15 Signs Of Murder (Fifteen thrillers)

by Luis Samways

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ she says calmly, her coat still rattling in the wind.

  ‘My name is Angelina Novik,’ she says calmly, still mesmerised by the coldness of this particular woman.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she asks

  ‘I don’t follow,’ says Mrs Novik

  The woman bangs the butt of her gun into the skull of Mrs Novik. The pain pierces through her skin as she lets out a yelp, still trying to sound tough as to not seem weak.

  ‘Answer the question bitch,’ the woman says, grabbing Mrs Novik’s arm to steady her after the unprovoked blow.

  ‘I’m trying to survive,’ says Mrs Novik

  ‘Survive from what?’ asks the woman plainly, still gripping Mrs Novik firmly

  ‘From people like you! God damn, all I wanted was some food,’ she says

  The stern woman’s composer drops a tad as a little humanity is seen in her eyes.

  ‘Okay…Okay,’ she repeats looking Mrs Novik up and down

  ‘I just want some food, and I’ll be on my way,’ she says

  The woman nods and lets Mrs Novik free of her grip. She holsters her shiny pistol and extends a hand.

  ‘My name is Clare, Clare White,’ she says, still extending her hand out for a shake.

  ‘As I said, my name’s Angelina,’ she says, shaking the woman’s hand

  The woman hoists herself up onto the van’s loading dock and sits down on it, swinging her legs casually as she looks on at the petrified Mrs Novik.

  ‘So what’s your story?’ asks the woman named Clare

  ‘I am from New Jersey,’ she says

  The woman looks surprised

  ‘Well, you are quite far from home…How come?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ says Mrs Novik

  ‘Well I have time!’

  Mrs Novik goes on to tell the woman about how she was imprisoned and how she escaped. The conversation lasts a few hours or so as they talk into the early stages of an Albany sunset.

  Eighteen

  London, England

  ‘Okay Mr Grimshaw. You are being discharged now. Here are your possessions, and we hope to not see you again anytime soon,’ says the police constable behind the desk, handing Steven his wallet.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Steven as he puts his wallet into his back pocket.

  The sergeant who was interviewing him earlier walks up the hallway near the police station’s entrance with a smile on his face.

  ‘Ah, so you are leaving,’ says the sergeant as he reaches Steven.

  ‘Yeah, thanks for the hospitality and all, but I think I have outstayed my welcome,’ says Steven

  ‘I’m sure we can accommodate more room for you if need be Mr Grimshaw,’ laughs the sergeant.

  ‘I’m sure you can,’ says Steven as he turns around and walks towards the exit.

  ‘One more thing Mr Grimshaw, stay out of trouble. We have our eyes on you,’ says the sergeant

  ‘Will do,’ says Steven walking out of the exit, the sliding doors whooshing open.

  ‘Prick,’ says Steven under his breath as he walks outside.

  The cold British weather nibbles at his face as he walks down the ramp and into the car park. He’s about a hundred meters away when he decides to call someone on his mobile. He grabs his phone and punches in some numbers. He waits for an answer.

  ‘Hey there, it’s me, just thought I’d tell you I’m on my way home…Don’t worry about that, it was just a misunderstanding dear…Okay, I love you too,’ he says as he hangs up the phone. He spots a CCTV camera pointing down at him and smiles. He waves his hand at it and turns around to walk off the premises. He reaches the stroll path exiting the police station car park and suddenly hears a rumble. He turns around quickly and witnesses the Police station exploding. The windows disintegrate and shatter outwards as shards hit Steven’s face. He flops onto the ground and hugs it for safety. Another huge explosion goes off, letting off all the car alarms as a continuous barrage of noises fill the air. Steven opens his eyes to see the building tilt on its axis and slowly sink like a ship in the sea. He can’t quite believe what he is seeing. Two explosions in one day, both of them he was present at, and then it sinks in. He spots the CCTV camera he was standing next to earlier. It’s been untouched by the blast. He realises what this could mean for him. He quickly gets up.

  ‘Fuck sake, not again,’ he says as he runs down the street, pushing his way through on looking pedestrians who are mesmerised by the destruction.

  Nineteen

  Deshaun knocks on the big oak door once more. He and Peter Foster have been at the alleged hideout now for around twenty minutes. They have spent most of the time just rattling at the door, hoping for an answer, unfortunately they haven’t had one.

  ‘How much longer are we going to waste our time here?’ asks Deshaun, still thumping at the door, his hand going red because of the toughness of the oak surface.

  Peter rummages into his left jacket pocket and pulls out a set of keys. He slots one in and turns the rounded off handle. The door creaks open.

  ‘You had keys all this time and you didn’t say?’ says Deshaun, shocked at the timewasting they have both been partaking in.

  ‘It’s polite to knock first,’ says Peter.

  The birds are chirping in the vast trees that surround the well-kept garden, they walk into the house and close the door behind them. The sound of the wildlife outside is drowned out behind the heavy door as the sound of their own footsteps wallow through the building.

  ‘Mr Mayor?’ shouts Peter who has produced a flash light from his inside jacket pocket, illuminating the dim interior of the mansion-like hallway.

  ‘Mr Mayor?’ shouts Peter once more.

  The quietness of the building is grating on the nerves of Deshaun as he nervously looks around, catching glimpses of himself in the many shiny objects that clutter the long hallway. In front of them lies a massive stairwell that seems to cascade upwards in pure mansion style, the only thing missing is the stereotypical chandelier hanging in the middle.

  ‘Fuck me, nice place,’ says Deshaun out loud.

  Peter laughs at the candidness of his new found boss.

  ‘Not too shabby right?’ says Peter, shining his torch in all sorts of directions.

  After ten minutes of walking around the massive house they conclude that the Mayor is nowhere to be seen. They decide to sit down in the living room area on a couch. Peter spots the mini bar in the far corner of the grand looking room and goes over to pour two drinks, returning a few seconds later to the couch, drinks in hand. He hands Deshaun a straight bourbon, two fingers width.

  ‘I hope you like your drinks strong,’ says Peter

  ‘I’ll drink anything,’ says Deshaun, feeling a little uncomfortable on the Mayor’s couch.

  ‘You’ll do anything?’ asks Peter, smiling

  ‘Yeah, work related anyway,’ says Deshaun

  ‘How about in general?’

  ‘As in?’

  ‘Life,’ says Peter

  Deshaun starts to feel uneasy again.

  ‘Could you be more specific?’

  Peter slides closer to Deshaun, shifting his weight over on the big leather couch.

  ‘You know…Life,’ he says again, grinning at Deshaun.

  Twenty

  David spots the group return in the distance. He can hear their chatter and they sound a bit anxious. David immediately thinks that they must be afraid because of the rumble that happened an hour ago. He looks down at the ground and see’s both Mitch and the captured prisoner called Tony fast asleep lined up next to each other. They didn’t fall asleep; it was induced by David a few minutes prior. David thought that maybe it was best if they were quiet for when the two little girls got back. He’s also decided to section off an area in the sewage passage in which they find themselves in and cordon it off just for Mitch and Tony, a sort of prison if you like.

  ‘Hey,’ says David as Ray approaches him.

  Ray looks behin
d him and signals Donner to not come near him and David, fearing the sight of the two prisoners will make Abigail and Tristan upset. She nods her head and holds the two little girl’s hands. They divert away from the make shift holding pen and over to the burning oil drum.

  ‘So what happened?’ asks Ray.

  ‘I took a few finger nails,’ says David, looking down at the ground, trying to figure out if he’s one of the bad guys now.

  ‘I’m sure it was justified,’ says Ray, patting David on the shoulder

  ‘It may have been too forceful. He ended up telling me what he knew, but was it because he thought that I would kill him if he didn’t?’ says David

  ‘I think that’s the idea behind torturing someone David, you try and inflict pain so they tell you what you need to know’

  David nods in agreement.

  ‘Maybe I didn’t need to know this,’ He says

  ‘Why, what did he say?’ asks Ray

  ‘That they are the ones behind the people self-combusting. They apparently set of these beacons to take out a certain percentage of the population’

  ‘What sort of percentage?’

  ‘Everyone, they said they want to take out every damn person on this planet,’ says David

  ‘It’s just pipe dreams. It isn’t going to happen,’ says Ray

  David shakes his head in disagreement. The thought of what he is about to say kills him a little inside. He just can’t bring himself to face the realities of the world they live in.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asks Ray, noticing the look on David’s face

  ‘They said that they have a nuke, and they are going to launch it,’

  Twenty One

  ‘Launching Nuke in two minutes,’ says a loud voice from behind a blast shielded wall.

  An alarm is going off, along with a continuous flashing red light that’s flickering on top of the blast shield. A few hundred people rush around the complex looking busy. Some have clipboards in their hands, other have radios. The operation seems to be going well, everyone is looking proactive and ready for whatever lies ahead.

  Miss Harriet on the other hand is hiding. She has placed herself near the blast wall behind a pillar. She watches on as the complex empties as people go through the exits in an orderly, if not slightly panicked fashion. She watches the electronic ticker count down the numbers until launch. It reads one minute, thirty seconds. She braces herself against the pillar and reaches into her pocket. She pulls out a futuristic looking device. It has a flipping front panel, much like a Motorola phone from the early nineties.

  ‘One minute until launch,’ says the man behind the blast shield. He has his hand on a lever, he pushes it and above the tall standing nuke, the roof opens up like an iris. It takes a few seconds until the night sky is visible from inside the complex, but Miss Harriet doesn’t bother looking. She’s too busy mashing in some numbers.

  ‘Thirty seconds until launch,’ says the man, accompanied by an electronic speaker system counting down the numbers within every second that passes.

  ‘Twenty eight’

  Miss Harriet is still mashing down on some buttons when the LED screen that is attached to the gizmo flashes bright red. Under the red screen a little message pops up.

  “EMP” it reads.

  ‘Twenty’ the robot voice says, counting down through the PA system in the complex. By now, even the man behind the blast shield is making his way out through the exits. Now it’s Miss Harriet’s chance.

  ‘Fifteen’

  She runs across from behind the pillar and up to the nuke. She sticks a Velcro square onto the metal base of the warhead and proceeds to stick a complementing strap onto her device.

  ‘Ten’

  She puts the device onto the base of the missile

  ‘Nine’

  She hits a green key on the device

  ‘Eight

  She types in a code

  ‘Seven’

  She pins in another code

  ‘Six’

  “Denied” it reads on her device

  ‘Five’

  She tries to override it

  ‘Four’

  She pins in 0.1.3.4.7.9.876.453.2

  ‘Three’

  “Granted. EMP ENABLED”

  ‘Two’

  She runs as fast as she can

  ‘One’

  She jumps behind the blast shield

  Luis Samways

  Beacon of Light

  Episode Four

  One

  Deshaun opens his eyes and looks up at the plush looking ceiling. He tries to catch his breath as the sweat runs down his brow and down the crevice of his nose, dripping onto his top lip. He smiles as his heart rate slows down a little. He turns his head slightly and see’s Peter lying next to him, he too is sporting a smile on his face. They both lie their naked, covered in sweat, panting in exhaustion.

  ‘Was it good for you?’ asks Peter

  Deshaun smiles as he runs his hand up Peter’s firm and muscular thigh.

  ‘You are pretty big after all,’ laughs Deshaun.

  ‘They do say that size doesn’t matter, you know!’

  ‘Well, they obviously haven’t had sex with you,’ says Deshaun

  Both men lie on their backs, staring up at the ceiling for what seems like a long while. Peter finally gets up from the couch and goes over to the mini bar, grabbing himself a cold soda. He turns around, bare fleshed, mimicking a drinking motion, Deshaun declines.

  ‘Not thirsty,’ he says, still lying on his back smiling to himself.

  Peter shrugs and comes back over to the leather couch sitting down on the side next to Deshaun.

  ‘So when did you know?’ he asks, sipping on his soda.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That you were gay,’ says Peter, downing some more cold drink.

  ‘I’m not…’ says Deshaun

  Peter starts laughing hard.

  ‘Well you could have fooled me!’

  ‘Just because we had sex doesn’t mean I’m gay,’ says Deshaun

  ‘Bi?’

  ‘Maybe,’ agrees Deshaun who gets up from the couch and stretches out in front of Peter.

  ‘You have a wife or something?’ asks Peter

  ‘Nope,’ says Deshaun, putting some clothes on.

  ‘Was this your first time?’ asks Peter

  ‘I’m not a virgin,’ says Deshaun

  ‘I meant first time with a man’

  ‘Well in that case, I guess I was a virgin,’ laughs Deshaun

  ‘You seem tense,’ says Peter

  ‘I’m not, just don’t know what to make of this,’ he says

  ‘What exactly is there to make out?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says

  ‘We just made love,’ says Peter

  Deshaun looks at him in a stern manor.

  ‘Made love?’ repeats DeShaun

  ‘Yeah,’ says Peter

  ‘You’re nuts, we didn’t make love, we fucked each other, and that’s all,’ says Deshaun

  ‘But I think I….Love you,’ says Peter

  ‘What? Are you fucking crazy? We just met!’

  ‘I can’t help my feelings towards you Deshaun,’ says Peter

  ‘You are crazy aren’t you?’

  ‘Please…Please love me,’ says Peter with his arms out, trying to embrace DeShaun.

  ‘Stop it!’ says Deshaun, pushing Peter away.

  Peter starts laughing.

  ‘Gets them every time!’

  ‘What?’ asks Deshaun

  ‘You first timers! I’m just messing with you. I don’t really love you!’ he says

  ‘Good….Every time?’ he says hesitantly

  Peter nods.

  ‘How many first timers have you had?’ asks Deshaun

  ‘More than you!’

  Both men get dressed and straighten their appearances out. They comb their hair back with gel and put some fresh deodorant on from the spare bathroom in the safe house. They then go
downstairs and start contemplating their next move.

  ‘Well, he obviously isn’t here is he?’ says Peter

  ‘Nope, so what do you suggest we do?’

  ‘Look somewhere else,’ he says

  ‘Any ideas?’ asks Deshaun

  ‘I might know just the place’

  Two

  London, England

  Steven Grimshaw reaches for the keys in his inside jacket pocket and pulls them out. The jangling sound echoes off the empty suburban street in which he stands in. Row after row of cars are parked up on the small street. They litter in both directions, adjacent to the fifty or something houses all lined up down the road. It’s a typical London residential area. Not quite squalor, but nowhere near the deprivation of a council housing estate that most people in the lower class of the spectrum find themselves living in. Steven jangles the key’s some more as he tries to find the right one. It’s a Yale key. He finally finds it; it’s brown to match his off brown coloured door. He slots the key in and turns the handle. He quickly makes his way inside slamming the door behind him. He stands in his narrow hallway for a few seconds while trying to catch his breath.

  ‘Steven? Is that you?’ a woman’s voice beckons from inside the house.

  ‘Yes dear, it’s me. No need to worry. Everything is going to be just fine,’ he says leaning against the door, as if he would collapse if it wasn’t there to support his weight.

  ‘What?’ she says as she comes down the stairs facing the hallway. Her face is flushed with curiosity and panic at the sight of her reeling husband.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asks

  Steven just stands there speechless as he starts to cry.

  ‘Steven? Tell me what’s wrong,’ she says

  He shakes his head in despair.

  ‘Steven!’ she says, almost shouting.

  ‘We need to pack. We need to pack now,’ he says

  ‘Pack what?’

  ‘Everything!’

  She stands on the stairs a myth to what is happening.