen as they rolled into the darkened cave of its dark interior. Jane quickly swished them away with the wipers. The mist was much thicker now, draping itself like some ghostly veil across the dripping branches of the trees, its long, white fingers reaching down into the very heart of the place. The dampness of its presence released the odours long hidden within the ancient wood’s ever rotting, yet ever growing, soul. It was a fitting place for such a secretive monster to meet his maker.

  After rolling to a stop in the pre-determined place, the two men exited the Spear and walked around to the rear. Having waited for the boot lid to rise, they reached inside and removed the various items that would be needed for the unpleasant task ahead. Then they turned back to Peters, dragging him roughly from the boot and dumping him on the ground before removing his tightly wrapped plastic sheet. They prepared him in such a way that his secret would be no more, the awful truth of who he was and what he had done would be revealed for all to see. Yanking him into a sitting position, they propped him up and tied the thick rope around his neck. The loose-end was expertly looped over the bough of a tall chestnut tree that rose above them, the old tree had borne silent witness to all of his actions beforehand, and it would, ironically, become his judge and executioner, too. Mike rolled the plastic into a bundle and stuffed the long piece of string in-between the folds. Ken stepped over to the car and spoke to Jane: “Take the car to the end of these trees, face it the other way and keep an eye on the scanner will you, love?” He wasn’t really worried too much about any intruders but did need an excuse to keep her from seeing what he and Mike had to do next. He shut the door and turned to the task at hand. The Spear rolled away and with a slight flash of its brake lights, came to a halt near the edge of the wood.

  Ken grunted as he carried Peters in a fireman’s-lift to the top of the now erect step-ladder. Mike steadied the ladder and took up the slack on the rope as Ken climbed. Ken held their victim’s body up until the rope took over the task, eventually leaving Peters sagging but upright, with the tension in the rope preventing him from falling, but only just. The stricken man’s arms flopped by his side, swinging like an unattended puppet whose master was on a tea break. As he sagged, ten feet above the ground, Peters was already starting to choke. The rope was tied to a nearby fence post and then securely looped around a second. The friction gained by being wrapped around the bough of the tree would prevent it from slipping, but they made doubly sure. Peters stared down in abject horror as Ken and Mike prepared their deadly apparatus. The rope, which cut into his throat, prevented any sound from escaping his writhing lips. His horrified eyes looked down at them. They never acknowledged him in the slightest and were extremely efficient in their actions, wasting not a single movement.

  At last they were done, if Peters was expecting some kind of a sermon, or a last wish, perhaps, then he was sadly mistaken. Stepping back from the ladder, Ken looked up at him, shook his head in a gesture of chastisement, and then kicked the ladder away. Peters plummeted into the abyss, his neck dislocating with a sickening crunch. The fall never killed him outright and unluckily for him he spent his final moments being strangulated by his own weight. The spattering sound of his own piss was the only eulogy he received, the relea
se of his bladder allowing a long stream of warm yellow fluid to run freely from the bottom of his trouser legs.

  Reaching into the plastic bag, Mike, who had been looking away for the final act, extracted the thick roll of garden string and the galoshes. Slipping the over-boots on, he reached up and proceeded to tie one end of the string to the dying man’s wrist, he turned and followed the dreadful route to the children’s horrific hidden resting place. As he walked he let the string roll out behind him, finally laying it in a circle around the small plot their killer had chosen for the children’s burial place. Taking a twig, he pegged the end of the string into the earth above their tombs. Mike reached into the bag once more and pulled out the pieces of clothing, which their killer had kept as trophies. He scattered them within the circle of string, grimacing as the cleanliness of their innocence stood accusingly in the darkness of the wood. Rising to his feet, he stood with head bowed for a few seconds. “Sorry we weren’t here before,” he said. “We didn’t know about any of this… I’m so sorry, there wasn’t any need for you to be hurt, I’m afraid that the world is filled with darkness… but you can sleep now,” he paused to gather himself. “It’s over, rest in peace. Susan will be fine, just fine, don’t you worry.” With tears in his eyes, Mike turned away and walked back to where his partner waited in the mist.

  Ken had already placed the shovel, which he had retrieved from the hidden pipe, by the side of the fallen step-ladder. Mike carried out their penultimate act and slid the galoshes off his feet before placing them beneath the still-twitching training shoes hanging above. The last thing they did was to scatter a handful of photographs, ones their victim had kept in his secret drawer back at the cottage, onto the unfeeling ground below him. Every single one of them landed face-up. Their dreadful story too painful to tell, a picture paints a thousand words, so the saying goes. The children would be found and their parents would get to know the truth.