The Role-Playing League - Season I - IC Thread

Ohhhh….my aching skull. Well it serves me right trying to be a good Samaritan. As John Mellencamp once said, “No good deed goes unpunished.” Oh by the way my name is Wes Barnaky and I’m a long distance trucker. I own my own company which makes me an independent and my fleet is a whole whopping one truck. I find it’s a lot easier on book-keeping if I keep the number of employees and vehicles down to a minimum, but on the bright side I get to keep all the profits for myself. Now truckin’ isn’t exactly wall to wall profits but I make a pretty good penny most of the time. That’s because I am always on time anytime anyplace no matter what the cargo is if they need it there by 4pm I am there no later than 3:10pm. I really don’t know why but there are times I go for days without sleep. The longest I ever went was 4 days straight, and I wasn’t even remotely tired when I finally did go to sleep. In all my years of drivin’ I have never made a big mistake….that was until this evening when I broke my own cardinal rule; never pick up anyone under any circumstances. If I only paid attention to that rule I wouldn’t be in this 12 by 12 stainless steel room.

I was haulin’ a load of flat screens to a Wal-Mart warehouse in Charlotte, North Carolina. I was on I-81 gettin’ ready to pick up I-77 just past Roanoke, Virginia. Man the rain was comin’ down in buckets. I remember our preacher said that the Lord was never gonna flood the Earth ever again, well the rain we all we’re dealin’ with on the road this evening made me wonder if my preacher was stretchin’ the truth a bit. Anyway I saw this young fella hitchin’ on the side of the road. Now as I already told you I have but one rule, but the rain was so fierce and he looked like drowned rat so I figured what the heck?

I pulled over and popped up my passenger door and he sprinted up to me in a tan jacket and jeans.

“Where you headin’ to,” I asked

He replied, “Columbia, South Carolina.”

Well Columbia is about 2 and half hours south of Charlotte so I didn’t see any harm in lendin’ this guy a hand.

I told him, “I’m headin’ as far as Charlotte I’ll take you that far you’ll have about another 2 and a half hours to go.”

He said, “As long as it’ll get me out of this mess.”

He hopped in and we rolled on into the night.

We rode along for about 15 minutes and figured it was time to learn a little bit about my new tag-a-long. Besides if you have never done the 81 to 77 run at times the drive can seem endless, so it was nice to have some conversation.

I asked, “So what’s your story?”

He replied, “My name is Edward. Edward Lynch I’m an engineer from Arlington. I was on my way to Columbia for my parents’ 5oth wedding anniversary when my car broke down. My cell-phone was dying so I luckily I got one more call out before it died. I got a tow truck to get my car to service station and I figured I might as well try to hoof it to Columbia. Maybe one of my siblings could give me a lift back where my car is parked at. Thanks a lot for the ride though I appreciate it boy so nasty weather we’re havin’ here.”

I said, “Yeah well I’ve seen worse. I hope you don’t mind my sayin’ you look familiar to me. I can’t quite place your face but I know I have seen you somewhere before.”

Edward replied, “No offense but I can’t say that I remember you off hand.”
I said, “None taken, ah maybe I’m just mistakin’ you for someone else. After a drivin’ this rig for a while a lot of the faces start to look the same.”

Edward nodded and then put his hands in his pockets. Strange I got the heater on full blast and this guy is still cold? That don’t make a lot of sense to me.

“Are you still cold there Ed?”

He replied, “it’s Edward and no I have something of great value to me and I just want to make sure that I don’t lose it.”

He pulled out a silver disc looked like a DVD and said, “It’s a disc of family photos hoping to show the folks how much the kids have grown and that kind of thing.”

I ask, “You gotta family? I thought for something like this they would be with you?”

He started to get a little nervous but said, “Well my wife tryin’ to get off work and get the kids out of private school it would be a big hassle so I figured I’d go solo.”

That right there should’ve been my cue, he was gettin’ nervous and if he had one phone call left he wasn’t too far from home why didn’t he call home? Columbia is way further.

To keep the mood light I said, “Hey if you want to make sure that disc is okay I got a DVD player you can pop it in there and check it.”

Edward suddenly became even more on edge and said, “No, I mean I am sure it’s okay. It’ll be fine he can we pull over for a minute I need to use the bathroom.”

I pulled over and we headed over to the restroom at a local diner. I offered to buy us some coffee but Edward said he’d pay for it. When he pulled out his wallet I noticed a couple of things. One Edward had a flip-id badge in his jacket and worse he had a small caliber gun in his jacket pocket.

If I did or said anything I could end up dead so I figured keep cool I was about 4 hours away from Charlotte. Just drop this guy off and get gone.
We got back in the truck and I kept my mouth shut no need in eggin’ on a potentially bad situation.

Then suddenly he snapped, “You saw it didn’t you? I know you did!”

I said, “Say what?”

Edward pulled out his gun and said, “You saw the disc didn’t you know don’t you? DON’T YOU?!?”

I knew he couldn’t shoot me because we were on a twisty mountain road in the rain, and I seriously doubt Edward knows how to drive this rig. So if I die he goes with me.

I said, “I saw your gun and your id that is all I saw I don’t know about the disc.”

Edward said, “All-right we get to Charlotte I let you go we’re clear. Do anything stupid I know people that would love to make your death look accidental.”

I shot back, “Look Edward I got no family and if you kill me now. This rig will be off the edge of the mountain and whatever you need to do in Columbia won’t get done because you’ll be dead. So with that in mind you either tell me what is going on by the time I get to three or I’ll take us off the hill.”

Edward sneered, “No way.”

I said, “Have it your way.”

I begin to turn the wheel and Edward screams, “ALL-RIGHT! It’s technology. Next-gen stuff I am meeting with a courier from Japan I am giving this disc to him for a cool 20 million.”

I looked at my clock and said, “Well I am ahead of schedule and with this rain I can say that I got delayed. Tell you what for five million I will take you all the way to Columbia and that will more than make up for anything I am docked for being late. Once I get my money I am gone and I never saw you.
We got a deal?”

Edward replied, “All-right then Wes.” He put the gun away.

If I play my cards right I know enough places between here and Columbia that I might be able to get the disc from him and get 20 million reasons to retire.

What Edward said though should’ve been the largest red-flag of all…I never told him my name and the side of my truck says Barnaky Trucking.

We hit the North Carolina line and then it hits me.

I said, “Hey wait a minute I remember you now it was about 3 years ago I was at a computer lab in Arlington and I saw you in the hall, but I don’t think I’ve ever been to Arlington.”

Edward said, “I was hoping that the memory fade would hold out for a little longer. Apparently I was wrong.” He pulled the gun back out and said, “Pull over now Wes this is where we part company. It’s perfect no one else is around on the road time for you to leave this world behind.”

Then suddenly out of nowhere a group of hummers appeared and began trying to force me off the road. I tried as best I could to avoid crashing so I finally got into the breakdown lane and within seconds of me stopping my truck guys dressed like they were ready for a weekend in Bagdad popped and surrounded my rig. I put my hands out of the window, and one of them opened the door and pushed me to the ground.

I raised my head long enough to see Edward get dragged out of the truck and I heard one of the guys say, “You really thought you could get away with it. You thought you could side-step protocol and take out a warp-job and pocket some cold hard cash. Looking to pad your nest egg Dr. Lynch I can’t say I’m surprised.”

He nodded at one of the men who grabbed Edward threw him in one of the hummers. Then the lead guy who talked to Edward walked over to me and said, “Take him to bunker #21 and get the rig out of sight double time.”
I started to say something and the next thing I know a rifle butt nailed me in the back of my skull and the whole world went black.

Now I am trying to figure out where I am and what is going on. I guess I am in the luxury suite of bunker #21. The door opens and a man with two armed gentlemen step forward

The main man says, “Come with me.”

I follow them to an empty room with a table and a lamp on the table. They leave as another man steps forward. He says, “Have a seat Wes.”

I say, “Who are you guys? Hey I know your voice you’re the guy from the side of the road you took Edward and…”

He says, “My name is Henderson that is all you need to know about me.
Edward was in possession of a disc that had some valuable data on it. We got it now and we caught his accomplices in Columbia. As far as we can tell you did what you thought was the right thing at the wrong time.”

I say, “What the hell is going on? I want a lawyer.”

Henderson says, “Shut-up Wes or do not want to know about the first time you met Edward.”

I sit down and Henderson says, “About three years ago you were a warehouse worker for a computer lab in Arlington. It was a black-ops department and Edward was my protégé that’s how you know him. He made the mistake of stepping out so you could see him. No one is supposed to know what we look like or anything like that. Trying to arrange your death was too time consuming and we found out that you called your wife when you arrived.”

Wife?

Henderson continues, “Oh yeah you were married, but we found it easier to arrange your fake death, and give you a new identity. That face you see everyday in the mirror you’ve only had it for about two and half years.”
I say with my voice shaking, “But I have memories of my childhood and a real life.”

Henderson says, “Computer implanted the fact is that periodically that physical you go through for your insurance we upgrade the memory with that flu-vaccine shot. All of your childhood friends that you keep in touch with our agents we created a whole new life for you.”

I start to shake and sweat as Henderson says, “Dr. Lynch was getting ready to skip out with the data and sell it to the Iranians actually. He was tying up loose ends and you were a big one.”

I ask, “How did he know how to find me?”

Henderson says, “In that scar in your ankle is a microscopic GPS we’ve been tracking you for years. The side effect of your memory alteration you can stay up for days and days. That’s why I figured long distance trucking was ideal for you. You see…Wes I think I should call that it was my father’s name I like you that’s why you weren’t killed the first time and that is why I won’t kill you again.”

I ask, “But what about my shipment to Charlotte?”

Henderson chuckles, “Wes have you ever wondered why you are always hauling electronic supplies. You are the delivery man for our black-ops unit. The shipment is already there, by this time tomorrow you’ll wake up in Charlotte having delivered the supplies on time with no problems.”

I ask, “What about all of this? I know this now are you going to kill me?”

Henderson says, “Wes if I wanted you dead you’d be dead already. Fact is we have done all that we can for your memory for now without risking brain damage. So we will alter it one more time and then over the course of the next five years, if there is not another quantum leap in memory altering your old memories will resurface.”

I ask, “And then what?”

Henderson says, “You’ll become another conspiracy theory nut, but you can serve a purpose like conspiracy nuts do. You will help us see where there are holes in our system. We’ll keep our eye on you; sorry to say though you’ll die alone we can’t take too many chances.”

My whole life is a lie…I don’t know who I am anymore and if these guys are always watching me what kind of life is that?

I look at Henderson and say, “Oh yeah well deal with this hole.”

I grab the lamp jerk the cord out and stuff it down my throat…and with that…I am now a free man
 
THE ROLE-PLAYING LEAGUE
SEASON I, WEEK 8
-------------------------------------------------------

INITIAL SCENARIO
Clarence is something of a hermit. Because of the gift God gave him, he has been forced to live the isolated life of an outcast. You see, Clarence can conjure fire out of thin air...
Lately, however, Clarence has been in the grip of a powerful sickness. With his back to the wall, Clarence visits a hospital, where the doctors tell him he is dying. He knows they can help him, but because of what he is... because he's been Chosen... they are refusing to do so.
Clarence takes the whole hospital hostage. He vows to shed the blood of these heretics unless he is cured. He must fend off all rescue attempts or perish!
How does the world look through his eyes? Eyes of madness. Eyes of evil.


CONDITIONS
Each team must satisfy two of the following four conditions in their telling of the story...
  • Clarence identifies some of the hospital's inhabitants as pure souls who should not be harmed. Who are they and how do they respond to this?

  • Some of the hospital's inhabitants may be inclined to stand at Clarence's side. What are their stories and how far are they willing to go?

  • A police officer outside shares a profound connection with one of the patients being held hostage. What is this connection and how does it affect him?

  • Someone involved in the situation has met Clarence before. Where, when, and what does this mean in the grand scheme of things?
THIS WEEK'S POSTERS:
Lord Doom, Electro UK, Johnny Blaze, Matt Murdock, Green Lantern

DUE DATE:
Friday, February 22nd, 7:00pm​
 
Electro UK Presents...
Clarence A.
(Which is a referrence to John Q. a movie starring Denziel Washington where he takes a hospital hostage when they won't cure his son, just incase you wanted to know.)
Chapter 1​
​

“Trial by fire…” Officer Daniel Downs peered up at the brilliant orange light of the fire, dancing through the windows of the hospital. The heat swelled over his face, the gentle crackling sound turning more into a roar by the second. Too many times had he stared situations like this in the face, too many times had he been up to his neck in danger. This time though, things were different. His sick brother, Matthew Downs was on the same floor this pyromaniac was occupying.

The beads of sweat that ran down his face and dangled on his chin weren’t from the heat, they were from the tension. “Hang in there Matty, help’s coming.” He muttered under his breath. Sergeant Lloyd Hibberton tapped Dan on the shoulder as he came to stand next to him.

“We’ve got his name, its Clarence, Clarence Alburn.” Daniel took a breif second to run the name through his mind, and then he double checked, police instinct.

“Never heard of him.”

“No one has. Can’t find much on him bar his name from the audio surveillance footage, the guy’s a damn ghost. Haven't even caught him on camera.”

“Seems more like the devil to me.” Dan replied, gesturing towards the flames.

“He’s just a nut Dan, that’s all. Don’t worry, we’re going to get Matt out of there safel-” a burst of fire interrupted Hibberton, the two staggering backwards as a second wave of glass showered to the floor. Within an instant, guns were trained on all windows, Daniel begging for the chance he needed to take this guy down.

“They won’t help me! No one will!” amidst the smoke, an angry growl of a voice came. “All I want is to live! I never get in their way, I never bother them anymore, and they deny me the right of existence!”

Dan’s eyes scanned the building, the voice echoing from all corners. Behind him, Hibberton spoke up, via a megaphone. “This is Sergeant Lloyd Hibberton of the police. Clarence Alburn, we know it’s you up there. We need you to talk to us Alburn, we need you to tell us what it is that we can do to help you.”

“Help me? No one helps me! No one will ever help me!”

“Let’s change that together Alburn. Just put down the flamethrower and—“

“Flamethrower? I ain’t got no friggin’ flamethrower!” Daniel’s eyes latched to a window on the second floor where a hand shot into sight. Before anyone could react, speak, open fire, or notice the burns, a spark of fire spat out from the palm and reigned down on the gathered crowd.

Daniel was quick to scoop up a child and throw him to safety while the rest ran in fear. He could feel the heat singeing the hairs on the back of his neck, seconds before he sprung into the air, seeking the cover of a police car. He slid over the front, hit the floor, and rolled, beating out the fire that had caught onto his right pant leg. Daring to open his eyes, he gazed out on the scene, covered in smoke and rubble. It was like the apocalypse, it was like hell. “What was that about being just a nut?” Dan called out to Hibberton as he sheepishly poked his head out from the safety of his police car.

“Looks like he’s one of those special nuts.” Dan didn’t reply, he looked back to the hospital, to his horror, seeing a figure fall from a window.

“Dan, wait!” but Hibberton’s call couldn’t possibly halt Daniel as he sprinted towards where the body had landed, preying every step of the way that he wasn’t about to find his brother sitting in a pool of blood.

To his disgust, he couldn’t tell. He was male, that’s about all he knew. The burns surrounding the body were too great to give any kind of identification. Dan got the lump in his throat, and then the vomit came, in violent bursts.

“This happens every hour that I’m still refused help! Too long have I accepted the will of you people!” wiping the remains of his lunch away from his mouth, Dan stared up at the window from where the voice was coming from.

“All you’re getting, friend, is a bullet from my gun.” He thought to himself as he left the disfigured corpse.

Chapter 2​
Matt Downs couldn’t move. Not because of his cancer, but because he was riddled with fear. The only hope he was riding on now, was that his bother would save him, him and the rest of these people. He scanned the room, the other hostages consisting of a few other patients, 3 doctors, and some nurses. He hadn’t seen anything of the man named Clarence Alburn, or at least he hadn’t seen him as a human figure.

He stared at the empty bed space where his hospital buddy Freddy had been seconds ago, before he was snatched up by what appeared to be a walking cloud of fire and smoke. He was trying hard, very hard not to think about his screams as that monster had torched him alive, and thrown him from the building.

His breathing was beginning to calm, he was beginning to get a grip on the fear. He had to be like his brother would be in a situation like this, he had to be calm, he had to be brave.

All this positive thinking went away the second Alburn’s voice came once more. It was a low hiss as he ushered the words, “I have more than proven how serious I am. I know you people can cure me, and you’re going to do it now.” The three doctors glared at one another.

There was something about them, something in their eyes that Matt could see. It was a mix of two things, fear and determination. They all slowly looked to the floor, once more refusing Alburn what he demanded. There was a grunt of disgust, coming from the window where Matt assumed Alburn to stand. “I never caused you any harm; I’ve lived a life alone because you people refused to accept me. When I ask for something that is given to everyone else, as a small favour for the life of pain I’ve lived, you believe you can refuse me. What gives you the right? Are you gods? Do you get to say who lives and who dies?” Matt thought about pitying him, he tried to relate to him, but he couldn’t, because when these people had a sob story to tell, most of them hadn’t just thrown an innocent person out of the window.

“And just who are you to say that?” Matt spoke up, immediately questioning what he was doing. “Are you god? Did you have the right to just throw Freddie out of a window?” the flaming voice turned its attention to Matt, who backed up in his bed in turn.

“Let me ask you, did “Freddie” have a family?”

“Yeah.” Matt replied in an obvious fashion.

“Did his family love him?” Matt thought back to Freddie’s beautiful wife coming to see him everyday. She loved him, no question in his mind, she and their 2 great kids. All he could think about now was how they’d probably shut themselves indoors, the shock of what had just happened starting to sink in. They’d never see Freddie again, all because of Clarence.

“More than anything.” Matt said, gritting his teeth at the painful thoughts.

“Then it seems me and Freddie lived opposite lives. My family despised me. Because of my… amazing gift they outcast me and sent me to live in isolation. I’ve spent 23 long years alone, wallowing in self-pity. This man lived a happy life with his family. If we’re leading opposite lives, then he had to die, because I am going to live on.”

“So you really are just a nut.” Matt replied in disgust.

“I AM A SON OF THE GODS!” Clarence roared through the fire surrounding the room. He interrupted himself, coughing violently.

“You don’t see too many sons of gods in your state.” Matt said, praying he wasn’t pushing his luck too far.

“I’m ill. I come here, where anyone would go to get the help I’m entitled to, and I’m refused it because of what I am.”

“So you torch this place and throw an innocent man out of a window? Sorry, but you lost my sympathy vote.”

“You’re a brave one…”

“Matthew.”

“But seeing as you’re confined to your bed and I have the ability to melt you alive, I think it would be a good idea if you kept yourself to yourself.”

“Fine, but I don’t think you’ll get the vote of confidence from anyone else.”
“I’ll give it to him.” Matt gazed across the room in shock as another patient raised their hand. “2 divorces and kids that hate you, I know what its like to be alone.” Matt gave a stern look to John Goodlore, an overweight patient who had suffered from a heart attack. What was he playing at? Did he think sucking up to this psycho would keep him alive? “What I’m trying to say Mr. Alburn is… I understand your situation completely, and if I could help you, I would.”

Chapter 3​
“This is a mistake.” Dan said to Hibberton as the S.W.A.T. team geared up. “I need to go in with them.” Hibberton sighed and looked towards Dan sympathetically.

“Dan, we’ll get the tests back soon, but until then, until we’ve confirmed that body wasn’t Matt, I can’t have an officer with an itchy trigger finger go up there.” Dan frowned, stepping in the way of Hibberton and blocking his path.

“Lloyd, I need to go, I have to find out if Matt’s still alive.” Amidst the confusion, the two stared each other in eyes for moments that seemed like hours.

“I’m sorry Dan, we’ll let you know as soon as we’ve made contact.” Dan cursed under his breath as the S.W.A.T. team moved into formation. Hibberton set up a radio inside a police van, he and Dan sitting down with the other officers to listen to the S.W.A.T. team. They moved inside.

“Clear! Moving to stairway.” Dan brought his hands together, rested his forehead on them, closed his eyes, and began to pray.

“Stairway clear.” So far, so good, the faces of the other officers all trained on Dan, praying the same prayer.

“Moving to second floor.” The dull footsteps plodded up the stairs, the creak of the door way as it opened making everyone in the van jump.

“Fire spotted, moving to position.” The familiar sound of the team stacking up followed. “Preparing to breach.” Explosives, the surprise would give the team the edge they needed.

“Beaching in 3…2…--“ the radio cut off, but it didn’t mater because everyone in the van heard the explosion loud and clear from the hospital. What followed, Dan could tell was panic fire. Hibberton seized the radio as the others scurried out of the van to look at the building.

“Team, report. Johnson? Feltham? Someone give me a god damned report!” Hibberton’s demands went unheard. All the officers could do was gaze in horror as the sounds of fire being thrown around filled the air, followed by screams, agonizing screams. Silence came about the place once more, as the entire police squad hung their heads. Some roared in anger, others cried, Daniel did nothing, nothing but hang onto the hope that somewhere up there, Matt was alive.

He slowly turned round to see Hibberton step out of the van in disbelief, removing his hat and throwing it to the floor. “Those were our best men.” The two looked around the mournful scene, then up at the hospital.

Dan spoke up, “Wait, is that… DOWN!” every officer threw themselves to the ground as gunfire suddenly reigned down on them. What the hell was going on? They bother using the S.W.A.T. team’s weapons if he could create fire? Once the spray had finally stopped, Dan jumped to his feet, and to his disbelief saw what looked like a patient standing in the window, armed with the team’s weapons. Guns were trained on him instantly as he spoke up.

“Alburn wants me to tell you no more funny business! I’m on his side, he needs to be healed. People like him and me get nothing but screwed over my life.” He disappeared from sight.

“Bring me up a file on that patient immediately.” Hibberton called out.
​
 
Chapter 4​

Matt glared at Goodlore in disproval. “You’ve more than proven yourself to be trusted John.” Alburn spoke up from the other side of the room this time, where the S.W.A.T. team had entered. A burst of fire had covered Matt from seeing him as he walked past, opening fire at the team. They were all dead, suffered the same fate as Freddie.

Goodlore gave a sly smile to Matt, who balled his fist in anger. “You son of a b***h, I thought you were alright Goodlore.” Goodlore ignored the criticism and kept on walking. The hour was almost up, Matt knew that in a few minutes, Alburn would pick someone else to be slaughtered. Even now, the doctors refused to heal him.

“Can I ask you guys a question?” Matt turned his attention to the doctors. “Why didn’t you help him? When he first came here?” the eldest of the doctors spoke up.

“Because of things exactly like this. Look at what he can do, how much further life would be lost if we let him live?”

“He’s doing this out of anger. He’s doing this because all he wants to do is live.” Matt wasn’t trying to sympathize, he was trying to understand, he could see what the doctors meant, but this could have all been avoided if they had done their job.

“We are the professionals here Matthew, we made an informed decision and we’ll stick by it.”

“The hour is up.” Came the looming voice of Alburn. “Have you changed your minds yet?” the doctors didn’t respond. “Very well, good bye Goodlore.”

“What?! Me? But—“

“You are a perfect example of the scum that threw me out all those years ago. It is pathetic people like you that should be denied the help, all you care about is survival.”

“But I—please! No!” the orange glow of fire sparked into the room, surging forward and hitting Goodlore in the chest, carrying him out of the window and down to the street. Matt flinched at the screams, taking comfort in the fact he was getting what he deserved. Silence filled the room once more, a deadly, biting silence that Matt couldn’t stand.

“Just do it! Just cure him! I’m sick of this! I’m so f**king sick of this!” another patient cried out, breaking the quiet. Matt was beginning to feel the same attitude.

“Alburn, you haven’t got a chance anymore. You killed policemen you idiot, even if the docs cave, you’ll live out the rest of your days in jail. Just surrender.”

“Sounds like someone’s starting to break under the pressure, Matthew.” Alburn’s cocky but weak voice came. “Don’t worry, it’ll be your turn next.” The others glanced over to Matt as he let what had been said sink in. He had one hour to live, kind of the opposite of what he hoped this hospital visit would prove.

Chapter 5​

“He’s scared.” Dan said, addressing the other officers. “He’s putting on a tough front, but the man up there is looking death in the face, he’s got to be scared.” A team were carrying Goodlore’s body off, no one was too upset, it seemed like this was the guy that was firing at them moments ago, he was still armed.

“So what?” on officer spoke up, speaking the thoughts of others.

“So with every hour, the pressure is on more and more. He’ll make more mistakes, he’s nervous. Add to that the element of surprise with our SWAT team gone, and the door’s already been blown wide open, and we can get him.

“Dan, we all feel for you and your brother right now, but that’s just plain suicide.” Dan listened to his friends, because he knew they weren’t cowards, he’d seen them go through things he didn’t think he could do.

“Yeah… yeah I guess you’re right.” Hibberton approached the group.

“We’re gonna try and get in contact with him again, see if we can talk him down. Everyone keep their guns trained.” As the officers pushed themselves up against their cars, the sound of weapons being drawn filling the air, Hibberton raised the megaphone and spoke into it. “Alburn, we can help you, we can get you the medical assistance you need, but you have to let those hostages go, otherwise you’re as good as dead.”

Everyone stayed silent, unmoving, one eye closed, the other trained to the windows. The few moments for silence were agony for Dan. He wanted this to end, he wanted to see his brother.

Finally, Alburn spoke, “The only people that can help me are sitting with me right now, refusing to do anything. You flies outside are of no interest to me.” Dan could tell he was getting desperate through his voice. Alburn was failing to hide he fear behind the series of coughs and threats. He may have calmed down since he first spoke, hours ago, but that was a sign he was beginning to accept, not deny. “They’ve got 10 more minutes before I scorch the next hostage. Poor old Matt, he thought the cancer would kill him, turns out the doctor’s predication was very wrong.”

Every single police man on the entire site suddenly shifted eye sight to Dan, who stood their with his jaw dropped. Hibberton went to hold him before he did anything stupid, but no for on earth could have stopped Daniel Downs as he barrelled over the police car and sprinted for the entrance.

“Dan! Dan, get back here! Goddamnit!” Hibberton holstered his weapon and took off in pursuit, ordering all units to stay on their position.

Dan was half way up the stairs before Hibberton caught up with him. “Downs, you get back downstairs right now or your badge is suspended.”

“Take it.” Dan said, never taking his eyes off the top of the stairs, but at the same time unclipping his badge. “I’m saving my brother right now. You’re welcome to join me.” Finally, he looked down to Hibberton, a glint of hope in his eyes. Hibberton pulled his pistol back out and secured it with both hands.

“Radios off.” Doing so, the two quietly made their way upstairs. Both struggled not to gasp at the sight of the corridor where the S.W.A.T. team had been an hour ago. It was riddled with scorch marks, the walls black as it they’d been painted that way. A dented hole lay where the door had originally been. Crouched down, Dan and Hibberton edged their way further to the door, the heat of fire becoming more apparent with every step.

They pressed themselves up against the side, Dan daring to slide one eye round and look inside. The room was entirely burnt, not a single thing bar the hostages went unscathed. And there was Matt. Dan was immediately distracted by the sight of his brother sitting in his bed, fearing the worst. Matt reared his head round and caught sight of him. His face lit up, hope flooding into him.

For a moment that was a life time, the two starred at each other, never happier to see the other. Then the fire came. Alburn had seen Dan, without Dan being able to noticed him. The noise of the flames snapped Hibberton into action. He instinctively slammed into Dan and shoved him out of the way, the fire catching onto him instead.

Taking a moment to come to his senses, Dan glared in horror as his sergeant, his friend, screamed in pain. He went to his aid as Hibberton fell to the floor trying to beat out the flames. “Hold on Lloyd!” out, sprinting towards him. He wasn’t fast enough. A second, larger, more intense wave of fire surrounded Hibberton, drowning out his screams.

The fire gone, Dan looked down on the mess of bones, blood and flesh that was his friend. He almost allowed himself to get lost in despair, seconds before he heard the slowly, plodding footsteps of Clarence Alburn. Gun trained, Dan backed away from the door, ready to fire. He never got the chance as a sweep of fire brushed his gun away and pushed him back to the floor.
Daniel looked on in terror as Clarence Alburn rounded the corner. There was no human figure. He was a swirling ball of fire and smoke. “What’s the matter officer?” a voice came from inside. “You’ve never seen me before? Maybe it’s due to all those years of isolation you forced me to live in.” Dan flinched, knowing the end neared.

But it didn’t. A shot fired off, Dan snapping back to attention as a cry of pain was heard from Alburn. The fire faded, as Matt walked through the hole, holding one of the S.W.A.T. teams guns. “Matt!” Dan called out in joy, but Matt’s concentration didn’t falter, he was fixed on the now human form of Alburn.

Dan got to his feet and was shocked at what he saw. A weak, frail body, riddeled with burns, pure white eyes, no hair, it was horrific. “Please… please don’t kill me… I just want to live.” The voice was now thin. Matt had hit him in the arm. “I’m sorry… I just… just can’t stand this anymore.” Matt didn’t move, the gun stayed trained.

“Matt… put it down, this is over.” Dan said, cautiously stepping towards his brother.

“No way Dan, this monster killed Freddie, he doesn’t deserve to live.”

“He’s harmless Matt, if you shoot him, I’m going to have to arrest you.” The other officers slowly walked onto the scene.

“Then arrest me, this is in everyone’s best interests.”

“Matthew, my friend did not just sacrifice his life so you could go to jail. You put that gun down, NOW.” Matt started to shake, he couldn’t make his mind up. “You’re a good person Matt, don’t do this, you don’t need to do this.” The silence that followed was unbearable. Finally, Matt gave in, letting out a deep sigh as he dropped the gun.

“I’m sorry Dan, I don’t know what—“

“Its alright, its okay, just, for the love of god come here.” Dan felt the tears well up as he hugged his brother. “I thought I’d lost you, I thought I’d never see you agai—“

BANG!

Every officer snapped into action as a bullet collided with Alburn’s head. “No!” Dan cried in anger as he watched the blood trickle from the body of Clarence Alburn. All guns were immediately trained on one of the doctors, who stood with another S.W.A.T. weapon, glaring down at the body, not an inch of regret in his face.

“It needed to happen.”

Epilogue​

Matt looked out from under his blanket as the doctor was pushed into a police car. To himself, he was relieved, should he be? He’d seen the horrible things Alburn had done, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill him. Dan approached him, bringing a mug of coffee, sitting down next to him on the pavement. There was a long silence between the two before Dan spoke up. “I know what you’re thinking, I thought it too. Maybe it was for the best?”

“All he wanted to do was live Dan. And we denied him that.”

“We didn’t deny him anything. Under all of that, I doubt Clarence Alburn was a bad person, I think he got screwed over by life, but that doesn’t justify what he did. That’s why you couldn’t kill him Matt, because whatever he’d put you through, when he was lying on that floor, weak as a baby, no one was justified in killing him. We’re all victims here, you, Alburn… Hibberton,” at which point, the two gazed out at a team brining Hibberton’s remains out under a blanket, Dan closing his eyes to block more tears. “The criminals here were those 3 doctors. And they’ve get off scott free, even the one that killed Alburn.”

Matt turned his attention to Dan. “Dan, I can’t tell you how thankful I am. For what you did.” Daniel Downs managed a weak smile as he looked to his brother.

“Hey, what are brothers for?”
 
“Then the LORD rained down burning sulphur on Sodom and Gomorrah—from the LORD out of the heavens!” the old priest reads from his Bible. Despite his age, he emanates strength of mind and spirit lost to many of the young and his voice is still as vigorous and determined as the first time he read this piece of scripture. “Thus he overthrew those cities and the entire plain, including all those living in the cities—and also the vegetation in the land. Genesis 19:24-25,” he concludes.

HIS FEIRY VENGEANCE: PART I
by Harlekin​

The old priest coughs as he steps down from his platform. There is no applause that follows him as he walks away from the altar. Not like there used to be. The man coughs again as he walks past the seats. Once, these were filled to the brim with people. Before he reaches the cathedral’s exit, the priest is forced to the ground by another coughing fit. Since nobody helps him to his feet, the priest must, with great effort, pull himself back up.

He has reached the exit, and he sighs as he turns around.

The cathedral is empty, as it has been every Sunday for the last twenty years.

The priest turns back again and slowly opens the door. A stream of the noon sun’s light comes to illuminate him; a moment he cherishes every day. The scarred and leathery face of the priest moves to make a smile, but all it can form is a slightly content grin. It fades as quickly as it came. The last vestiges of the man’s spirit are hidden in his voice and the twinkling of his eyes. He cannot do much more.

His hands, covered in bandages, tightly grip a cane as he makes his way through the garden that surrounds the cathedral. The garden has become wild and unruly. Plants are linking with each other and fighting to take root in the earth. Crickets create a cacophony of sound, drowning out any other noise. Even the priest’s coughing is absorbed into the noise, as if hitting an invisible wall.

The path too, has become overrun by plant life. The priest pays it no heed as he walks, and eventually, the hem of his robe snags on the thorns of a wild rose. Futilely, he tries to pry it loose. The priest sighs. The sigh is quickly followed by a cough. For a moment, anger fills him as he turns to look at the plant that has entrapped him. When the anger fades again, the plant is naught but ash.

The priest grunts as pain shoots through his right hand. Cautiously, he lifts the bandages covering his hand, and he grimaces as he notes the fresh wound upon it. Although the skin is already heavily scarred and used to the burn that accompanies each use of the priest’s divine powers, it breaks each time to supply the priest with a new wound. A new wound that never quite heals, and forever keeps hurting.

Now more slowly than before, the priest makes his way out of the garden, and away from the cathedral.

* * *​

Benjamin Collins sighs as he undresses in the hospital’s dressing room. He has just been beeped to cover a night shift. Ben had grudgingly agreed, still recovering from a party the day earlier. I really did have too much to drink, he thinks as he looks into the mirror. His eyes are tired, his face a little worn and he’d already noticed he sounded particularly raspy on the phone.

“Hey Ben,” one of the nurses greets him as he comes out of the dressing room. Even groggy, the wink the nurse gives him does not escape his notice. Jessica. Such a sweet girl. Good lay too. The smile doesn’t leave Ben’s face until he reaches the main desk. The man behind it gives him a stern look, handing him a variety of papers.

“You’re late,” the man says.
“This isn’t my shift. Normally, that is.”
“And you look like hell.”
“Can we just get on with this, Alan?”
“You’ve got a patient waiting for you in 216. Needs a few scans. Doc Winslow just told him he’s going to die, so he might be a little… emotional.”
“What’s he got?”
“Advanced tuberculoses.”
“Can’t I get something less contagious?”
“Don’t be an idiot and get your ash over there, Collins.”

Ben gives the doctor a mock salute as he turns and walks away.

* * *​

He shouldn’t be here, the priest thinks to himself. He can already feel it rising up from within. The rage. Not his own of course, but that of his creator. The priest grunts as he moves from the bed to the room’s window. The midday light now hurts his eyes. It is polluted, just like the hospital he’s in. They gave him this. They told him he was going to die. The whole hospital… it is full of sinners. People that deserve to be here. People who ignore the calling of God and as punishment, are struck down by his vengeance.

What God has done to him is not vengeance.

It is divine intervention.

“They will die of deadly diseases. They will not be mourned or buried but will be like refuse lying on the ground. They will perish by sword and famine, and their dead bodies will become food for the birds of the air and the beasts of the earth,” he mumbles as he leaves the room. His presence goes largely unnoticed, except by one of the doctors. He looks at the priest oddly as he leaves, but rather than press it, the doctor decides to follow him.

After a few metres, he makes a move to approach him, but before he can, the priest makes a sharp turn to meet the doctor.

“When you tell these people all this and they ask you, 'Why has the LORD decreed such a great disaster against us? What wrong have we done? What sin have we committed against the LORD our God?' then say to them, 'It is because your fathers forsook me,' declares the LORD, 'and followed other gods and served and worshiped them. They forsook me and did not keep my law!” he yells, his hand raised.

“S-s-sir?”
“You… you are…” he begins to bring out. “Unclean.”

The priest’s eyes twinkle and the doctor erupts into flames.

* * *​

“Clarence… Bennet?” Ben asks as he walks into room 216.

To Ben’s surprise, the room is empty but a nurse, who is making the bed. Ben smiles as he takes in her figure. Very impressive. She turns to meet him, and the two exchange smiles.

“Excuse me, I thought I had a patient in here…” Ben says with a sly smile.
The nurse makes a quick scan of the room, before meeting Ben’s look. “Maybe you do…”

* * *​

“RRRRRRRRAAAARRRGGGGHHHH!” the doctor screams as the flames start to consume him. Although the patients near him scream in terror, the doctors and nurses who are present remain calm. Within seconds, the doctor is covered by blankets and the fire is put out. Despite the rapid response of his colleagues, the doctor is still immensely hurt by the sudden combustion, and spasms on the floor.

“I need some morphine here, STAT!” one of the doctors yells out.

Meanwhile, the priest goes unnoticed, and with gritted teeth, he moves away. He is not sad about the doctor, he was unclean, but the pain… the pain is almost unbearable. He feels a subtle singing of his skin and a dozen new wounds opening all over his body. It is a pain he must suffer through, he knows, as that is his calling, but for the moment… No, the pain is his, and he will bear it.

He continues to walk, slow but determined, until he comes upon the baby ward.

They are the clean ones.

The pure ones.

The ones that need to be saved.
 
HIS FEIRY VENGEANCE: PART II

“Hey Ben, where’s your patient?” Alan asks as Ben returns to the main desk.
“The tuberculoses guy? Cured,” he replies with a smirk.
Alan just sighs. “Where is he, Ben? You need to have him at Radiology… now.”
“I don’t know, Al, the guy was just gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?!”
“He vamoosed. He wasn’t there.”
“You just let a man with advanced tuberculoses roam around the hospital?” Alan asks, exasperated.
“Well, damn.”

Alan’s hand shoots to the microphone.

“Attention, all security personnel…”

* * *​

As the priest walks into the baby ward, all of the babies turn to meet him. He smiles as he looks at them, their small, innocent faces. Then, suddenly, the children burst into tears. Their screams and cries fill the room. The priest continues to smile.

“Ah, sir?” a nurse asks as she comes into the ward. The priest does not respond.
“Sir?”

He turns to look at her.

“Tell them… these are the only ones that will be spared his vengeance.”
“Sir?”
“Tell them.”
“Tell who, sir?”
“The… ‘doctors’. Your healers.”
“Sir, you’re starting to frighten me.”
“You will not be spared.”
“Sir?”
“Go!”

Although she is visibly frightened, the nurse moves towards the priest.

“GO!” he yells again.

Uncomfortably, the nurse heeds his words and turns to the door. There, she presses the alarm button, alerting security. After doing so, the nurse turns back to the priest, hoping in vain that she might be able to calm him down. The babies continue to cry. The priest’s eyes twinkle again as he moves towards her.

“Sir, please stay there.”

He ignores her.

“Sir!”

Behind the nurse, a room goes up in flames.

She screams.

Another room.

“Tell them,” the priest says again. A coughing fit follows, but it is drowned out by the sounds of multiple sirens and lights blaring. The hospital is now at full alert.

Three security men run towards the nurse and the priest. Before they can even reach him, they are suddenly consumed by fire.

The hospital is steeped in chaos. Patients run madly for the exits. Doctors and nurses try to guide them along and protect them from harm.

A futile hope.

The priest moves through the halls, and everywhere he goes, things burn.

With every slow, careful step, he grimaces.

The pain…

“Why Father, why is this happening!?” a man, sitting in a wheelchair and forced to the side, asks the priest as he walks by.
The priest turns towards the man.
“Why!?” the patient repeats.
“Because they won’t cure me. That’s what they do, isn’t? They will burn until they cure me.”

The man in the wheelchair bursts into flame.

“It’s him! He’s doing this!” one of the doctors yells, pointing to the priest. “I saw him do it!”

The doctor and the two security agents that came to his aid are set afire.

Suddenly, the priest comes upon a woman. There’s a baby in her arms. Upon the sight of him, the child cries.

“I do this for you,” the slow, rasping sound of the priest’s voice comes out. He points to the child. “Your father, he sinned. These are all sinners. For you I cleanse the earth. For you I will die.”
He turns to the mother. “Run.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, she runs, and the priest continues his walk.

Sprinklers spray water continuously, but how can they compete with divine fire?

Slowly, the fire spreads.

“Stop!” another security guard yells out. His gun is pointed to the priest.

The priest’s lips form into a feeble smile.

“Yes, you understand.”

Before the guard’s finger reaches the gun’s trigger, he is forced to the floor by a patient.

“No! He is the prophet! He will cleanse us!”
“Get off!”

The priest sighs. Fire consumes both men.

“He is correct, you know,” another man comes up and tells the priest. “Your fire cleanses the sinners.”
“It is not my fire.”
“No… it is his.”
“Who are you?”
“A sinner. Like all the others.”

The man spreads his arms as an invitation.

“Do it. Cleanse me.”

The priest grimaces as the fire takes the man as well.

He’s close now.

“Stop!” a sudden voice yells.

Benjamin Collins faces the priest, a gun in his hand.

“Finally,” the priest responds. “The healer brandishes a weapon. The flaming sword.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about old man, but you’ve got to stop doing this.”
“There’s only one way to do that… Cure me.”

<BLAM!>

Ben looks at the gun in shock. He can&#8217;t believe what he&#8217;s just done.

&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; the priest mouths before falling to the floor.

Benjamin Collins coughs.
 
Death Valley, Nevada:

I sit alone in my one roomed hut. I've been alone all my life. People have called me crazy. Crazy because I believe in god. Crazy because I believe the end is near. Crazy they say! But I am NOT crazy. I am a prophet. God has given me great abilities and I have used them silence those who would speak against him. It is God who told me to seclude myself from the sinful society that America has become. An entire nation damned to burn in the pits of Lucifer for all eternity, and it is God's will that I help them begin their eternal burning here on the plane of Earth. For the end is near. I am dying, this much I know. I cough and the phlegm that dislodges from my throat is dark crimson, and the taste left in my mouth is that coppery taste of blood. I have been coughing blood for several weeks now, but it is too early for me to be taken from this plane. The heretics must heal me.

Later, Essex, California:

It took my beat up old pickup two hours to drive to the nearest town. I passed out from pain and exhaustion four times along the way. That must just be God telling me that I must hurry to save myself for his plan. I leave my pickup running and parked in a spot marked with red paint. I don't care about their rules, as they don't care about His rules. I ignore the man yelling at me that I can't park there, and I stumble into the lobby of the hospital.

Alisson McDaniel, RN:

A man in horrible shape just stumbled through the door. He's in rags, covered in blood, and looks like he hasn't showered in years. He coughs and I see blood spill into his hand. Tuberculosis. Oh s**t.

"Sir, you'll have to take a seat over there, we'll get with you as soon as we can."

I point him to a corner of the waiting room with noone near it.

Clarence:

"Scum, stand over there. The doctors are too busy for you right now."

The foul mouthed blonde behind the desk screams at me. I follow her orders and continue coughing.

Alisson:

He gives me a disdainful stare as he goes and stands in the corner. He's obviously very sick. I press the intercom button, and page.

"Any available doctors to the lobby please, we have a very sick man."

Clarence:

"Any available security to the lobby please, we have a very deranged man."

This infuriates me and I try to walk to the desk, falling twice on the way.

"I need help, smoree!"

Alisson:

He screams profanities at me as he collapses on the floor, and the waiting room door bursts open, two doctors coming through.

"Whats going on Alisson?"

"He's coughing blood, I think its TB. He's obviously delusional, probably from a fever. We need to get him to a quarantined room."

The doctors put on breathing masks and give me one, asking me to help get him on a stretcher. My skin crawls at the thought of touching him.

Clarence:

"He's preaching God, I think its disgusting. He's obviously a liar, probably from Encino. We need to keep him isolated."

She touches me, and I spit at her, blood splashing on her cheek.

"Hands off me devil smoree!"

Doctor Mick Johnson, MD:

I see the look of fear in her eyes as the blood trickles down her cheek. She's scared as hell, and I don't blame her. This man is messed up.

"It's okay Alisson, we'll take it from here."

Clarence:

"It's okay rutsmoree, we'll take him out."

They put me on a stretcher, and I try to bite them, but I'm too weak to do it.

Later, Clarence:

I hear them talking. Saying I'm too far gone to be saved. They are the ones too far gone to be saved. My strength is returning and the heretics will burn. I pull the artificial tubes out of my nose. The unnatural plastic trying to feed me poison. The men start to run towards me, but I stop them in their tracks. Fire shoots from my hands, and they start their eternal burn. I relish in their screams. I cough again, and my hand fills with my own blood. I have not much time left, but I will make the best of it since they refuse to help me.

Dr. Johnson:

The man is standing. Hunched over and coughing. Dr. James and I start to move towards him to lay him back down. There's not much we can do at this point but make him comfortable. He screams something, and I feel hot. I look down and my body is engulfed in white hot flames.

Clarence:

The bigger man screams as he burns. A blood curdling scream that will be a chorus of music in Lucifer's ears for all eternity. There is a loud beeping from a devil machine on the ceiling. The door bursts open with several more men, to subdue me.

Dr. Adam Nevan, MD:

As I respond to the smoke alarm in room 232, my spine goes cold as I recognize the disheveled man in bloody rags. Twenty-three years ago, this man burned down a homeless shelter. One in which my parents volunteered. I was only five, but I remember the incident with amazing clarity. I was there because mom and dad couldn't find a babysitter. This man had stormed in screaming about not helping others sin, and how by aiding the sinners we were all damned to burn in eternal damnation, that eternity began that night. To this day, I believe that I saw him conjure flame from his hands and start the fire. The psychologists told me that it was just the traumatic event causing that memory. My parents both died in that blaze, but here I saw it again. The man who killed hundreds that night, standing sickly in a hospital room, hands on fire.

Clarence:

One of the men looks shocked. I laugh, and cough again. He too will burn, unless they decide to help me.

"You cultists and idolitors are doomed to hell, but *hack* not *hack* tonight if you *cough* will help me. I need your witchcraft *cough* to make me well."

Dr. Nevan:

Each time he coughs blood droplets spray the air. He has advanced stages of Tuberculosis, and there's not much we'll be able to do.

"Lay back down and we'll help you."

Clarence:

"Lay down or we'll kill you."

The scared man demands of me.

"I'm dieing anyway! Your demand holds no power over me, heretic!"
Dr. Nevan:

Obviously still delusional. Good thing John had gotten down stairs to call police unnoticed. Oh god, he's coming at me.

Clarence:

I grab the demanding one, and walk into another room, hand burning his neck so noone stops me. I look around and auras of innocence glow around me. In little beds all around me, lie infants. Pure, untouched souls. I cannot hurt them, they are still God's children. They have not turned from him yet.

"These children are innocent. They cannot be harmed. They must be taken out of this devil building."

Dr. Nevan:

Oh god. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. The other doctors followed us, and are hurridly taking the infants out of the room. When the babies are gone, the fire returns to the man's eyes, and his hand hotly presses deep into my flesh again.

"P.. p.. please. We ... w... ant to help you."

Clarence:

I cough, but nothing comes out. I feel it lodge in my throat. As much as I try to cough, it won't come out. My hands go cold, I'm unable to concentrate on staying lit, on giving out the divine justice. The man I'm holding speaks but I can't hear him. Finally, the phlegm dislodges. A ball of dried blood falls into my other hand. The pain is intense and I collapse to the floor releasing the heretic. The coughs are unrelenting now, a pool of blood forming on the floor beneath me. My knees give out and my face splashes in the puddle of my own blood. I try to look up, and I see a white light. There, his hand outstretched, is my God. Thankful and proud of my service to him.

Dr. Nevan:

As the man starts choking, he releases me. I see the ball of dried blood fall to the floor as his body is racked by severe coughs. He falls to the ground and suddenly is silent. Cautiously, I approach him, but before I do, his body explodes in violent flames. The flames start to spread fast. Unnaturally. My eyes go wide as I see them creep to an oxygen tank. My ears ring and my eyes spot as the tank explodes starting a chain reaction. My body is engulfed in the white hot flames.

Two days later, the Essex Times:

The cause of the Hospital explosion is still undetermined. Reports of an insane man starting the fires are unconfirmed. The only survivors are the 22 infants that were taken to safety, as the hospital staff was working hard to evacuate the building.
 
Rome Is Burning

​
A needle in the arm. That's how it all could've ended. All the suffering, all the fear, all the pain... all of it came down to this moment in time.

To understand how "it" ended, you have to understand how "it" started. Much like other stories, it starts with a couple. A couple of folks in a dead-end bar in a dead-end corner of the city. What city? It's not important. These folks, though, each had had a bad run of luck. One had been fired from her last job. Mary was her name. She was a remarkable woman for the conditions she found herself in; she was naturally charming and beautiful and, though nobody around her knew it, she had incredible potential for intelligence. In this town, though, there were few people who ever amounted to much of anything in their lives. Clerks at convenience stores or cab drivers, these are the people that this neighborhood produced.

It was serendipity, then, that Mary encountered a man one night at the local bar. She was partial to having one drink too many on occasion, as was the case with many of the people in her family. Unshaven and unkempt, this was the sort of man who was good for one thing and one thing only, a one night stand. A torrid, sexual encounter that neither of the people involved would remember. The name on the worn, old patch on his uniform said that his name was Joey. He bought her a drink. The two talked for a while, exchanging all the basic pleasantries about the weather, how their last relationships failed, and what things had gone wrong in their lives, forcing them stay home in the same town they were born in.

Joey was supposed to be a boxer, back in the day. Predictably, his agent quit on him after his first loss. Mary was made for modeling. She had been in a few beauty pageants in the region and her best only got her a silver medal. The pair found each other to be adequate. After twenty four years, the pair realized that that was the best people in this sort of town got. It's not that there weren't better people out there. The town was full of wealthy, important people. They just weren't interested in street urchins like the pair at the bar.

Mary woke up the next morning, meagerly satisfied, her partner already gone, not even leaving a phone number for her to call.

Nine months later, Clarence was born. Mary, desperately hoping to make something of herself, didn't put the child up for adoption. Instead, she kept him. Clarence was a normal baby in most every sense of the word. His eyes had the same 'unique' look that every child has, one of curiosity and wonder, and he was eager to grab his mother's finger and fiddle with it.

From the moment he was born, Clarence Nero's mother told him he was special. He was unlike everyone else. She was convinced that since her life had all but peaked, the only way to make a name for herself was through the success of her son. And, by God, she devoted herself to him. And, for a time, things were going well for the pair. His father never called, and probably didn't know Clarence had even been born. Clarence was a good boy, though, even without his father around. He always told the truth, opened doors, pulled out chairs, minded his manners, and he always, always said his prayers before he went to bed.

His mother wasn't particularly religious, but the Bible was the only book she had in their small, two-room apartment and she read it nightly to Clarence in his infancy. Knowing nothing other than the word of his Lord, Clarence took everything in the Book to heart.

However, this devotion to religion didn't prevent Clarence from having a normal childhood. He enjoyed all of the simple things. Catching bugs on his windowsill, playing on the jungle-gym in the park, and playing with his Tonka trucks in the sandbox. One day when he was six, in the sandbox, Clarence was playing with a friend he frequently met, Matthew. When the time came for Matthew to leave, Clarence became visibly annoyed, refusing to look up as he muttered his quiet "Goodbye." Half an hour later, it was time for Clarence, too, to leave and head home after a day of play. His mother picked him up and, to her shock, found that he was bleeding from his leg. She went to wipe some of the blood away, but felt that her son's leg was incredibly hot. She jerked her hand away, muttering an obscenity under her breath. She took a sip from her flask, and rummaged around in the sand, looking for the broken bottle that would lead to a large lawsuit against the city's health department. She found nothing. Quietly, she drew her hand away and put it on her hips, dumbfounded. Something was wet in her palm, as it touched the cotton of her dress, though. Examining her hand closely, she found that her hand was bleeding from many spots, each with a tiny piece of glass lodged in her flesh. She quietly glared at Clarence, playfully pouring sand on his leg, surprised when it cut him. Taking a sip once more from her flask, Mary bent down and smiled at her son, promising him a candy bar. After all, he was a good boy, 'special.' He would do things that nobody else in the world had done, right? She wrapped a scarf from her purse around her hand as she headed for the corner store. Clarence watched quietly, gripping his truck, longingly waiting for his candy.

His mother never came back.

The government wouldn't let a boy with such promise fester in his abandonment. Not at all. In fact, they placed him in foster care. His foster family practiced "tough love." Instead of having dinner as a family each night, around a table, they put their children in individual rooms to eat alone, in preparation for the isolation they would suffer as adults. An adolescent Clarence ate his meals in silence for years, wondering what uniqueness his mother had so happily told him about as he bounced in her lap as a boy. He felt a cold longing in the pit of his soul to feel that tenderness once more. All he had in foster care was isolation and the occasional meeting with a belt after a bad report card.

One night, after an especially brutal beating, Clarence was sitting in his room. He quietly rubbed his eyes, as it was late at night, and he lay staring at his ceiling. Quietly, he pushed himself out of bed and knelt down on the floor, creeping towards the closet. He opened the closet door, narrowly avoiding the creaky floorboards he had planted his knee on many times in the past eleven years. As the door silently slid open, he reached his hand inside and wrapped his fingers around the strap of a duffel bag. He slid it across the floor to his lap, ensuring to hold it steady with his hand so as to prevent it from making so much as a single clang. He drew the drawstring hanging from the closet ceiling, illuminating his room in silence. He quietly unzipped the bag and lifted the top of it from its main portion, revealing the contents of the sports bag. Inside were twelve thin, golden bottles, each full of beer. It was lite, and cheap, but to Clarence, it didn't matter. He quietly opened a beer and started drinking.

Six months later, after no beating at all and a surprisingly good meal, Clarence started to drink quietly in his room. The door eased open and, were it not for the squeaky floor, Clarence would have been oblivious to something else's presence. Shocked at the startling and high-pitched whine of the floorboard, Clarence instinctively shoved the bottles under his bed, knocking his Tonka truck out from beneath the tiny space. The truck wheeled to a stop at the paws of a small cat, strangely eying Clarence.

"What're you lookin' at, wuss?" The inebriated teen snickered, laughing at his own innuendo.

The cat replied with a simple "Meow."

Clarence eyed him carefully before making his own, witty reply.

"Well, **** you."

He took another sip of beer, glad that the coast was clear.

The cat meowed again, interested in the drink in his palm.

"Get outta here." Muttered Clarence as the cat rubbed the bottom of its jaw along the lip of the bottle.

The cat persisted and, eventually, Clarence met his breaking point. He wrapped his fist around the cat's throat and held it in the air.

"I said 'no!'"

Clarence thrust the cat onto the ground, suddenly illuminating his room.

His eyes opened wide as the cat soared through the air, aflame.

It landed on the ground, writhing uncontrollably in agony.

It sprinted under the bed, as Clarence stumbled through the halls, barely able to control his laughter.

As the cat careened into the bag full of alcohol, it knocked over a bottle of whiskey hidden under the bed, spilling the liquid onto the wooden floors of the bedroom.

In a particularly painful sounding yelp, the cat was covered in flaming whiskey, running through a puddle in Clarence's bedroom, igniting the room and everything in it.

Clarence whipped around and glared at his room, a smug smile on his face, until eventually pounding his fist on the wall.

"FIRE!!" Clarence shouted between chuckles.

As everyone evacuated the building and watched it burn from across the street, Clarence laughed to himself. The building that had for so long had a clutching hold over his life was on fire, and he was the cause. Spit from his foster father's angry shouts landed on his face. At the end of the rant, Clarence blinked once, obviously not caring one bit about his foster father's displeasure or investment in the house.

He coolly said, gripping his bible and Tonka Truck , "Rome is burning."

For his remaining time in foster care, the parents he was assigned to didn't seem to care about him. His grades, personality, or social life didn't really matter to them. So, all three became under developed. Clarence was a seemingly stupid, angry, hermetic man by the time he had a home of his own.

He was twenty-two and he eased his way up the stairs to his home in the projects on a late Friday night. The large, steel door opened with a click and he tossed his keys into his Tonka, waiting patiently for him as he entered. The door closed with a slam and he tossed his coat carelessly onto the ground. The hair on his face was long and untidy, just as his father's was. The bible that lay under his pillow was worn, the pages browned with many readings done after nights of drinking.

Clarence stopped dead in tracks as he entered the apartment.

It was uninteresting. Full of candles that had yet to be lit, though they sat in puddles of wax left from their predecessors. The walls were empty, save for a cabinet full of empty, or almost so, liquor bottles. A stray shelf on the wall was stacked envelopes from the welfare office.

A small, old TV was plugged in in front of the air mattress aligned in front of the barred window. The only thing of any interest was an old record player in the room, along with a collection of jazz records. They were in the apartment when Clarence moved in, and they'd be there when he left.

Clarence raised his palm into the air, igniting all of the candles, eerily filling the room with their dim glow.

He collapsed onto the bed, drooling on the sheets, still in his clothes, and slept.

The next afternoon, Clarence woke unceremoniously from the bed, groggily running a hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes.

His body had developed a tolerance for alcohol that was usually reserved for aging Irishmen, so he had no hangover. That meant that there were only two things to do today. Drink and pray.

He threw his jacket on, grabbed his bible, read a verse, and hit the stairwell once more.

His hands were jammed haughtily into his pockets as he walked the streets, heading straight for the local bar. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with his life... who was he? His mother said he'd do something great.

It hadn't happened yet.

As he walked, he felt something in his leg... a jerk or twitch. He ignored it, assuming it was the incredible amounts of alcohol he had ingested in his life.

Another twitch, caused him to trip, slamming hard into the ground, shocked. He spat up some blood, and felt a loose tooth with his tongue. He was, for the first time in a while, scared. With another few coughs, he felt blood and vomit in his mouth. His stomach lurched and he felt himself lying in a pool of rancid stomach fluid and blood, his leg jerking uneventfully beneath him. Tears welled into his eyes as they shut quietly.

When next his eyes opened, Clarence found himself in a hospital, a doctor standing over him. The grim look on the man's face told Clarence that the information in the envelope under his arm wasn't good.

Quietly, the doctor began to speak.

"Sir, when you came to our hospital... you were in pretty rough shape. You were quite sick. You've been here for two days with an internal bleed. We've fixed the problem, but we ran some tests and are awaiting the results. If you can give us your address, you can be on your way, and we'll send you them as soon as they arrive."

With this, the man thrust the envelope into Clarence's lap and walked away quietly. The envelope was full of forms, all of which Clarence quietly filled out. He wasn't afraid to do anything he was asked, or answer any question. He was going to be special, after all.

Clarence dressed himself and went back to his house. After such a long and strange pair of days, he needed some rest. He went to sleep, coughing up blood occasionally, wiping it from his face with a handkerchief. He groaned ever hour or so, as whatever he had made him taste blood. What he was going through was horrible.

Four days later, he woke up after a full day of being passed out and quietly read his mail.

The first letter he had was a set of test results. Medical mumbo jumbo... he couldn't make heads nor tails of it.

The second was the translation.

"Mr. Nero,

We at the Trinity's First Hospital regretfully inform you of the following prognosis. Dr. Andrew Thaddeus has reviewed your test results and has determined that you have been afflicted with terminal, stage four lung cancer. We believe the disease to be hereditary. At best, without treatment, you have roughly six months to live. Due to your financial status, the members of the hospital's board of directors have determined that your treatment would be a fiscal risk, and we cannot, therefore, justify treating you.

With my most sincere apologies,
T. Beaker
PHD

Dictated But Not Read"

Quietly, Clarence tore the letter up, angry at everything he had known in his life. Do something special? He was going to amount to nothing. Nothing more than another victim of cancer, loneliness, and alcohol. Clarence Nero faced the hard truth that he was a nobody... and nobody would care when he died. His entire life was burning into nothingness before his very eyes.

Through erratic coughing and illness, Clarence stared at the walls of his home, finishing all of the liquor in his apartment.

They weren't going to treat him?

He'd make them treat him.

He'd show them. He'd live. And he'd be special for it.

He woke up the day after getting the letter and went down to the local gun store. He bought a single barreled shotgun, having managed to pawn some of the records from the previous tenant of his apartment for some petty cash.

He quietly stashed the gun under his jacket, along with his flask and walked the twelve blocks to the hospital, knowing full well that what he was planning to do was wrong.

He entered the hospital and eased his way to the proper floor. As people quietly moved in and out of surgery wards, he approached the nurse's station and drew his gun, pressing it firmly to the chief nurse's head.

With a click, he grinned.

"I believe you're going to treat me." He said, signaling for the other nurses to lock the doors.
 
Rome Is Burning

II
​
After four hours of waiting, several phone calls from police negotiators, and a few more mouthfuls of blood, Clarence approached a weeping Spanish woman, clutching her cross tightly in her hand.

"You may go." He whispered, signaling to the doors with his shotgun.

She nodded quietly and rose to her feet, approaching the bolted barrier. She reached the door, which Clarence unlocked standing next to her, and glanced out the window.

Under her breath, she whispered to him.

"Policia." He nodded, and pressed the gun to her head, using her as a shield. The door swung open without a sound and Clarence spoke to the officer before him.

"Officer. I'll shot her if you come any closer." He said, quietly.

The cop nodded, putting his badge and gun on the floor. With a swift kick with his left foot, they slid to the end of the corridor.

Clarence peered over the cop's shoulder. He shoved the Spanish woman into the hall, and aimed straight for the police officer's head.

"You." He said. "In."

The pair stared at each other for a half hour before the officer spoke.

"What's this about?" He asked, finally.

"The doctors here don't want to treat me because I'm poor." Clarence said, flatly. "I have lung cancer, and they can't be bothered to help because it won't fatten their wallets."

"I'm sorry, for that sir, but you need to let these people go."

"Of course I do, sir." Clarence replied, smiling wickedly. "They're pure."

"Pure?"

"Yes, sir. There aren't any bad souls here. The real villains are on the board of directors. I don't want to kill anyone. But don't push me."

The officer nodded slowly, counting the ten hostages.

"Well... why've you taken them hostages if you know they're pure?"

"Because. I don't want to die." Clarence said, as if the fact was obvious. "These people don't understand anything but brutality, so I shall show them the brutality and swiftness of God."

"I see." The officer paused, trying to find a calm topic he could speak to this guy about. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

"Clarence. Clarence Nero."

"Clarence?"

"Yes."

"We know each other!" The police officer said excitedly.

"Do we?"

"Absolutely! It's me, Matthew. We played together when we were kids."

"...Matthew?"

"Yeah, we played in the sandbox before you had to move."

"...And you're a police detective?" Clarence said, realizing that the man before him was special.

"Yeah, I'm actually part of a unique and elite unit. We're hostage negotiators."

"A negotiator. You don't say."

"I've come a long way, wouldn't you say?"

"I would...Well, congratulations." Clarence muttered.

"Please... put down the gun, Clarence."

Clarence burst out laughing.

"You have everything! You have a job, a life, a family..." Clarence shouted, nodding at the ring on the officer's finger, "What do I have? Nothing! Nothing but this!" He roared, shaking the gun in his hand.

Matthew's facial expression changed dramatically, as he realized he had made a huge mistake.

Clarence had snapped.

"And after three days of drinkin', would've had enough
I just get an inclin' to go on home.
So, I'm walkin' down Cold Harbor Lane,
Head hung low, three or four in the mornin'"

Clarence pointed the gun at Matthew's chest, laughing.

"The suns comin' up and the birds are out singin'
I let myself into my pad
Wind myself up that spiral staircase
An' stretch out nice on the Chesterfield"

Many of the hostages began to panic, unsure of what they should do as the gunman pointed the gun at the officer's head.

"Pithecanthropus Erectus already on the CD player
And I just push that remote button to sublimity
An' listen to the sweet sculptural rhythms of Charles Mingus
An' J.R. Monterose and Jackie Mclean and Jewel Grant on those saxophones.

And the sound makes it's way outta the window
Minglin' with the traffic noises outside, you know, an'
All of a sudden I'm overcome by a feelin' of brief mortality
'Cause I'm gettin' on in the world, comin' up on forty-one years."

It took the officer a moment to realize that Clarence was singing a song of some sort.

"Forty-one stony gray steps towards the grave...
You know the box, awaits it's grissly load.
Now, I'm gonna be food for worms.
And just like Charles Mingus wrote that beautiful piece-a music
Epitaph for Eric Dolphy"

Matthew felt his heart in his throat as he was pressed into the wall.

"I say, so long Eric, so long, John Coltrane and Charles Mingus"

Clarence wheeled around and shot three of the hostages as he sang.

"So long, Duke Ellington and Leslie Young"

A husband and wife trying to escape were shot in the back and fell to their knees.

"So long, Billie Holliday and Ella Fitzgerald"

Clarence smiled as the blood from the heads of two children smacked against his face as he fired his shotgun.

"So long, Jimmy Reed, so long, Muddy Waters"

He killed a red-headed man and an African American next, and spun back around, planting the gun on Matthew's forehead.

CLICK

Empty.

"An' so, long Howlin' Wolf"

Clarence smiled smugly as Matthew burst into flames.

There was one hostage left, a woman.

Clarence sat down quietly, singing.

"Woke up this mornin'
Got yourself a gun
Mama always said you'd be the Chosen One" Clarence said, as the nurse pushed herself to her feet.

"She said, 'You're one in a million'
You got ta burn to shine
But you were born under a bad sign
With a blue moon in your eyes"

Clarence dipped his head back, still singing merrily as the nurse sprinted for the door.

"Woke up this mornin'
And-a all that love had gone
Your papa never told you
About right and wrong"

His mother was wrong. Clarence hadn't amounted to anything. He had been given a gift by God, one which he didn't use for anything. He drank himself to death, and now had to pay.

Quietly reloading, he continued to sing.

"But you're, but you're lookin' good, baby
I believe you're a-feelin' fine, shame about it
Born under a bad sign
With a blue moon in your eyes
So sing it now"

As the bullets were fed into the gun, Clarence heard the footsteps of police officers trampling heavily up the stairs.

" So ya, woke up this mornin'
The world turned upside down
Lordy, but a-thing's ain't been the same
Since the blues walked in-a town

But cha, but cha, one in a million
'Cause you've got that, shotgun shine, shame about it
Born under a bad sign
With a blue moon in your eyes
So sing it now"

A series of police officers slammed into the small waiting room and watched in horror as Clarence pressed the barrel of the gun into his mouth.

He had done nothing with his life.

"God damn...
God damned shame, about it."

He whispered, finishing the song.

BANG

His brain crashed into the wall behind his head.

Woke up this mornin', you wanna be
You wanna be the Chosen One
Yeah, you know what you're talkin' about

Just can't help yourself

The officers quietly dropped their weapons, unsure of what to do in a situation like this.

Woke up this morning
And got yourself
You got yourself a gun.

Clarence Nero was dead. His cancer gone. And his life amounted to little more than a paragraph in the paper, labeling him simply as an 'unknown assailant.'

A needle in the arm. That's how it all would've ended. All the suffering, all the fear, all the pain... all of it came down to this moment in time.

That injection never came.
​
 
THE ROLE-PLAYING LEAGUE
SEASON I, WEEK 9
-------------------------------------------------------

INITIAL SCENARIO
Years ago, Bennett Reid made a deal with the mob. He was desperate, and they were his last resort. Now, he is being forced to return the favor.
Bennett's family is taken hostage. He's told he must kill a man named Ken Fletcher before midnight, or lose everything he holds dear.
Unfortunately, Bennett is involved in a terrible car accident on the way to the victim's house. He awakes in the hospital, following emergency surgery and is briefed by his doctor... Ken Fletcher.

CONDITIONS
Each team must satisfy at least two of the following four conditions in their telling of the story...
  • Explore Bennett's past. What deal did he make with the mob years ago?

  • The mob chose Bennett to perform this hit for a reason. What reason might that be?

  • Explore Fletcher's past. Why does the mob want him dead?

  • Bennett's wife may hold the key to diffusing this situation. Elaborate.
THIS WEEK'S POSTERS:
Eddie Brock Jr., Keyser Soze, Harlekin, Byrd Man, Wiegeabo

DUE DATE:
Tuesday, March 4th, 7:00pm​
 
Now

"They say that, once you take your first life, it gets easier everytime. That's because with each kill, a small part of your soul dies with it."

An old man sits in the darkness, a pistol in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other.

"Now it's time to take the last part."

He holds the pistol to his temple and prepares to squeeze...

April 15, 1961

"We now turn to Cuba, the whole world watches as an invasion of Cuban exiles attempts to storm the Bay of Pigs section of Cuba. The American goverment denies any claims that they are the ones who backed it.."

Bennett Reid shuts off the radio and wipes the sweat of his brow as he drives down the dark road. A small pistol lays on the seat next to him. Things weren't suppose to be this way. If only he'd just.....

December 1959

"Stick to the plan, man!" Joey Baker screams as he runs down the Havana streets. Reid runs closely behind him. Both of them are carrying heavy bags.

Both of them were just innocent business men. They had no intention of getting mixed up with the mob and their dealings down here.

"Wait for me!!" Reid huffs and puffs behind his friend.

A dock and boat loom off in the distance. Only a short boat ride back to the states and they'd be safe from all this crap.

"¡Pare, usted puercos norteamericanos!"

Cuban soldiers turn the corner and fire off shots at the two americans. Reid's bag is hit with a bullet and a white powder starts to pour out.

"Goddamn! The coke's coming out!"

"Leave it!" Joey wheezes as the two run onto the boat dock.

Reid drops the bag and follows his friend on to the boat.

"Get us the **** out of here!" Joey screams as Reid kicks the boat into high gear. The two of them jet out of the dock as gunfire rains all around them.

"Think we'll ever go back?" Reid asks as he lights up a cigarette and looks at Joey.

"With the way the US and Castro are going? The next americans to set foot in Cuba will be soldiers.'

April 15, 1961

Reid's eyes widen as he realizes he's been driving on the wrong side of the road. A small Ford Falcon is flashing it's lights and blowing on the horn as he swerves to miss it...

"****!"

He turns the wheel too quickly, and it flips on to it's side. Sparks fly as the car's roof scrapes across the pavement and comes to a stop. Bennett Reid lies on the road, his body limp and his mind unconscious.

April, 14 1961

"This is Reid." He answers. He sits at his luxious desk overlooking the New York skyling.

"Reid, buddy. This is Johnny Sporano."

Reid's blood goes cold and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He'd heard that voice before....

Novemember 1959


"-and as you can tell, gentlemen. We need this merchandise moved quickly."

Johnny Sporano sits at a desk while Reid and Joey Baker sit on the other side. Both of them seem anxious and nervous.

"And what are we moving?" Joey speaks first. This would be a huge first step for their fledgling shipping company.

"No questions asked." Sporano smiles as he crosses his hands on the desk.

"Forgive me for asking, but this seems a bit...shady.."

"Yes it does, Mister Reid." Johnny says.

"But considering the amount of money you're being paid. I expect it done quickly, quietly, and no questions asked. Are we agreed?"

Joey and Reid look at each other. Reid seems nervous while Joey just smiles.

"We'll do it."

"Well then." Johnny stands and holds out his hand to shake Joey's hand.

"Have a nice trip to Havana."

April 14, 1961

"Well, what do I owe this phone call to?" Reid sounds calm and collective as Sporano chuckles.

"You know well what I'm after. That bag of coke two years ago. You may have thought I forgot, but I was waiting. Waiting until I needed your fat ash again."

"See here..."

"Shut the **** up. You'll do as I say."

"Or what?"

"Or your wife and kid end up with a ****ing bullet in their heads."

Reid sighs and holds his hand on his head.

"Oh, god...what do you want?"

"There's this mook named Fletcher, Ken Fletcher. Come see me tonight and I'll show you what to do..."

April 15, 1961

Reid's eyes dart open and he sits upright. His body aches all over and his clothes are gone, a hospital gown has take it's place.

"Mister Reid. You need to calm down..."

A tall man with graying hair stands over Reid and trys to push him down on the bed.

"I'm your doctor. Everything will be alright. Here...."

He reaches into his pocket and hands him a cigarette. Reid takes it and waits for the doctor to light it up.

"You were in a crash and broke your leg. Other than that, you're fine."

Reid takes a deep drag off the cigarette and gets a good look at the doctor for the first time. His heart starts to race as he recognizes the face...

"Yes, Mister Reid. I'm Ken Fletcher. And I'm the man who will be killing you today."

Fletcher's hand moves quckly, revealing a pistol with a silencer attached to it. He fires three quiet gunshots into Reid's chest and watches as the man gasps for air and blood starts to pour out of his mouth.

"Have a nice night."

Fletcher puts the gun back into it's shoulder holster and quickly moves out of the room and out of the hospital. He walks to a black car and gets into the back seat.

"So it's done?" Johnny Sporano looks at Fletcher as the driver starts the car.

"Yes." Fletcher looks out the car's window as it rolls down the street.

"Good. Now you go kill his partner, Joey Baker. Then you kill both their families."

Fletcher's hand shakes as he lights up a cigarette and takes a long drag off of it.

"Don't worry, Kenny. Your first kill is always the hardest. Everytime after that it gets easier." Sporano pats him on the back as the car continues down the street.

"You're gonna be a good hitman, Kenny. One of the best."

Now

Ken Fletcher sits in the darkness, the bottle of scotch in one hand and the gun pressed against his temple in the other. He thinks about his first kill, and all the ones after that. Joey Baker, Reid's family, Baker's family. All the nameless mobsters and politicans, even killing Sporano himself back in '72.

"They say that, once you take your first life, it gets easier everytime. That's because with each kill, a small part of your soul dies with it."

A single tear rolls down his eye as he prepares to squeeze the trigger.

"Now it's time to take the last part."

BOOM!

Bone and brain matter splatter across the adjacent wall. Ken Fletcher's body slumps to the floor and now the old man's wicked heart beats no more.
 
MIDNIGHT​

“Time’s up.”

*BANG!*

4:52pm

Bennett Reid never saw the car coming. It’s not like in the movies. It doesn’t happen in slow-motion. Just, you’re driving, it’s a green light, you think you’re okay, the road’s clear. You turn away for a second, and when you look back there’s a red Toyota’s right on top of you, and then it all goes black.

When Bennett lurched back into consciousness with a haggard gasp, realisation hit him in waves. The first thing he saw was the glass. Shattered glass everywhere. Aimlessly tilting his head to look out of the gaping hole where the side window used to be, Bennett then became aware of the Toyota crashed into his side. For a moment, his attention was drawn to the sound of cars angrily tooting their horns as they swerved past the accident. Where were they? Were they in everyone’s way? They! Bennett then noticed the other driver, slumped forward over his steering wheel, a pool of blood gathering around his head. He was still.

Then Bennett became aware of his own situation. His legs felt warm, wet, sticky. With slowly-dawning realisation giving way to horror, he forced himself to look down. A jagged shard of the Toyota’s hood had pierced through his door, and went through his stomach. He let out a choked scream, and a louder one when he tried to move. He was pinned to his seat. Sobbing, he looked around the wreckage, and realised there was blood everywhere. All over him, all over the interior of the car. How long had he been bleeding for?

As his vision started to blur, one more realisation hit him. The worst one of all. His job wasn’t done. Helen, Oh God, what was going to happen to Helen! He couldn’t die, not here, not like this. He tried to fight the encroaching darkness, but it was no good. He felt himself slipping away. This was it. This was the moment he was going to die.

“Helen…”

Bennett’s head slumped forward, and his eyes closed.

10:17pm

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

A white room. Bennett opened his eyes, blinked a few times, letting his vision regain its focus. He was lying down in a bed. He was in a hospital. He tilted his head towards the man who had spoken to him. He was wearing a white coat, a doctor. Then he looked at the doctor’s face, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

“You…”

“I’m Dr. Fletcher.”

“Doctor…Ken….Fletcher,” Bennett muttered, reading his name-badge.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m one of the surgeons who operated on you.”

“Operated?”

“Yes. You were in a car accident, sir. We had to perform emergency surgery. We’ve done the best we could, but you’ve suffered some very severe internal injuries…”

“What happened to the other driver?”

Dr. Fletcher shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, casting his eyes down to his clipboard.

“I’m afraid he died, sir. Instantly, I believe.”

“Lucky him.”

Bennett tried to sit up, but the movement sent a current of pain scorching through his body. He let out a cry, then slumped back on the bed.

“What are you doing?” Fletcher asked.

“I need to leave,” Bennett replied.

“That’s out of the question,” Fletcher said, “Too much movement, and your stitches will burst. And we do not yet know the extent of your internal injuries, you could be suffering from internal bleeding…”

“I…I can’t stay here!”

“You can’t leave, I’m afraid, sir. I’m sorry, sir, we don’t know your name. You had no ID in your car, no driver’s license…”

“Call me Ben.”

“Well, Ben, why were you driving without a license?”

“It’s a rental car. My car’s…in for repairs. I must have forgotten to shift it over.”

“Well why don’t you tell me a bit more about yourself. Do you have medical insurance?”

“I….I’ll tell you all about myself,” Bennett said, looking around at the ward and all the patients, “But not here.”

“I’m sorry, Ben, I’ve told you you’re not fit to…”

“I don’t want to leave, okay? I just want some privacy. Can you take me ah….I don’t know…can you take me outside, or something? Can you take me outside? To the, I don’t know, the parking lot, or something.”

“I really don’t think you should be outside given your…”

“PLEASE!”

Dr. Fletcher is taken aback by Bennett’s outburst.

“Sorry,” Bennett continued, with a bit more restraint, “Look, I’ll tell you whatever you want, I’ll stay here as long as you want, but please, please, just do this one thing for me. Take me outside, where we’ll have some privacy, and let me tell you my story. I can’t keep it to myself anymore, I can’t bear it.”

“If it’s something important, shouldn’t I call someone, a family member, or…”

“No. It has to be you. I can only tell you, no one else. Or it might be too late.”

Dr. Fletcher stood there in silence for several seconds, trying to decide how to respond. Finally, he made a decision.

“Alright, fine,” he sighed, “Just let me go get a wheelchair.”

Dr. Fletcher wandered off to get a wheelchair, leaving Bennett alone with his thoughts. He pressed his head back against his pillow, tried to keep his breathing steady.

“Oh God,” he gasped, “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

And then Dr. Fletcher was back with the wheelchair. It was a struggle, but he managed to get Bennett up off the bed, and onto the wheelchair. Bennett looked down at the cabinet next to his bed.

“Are those my boots in there?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Can I have them?”

“Why?”

“Look, I’m not exactly going to run away, am I? I’d just like to have my shoes, okay?”

Shrugging to himself, and adding this eccentricity onto the handful of others this patient had so far revealed to him, Dr. Fletcher handed Bennett his heavy, clunky hiking boots. He clutched them tightly as Fletcher wheeled him down the hallway, into the elevator, and out of the hospital. Fletcher stopped pushing the wheelchair when they were out in the parking lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay out here?” the doctor asked.

“A bit cold, but I’m fine.”

“Well, what is it you want to tell me?”

Bennett let out a sigh, looking up at the dark night sky.

“It’s been a hell of a day…”

12:49pm

I was waiting. Lou Reilly had said he’d be stopping by my apartment at 1pm, to give me further instructions. But I already knew the most important part. The part that kept me awake all last night. The fact that I have to kill a guy. Tonight, I have to murder someone.

Don’t look at me like that! I’m not crazy! And I don’t want to murder this man, really, you have to understand that. It’s important you understand that. I’m not a killer. Just…this one time, two years ago, I had no other choice. I was desperate!

It’s….it’s my wife. Helen. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world, I love her more than life itself. I got her a job as a singer, in the club I worked in. I was head chef there. I…I’m a chef. And, it was the boss of the place, you see. Jerry Sondheim. Sleazy little scumbag. One night, when I wasn’t working, he kept her late and he…he raped her. He took her into his office and he raped her. Helen told me, few days after it happened. We told the police, got him charged. But they let him go. No evidence. And Helen didn’t want to have to go through the humiliation of a trial, all those people looking at her, and feeling sorry for her. She just wanted it to go away. But I couldn’t forget about it. I couldn’t let him get away with what he’d done.

Now I couldn’t kill him myself, come on, I’d gone to the police, I’d be the first suspect if he turned up dead. I didn’t know what to do. Then Lou Reilly came to see me. Everyone around this area knows who Lou Reilly is, he’s a gangster, really dangerous guy. But he comes to my door, all sympathetic, says it’s a disgrace Sondheim’s getting off scott-free. Says he wants to do this favour for me, he wants to kill him, free of charge. I say sure, thank you very much. Me and Helen leave town for a few weeks, we come back, Sondheim is dead. Police questioned me, but I had an alibi, people who could vouch for me being in another state time the hit went down. And I thought it was over! Couple of days later, Reilly shows up at my door again. Now you owe me a favour, he tells me. Then he leaves, and I don’t see him again for two years.

The club shut down. I opened my own restaurant, Helen works there with me. It’s struggling, I’ll admit, but we’re getting by, just about. Or we were, until Lou Reilly crawled back into my life. Yesterday, he calls me on the phone. How you been doing Benny, he says. Tells me it’s time to cash in his favour. Tells me that there’s this guy he wants dead, and that I’m going to kill him tomorrow. Today, I mean. I say I don’t want to do it, that I’ll do anything else, but he says I have no choice, I’m doing this job for him. If I don’t, he’s still got the murder weapon, and some putz who’s willing to say I paid him to kill Jerry Sondheim. Said he’d come by tomorrow – today – to give me more details, at 1pm. He had me by the balls, Dr. Fletcher, I had no choice but to accept. I have to kill this man.

And now here I was, 10 minutes to 1, and all I could do was sit in a stupor in the kitchen, hiding from the inevitable. And right about that time, a wave of disgust washed over me. Here I was, feeling sorry for myself, when my wife was in the bedroom, feeling like it’s her fault we’re in this mess! So I made myself stand up, and go through to the bedroom to see Helen.

She was sitting on the bed when I walked in, looking out the window. As I opened the door, she turned to face me. Even now, sitting here, I remember the look on her face as if it was seconds ago. She looked like she had the whole world sitting on her shoulders. And I knew it was my fault. She wanted to forget it all. It was my idea to kill Sondheim. It was my idea…

“Bennett,” she said.

“Helen,” I said right back.

Ever since….ever since what Sondheim did to her, she hasn’t been the same. She puts on a brave face for me, tells me she’s alright, but there’s nights when we’re in bed together, and she’s pretending to be asleep, and I know she’s awake, I can tell as much by the way she’s breathing. And it hurts me so much to think that, even now, when she closes her eyes she sees that filthy pervert looking down at her. I let her down by not protecting her. I failed her. All this, it’s my fault.

“I just want you to know,” she says, “No matter what happens, I love you. I love you, Bennett, I want you to know that. I love you so much.”

Her voice began to tremble there, and she wiped a guilty tear from her cheek, one she didn’t want me to see. I didn’t want her to feel guilty, this wasn’t her doing. It was that sadistic animal Reilly, doing this for cheap kicks. I thought then I shouldn’t have told her, that I should have left her out of it. Not that it would have done any good. And it wouldn’t have been right anyway. I had to tell Helen. I tell her everything. There are no secrets between us.

I sat down on the bed next to her, cradled her hands in mine.

“Helen, sweetheart,” I told her, “This isn’t your fault. None of this is your fault. You know that. I know that. All this…it’s all on Lou Reilly. But after today, this will all be over. I do this one thing for him, and I’ve returned the favour. He doesn’t have a hold over us anymore. We’re free.”

“But he wants you to kill someone, Bennett!” she said, “That’s not you. How are you going to do that?”

To be honest, I didn’t even want to think about that.

“I’ll do anything for you, Helen. Anything.”

I kissed her, held her close. And now I’m sitting here, dying maybe, and I’m thinking that could be the last time I ever kiss her.

The doorbell rang, at one on the dot. I answered. It was Reilly, his hulking form almost filling the door-frame. Lou Reilly is built like a bulldog, with a face to match. He’s never seemed like a natural fit for a suit, to me he always seemed like he’d be more comfortable in a loin-cloth, carrying a club. He sauntered into my apartment before I could even ask him in.

“Benny!” he said with a sneer, “Long time no see.”

He looked around, and grinned at Helen as she stepped out of the bedroom.

“Hello Helen,” he said.

“Lou,” she replied curtly.

“It does my heart good to see you both so well,” he said, sitting down on our sofa, “Two years flies by, don’t it?”

“What do you want from me, Lou?”

“Ah, straight to business,” he replied with a smile, “I like that. Take a seat.”

The prick asks me to take a seat in my own house, you believe that? He opened up this folder he’d carried in with him, and laid out a sheet on the coffee table. I sat down, read it. Had the guy’s name, his address, his place of work, all the info I needed.

“You know the area?” Reilly asked me.

“Yeah.”

“Well, now you know where to hit him. He leaves for work at 5pm, so you need to get there before 5.”

I kept on reading the file on the guy. What I read made me feel even worse about what I have to do.

“He’s got a wife, two kids…”

“The wife works. The kids have after-school stuff, won’t be home until later. You’ll have him all to yourself. We’ve done our research, Benny, don’t you worry.”

“Okay,” was all I could mutter in response.

Reilly passed over a photo of the guy to me.

“So you don’t kill the wrong person, huh?” he chuckled, “Put that in a safe place.”

I put it in a safe place.

“Any questions?” Reilly asked.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why kill him?”

“Why? It don’t matter why. You don’t need to know why. Just kill him.”

“Alright…”

“You sure you can go through with this?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes!”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I can kill this man!”

Reilly’s lip curled up into a cruel smile.

“You know what? I don’t think you can.”

Then, he took out a gun, pointed it right at Helen.

“No!” was the only articulate outburst I could make.

“I ain’t gonna kill her….yet,” Reilly sneered, “But I’ll be takin’ her with me. A little incentive, eh?”

Helen let out a low moan, a sound of complete despair.

“No, please, I’ll do what you want,” I pleaded, “Just don’t hurt her.”

“I won’t hurt her,” Reilly replied, “So long as you do your job. Kill the mark, then meet me at Finnegan’s Auto-Repair Shop, you know where that is?”

“Y-yes, but…”

Stepping behind her, Reilly grabbed Helen by the hair, pressed the gun into her cheek.

“You do that by midnight, all will be fine and dandy. But if you don’t kill him and meet me at Finnegan’s in time, at midnight, on the dot, I put a bullet in your wife’s pretty head. You got me?”

I didn’t bother to reply. I was more interested in Helen.

“Helen, everything’s going to be okay, you hear me. I’ll get you back safe, tonight, and this will all be over…”

“Aw, that’s sweet…” Reilly said.

“I love you, Helen.”

Helen forced a smile onto her face.

“I love you too, Bennett.”

“That’s adorable, really. Look, I drove here in a rental car, I want you to drive there in it,” Reilly said, tossing me a set of keys, “I’ll take your car, hope you don’t mind. Where are your keys, Benny?”

“I…I’ve got keys,” said Helen, picking up her handbag.

“Good girl.”

Then Reilly dragged her out the door. He reached into his pocket, and produced another gun.

“Oh, one more thing. Here’s your murder weapon. See you soon, Benny!”

Then, he was out of my apartment. As soon as the door was closed, I dropped to the ground, picked up the gun, and was out into the hallway, chasing after him. By the time I caught up, Reilly and Helen were in the elevator, the doors just closing.

“What you gonna do, Benny?” Reilly asked with a big grin, “Kill me?”

The doors closed, and he was gone. They were gone. I slumped down to my knees, right there in the hallway, held my head in my hands, and just started to cry. I knew, right from that moment, there was no doubt, no escape. I have to kill this man. I have to kill him to save my wife.

10:54pm

“You really expect me to believe that?”

Dr. Fletcher stared at Bennett, the scepticism clear in his eyes.

“It’s the truth,” Bennett said, “I swear!”

“You could have injured your head in the crash,” Fletcher replied, “This could all be a delusion…”

“THIS IS NOT A GODDAMN DELUSION!”

Fletcher was taken aback by Bennett’s outburst. So was, Bennett, it would seem. He groaned in pain, and held his stitched up side, the exertion aggravating his injuries.

“Look, Ben, if this is true….you do know I’m going to have to call the police, right?”

Bennett waved a dismissive hand in Fletcher’s direction.

“Just let me finish my story, okay doc? You let me say all I have to say, then you can call the police, the men in white coats, whoever the hell you want.”

Shaking his head with exasperation, Dr. Fletcher sat himself down on the hood of a car, next to Bennett.

“Right, then. Go on…”

4:11pm

I wasted so much time, just sitting on the sofa in my apartment, staring into space. It wasn’t indecision. I knew what I had to do, that I was going to do it, no matter what. Helen’s life depended on it. So, everything was decided….but I did nothing. I couldn’t do anything. It was like…I was paralysed. I could do nothing but sit there, watching the clock ticking away.

Once 4pm had come and gone, I became aware that time was running out. I had to make a move, and soon. I took the photo out of its hiding place, and looked at it, hard. I looked at the man in the photo. He smiled back at me. I thought about when this photo could have been taken. Why was he smiling? Was he with his wife, his children? Were they a happy family? I thought about what it would be like to tear this family apart.

Then I thought of Helen, bravely smiling at me just before Lou Reilly dragged her away.

I put the photo back in its hiding place, then I picked up the gun and the car keys. It was time. I left my apartment, unable to shake the feeling that I was walking out on the life I’d worked so hard and so long to build for myself, and for Helen. I was going to kill an innocent man. I tried hard to convince myself that he was a terrible person, that he must have done something awful to make himself a target for Reilly. But I knew in my heart that wasn’t true. I’m a good person. Helen is a good person. And that didn’t protect us from Lou Reilly.

I found the rental car easily enough. A tacky brown number, well, you’ll know that. I started my journey to my target’s house. It was like I was in auto-pilot, my thoughts lost on the man waiting at my destination. The man I was going to kill. While stopped at a red light, I looked down at the gun sat on the passenger’s seat. It seemed so surreal. I’d never held a gun in my life before today, and in a few minutes I’d be using one. I looked up at the road ahead. Green light. Looking left and right, I put my foot on the acceleration and drove through the junction. I looked to the left again, and was confronted with a red Toyota hurtling towards me out of nowhere.
 
11:09pm

“And that’s that. I woke up here in the hospital. And in about an hour, my wife’s going to be dead.”

Dr. Fletcher stared at Bennett incredulously.

“Okay…explain something to me,” Fletcher said, “If this is all true, if you really were on your way to kill someone for the mob when you got in your car accident, you said your gun was on the passenger seat, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, how come no gun was found at the scene of the crash?”

Bennett stared blankly at Dr. Fletcher.

“What?”

“There was no gun. They found nothing in the wreckage.”

“Well…I dunno…maybe it got…thrown out of the car in the crash, or something.”

“Maybe,” said Fletcher flatly, “Well, I think we best get you inside…”

“No!”

Dr. Fletcher stood up, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Look, if it would make you feel better, Ben, I could call somebody to go check out…what was it, Finnegan’s?”

“No, no, just listen to me. If you were in my position, would you be willing to kill?”

“I don’t think I can say, sorry…”

“Please, doc, just…just humour me, okay? If a monster came to your door, and took your wife away from you, and you knew the only way to save her life was to kill a complete stranger, would you do it?”

“Well, I…”

“Yes or no, Dr. Fletcher?”

“Yes. Yes I would, okay?”

Letting out a long sigh, Bennett let his head slump back against the wheelchair.

“Okay.”

Raising his head, Bennett locked eyes with Fletcher.

“What if I had proof?” Bennett said, “What if I had evidence, what if I could show you I’m telling the truth?”

Fletcher shrugged.

“Well, I’d want to see it, yes.”

“Okay then,” Bennett continued, nodding, “I told you I kept the photo of my target in a hiding place.”

Peeling forward the sole on the inside of one of his boots, Bennett produced the photo.

“You’ll want to look at this,” he said.

Hesitantly, Dr. Fletcher took the photo. As he looked at it, his eyes widened with horror.

“This….this is me!”

With a scream of pain and anguish, Bennett hauled himself to his feet, tackling Fletcher to the ground. He swung his boot overhead, and brought it crashing down onto Fletcher’s face.

“I love you, Helen.”

Then, the other boot came crashing down on Dr. Fletcher’s head. Bennett wore the boots like gauntlets, raining blow after blow down onto the doctor.

“I love you, Helen, I love you Helen, I love you Helen…”

Tears streamed down Bennett’s eyes as slammed the boots down onto Fletcher’s head over and over and over.

“I love you Helen! I love you! I love you! I LOVE YOU!”

When he finally stopped, dropping his boots onto the ground, Fletcher’s face was nothing more than mush. Bennett extended a trembling hand towards Fletcher’s blood-caked neck. No pulse. It appeared he was dead. Groaning in pain, Bennett rolled off the doctor, and sat on the concrete, looking up at the night sky. It was done. After the car crash, completing his task seemed impossible, but Fletcher had walked right into his path. It was an opportunity he could not pass up. A shame, though. Ken Fletcher really had seemed like a nice man.

Now, he had to think about getting his task back on track. He’d done the hardest part. Now all he had to do was get to Finnegan’s, tell Reilly the job was done, and get Helen back. Finnegan’s wasn’t all that far from here, walking distance…

Then Bennett looked down at his hospital gown. It was covered in blood, and it wasn’t Fletcher’s. It was his. His stitches must have burst. The internal bleeding was getting worse. As Bennett forced himself to his feet, he realised that saving Helen’s life could very well be the last thing he did.

11:57pm

As it turns out, when you’re dying, walking distance is a whole lot longer than you’d think. Walking was a real struggle for Bennett. He was bleeding heavily, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. The walk gave way to a limp, and now the limp had given way to a crawl. He was going to die. He knew this now, beyond a shadow of a doubt. But that was okay. He didn’t care about his own life, not anymore. Helen was all that mattered. If he could just save her, then he could die happy. The thought of rescuing Helen was the one thing keeping him alive.

And then, he saw the sign. Finnegan’s Auto-Repair. Forcing himself back up to his feet, he took a few shaky steps forward, then collapsed through the door, landing hard on the ground inside. He crawled into the auto shop, and quickly spotted them. Lou Reilly and Helen. The sick bastard had dressed her up in a slinky red dress. I didn’t even want to think about what he’d put her through over these past several hours.

“Benny!” Reilly exclaimed, “I’d just about given up on you! What the hell happened?”

“I….I….”

Bennett started to laugh. What else could he do?

“I was in a car crash! I…I had emergency surgery….and the doctor who briefed me…who briefed me afterwards….was Ken Fletcher.”

“Ha! What are the odds?”

“So, I took my chance and…and I killed him. I killed him, and I came here. So you can let Helen go, let us go…we’re done.”

Reilly just laughed, looking up at Helen, then back down at Bennett.

“Really now? You think that’s it? That I’m just going to take your word for it? Where’s the body?”

Lying on the ground, Bennett stared up at Reilly with a deer-in-the-headlights look.

“The…the body? Look at me, Lou! How…how was I going to carry the body here? I….I barely got here myself.”

“Not my problem,” Reilly said with a shrug, “You had until midnight to show me you’d killed Fletcher, and…oh….”

Lou Reilly’s watched beeped. Midnight.

“No!” cried Bennett, “No, please, just wait, please!”

“Time’s up.”

Reilly pointed his gun.

*BANG*

...
 
3:00am

“Now it’s the same old song,
But with a different meaning since you’ve been gone,
It’s the same…the same old song,
But with a different meaning since you’ve been gone.”

Lou Reilly sat in the car with his eyes closed, relishing every note of the song. He loved the oldies. The old gramophone he kept in his apartment was a prize possession of his. There was something about music – especially the old music, the real music – that seemed…what was the word?...transcendent. It rose above all this petty BS, the grime of life, rose above it. It would be around long after he’d died and the terrible things he’d done had been forgotten. Reilly drew some small comfort from that.

As the song came to an end, Reilly’s eyes flickered open. He glanced at his watch. It was time. He holstered his gun, and stepped out of his car. Well, not his car, exactly. A rental car. The same car he’d be passing onto Bennett Reid this afternoon. Well, that was the plan, at least. Reilly silently picked the lock on the front door, and entered the house of Gene Henley.

Reilly took off his shoes, sitting them down neatly on the welcome mat in the entrance hall. He padded in complete silence up the stairs, stopping at the bedroom door. Gently, gently, he pushed the door open inch by inch. He was lying asleep, some young blonde wrapped in his arms. A smoree, presumably. They were both completely naked, Henley’s pale, flabby flesh unfortunately obscuring Reilly’s view of the blonde’s kitty. Reilly sat himself down on the chair in the room, and looked across at the sleeping couple. He closed his eyes, listened to their heavy breathing in unison, the rhythm of life. Then, he opened his eyes, and…

“Ahem.”

Henley’s breathing became lighter. He snorted, and slowly opened his eyes. His sleep-fogged eyes fell on Reilly, and took a moment to register the sight. But when they did, Henley sat bolt upright, instantly awake.

“Jesus, Lou! Don’t you knock?”

“Sorry, Gene.”

“What time is it?”

“Late.”

The blonde was awake too, now. She pulled the covers up over herself, and lay there on the bed, looking more annoyed than anything else. Not Gene, though. He looked afraid.

“Sorry for bargin’ in like this, Gene,” he said, “I wanted to talk.”

Henley didn’t respond.

“Do you live a happy life, Gene? Would you call your life comfortable?”

Henley just stared at him stupidly, his eyes wide with fear.

“What, your mouth all glued up with cunny juice or somethin’? I asked you a question.”

“I….uh…yes, I guess…”

“How?”

“What?”

“How is your life comfortable? Who enabled you to be happy?”

“I…”

“Me, Gene. Me. I gave you a loan when you needed it, with reasonable rates. And then you just forget about me, throw your money away on your hoors?”

“Look, I’ll pay you back, Lou, I promise. I just need a little more time…”

“Yeah, Gene, sure, okay.”

Reilly took out his gun, and put two bullets in Henley’s chest. The blonde started screaming, but only had time to get one foot out of the bed before he put a bullet in her head. She collapsed against the wall, dead instantly. Reilly watched Henley take his last gurgling breaths, then he walked round the bed, and looked at the corpse of the naked blonde splayed out on the floor. He cocked his head at the mess he’d made.

“Now, those are a nice set of kitty…”

1:10pm

“What you gonna do, Benny?” Reilly asked with a big grin, “Kill me?”

The elevator doors closed, and Bennett was gone, left behind, while Reilly made his escape with Helen. He took her down to the parking lot, and stopped in front of Bennett’s car.

“Your keys, Mrs. Reid?”

Helen fished inside her handbag, and produced a set of car-keys. Reilly snatched them from her, and opened the car door.

“Get in,” he said.

As he stepped inside at the driver’s end, Helen entered and sat at the passenger seat. Reilly drove out of the apartment complex, and out onto the road. They had driven in silence for several blocks, when Helen spoke up.

“Stop the car.”

“What?”

“Pull over.”

Bemused, Reilly shrugged, and pulled the car over to the kerb. He turned to look at Helen, who stared right back at him. Then, they kissed. Long and lingering, their tongues explored each other’s mouths, as Helen pushed Reilly against the side window, and climbed up on top of him. They finally broke off the kiss, and Helen grinned down triumphantly at Reilly. Then, they both laughed.

“HA HA, Lou!” Helen giggled, “I really thought Bennett was going to shoot you!”

“You thought he’d grown some balls, huh?”

Helen smiled at him knowingly.

“Well, we’ll find out soon enough how big his balls are, won’t we?”

Reilly gave her a playful slap on the cheek, then she kissed him on the forehead, and climbed off back onto the passenger seat.

“Take us to your place, Lou,” she said with a smile, “I don’t think I can restrain myself much longer…”

2:24pm

Reilly sat in the lounge in his penthouse apartment, swirling a half-drunk glass of red wine in his hand. They’d barely made it through the door before they started undressing each other, Helen practically dragging him into his bedroom. Then, they’d made love. It was funny, that was a term Reilly had never used before. He always just talked about screwing a broad. But with Helen, it was making love. Every time they made love, he felt like they had a true connection, beyond physical. It was emotional, maybe even spiritual. He saw a real future with them. He’d turn away from this life if she asked him to, go legit. He looked into her eyes, and knew he’d do anything she asked of him. Hence this current situation…

“You ready yet?”

“Almost,” Helen called from inside the bedroom.

He’d bought an outfit for her. A red dress, expensive new shoes. He wanted to see her wearing it. It would be the first of many outfits, he was sure. He wanted to make her happy, when they were together.

The door swung open, and Helen stepped out, looking stunning in the red dress. She was a real raven-haired beauty, and despite now being in her late thirties, she was now more gorgeous than ever, if that was possible. Reilly could easily understand why Bennett was willing to kill for her. She walked into the lounge and, to his surprise, right past Reilly. She looked through his collection of records, and picked one out. “I’ve Told Every Little Star”, by Linda Scott. She took it over to the gramophone, and gently put it in place.

“Dum….da-rum…da-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra,
Dum….da-rum…da-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra…”

As the melody kicked in, Helen swayed her hips in time to the music, the silk of the dress sliding along the contours of her body.

“Dum….da-rum…da-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra,
Why haven’t I told you? Oh baby…”

Helen spun round to face Reilly, and began lip-synching to the lyrics of the song.

“I’ve told every little star,
Just how sweet I think you are,
Why haven’t I told you?”

Slowly, she approached Reilly, who eagerly cast his glass aside onto the nearby coffee table.

“Friends ask me, am I in love?
I always answer yes.
Might as well confess,
If the answer’s yes.”

Helen circled around Reilly’s chair seductively, a hand brushing across his shoulder.

“Maybe, you may love me too,
Oh my darling if you do.
Why haven’t you told me?”

Lowering herself down onto Reilly’s lap, they once again starting to kiss, Helen evidently losing interest in syncing to Linda Scott. Helen broke off the kiss once the song had come to an end, but remained seated on Reilly’s knee, smiling at him.

“So,” he said, “What’s the plan?”

“We head down to Finnegan’s around 10,” she replied, “And you kill Bennett. Make it look like a suicide. Then we can be together.”

“What makes you so sure he’ll show up, darlin’?”

“I’m sure,” Helen answered, with a shrug, “he loves me.”

Reilly smirked.

“I should have asked this earlier, but…this doctor guy. Fletcher. The guy you handpicked as our patsy for Bennett to kill. Why him? What he do to you?”

“Nothing. I picked him at random. I think we were both on the train, and he was wearing a particularly hideous tie. So I followed him home, and, well…”

Helen grinned at Reilly, clutching his hand in hers. He smiled back, with a kind of awe-struck admiration in his eyes.

“You’re one cold b!tch, you know that?”

Helen let out a hearty laugh.

“Baby, you don’t know the half of it.”

10:01pm

“A sentimental fool am I,
To hear an old love song,
And wanna cry,
But the melody keeps haunting me,
Reminding me how in love we used to be…”

“This is my favourite song,” Reilly said to Helen, as they drove into Finnegan’s, “Every car journey, I like to listen to it, at least once.”

Helen merely nodded in response. She was busy looking around the auto-repair shop.

“He’s not here,” she said, sounding almost hurt.

“Heh, maybe he don’t love you so much after all,” chuckled Reilly, “Should I kill you now, or wait to midnight just in case?”

Helen rolled her eyes dismissively.

“Let’s get into character.”

Helen stepped out of the car, tightly clutching her handbag, and instantly put on a well-rehearsed look of terror on her face. Reilly slapped her ash as he passed, then looked over her shoulder.

“Oh, that’s good. And the Academy Award for Best Actress goes to…”

Helen smiled thinly.

“Shut up! I’m trying to be the poor victim here.”

11:59pm

“So, I took my chance and…and I killed him. I killed him, and I came here. So you can let Helen go, let us go…we’re done.”

Reilly just laughed, looking up at Helen, and giving her a sly wink that went unnoticed by her husband. Then he looked back down at Bennett.

“Really now? You think that’s it? That I’m just going to take your word for it? Where’s the body?”

Taking great pleasure in watching fear and dawning realisation fill Bennett’s eyes, Reilly unholstered his gun.

“The…the body? Look at me, Lou! How…how was I going to carry the body here? I….I barely got here myself.”

“Not my problem,” Reilly said with a shrug, “You had until midnight to show me you’d killed Fletcher, and…oh….”

Lou Reilly’s watched beeped. Midnight.

“No!” cried Bennett, “No, please, just wait, please!”

“Time’s up.”

Reilly pointed his gun, at Bennett.

*BANG*

...
 
Midnight

“Time’s up.”

Reilly pointed his gun, at Bennett.

*BANG*

The bullet blasted through the back of Reilly’s skull, and burst violently through the front, leaving a crater in his forehead. He spun round in a kind of arc on the spot – almost graceful, in its way – before crumpling onto the floor, dead. Reilly’s eyes were frozen wide open in a permanent state of utter surprise.

Helen Reid held the gun with a steady hand, taking a moment to admire her handiwork. She’d bought the gun a few days ago, kept it safely hidden in her handbag. Turns out she was a good shot. Though it helped firing from such a close range, of course. She put the gun back in her handbag, and approached her husband.

Bennett was dying. That much was clear. He was lying there feebly on the floor, an ever-widening pool of blood gathering round him. The life force was literally draining out of him before her eyes. He was literally minutes from death. Oh well. It wouldn’t do her any harm to be honest with him now, at long last, would it?

Helen stood over him, smiling with a kind of fondness.

“Oh Bennett,” she said softly, “Bennett, Bennett, Bennett…”

Two Weeks Ago

I was walking through the park with a spring in my step. I enjoyed the breeze, the wind in my hair. I was happy, and full of life. There’s something about having an affair, the excitement of it, that makes you feel alive, no? No, you wouldn’t know, of course. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Bennett, wives cheat on their husbands every day, and vice versa may I add!

So, as you can probably guess, I was at this park for a rendezvous. I love that word, has a romantic ring to it. There was a little pond in the middle of the park. And sitting there on the bench, looking out to the pond, was my lover. He really was a spectacular lover, Bennett. The things he could do to me, you wouldn’t believe. It almost makes me sorry he is no longer with us on this mortal plain. Almost.

I stood there for a few moments, just admiring the back of the head. I do like watching people who don’t know they’re being watched. It’s a good way to get the truth of a man. So I took a few moments to do that, then I slowly approached him. I leaned over behind my lover, and wrapped my arms around his neck. He jumped a little – I’d evidently given him a fright – but he quickly realised it was me, and pulled my head down towards his. We kissed, then I walked round, and sat down on the bench next to him.

“You’re late,” Ken said.

Yes, Bennett. That Ken. Dr. Ken Fletcher. I believe you’ve met.

“I know,” I answered back coyly.

“You wanted to meet me?” Ken asked, “Why here?”

“It’s a nice place,” I replied, “A nice place to talk.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

Here, I put into action a shift of expression I had practised in front of the mirror many times. The smile, fading into a frown, which is then partially concealed with a “false” (as in, more false than the original) smile. It got the exact reaction I’d hoped for.

“What’s wrong?” Ken asked.

I took his hands in mine, clutching them tight.

“Do you love me, Ken?”

“Of course I love you, Helen! More than anything!”

I smiled at him faintly.

“I want us to be together. For real. Truly commit to each other, forever.”

Ken faltered, pulling his hands away.

“You…you want me to leave my wife, my….my two children.”

I nodded solemnly, doing a convincing job of looking close to tears.

“Yes, I’m sorry, it’s the only way. I… I can’t keep doing this, Ken. Sneaking around like some kind of crook. I don’t want to feel like…like you’re ashamed of me…”

“…I’m not ashamed of you…”

“…I want us to have a real relationship. I’m willing to leave my husband for you, Ken. I’m going to tell him everything. Then I’m going to leave him for you. Are you willing to do the same thing for me, Ken? Do you really love me?”

Ken paused for several seconds, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Then, he nodded anxiously.

“Yes. Let’s do it. I want to be with you, my love. You’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

I kissed him again, and hugged him tight.

“Oh Ken. You’ve made me so happy!”

I pulled back, gripping him by the shoulders, and looked him in with a sudden sternness.

“But if this is what you really want, if I’m who you really want to be with, I need you to do something for me. Something to test your commitment, to prove you’re not just going to back out and leave me high-and-dry with no one.”

“What, Helen? Anything!”

I hesitate for a moment, as if reluctant to say it.

“This is a big decision, I understand that. So you don’t have to make it right away. You can take two weeks to think about it. I’ll call you then to find out your decision.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

Trying my best to conceal a smile, I lean forward and whisper into his ear. He told me he’d need to think about it, but the look in his eyes told me otherwise. The look in his eyes told me that I had him, hook, line and sinker.

Do you get it yet?

12:49pm

I was waiting. I was sitting there in the bedroom, the phone pressed against my ear. The phone rang, and rang, and for the most fleeting of seconds I worried that Ken had got cold feet. But sure enough, he finally answered.

“Helen.”

“Hello, Ken.”

“I told her! I told Wendy that I was in love with another woman, and I was leaving her.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Not well, I’m afraid. She took the kids and left, they’re staying with her mother.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I…I told my husband too.”

“What happened?”

“He’s furious, Ken! He threw me out! I’m staying in a hotel. He…no, I shouldn’t say…”

“No, tell me, Helen.”

“He said he was going to kill you.”

“Kill me? He doesn’t know who I am, does he?”

“No, no. I don’t think so. I mean, I never told him…”

“Well, forget about that. You shouldn’t have to live in a hotel. Come stay with me.”

“I…I might just do that. I need to take care of some things first. Should I come round tomorrow?”

“Please, Helen. Do that.”

“And what about the other thing? The thing I asked you to do for me?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Finally, Ken replied.

“I did it. I changed my will. You are now my sole benefactor.”

Hook, line, sinker.

“Oh Ken! You really do love me!”

“I hope you understand, Helen, I’m a very rich man. Should I die, you’ll be a millionaire.”

Of course I understood. The moron.

“Ken, I could care less about the money. It’s you I care about, and the fact that you care so much about me.”

“I know. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you, Ken.”

“I love you, Helen.”

He hung up, and I dumped my phone onto the bedside cabinet. I looked out the window, and thought about how bright my future now was. It had taken a lot of careful planning. And some risk, too. Getting back in touch with Lou was one thing. Turns out the sentimental oaf really had just killed off Jerry Sondheim out of the goodness of his heart, because he had a thing for me. He never expected me to walk back into his life, and certainly never expected me to sleep with him. Yes, Bennett, Lou as well. I told Lou about my plan. Well, some of it. Lou thought we were setting you up to kill some random guy, then we were going to kill you so we could live happily ever after. But I didn’t much feel like sharing the money. Anyway, I talked about risk, because I set the wheels in motion before hearing back from Ken about whether or not he had changed his will. But like I said, Bennett, I looked into his eyes and knew. I can read men like a book.

So here I was, looking out the window, proud of how everything was coming together like a dream. Thinking about what I was going to do with all that money. I wouldn’t be rotting away in a two-bit restaurant, that’s for sure. Then I heard the door swing open. I turned round, with my best pained expression on my face, and it was you, Bennett. My dear, dumb, doting Bennett.

“Bennett,” I said.

“Helen,” you said right back.

I couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for you. Here you were, in dire straits, agonising over what you had to do. I had to struggle not to laugh when you’d confessed everything to me the previous night, blissfully unaware that I knew it all already, that Lou was working off my script. You never could bear to keep a secret from me, could you Bennett? You’re like a well-trained little puppy dog.

“I just want you to know,” I said, “No matter what happens, I love you. I love you, Bennett, I want you to know that. I love you so much.”

12:04am

“And that was that,” Helen said, “I had my plan all worked out, the day’s schedule all laid out in my head. But see, there was one bit I was unhappy about.”

Helen motioned in the direction of Lou’s corpse.

“The original plan was that I’d let Lou shoot you, then I’d shoot him afterwards. But it was the one thing that didn’t jar with me. Why would you two shoot each other. It was the kind of thing that would raise questions, which I don’t want to happen. The best case scenario would be everything getting wrapped up neatly in a bow. And here you are, you’ve gone and done just that, haven’t you? Now, I take away Lou here and get rid of the body, and all the police will find is you. No bullet holes, nothing to raise questions. Just your dead body. Dead from your injuries, sustained in a car crash. It makes sense now. See, you’re in a car crash, you wake up, and see the man who’s been sleeping with your wife. You kill him, then run from the scene of the crime in a panic. You get as far as here, then you just…roll up and die. I’ll play the grieving widow, of course. And play the guilt card too. I told him I was leaving him for Dr. Fletcher, the love of my life. It’s my fault, boo-hoo!”

Bennett gurgled, blood oozing out of his mouth. He sputtered, tried unsuccessfully to raise his head.

“Are you trying to say something, dear?” Helen asked.

“Wu….wu…..why?”

Helen chuckled, and rolled her eyes at what she apparently felt was a very silly question.

“Bennett, my dear, stupid Bennett. I really am quite fond of you. That’s the truth. But…if I’m being honest…I was bored. Just like I was bored with Jerry Sondheim.”

Helen allowed a moment for the shock and hurt to register on Bennett’s face.

“Oh yes. Jerry never raped me. We were seeing each other for months, behind your back. We had great fun. I’d suck his big fat dick, and we’d laugh at you, Bennett. But then he started talking about how he wanted me to leave you for him, how he wanted more from me than just sex. Like I said, I got bored. So I let you take care of him for me, darling. And best of all, I let you think that it was your idea.”

A single tear rolled down Bennett’s cheek as his eyes finally closed. Helen kneeled down beside him, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Aw. Poor baby…”

Suddenly, Bennett’s eyes shot wide open, and his hand snapped up, grabbing Helen by the throat. Then he squeezed, tight. Helen gasped, looking down at Bennett to see his eyes burning with pure hatred. She tried to pull his hand off her throat, but his grip was like a vice. She couldn’t breathe, he was choking her to death. At last, Helen’s eyes widened with real fear.

But it didn’t last. After about a minute, the grip weakened, then it was lost completely. The hand slumped lifelessly onto the floor. Helen scrambled away on her hands and knees, gagging, coughing, and taking whooping gasps of air. Her neck and chest was covered in Bennett’s blood, and a nasty bruise was already darkening around her throat. She looked over at Bennett with trepidation. But the hate in his eyes was now replaced with a glassy emptiness. At last, he was dead.

Composing herself, Helen stood up, and cautiously approached Bennett’s body. Maybe he had some balls after all.

“Goodbye, Bennett.”

2:42am

Helen was almost finished. She’d dumped Lou’s body in the trunk of her car, then cleaned up to remove any trace of him being there. Most likely, when the police found Bennett’s body there in Finnegan’s, dead from internal injuries, they wouldn’t feel the need to get the forensic team out and look too closely. Then, she’d driven right out of the city limits, and stopped off at a quiet field. She’d dragged Lou’s body to an appropriate spot – no mean feat, considering the weight of the man – and dug a grave for him. Luckily Lou kept some shovels in the auto-repair shop, he must have done this kinda thing often. She’d dumped the body in the grave, and now she was just finishing filling the whole back in again.

Of course, the rain had started pouring down, so the dirt had turned into mud. She was filthy, covered head to toe in the stuff. The dress, of course, was ruined. Shame, she quite liked it. Oh well, soon enough she’d be able to buy plenty of her own. The shoes too had been discarded. As it turns out, pumps are impractical for digging graves. So here she was, bare feet squelching in the muck, piling shovelful after shovelful onto Lou Reilly’s final resting place. When she at last felt like she’d done enough, she flattened the ground with the shovel, then turned and headed back to the car.

She dumped the shovel in the trunk, and took the car back into the city. She couldn’t wait to get back home, and take a nice, long, hot shower. Get all this filth off her. But you know what they say. If you want to get places in life, sometimes you need to get your hands dirty. Not anymore, though. Tomorrow, police would behold the tragic tale of Bennett Reid, who killed for no-longer-requited love, then died hopeless and alone. Helen would cry a little, hold her head in shame a little, then disappear with all her money. Ah, the money. That was worth getting a little dirty for. Helen flicked on the CD player.

“Precious memories keep a lingering on,
Every time I hear our favorite song,
Now you're gone,
Left this emptiness,
I only reminisce,
The happiness we spent…”

“Oh Lou…”

Helen let out a laugh.

“It’s the same…old song,” she sang along, “But with a different meaning since you’ve been gone…”

All her delicate planning, it had all paid off. Everything had worked out exactly as she’d expected. No, better! It was the perfect end to a perfect day.

One second, she was breezing carelessly through the junction, too high on her own brilliance to even look to each side. The next second, her brains were splattered all over the passenger seat. She never saw the truck coming.


THE END​
 
Part I

Now

Anxiety squeezes Bennett's chest as the phone rings. The sound of his wife's voice on the other end of the line only increases his nervousness.

"The results are finally back," she says.

"And...?" he asks, not sure if he wants to know the answer.

"And...they're negative."

Bennett breaths out a sigh of relief, unaware he was even holding his breath. Six years they had waited for this news, not sure if they would ever get it. If Anne would even be around.


Six years ago

"I'm very sorry, but it's what we feared. It's cancer." Saying that the news hits the Reid's like a ton of bricks is a serious understatement. The doctor spends time going over the specifics. The types of treatments available. What they can expect. He tries to give them hope, but has to admit that the prognosis isn't good. In all likelihood, Anne will be gone within a year.

And that night, they cry over it. But, as weak and helpless as he feels, Bennett stays strong for Anne. "It will be all right. Everything will be all right. It'll be hard, but I'll be here with you every step of the way."

"But we don't have the money-"

"No, don't even think about that. I'll make sure you get the best treatments. I don't want you to worry about anything except beating this thing."

"But the insurance won't cover that."

Bennett just strokes his wife's hair. He isn't going to lose her. He can't. "It'll be fine. Don't worry."


Now

They say after five years in remission, you're cured. Yet Bennett knows that you're never really cured. Like recovering from an addiction, remission never truly ends. The cancer could always come back. But right now, at this moment, those thoughts are the furthest from his mind.

"I love you too. We'll go out tonight and celebrate. Really hit the town...Yeah...Yeah...oh...heh, yeah, ok, maybe we'll stay in. See you later honey." Bennett hangs up the phone. He hasn't been this happy in years. And he couldn't be more proud of his wife. She's the strongest person he knows. She fought the disease and won. A year of treatments later and she had beaten it. And now...they were free.

Bennett's phone buzzes. His secretary's voice comes through as he presses the button. "Mr. Reid. Mr. Hagen is on line two."

And just like that, Bennett's happiness instantly erodes. The biggest mistake of his life comes back to haunt him. But really, what choice did he have?


Five years ago

He really wants to enjoy the news, he really does. They thought she was going to die. But Anne had proven the doctors wrong. All of the chemo making her sick, the radiation making her weak. Bennett had almost given up more than a few times. But Anne never did. Somehow, despite all the pain, she gave him more strength then he could ever give her. He really wants to enjoy the news that Anne is cancer free.

But he can't. The numbers won't let him. They're broke. They're beyond broke. When the insurance ran out, Bennett had tapped their checking accounts, then their savings, and then he had to dip into his company. Reid Imports/Exports is on the verge of collapse, and Bennett can't do anything about it. His credit is shot. He's in too much debt to get a bank loan. He can't even sell his company or take it public. Bankruptcy is around the corner, but he can't risk that either. What if Anne's cancer comes back? Without his company, there'd be no way they could afford more treatments.

So, really, what choice does he have?


Now

Hagen. The man is a disgusting, necessary evil. Bennett makes his way through the warehouse where his 'vice-president' keeps himself while he always makes sure the 'right' shipments go to the 'right' customs agent. It makes Bennett sick to his stomach. Not just the fact that the mob is running illegal goods through his company. But that he invited them to do it.


Fours years ago

"Th-thank you for seeing me Mr. Tortine."

"Please, it's Anthony." Bennett tries to smile, but it doesn't quite work. "My friends tell me you're in a bit of a financial problem. That you're looking for help?"

"Y-Yes. My wife had cancer, and it took all of our money to treat her."

"But she's cured?"

"Uh-So far."

Tortine gives Bennett a hefty pat on the shoulder. Bennett tries not to squirm. "That's wonderful. Congratulations."

"Thank you. But the reason I'm here, as you know, is-"

"-that, despite everything you've gone through, the banks won't give you a loan. Not so much as a dime. They'd rather see your business fail instead of rewarding you and your wife for beating a death sentence." Bennett doesn't say anything, he just numbly nods. "Well, I don't want you to worry anymore. I want to make you on offer."

Here it comes, Bennett thinks.

"You sell me half of your business. In return, I'll give you a fair price, and be a silent partner."

Bennett's a little surprised. He wasn't expecting a silent partner. He thought Tortine would try and take over, push him out. But he guesses this way makes sense. Bennett knows about the business, and Mr. Tortine doesn't. Maybe he just sees a good investment that he can get in on cheap. Maybe all those stories Bennett heard were just rumors after all.

"All I have is one condition."

"Condition?" Warning alarms go off in Bennett's head. He tries to ignore them, but a sense of doom grows within.

"Yes. I know nothing about imports and exports, much less running such a business. That's why I'd like to make one of my business managers your vice-president." Bennett's eyes go wide. "Oh, don't worry," Tortine says, putting an arm around Bennett's shoulders. "You'll be in charge, just like always. I would just like to have someone in place to let me know how everything is going. Keep me appraised of any problems, or successes, we're going through. Things like that."

"Well-um," Don't do it! His screams in his mind. Say no. We can still figure something out. Just say no! "That doesn't sound so bad...Anthony."

"Splended. I'll have my lawyers draw up the papers. You'll have them by the end of business tomorrow, and the money in your account by the end of the week. Once you sign the papers, of course," Tortine says with a small laugh.

Bennett laughs too. But it's an empty sound. He Bennett knows that he just sold his soul to the devil.


Now

"Hey boss." God, Bennett hates it when Hagen calles him that. "You're really makin' yourself a regular around here."

"Yeah, just...making the rounds. You know. Feels like I'm couped up in that office."

"Well, don't you worry. I've got everything taken' care of out here." Although Hagen's still smiling, Bennett can hear the slight edge of warning in his voice.

"Oh, I'm not worried. Just...wanted to stretch the legs."

"Right. I can understand that. Well, me Jimmy are just gettin' shipment 42 to customs, just like I told you. So, everything's under control. Boss."

Bennett knows better than to press his luck. "Good to hear it. I'll just, um, let you and Jimmy get back to work."

Hagen smiles as Bennett leaves, but his face drops once he's out of sight.


3 days ago

"Are you sure your not just imagining things?"

"No boss. Last couple of weeks, Reid's been coming around my area. He's being friendly enough, but I think he's trying to poke his nose in our business. Maybe trying to find something."

Anthony Tortone sits behind his desk contemplating what Hagen tells him.
"You think he's trying to find something to hold over us?"

"I think he might be tryin' to find something to use against us. He's been having a lot of private meetings. But no one knows anything about who he's having them with. And he's been takin' a lot of long lunches, but not at his usual joints or at home."

"The Feds."

"That's what I'm thinkin'."

"But why now?"

Hagen shrugs his shoulders. "Don't know. Maybe he's sick. Jimmy says he's been seein' the doctor a lot."

Tortine smiles. "No. He's not sick. It's his wife."

"His wife's sick?"

"No. Mr. Reid wouldn't be trying to get out from under us if she was sick. He'd need more money. I'm thinking that she's been given a clean bill of health. And if they don't have to worry about her cancer coming back-"

"I read you, boss. Then they don't need us anymore. But he's got to know we'll go after him or his wife if he tries anything."

"Which is probably why he hasn't. Yet."

"So what do we do, boss?"

"We make him another offer."


Now

Bennett tries not to show it, but he's visibly nervous. It's taking everything he has to keep his hands from shaking. Bennett's heart pounds in his ears as the door opens. Sitting behind the desk is the devil himself. Hagen gestures for Bennett to enter. He's afraid to hear what Tortine has to say. But he's even more afraid to not hear it.

A few minutes pass in silence as Tortine works at his computer and scribbles in a notepad. Bennett's not sure if Tortine is actually doing work, or just pretending to in order to make him even more nervous. Whatever the reason, it's working.

"So," Bennett almost jumps at the sound of Tortine's voice. "I have an offer to make you."

"A-Another offer, Mr. Tortine?" Tortine holds a finger up. "Sorry, Anthony."

Tortine smiles. "I'm wondering if you'd be willing to sell me the other half of your business. I understand that your wife is finally cancer free." Bennett idly wonders how the hell he knows that. "Well, if it were me and my wife, I'd want to celebrate. Travel the world. See the sights. Just get away from it all and not have to worry about anything."

"Th-that would be nice. " God, that would be a dream. "But, I don't know if I want to sell my business."

"I'd be willing to offer you double what I paid for the first half of the company."

"D-Double?"

"Although, if you're willing to do a favor for me, I'll make that triple."

Bennett's jaw almost drops to the floor. With that kind of money he and Anne would finally be free. They could travel for a year. Then he could find some cushy job with good hours, and they'd live comfortably. Anne would never know what he did, and they'd be free.

"Wh-Wh." Bennett forces himself to calm down. "What favor would that be?"

"There is a doctor named Fletcher who works out of Sacred Heart. Like you, he had a bit of a problem and needed money. Although his problem was gambling. And he hasn't paid me back what he owes."

"You'd like me to...get your money back from him?"

Tortine smiles. "No. That won't be necessary. I just need you to kill him."
 
Part II

Nine weeks ago

"I'm sorry Mr. Reid, but without some hard evidence, there's nothing we can do."

Bennett can't believe what he's hearing. Finally fed up with what was happening in his own company, he came to the FBI four months ago. He couldn't take it anymore. The constant lying to Anne. The guilt over what he did. The guilt of what he may be helping the mob to do this very minute. It feels like a noose tightening around his neck, and he's finally at the point where he can no longer breath.

"I don't understand. I told you what I did, what's going on. Why won't you help me?"

"We want to, Mr. Reid. We really want to help you. But we also need you to help us. We can't make a move against Tortone with evidence. We need to link him to the shipments."

"I'm inviting you into my company. Do what you want. Set up surveillance. Use an inside man. Do whatever it is you guys do."

"We can't."

"Why!" Bennett shouts, standing.

The agent just calmly sits in his chair behind his desk. "Because Tortine owns half your company, legally. If we try to go in without his permission as well, his lawyers will just call anything we find illegal search and seizure."

"That's bull. This kind of stuff happens all the time."

"You're right. Even so, Tortine's lawyers will tie this up in the courts for years. And by the time we get anywhere, all the evidence will mysteriously disappear. We need you to bring us something tangible."

"And if I can't?"

"You already know the answer to that."

Bennett stands up and opens the door. But just before walking out, he looks back. "I thought I already made a deal with the devil."


Now

Bennett just stares at Tortine. "You're-You're not serious." But Tortine's face gives Bennett his answer. "Good lord. I can't do that. I can't kill someone!"

"It's not as hard as it sounds. And it gets easier each time...so I've heard. Besides, you'll only need to do it this once."

For the first time since meeting Tortine, Bennett stands up to him. "I won't kill someone! I'll just take your first offer. You can have the business and you'll never see or hear about me and my wife again."

"I'm sorry, Bennett. But it doesn't work like that. This is a one time deal. Once you walk out that door, it's off the table." Tortine's voice becomes deadly serious. "And trust me, if you don't take this offer, you'll never be free of us. I will always be in your business. And I'll make sure it looks like you're the one diverting shipments to where they 'need' to go."

"And your wife-"

Bennett slams his hands down on the desk. "You stay the hell away from Anne!" Hagen pulls Bennett back, but Bennett struggles.

Tortine motions for Hagen to let go. "I will, Mr. Reid. If you do this favor for me. If you kill Dr. Fletcher, you'll be free." Taking out his handkerchief, Tortine pulls a gun from a desk drawer and puts it on the desk.

"One time offer, Mr. Reid. The good doctor dies. Or..." Tortine lets the word hand in the air.

Bennett looks at the gun, but all he can think about is his wife and everything they've gone through. He slowly reaches out and puts his hand on the gun. Picking it up, he's surprised how heavy it is.

How many times can you sell your soul?


The next day

It's lunch time, but Bennett isn't driving to one of his usual places. He's not driving home. He's driving to the doctor's house. The gun feels like a dead weight in his jacket pocket. But Bennett just focuses on the road, his eyes glued ahead. His thoughts racing, chaotic. He thinks about what he'll do afterwards. What he and Anne will do, where they will go. What will happen if he gets caught. What would have happened if he didn't try. But mostly, his thoughts turn to what it will be like to take another man's life.

It's these thoughts that keep Bennett from avoiding the car that slams into his.


12 minutes later

Through glimpses of light in the darkness, bursts of sounds in the silence, Bennett vaguely realizes that sirens surround him. He can hear people's voices. One even saying his name. And he tries to respond. He really does. But then it goes dark.


2 days later

"Mr. Reid? Mr. Reid, are you awake?"

Bennett is only somewhat aware of his surroundings as he tries to get his eyes to focus.

"Do you know where you are?"

"N-No..." Bennett croaks.

"You're at the hospital, Mr. Reid. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Bennett tries to nod, but his head barely moves. "The brace is to make sure your whiplash doesn't get worse. You were in a pretty bad accident."

"What-what hap...hap..."

"A car hit yours while you were driving. You were lucky. The side-airbags probably saved your life."

"My wife?"

"She's been here the whole time. I think she's gone to get something to eat. I can send a nurse to get her."

"No. She'll be back." Bennett sighs with relief as memories come back to him. Relief that Anne is still all right.

"Where am I?"

The doctor picks up Bennett's chart and starts jotting down a couple of things. "You're at Sacred Heart hospital. I'm your doctor. Ken Fletcher.


3 days later

As Anne leaves the room Dr. Fletcher walks in. The sight of the man makes Bennett's insides twist with guilt. He was going to take this man's life. Hell, he probably should. But now he knows he can't. He can't take a life.

So Bennett has spent the last few days trying to think of what to do. He could try running away with Anne, but that means he'd have to explain everything. And he couldn't do that to her. He has no choice really. He'll have to do what the FBI wants. Find something, anything, that they can use to end this nightmare.

"So, how are we doing today?" Dr. Fletcher asks.

"A little better."

"Good. Good. As I was coming in yesterday, I couldn't help but overhearing you and your wife talking. So she's been in remission for five years. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"I can't even imagine how bad it was for you two. Curing cancer takes a lot of strength. Not to mention money."

"Heh. You don't know the half of it."

"Well, maybe I do. I had money problems too. Bad problems. Except mine was gambling."

"You don't say," Bennett replies.

"I do. Of course, you already knew that, didn't you."

Bennett's eyes go wide. "Wh-What? What are you talking about."

"Oh, I know that Mr. Tortine told you that."

The heart monitor beeps like mad as panic starts to set in. "Tortine?"

Fletcher picks up a syringe and starts filling it with something in a bottle. "I owed him a lot of money. I say owed because, once you're taken care of, he'll get your company, and I'll finally be free."

Bennett struggles as Fletcher gets closer, but he just can't move. "Please. Please don't."

"You were going to kill me. And if you had just died in that accident like planned, I wouldn't have to do this!" Fletcher says angrily. "I wouldn't be free, but at least I'd still have my soul." He plunges the needle into Bennett's IV.

"Please, god, don't!" But it's too late. Fletcher preses the plunger home. Within seconds the potassium starts Bennett's heart racing. The monitor beeps even faster as fibrillation takes hold.

Bennett tries to do something, but he can't as the heart attack rips through his chest. Fletcher just stands and watches, sadness and guilt in his eyes. And as Bennett's eyes finally close, Fletcher presses the code blue button and calls out for a nurse.

The last thing Bennett hears is Fletcher trying to save his life...


Ten minutes earlier

"...and Mr. Hagen said he'd be glad to keep everything running smoothly until you get back."

The mention of that bastard's name makes Bennett cringe inside. But he doesn't let his wife see it. He just smiles and nods at her while enjoying the sound of her voice. The way she looks. That smile...

"That's good," he lies. "One less thing to worry about, right?"

Anne strokes the hair off his forehead. "You look tired," she says.

"I was about to say the same thing to you. Why don't you go home and get some sleep."

"Only if you promise to get some yourself."

"I promise."

She leans in and gives him a kiss. "See you tomorrow."

"See you."
 
Presently

&#8220;It&#8217;s really too bad it had to end like this, Mr. Reid,&#8221; the man says as he uses a handkerchief to wipe away the blood from his mouth. Lying before the man, groaning in pain, is Bennett Reid, broker by trade. Bennett coughs, a little bit of blood flinging along with the saliva unto the man&#8217;s stylish black shoes. The man looks down at the scene disgustedly as he twists the silencer onto his Colt M1911.

&#8220;Goodbye, Mr. Reid.&#8221;

<BLAM!>

ALL ABOUT THE MONEY​

Five days ago

&#8220;I got my mind on my money, my money on my mind,&#8221; Bennett Reid raps along with the radio as he turns his car to drive into Lyon Estates, one of the many suburbs in Queens, New York. With a smile on his face, Bennett eases the car into the garage of his home, waving to his neighbour as he does so. Closing the garage door and pocketing his keys, he walks over to the hedge that separates his garden from his neighbour&#8217;s. He plucks away at a few dead branches.

&#8220;Hey Bennett,&#8221; his neighbour greets him, walking up to the hedge as well.
&#8220;Hey Bill, how&#8217;s the grass coming?&#8221; Bennett asks with a smile, pointing to the wild grass in Bill&#8217;s garden, and the lawnmower standing to the edge of it.
&#8220;Oh, you know how it is, every two weeks the wife starts nagging.&#8221;

The two share a laugh.

&#8220;Daddy!&#8221; a young boy yells excitedly as he suddenly comes running from across the street.
&#8220;Hey, son,&#8221; Bennett replies as he picks up his son Jake and lifts him to his chest. &#8220;Now what did I tell you about running across the street without looking, huh?&#8221; he says sternly, but with a bit of a smile too, as he carries his child to the front door of his house. Fumbling with the keys, he turns to his neighbour.
&#8220;See you around, Bill,&#8221; Bennett says as he opens the door and walks into his home.
&#8220;Hey, Bennett!&#8221; Bill hurriedly yells.
&#8220;Yeah?&#8221; Bennett asks, turning his head back around the corner of his door, his son still in his hands.
&#8220;Don&#8217;t forget about the barbecue tonight!&#8221;
&#8220;I won&#8217;t,&#8221; Bennett replies with a smile as he closes the door behind him.

Inside the house, Bennett sets his son back on to the floor, whom quickly proceeds to run to the kitchen. With a satisfied smile, Bennett hangs his coat on the coat rack and drops his keys on a bowl on a cabinet near the door. He carefully places his shoes in the cabinet and unloosens his tie. Slowly, he follows his son to the kitchen.

&#8220;Honey, did you know we were going over to Bill&#8217;s tonight?&#8221; he asks as he comes into the kitchen.
&#8220;Of course I did, silly. We talked about it this morning,&#8221; his wife Grace replies with a smile as she comes up to him.
&#8220;Hey.&#8221; They kiss.
&#8220;Hey.&#8221;

She breaks the kiss, but his hands remain around her waist as he pulls her back in for another kiss.

&#8220;Honey!&#8221; she laughs. &#8220;My quiche will burn!&#8221;
He does not relent and starts to kiss her neck.
&#8220;Honey!&#8221; she repeats as she hits him with her oven mitts.
He finally lets go, and she hurries back to the oven, but not before he gives her a playful slap on the rear. She gives him a coy look.
&#8220;Why are you even making a quiche?&#8221; Bennett asks as he walks over to the kitchen table, giving his son a quick stroke through his hair as he does so.
&#8220;Because,&#8221; she replies, &#8220;everybody loves my quiche.&#8221; She smiles as she takes the dish from the oven.
&#8220;I sure do,&#8221; Bennett says with another smile as he closes in on her, giving her another deep kiss.
&#8220;Blegh!&#8221; their son responds, and husband and wife turn to see him sitting with his hands before his eyes. They laugh as they kiss again.

* * *​

&#8220;So I say &#8216;well, my Jake can bench press a hundred!&#8217;&#8221; Bennett tells as the table erupts in laughter.
&#8220;Oh, oh, Bennett, that&#8217;s hilarious!&#8221; Bill&#8217;s wife Pauline replies, almost choking on her food.
&#8220;It really is, Bennett,&#8221; Bill confirms as he and Bennett tick their beers against each other.
&#8220;Ahhh,&#8221; Bennett says satisfied as he takes a gulp from the beer. &#8220;This is some good beer, Bill. Where&#8217;d you get it from?&#8221;
&#8220;The new supermarket just over on 4th. You should check it out,&#8221; Pauline cuts in.
&#8220;We will,&#8221; Grace replies with a smile.
&#8220;You know, Bill, who did I meet there again?&#8221; Pauline asks her husband.
&#8220;Janie,&#8221; he answers.
&#8220;Janie, right. Poor girl,&#8221; she says, but the grin playing on her lips does not give any hint of actual sympathy. &#8220;You know, ever since her husband, she has to get by on her meagre secretary&#8217;s pay. You know what I said to her? I said, &#8216;girl, you need to invest. Invest! Invest!&#8217; Y&#8217;know, get some money saved up for those kids of hers. Did you know she plonked out another one of those kids right before her Roy died? Disgraceful really, how those two went at it.&#8221;
Bennett and Grace both nod, still eating but encouraging Pauline to continue. Meanwhile, Pauline takes another swish of her wine.
&#8220;Well, you know what I said? I said she should look you up, Bennett. Maybe you could give her a little advice. Poor girl. Having to take care of those boys on her own. I don&#8217;t know how she does it. Five kids but not a one girl.&#8221;
Bennett replies with a curt nod, giving a hint that this time, he doesn&#8217;t want her to go on.
&#8220;So, Bill, how&#8217;s the business going?&#8221; Grace quickly uses the breathing room to cut in, much to her husband&#8217;s satisfaction.
&#8220;Oh, you know how it is. Lead pipes, never a sure market!&#8221;

The table erupts in laughter again.

* * *​

&#8220;Well, that was fun, don&#8217;t you think?&#8221; Grace asks as she brushes her teeth.
&#8220;It was,&#8221; Bennett replies. He spits out the toothpaste and washes it away. Without another word, he walks back into the bedroom.
&#8220;Honey, are you okay?&#8221; Grace asks worriedly, quickly spitting out the paste herself and walking after her husband into the room.
&#8220;It&#8217;s nothing.&#8221; Bennett gets into bed, while Grace gives him a surprised look.
&#8220;Honey?&#8221;
&#8220;Hmm?&#8221;
&#8220;What&#8217;s wrong?&#8221; Grace asks as she slips into the bed herself.
&#8220;Nothing.&#8221;
&#8220;There is, I can tell.&#8221;
&#8220;It&#8217;s nothing, really, I was just thinking&#8230;&#8221;

* * *​

Seven years ago

&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry Mr. Reid, but you&#8217;re broke. Heck, you&#8217;re even worse off than broke,&#8221; the accountant says with a bit of a self-indulgent chuckle.
&#8220;What do you mean &#8216;broke&#8217;!? I run an investment firm! How can I be broke!?&#8221; Bennet asks, surprised and shocked.
&#8220;Well, to put it plain and simple, you&#8217;re out of money to invest.&#8221;
&#8220;How?&#8221;
The accountant smiles as he exaggeratedly reaches for one of his documents. &#8220;Let&#8217;s see&#8230; ah, right here,&#8221; he points out to his client. &#8220;Recreational expenditures it seems.&#8221; The man keeps his loathsome smile.
&#8220;Recreational expenditures? I&#8230; who?&#8221; Bennett stammers.
&#8220;Let me see,&#8221; the man quickly takes the dossier back. &#8220;Ah, yes, Mr. Ignatius here, he&#8217;s been booking a lot of money from the company account for&#8230; well, obviously, other activities than investing.&#8221;
&#8220;But&#8230; I have no one working under me by the name of Ignatius.&#8221;
&#8220;Then I&#8217;m afraid you&#8217;ve been robbed, Mr. Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;But how?&#8221;
&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. The most likely scenario is that someone was able to hack into your account and those of your clients. For, oh,&#8221; he checks the file again, &#8220;the last two weeks, you&#8217;ve been using money from your clients that, well, neither you or they have. Well, maybe they do, but they certainly didn&#8217;t give it to you to use, if you catch my drift.&#8221;
&#8220;But how did he get that stuff?&#8221;
&#8220;This is the information age, Mr. Reid. Anything&#8217;s possible these days.&#8221;
&#8220;What do I do now?&#8221;
&#8220;There&#8217;s nothing you can do, Mr. Reid. This guy will have erased all trace of himself beside these bills. There&#8217;s no way you&#8217;re going to be able to catch this guy. You caught a bad break.&#8221;
&#8220;There&#8217;s got to be a way!&#8221;
&#8220;There isn&#8217;t, I&#8217;m sorry.&#8221; He isn&#8217;t.
&#8220;But&#8230; what will I do? I&#8217;ve got a kid coming!
&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m afraid that&#8217;s not my problem, is it?&#8221;
Defeated, Bennett stands up and leaves without another word.

* * *​

&#8220;I&#8230;&#8221; Grace can&#8217;t finish her sentence as she sits down, numbed by shock.
&#8220;We&#8217;ll figure something out, honey. They made a mistake. It has to be a mistake.&#8221;
Grace turns to Bennett, tears starting to form. &#8220;It&#8217;s not a &#8216;mistake&#8217;.&#8221;
&#8220;Honey?&#8221;
&#8220;They robbed you, Bennett! How could they rob you?&#8221; she replies as she punches him softly. &#8220;We&#8217;re about to have a baby for crying out loud!&#8221; The tears roll down her cheek, as her voice softly dies away and the punches start to stop. Bennett pulls his wife close to him, embracing her. He whispers to her.
&#8220;It&#8217;s going to be all right. It&#8217;s going to be all right. It&#8217;s going to be all right.&#8221;

* * *​

&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry, mister&#8230; Reid, there&#8217;s nothing we can do for you,&#8221; the banker replies.
&#8220;But you&#8217;re my last hope!&#8221; Bennett pleads desperately.
&#8220;Let me be frank with you, Mr. Reid, you&#8217;re not going to find a bank willing to back you. Your security was obviously insufficient to properly ensure yourself and your clients against any harm. With this, well, to be honest, your credit has been destroyed. You&#8217;ll need to find an independent backer if you want to continue in this business. Re-establish your clientele. Until then, this bank can do nothing for you.&#8221;
&#8220;But&#8230;&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry Mr. Reid.&#8221;
Bennett stands up and is about to leave when he turns back to the banker. &#8220;Who,&#8221; he stammers a bit, &#8220;who would back me now?&#8221;
&#8220;I don&#8217;t know&#8230; the mob?&#8221; the banker responds with a laugh. Without responding, Bennett leaves.

* * *​

&#8220;Mr. Reid, please sit down,&#8221; the man motions with his hand as he finishes his lunch.
&#8220;Thank you, Mr. Inzerillo--&#8221;
&#8220;Ah, don&#8217;t thank me yet,&#8221; Jack Inzerillo replies with a smile. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and discarding it on his empty plate, he looks to Bennett. &#8220;Now, how can I be of service, Mr. Reid?&#8221;
&#8220;Well, I, you see, I need money--&#8221;
&#8220;Stop,&#8221; Inzerillo interrupts Bennett with a wave of his hand. Bennett looks at the man in front of him, a little taken aback. &#8220;I know what you&#8217;re here for. I want to know why you&#8217;re here.&#8221;
&#8220;Ah, I, ah, was robbed, Mr. Inzerillo.&#8221;
&#8220;Jack, please.&#8221;
&#8220;Jack.&#8221;
&#8220;And how were you robbed, Mr. Reid?&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8230;&#8221; Bennett is still a little surprised by the turn of conversation. &#8220;I, ah, run an investment firm, and well, somebody was able to get my account number and my clients&#8217; numbers.&#8221;
&#8220;Ouch.&#8221;
&#8220;So now I--&#8221;
&#8220;How much do you need, Mr. Reid?&#8221; Inzerillo asks, already taking out his cheque book.
&#8220;About fifty thousand, but that&#8217;s j-j-just to cover the expenses for my clients.&#8221;
&#8220;So about a hundred thou, all things considered?&#8221; Inzerillo asks, writing down the number.
&#8220;Y-y-yes.&#8221;
&#8220;Here,&#8221; Inzerillo says as he hands Bennett the cheque.
&#8220;Oh, thank you, Mr. Inzerillo,&#8221; Bennett practically yells out.
Inzerillo gives Bennett a serious look. &#8220;You understand this isn&#8217;t for free, do you Mr. Reid?&#8221;
&#8220;Oh, of course, Mr. Inzerillo. I&#8217;ll pay you back.&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid I might have to ask more than that, Mr. Reid.&#8221;
Bennett gives Inzerillo a questioning look.
&#8220;I like you, Mr. Reid, so rather than charge you interest, like any of my&#8230; esteemed colleagues would surely do, I&#8217;m,&#8221; he shoots Bennett a mischievous look, &#8220;going to have to ask you for investment advice.&#8221; He laughs, and uncomfortably, Bennett laughs along with him.
&#8220;Of course, Mr. Inzerillo, anything,&#8221; Bennett nervously replies.
&#8220;Good, good, that pleases me, Mr. Reid,&#8221; Inzerillo smiles. &#8220;Pleases me very much.&#8221;

* * *​

Four days ago

&#8220;Hello Mr. Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;Hello Mr. Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;Hello Mr. Reid.&#8221;

Bennett basks in the greetings of his loyal employees on the way to this office. His secretary Emilio is already hard at work.

&#8220;Hello, Mr. Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;Hello, Emilio, any messages?&#8221;
&#8220;None, but there&#8217;s a man waiting for you in your office.&#8221;
&#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t say.&#8221;
&#8220;And you let him in?&#8221;
&#8220;Shouldn&#8217;t I have?&#8221; Emilio asks, dumbfounded.
&#8220;You shouldn&#8217;t have,&#8221; Bennett replies as he quickly goes through the door to his office. Emilio shrugs.

A large and burly man waits for Bennett in his office. Bennett notes he&#8217;s rather immaculately dressed.

&#8220;Ah, Mr. Reid,&#8221; the man says, extending his hand.
Bennett shakes it. &#8220;Uhm, do I know you, mister&#8230;?&#8221; he asks as he hangs his coat on the rack near the door.
&#8220;Inzerillo. Raymond Inzerillo,&#8221; the man replies with a smile. Bennett turns back in shock.
&#8220;A cousin of Jack&#8217;s,&#8221; the man adds, still smiling.
&#8220;I see&#8230;&#8221; Bennett replies, unsure of what to do. He decides on sitting at his desk.
&#8220;How can I help you?&#8221; he asks.
&#8220;Well,&#8221; the man starts with a bit of a chuckle. &#8220;It&#8217;s a little bit about how you can help us.&#8221;
&#8220;Oh?&#8221;
&#8220;We&#8217;re calling in an old debt, if you catch my drift.&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8217;m not sure I do.&#8221;
The cousin smiles a little uncomfortably now. &#8220;You still owe us money, Mr. Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;I know, but Jack told me I could pay off the last thirty thousand over the next few months.&#8221;
&#8220;You understand that&#8217;s already highly irregular, don&#8217;t you Mr. Reid?&#8221;
&#8220;Of course, but we talked about that. I needed to re-establish my business. Get back my clients. I&#8217;ve had had a family to support.&#8221;
&#8220;And that&#8217;s never been a problem. As you know, my cousin is very big on family,&#8221; the man replies. &#8220;It is time, however, to collect.&#8221;
&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m not sure--&#8221;
The man raises his hand and interrupts: &#8220;Don&#8217;t worry, Mr. Reid, we don&#8217;t want the money.&#8221;
&#8220;But&#8230;what then?&#8221; Bennett asks, confused.
&#8220;We&#8217;d like you to do a little job for us. In exchange, you&#8217;ll be freed of your debt.&#8221;
Bennett does not immediately reply, pondering the possibilities. &#8220;What would this job entail?&#8221; he finally asks.
The man smiles. &#8220;There&#8217;s a doctor. He&#8217;s done a few things for us too. I&#8217;m afraid he&#8217;s no longer&#8230; &#8216;cost-effective&#8217; though.&#8221;
&#8220;You mean&#8230;?&#8221;
&#8220;We want you to take him out.&#8221;
&#8220;Uhm, &#8216;take&#8217; out?&#8221;
&#8220;Take out,&#8221; the man repeats with emphasis on the word &#8216;out&#8217;.
Bennett gaps at the implication of what the man is telling him.
&#8220;Why me?&#8221; he finally manages to bring out. &#8220;Why him? Did he do something to you?&#8221;
&#8220;Perhaps,&#8221; the man says with a certain self-indulgence. &#8220;Does it really matter?&#8221;
For a few minutes, the two are silent. Bennett pondering, the man looking at him in fascination and with some amusement.
&#8220;I can&#8217;t do it,&#8221; Bennett finally replies.
&#8220;I&#8217;m really sorry to hear that,&#8221; the man replies with a whimsical smile.
&#8220;In fact I&#8217;m sure Grace and Jack will be very disappointed as well,&#8221; the man adds as he turns to walk out of the office. &#8220;Good day, Mr. Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;Wait!&#8221; Bennett yells, running after the man, and grabbing him by the arm. The man&#8217;s smile turns into a sneer, and Bennett quickly lets go. &#8220;What do you mean!?&#8221; he hurriedly asks.
The man turns back now, smiling. &#8220;Well, I think little Jack at least will be disappointed to hear he doesn&#8217;t have a father anymore, don&#8217;t you?&#8221;
&#8220;What are you saying?&#8221;
&#8220;You will do this for us, Mr. Reid. You really have no choice. We already have your wife and children. If you want, I can prove it, or you can go home and see for yourself. Either way, there will be no sense in trying to flee or turn to the police. It&#8217;s either you or Mr. Fletcher, I&#8217;m afraid. Decide.&#8221;
Bennett&#8217;s knees buckle and he falls to the floor. &#8220;Please don&#8217;t do this.&#8221;
&#8220;Mr. Reid, please, begging is undignified for a man of your stature, don&#8217;t you think?&#8221; He hunches to look Bennett in the eye. &#8220;At home you&#8217;ll find a gun with unmarked and unregistered bullets. There&#8217;s no way it will be linked to you, that I promise. Now, there will be a file with it, detailing your target. You either use the gun to kill him or yourself&#8230;&#8221;

Without another word, the man walks out of the office, leaving behind a whimpering Bennett.

* * *​

The emotions raging through Bennett Reid as he parks his car and races into his house are mostly made up of fear. &#8220;Honey!?&#8221; he yells out as he runs through the hall and into the kitchen. No sign of his wife or his son. His mind is screaming. He runs up the steps to the second floor, to his son&#8217;s bedroom. He&#8217;s not there either. Bennett races down the steps again, heading into the living room.

To his shock, there is someone there, but it is neither his son nor his wife. The man, bald and wearing glasses, sits leisurely on the Reid family&#8217;s couch. He is wearing a rather standard suit, and his expression is hard, stern, serious.

&#8220;Hello, Mr. Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;And who the *&^% are you supposed to be!?&#8221; Bennett yells, fear making way for rage.
The man&#8217;s emotionless expression doesn&#8217;t change as he takes out his badge. &#8220;I&#8217;m federal agent Wayne Terrance and I suggest you sit your ash down.&#8221;

* * *​

The rain is beating down heavily on Bennett&#8217;s car as he frantically tries to make his way to Dr. Fletcher&#8217;s house. He curses himself for the mess he&#8217;s in, the mess he&#8217;s made for his wife and son. Why did he ever make that deal with Inzerillo? How could he ever do this for them? How could they ever ask this of him? I&#8217;m a good man, damn it, Bennett thinks.

Distracted by these thoughts, Bennett doesn&#8217;t notice the car suddenly coming from the right.

They collide.
 
ALL ABOUT THE MONEY: PART II

Four days ago

<PING!>

&#8220;What do you do for money, honey?&#8221; Ken Fletcher sings along as he takes the hot plate of pasta from the microwave. He lets out a bit of a delighted squeal as he sniffs up the steam coming from the fabricated meal. Placing it on the counter of his kitchen, he greedily dives in, gorging down the food &#8211; if it can be called that &#8211; in a matter of seconds. Satisfied, he places the plate in his largely empty dishwasher.

Just as Ken leisurely takes his seat on the couch, he hears the familiar beeping of his pager.

&#8220;Ah, damn,&#8221; he curses. &#8220;And on my free day too.&#8221;

Reluctantly he rises from the couch and heads into the bedroom.

Another day and night in the hospital, Ken thinks, and he sighs.

* * *​

&#8220;What do you have for me, Sue?&#8221; Ken asks as he arrives at the main desk of the emergency ward in the hospital. She hands him a clipboard with a file.
&#8220;Guy knocked out, pulled him out of a car crash. Not a scratch on him, but he hasn&#8217;t woken up yet. Bob&#8217;s asked for a quick check to--&#8221;
&#8220;To make place for people who really need our help!&#8221; Ken imitates his immediate superior.
&#8220;Exactly, now get your ash over in four and be glad Bob didn&#8217;t see you do that.&#8221;
&#8220;Aye aye, Cap&#8217;n,&#8221; Ken says with a grin as he walks away. The nurse shakes her head.

In room four, Bennett Reid slowly comes too. Where am I? he wonders as he looks around him. His head is throbbing. What happened? All he can remember is&#8230; the bald man, in his home, Jack&#8217;s cousin, the car. Yes, the car, that was it. The rain, and suddenly chaos. Time slowed. Bennett feels his forehead. He must&#8217;ve been in a car crash, and now, in the hospital&#8230;

&#8220;Ah, Mr. Reid, I see you&#8217;re awake, very good,&#8221; Ken says with a smile as he walks into the room and extends his hand to Bennett. &#8220;My name is Dr. Fletcher.&#8221;
Bennett confusedly shakes it. &#8220;Reid. Bennett Reid.&#8221;
&#8220;I know,&#8221; Ken replies, tapping the clipboard. &#8220;Now, how do you feel?&#8221;
&#8220;Uhm&#8230; fine?&#8221;
Ken looks at his patient oddly. &#8220;Are you really all right, sir? From what I heard, you were in a pretty nasty car crash.&#8221;
&#8220;Ah, what did you say your name was again?&#8221;
&#8220;Dr. Fletcher. Dr. Ken Fletcher.&#8221;
&#8220;Ah,&#8221; Bennett replies softly, suddenly realizing who he has standing before him.
&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry, am I supposed to know who you are?&#8221;
&#8220;No, no, just wondering.&#8221;
&#8220;I,&#8221; Ken says, pondering, &#8220;you wait right here. I&#8217;ll be back in a sec.&#8221;

Ken turns back and walks out of the room, back to the main desk.

&#8220;Ah, Sue, what do we know about Mr. Bennett?&#8221;
&#8220;Why, isn&#8217;t he waking up?&#8221;
&#8220;No, that&#8217;s not it at all. He has woken up. Something about him, I don&#8217;t know, I can&#8217;t say, but he gives me the heebie jeebies.&#8221;
Sue laughs. &#8220;The great Dr. Fletcher, scared of a near-coma patient.&#8221;
&#8220;Just tell me what you know,&#8221; Ken replies.
&#8220;Okay, Mr. Grouchy. He&#8217;s a broker of some kind. Has his own business in investing. Wife and kid. Their house has been called, but nobody picked up.&#8221;
&#8220;Anything else?&#8221;
Sue checks her files again. &#8220;Nope, sorry. You could check his item bag. We haven&#8217;t had a chance to sort through it yet.&#8221;
&#8220;Where is it?&#8221;
&#8220;In room four&#8230;&#8221;
&#8220;Oh&#8230;&#8221;

Quickly, Ken makes his way back to the room, where to his shock, he finds Bennett out of bed and looking straight at him.

Aiming a gun at him.

&#8220;Mr. Reid?&#8221; Ken cautiously asks.
&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to do this, Dr. Fletcher.&#8221;
Ken&#8217;s bottom lip quivers in fear, but he nonetheless tries to form a bit of a whimsical smile. &#8220;I&#8230; I&#8230; can&#8217;t really see that, with, well, the gun you have in your hand.&#8221;
&#8220;I really don&#8217;t, but I have to.&#8221;
&#8220;W-w-why do you have to?&#8221; Ken asks as he slowly approaches Bennett, his hand open and outstretched. &#8220;Let&#8217;s just--&#8221;
&#8220;They told me to!&#8221; Bennett replies screaming, tears streaming down his cheek, &#8220;They have my wife and kids.&#8221;
&#8220;Who have your wife and kids?&#8221;
&#8220;I can&#8217;t say.&#8221;
&#8220;Look, just&#8230; just put the gun down and let&#8217;s talk about this,&#8221; Ken tries.
&#8220;You don&#8217;t understand doc, it&#8217;s, it&#8217;s either you or me.&#8221;
&#8220;Who is making you do this, Bennett? We can do something about this, go to police or--&#8221;
&#8220;No! No police!&#8221; Bennett&#8217;s hands quiver and his index finger edges closer to the trigger.
&#8220;Okay, no police,&#8221; Ken replies, taking a step back.
&#8220;But why not tell me if I&#8217;m going to die anyway?&#8221; Ken then says, gambling that Bennett won&#8217;t just shoot him there and then.
At first Bennett remains silent, but he eventually replies: &#8220;Inzerillo.&#8221;
&#8220;Inzerillo&#8230;&#8221; Ken repeats, gasping.

* * *​

Six days ago

In an alley just outside of the hospital, two men exchange items.

&#8220;Ah, very good, Mr. Fletcher,&#8221; the man says as he inspects the bag Ken has just handed him.
&#8220;Here&#8217;s your cut,&#8221; he continues as he gives Ken a thick and heavy envelope. &#8220;We threw in a little extra this week. If you keep this up, that might be a permanent fixture.&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry, Mr. Inzerillo, but I can&#8217;t do this anymore.&#8221;
&#8220;Can&#8217;t do what, exactly?&#8221;
&#8220;Smuggling these medicines to you. It&#8217;s just not right.&#8221;
The man laughs and gives Ken a friendly slap on the shoulder. &#8220;Oh, you crack me up Mr. Fletcher. &#8216;Not right&#8217;.&#8221; He gives Ken a serious look. &#8220;You don&#8217;t really mean that do you Mr. Fletcher?&#8221;
&#8220;I-I-I do. I have to report this.&#8221;
&#8220;Now why would you go and do a thing like that?&#8221; The man smiles, but he&#8217;s not happy.
&#8220;I could lose my license for this.&#8221;
&#8220;Don&#8217;t you like the extra pay, Mr. Fletcher? I thought you needed it. That&#8217;s why you approached my cousin, didn&#8217;t you?&#8221;
&#8220;I do, I mean, I did.&#8221;
&#8220;Ah, so now that you&#8217;ve had your fill, you want to back out?&#8221;
&#8220;Th-th-that&#8217;s right.&#8221;
&#8220;That&#8217;s not very gentlemanly is it, Mr. Fletcher. To just back out on a deal like this?&#8221;
&#8220;I guess not.&#8221;
&#8220;You guess right,&#8221; the man replies, edging closer to Ken. &#8220;I&#8217;ll be here again next week, I suggest you&#8217;re here too&#8230; with the goods.&#8221;
&#8220;S-s-sure.&#8221;
&#8220;Very good, Mr. Fletcher. I&#8217;ll be seeing you,&#8221; the man says as he walks away.
&#8220;B-b-bye,&#8221; Ken replies, grabbing at his heart in fear.

* * *​

Six days ago

&#8220;Yes, Vincent, I&#8217;ll take care of it. Don&#8217;t you worry,&#8221; Jack Inzerillo says over the phone. He&#8217;s sitting at a desk, in what he refers to as &#8216;his base of operations&#8217;. His cousin Raymond cautiously opens the door, looking at his relative. Still on the phone, Jack waves him in and to a seat. Raymond takes it.

&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;ll find out where she is. We&#8217;ll talk soon, Vincent. Real soon,&#8221; Jack finishes the conversation. Putting the phone on the receiver, he turns to Raymond.
&#8220;So, Ray, what do you got for me?&#8221;
&#8220;Standard pills, get the double profit, easy,&#8221; his cousin replies as he throws the bag onto Jack&#8217;s desk.
&#8220;Excellent,&#8221; Jack replies as he inspects the contents of the bag.
&#8220;But--&#8221;
&#8220;But what, Ray?&#8221;
&#8220;We got a problem, Jack.&#8221;
&#8220;I don&#8217;t like problems.&#8221;
&#8220;I know, but--&#8221;
&#8220;What&#8217;s the problem, Ray?&#8221; Jack asks, a little ticked off.
&#8220;The doc, this Fletcher guy, he doesn&#8217;t want to do it anymore.&#8221;
&#8220;So?&#8221;
&#8220;He wants to report it.&#8221;
&#8220;Oh&#8230; and what have you done to prevent this, Ray? Your patented intimidation technique?&#8221;
&#8220;Of course.&#8221;
&#8220;But you&#8217;re worried he&#8217;s going to talk anyway,&#8221; Jack replies, a statement rather than a question.
&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
&#8220;That&#8217;s not good, Ray. What are you going to do about it?&#8221;
With a smile, Raymond takes out the pistol he&#8217;s got safely tucked inside his jacket. Jack reaches over and smacks him upside the head.
&#8220;Are you a fool?&#8221;
&#8220;What, Jack?&#8221;
&#8220;You can&#8217;t just whack this guy! Idiot.&#8221;
&#8220;Why not?&#8221;
&#8220;The cops&#8217;ll be all over you. Just takes one witness, and you already don&#8217;t have such a nice record with those &^%$suckers.&#8221;
&#8220;So what do you want to do, Jack?&#8221;
&#8220;We need to take care of this guy, but it&#8217;s not going to be by you.&#8221;
&#8220;Then who, Jack?&#8221;
&#8220;Let me figure that out,&#8221; Jack replies. &#8220;You just get out of my sight for now. I&#8217;ll take care of this.&#8221;

* * *​

Four days ago

&#8220;Inzerillo&#8230;&#8221;

<BLAM!>
 
ALL ABOUT THE MONEY: PART III

Presently

&#8220;I'm a educated fool, with money on my mind,&#8221; Bennett Reid sings along with the radio as he turns his car to drive into Pine Estates, one of the many suburbs around the city of Chicago. With a smile on his face, Bennett eases the car into the garage of his home, waving to his neighbour as he does so. From across the street, his son comes racing towards him. Picking him up, he and his son enter his house.

&#8220;Hey, honey,&#8221; Bennett says as he gives his wife a peck on the cheek.
&#8220;Hey, hon. We&#8217;re out of milk.&#8221;
&#8220;So?&#8221;
&#8220;Could you go get some?&#8221;
&#8220;I just got home,&#8221; Bennett kind of whines.
&#8220;Please?&#8221; she asks him, putting on her dutiful wife eyes.
&#8220;Well, okay,&#8221; he gives in, giving her another peck. &#8220;Back in a sec.&#8221;

In the supermarket, Bennett casually makes his way to the dairy section. Life is good again, he thinks as he picks up the necessary carton of milk. From the corner of his eyes, he notices a figure languishing near the butter, but he pays no real heed to him. When Bennett steps into the line for the cashier, he again notices the man, now standing behind him. He also follows close behind him as he exits the store.

Angry, Bennett turns around.

&#8220;What do you want, pal!?&#8221;

The man does not reply and his hand shoots out to cover Bennett&#8217;s mind. He is unable to resist when the man is joined by another. Forcefully, they pull him into a truck, which drives off to parts unknown.

* * *​

Slowly, Bennett wakes, and when he does, he notices he&#8217;s in a dark room, no windows, and with just the bed he&#8217;s lying on.

The one door in the room creaks open, and a to Bennett known figure comes through.

&#8220;You!&#8221; Bennett leaps to his feet. &#8220;You ruined my life, god damn it!&#8221; he yells as he lunges forward and hits the man. For his troubles, Bennett gains a quick kick to the abdomen. He falls to the floor in pain.

&#8220;It&#8217;s really too bad it had to end like this, Mr. Reid,&#8221; the man says as he uses a handkerchief to wipe away the blood from his mouth. Bennett coughs, a little bit of blood flinging along with the saliva unto the man&#8217;s stylish black shoes. The man looks down at the scene disgustedly as he twists the silencer onto his Colt M1911.

&#8220;Goodbye, Mr. Reid.&#8221;

<BLAM!>
 
THE ROLE-PLAYING LEAGUE
SEASON I, WEEK 10
-------------------------------------------------------

INITIAL SCENARIO
The small town of Tranquility Bay has been transformed into something evil. One by one, the residents are changing. Becoming something else... something deadly.
One night, things suddenly escalate into acts of unspeakable violence and horror. One regular family of four is left to fend for themselves. Can they get to the bottom of what's going on? Are they willing to do what is necessary to fend off their former friends and neighbours?
Will they survive to see the morning?

CONDITIONS
Each team must satisfy at least two of the following four conditions in their telling of the story...
  • What is the cause of the townspeople's transformation? Can it be undone?

  • Why is our family immune to what is happening to the rest of the town?

  • One of the family members knows more about what is happening then they are willing to admit... how are they involved?

  • Something terrible will happen when the sun rises. What?
THIS WEEK'S POSTERS:
Apprentice, Blacklight, Mistress Gluon, Syn (Mercenary), Catman_prb

DUE DATE:
Monday, March 21st, 7:00pm​
 
From the diary of John Carter, aged 14
12/12/21 Diary,
Mother decided to make me clear out the attic again today. After much arguing, I agreed, and began to shift through the cardboard boxes for items that we had no more use for. In the process of doing so, I found a large oak chest with the initials H.C carved into the front. Upon opening it, I saw papers belonging to a Henry Carter, my grandfather from England. It seems that he was a scholar, once working at the British Museum and apparently one of the large libraries in London, though due to the deterioration of the paper, I was not able to tell which. I have taken the chest to my room, and plan to examine it further when I am not tasked with such tedious matters as cleaning the detritus from my abode.

13/12/21 Diary,
When I retired to my bedroom last night, I heard a strange whispering coming from the box. I opened it again, and this time I noticed that there was a chain wrapped around it, that had long been rusted through, so useless that I was in no way hindered by it during the day. Once it was open, the whispering got much louder. I sifted through the debris and found what appeared to be a thick book, wrapped in a yellowing shroud. On removing the shroud I found that it was indeed a book of a most ancient quality. A note fell out once the shroud was removed, obviously from my grandfather:
I believe this book to be one of the original copies of the Necronomicon
In the language it was first written in. My colleagues and any contacts who have been able to enlighten me on my ordeal, have warned me of it, saying that it holds a great many secrets that it would be foolish to divulge. I on the other hand, hope to learn a great many things from it, and deepen my understanding of the creatures that haunt the night.
William Carter
As I looked at the strange text written on the page, I could not be certain what language was before me. As I flicked through the aged pages, I found it increasingly irritating, and to further my knowledge, I spoke a few of these words aloud to myself. They rolled of my tongue harshly, and left a sickening taste in my mouth. Almost immediately I knew I had done something blasphemous. The words seemed to fly off of the page, and a gust of wind blew about the room, blowing the window open. I forced it shut, slammed the book into my locker and turning out the light, I settled for an uneasy night of sleep.

14/12/21 Diary,
It has been a peculiar day today. When I woke this morning, it seemed that the papers had not been delivered, as they usually are. I peered out of my window into the street and saw the neighbour twins playing with a skipping rope. I looked at them for a while, and then seemingly sensing my presence they looked up at me. Normally they would laugh then run off for some other enjoyment, but instead they continued to stare at me, their eyes slightly bulging. Suddenly a look of the most grotesque evil crossed their faces, and I was so shocked that I fell back from the window. My mother heard my cry, and came in to comfort me. When I told her of what had transpired, she went over to the window. Giving me and odd look, she told me that there was no one there.

15/12/21 Diary,
More strange events occurred today. Still no paper has been delivered. Father says that he will go down to the shop tomorrow and demand a refund from the shopkeeper if it happens again. My mother took my sister and I shopping today. As we walked through the streets, I noticed people staring at us as we walked by, some sniffing the air as we did. This increasingly worried me, and my mother as well, it seemed. Once a particularly grubby man reached out for my young sister, and I dragged her away from him. All around us people fixed their eyes on my sister and I. Eventually my mother took us both by the hand and dragged us back to the car.

16/12/21 Diary,
Again no paper today. Father went down to the shop to have a word with the shopkeeper. He came back twenty minutes a lot paler and with a red stain on the chest of his trench coat, but the coat pulled tight around him. He refused to talk to me or my mother, and snapped at my sister when she pestered him. Instead he walked straight to his study and locked the door. I heard much shuffling and the rustling of books, combined with cries of anger.

17/12/21 Diary,
Last night a tapping noise at the window disturbed my sleep. Upon rising to inspect it, the noise stopped. When I pulled open the curtains, there was a smear of blood across the window. Written in the blood was a single word written in an untidy scrawl. All it said was “COMING”. When I told mother she started screaming and father came in. A look of rage passed over his face, and he shot an angry, searching glance at me. He shouted something about calling an old colleague up and stormed out. I haven’t seen him all day, and he took the car. I sat at my window all day, reading from a book. A group of people gathered early in the day, and the people continued to join them throughout the day. All they did was stand still and stare at the house, looking up at my window. For the whole day.

18/12/21 Diary,
Late last night father returned home with a guest, a Professor John Smith from the University of Oxford in England. He was a fairly old man with wispy white hair, that came off of his head in tufts, and he wore a tweed jacket. Father says that they met during the War. He strolled around the house, swaying a pendulum on a gold chain too and thro, then went into the study and checked all of the books in the library. After his inspection he had a few muttered words with father, who looked suddenly very panicked. Once dinner, a silent, uncomfortable affair, was over, I retired to my room and read my book again. I drifted off to sleep, slightly disturbed by the raised voices from the floor below me.

21/12/21 Diary,
I will now try to part the knowledge of this horrific event from my head, before recollection is blurred, and vital memories suppressed. I was woken early on the morning of the 19th by a loud bumping against the window. I rose from my bed, expecting to find more words written in blood across the window. I drew back the curtains, and saw a sight that made me scream to high heaven. The twins from next door were hung by their neck from some point on the roof, or maybe the large tree near the house. They were swaying in the wind, their dying eyes locking onto mine. They raised their arms to point at me, obviously struggling. Then, in perfect unison, they began to laugh at me; a high, unearthly laugh, going on long after their last breath was past. At my screaming, my father and Professor Smith ran into the room.
My father exclaimed a cry of “God preserve us,” and I turned to find the Professor rummaging through the box of my grandfather, and that he had pulled out the Necronomicon from the bottom of the trunk. He read the attached note quickly, and flicked through the first few pages. He turned back to face my father.
“I believe that even God Himself cannot protect us now Henry. Your son has unleashed something of the utmost evil, and that is what is affecting the townspeople. It will use the place of its summons to manifest itself. I advise that you take Mary, Elizabeth and this boy,” he said, giving me a look of greatest disgust “And flee from this place, never to return,”
My father nodded in agreement and hurried off to prepare my mother and sister. The Professor turned to look at me.
“Boy, do you understand what you have done here?” he asked me.
“No sir,” I replied truthfully.
“You may have doomed your town and all those that you hold close. I believe the creature that you summoned with this book is somehow possessing the townsfolk. You must tell your father to dispatch them with all haste, and no mercy. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir,” I said, then hurried off to help my father with mother and Elizabeth. As I reached the hall, I saw father with mother and Elizabeth behind him, his old service pistol in front of him. He was watching the door warily, almost as though expecting it to burst open any second.
“Father?” I asked.
“They’re out there,” he said darkly.
“Who?” I asked.
“The townsfolk,” he whispered. As if on cue there was a loud thumping on the door. There was a tinkling of glass from the living room, and my father shouted for my family to retreat upstairs. They did so, my mother holding onto little Elizabeth’s hand. We burst into my room, where I saw the second curious sight that day. The Professor was sitting in a chalk circle, the Necronomicon open in front of him, bare-chested with blood of some form casting dark symbols on his bare flesh. Upon our entrance, his eyes flicked open, wide with horror.
“Quickly, step in the circle!” he shouted “Do not smear the lines!”
Myself, mother and Elizabeth stepped into the circle and huddled together, but my father ran over to the window. From my point, I could still see the twins hanging there, and could almost hear their mocking laughter ringing in my ears.
“Good God,” father said, taking a deep breath “They’re all kneeling on the ground holding knives to themselves. It’s like a mass suicide!”
“That’s exactly what it is Henry, now get in the circle!” the Professor shouted. Father reluctantly joined us in the chalk circle, and as he did so there was a great scream from outside, the joint scream of hundreds of people plunging knives into their throats at once. Almost at once a shimmering occurred in the air. The Professor shuddered, and the shudder ran through me and the rest of my family. Something seemed to fade into existence in front of my eyes.
I have never, and hopefully will never, see anything like that thing. I almost lost my mind from the very sight of it, and I wish I had. Words can not truly describe the horror that filled my head when the first tentacle came through the breach. Any description of the horror would not give you the appropriate idea, only lessen it’s unspeakable nature. Nonetheless is shall try. The tentacles were of a darkish green colour, like very long, thick vines. They twirled and twisted their way towards my family and the Professor like snakes, though their fashion was oddly unearthly. At times they seemed to be transparent, at others as real as you or I. And then came the mouth. So many teeth, so much gore, so much blood and the stench of death and destruction. My sister screamed and started to wriggle in my mothers grasp. As her little legs kicked and struggled, her shoe scuffed the circle.
Immediately the tentacles were upon her, grasping her foot and dragging her out of the circle, further breaking the circle. At this point I, my father and my mother were shouting a screaming, and look of sorrow passed over the Professors face. I can never forget the look of my four year old sister Elizabeth being devoured by the great maw of the beast that I had summoned. Some teeth dug into her flesh and broke her bones, but none of them gave her that final crushing blow and the sweet blessing of death. It was as though the monster enjoyed her pain, taking pleasure in the mortifying agony it inflicted upon both us and Elizabeth. Finally her screaming, bloody, young face was swallowed whole by the mouth. My mother screamed even louder than before, shouting mindless words and obscenities. Her eyes rolled in her head and phlegm formed around her mouth. It was then that I knew that my mother had lost her mind. Whether it was the sight of the creature, the death of all her friends or the devouring of her youngest child, I will never know. Screaming she stood, and ran headlong at the beast. My father shouted and brought his pistol up to shoot at the creature. Smoke filled the air, and the tentacles recoiled as bullets slammed into the floorboards around them. Still my mother ran forwards, and suddenly she too was engulfed by the maw, soon as broken and swallowed as her daughter.
My father let out an agonised sob, and I felt tears running down my own face. The Professor looked tormented, yet focused and resilient. He had not moved from the cross legged position we had found him in. Suddenly his eyes opened wide, and his mouth formed a little “o”, gasping in air. His head turned slowly and he looked at us.
“Burn this place to the ground,” he whispered urgently, drawing in breath again “I can see inside it. Burn it! Burn! BURN!” he suddenly started shouting. His eyes rolled, much as my mother had done and he sat screaming, unmoving yet strangely compelling to watch. He shouted and screamed and bawled and the monster moved ever closer, the tentacles starting to run closer across the floor. Tears ran down my father’s face as he looked at his old friend, mad and doomed. He put the pistol to his head and whispered softly “You can thank me later,”. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet passed through the Professor’s head, leaving a bloody mark on the chalky floor beneath him.
This seemed to whip the tentacles into a frenzy. They made their way towards the Professor quickly, moving over the chalk circle. My father and I ran out of the room, the tentacles hot on our heels. We had both wordlessly shared the idea of the one place we could burn the house down from: the wine cellar. We hurried down the steps, and slammed the door behind us. I could hear the terrible screeches of the beast above, and the tentacles beating at the door. My father pulled me over to the bottles of wine, and took off his jacket, ripping it into shreds.
“Jonathon,” he said to me “you must be careful now. Take my pistol. When they break down the door, shoot at them. When they move back, make towards the door. I shall make door that the place burns. Keep running. Don’t look back,” he said, his voice becoming husky with emotion. He wrapped his arms around me and thrust the pistol into my hands.
“Father,” I whispered, tears running down my face “I’m so, so sorry,”
“It’s ok son. I forgive you,” he said back to me “ I love you son,” he said, then pushed me towards the door, gesturing for me to make ready. I readied myself to run, holding the pistol out in front of me, its weight heavy in my hands. I looked at my father, the strips of jacket in the top of the open bottles of wine. He held his silver cigarette lighter close to them.
There was a splintering, cracking sound as the tentacles ripped through the door. I fired blindly at them, and they recoiled in pain. I stumbled dimly through the wreckage of the door, and out into the hallway. The tentacles seemed to ignore me and went straight down into the cellar. I could hear my fathers dying howls as I fled from the house. As I crossed the lawn, I could see all the dead townsfolk, their throats slit and laying in a pool of their own blood, turning the grass red. I could see old playmates, my school teacher, the lady who worked at the post office, everyone I had ever known. I turned around once I had run what I felt was a safe distance. I could see my beloved house burning in flames, the tentacles of the creature writhing in pain as they twisted from window to window. My father was burning alive, and hopefully so was the monster I had summoned. I remembered my fathers words, and turned to start running again. I haven’t looked back.
 
Tranquility Bay ain't all it used to be. It used to be a peaceful, serene town. Filled with trees and blue skys, kids running around, laughing...

It used to be from what it's name had been derived...

Tranquil.

However...

You know all those stories you hear about the end of the world? Guess what.

Never happens. But don't wipe that sweat off just yet. Those stories about how polution will kill everyone?

True.

That's all this story is about. No deadly viruses or interstellar alien invasions. Just a town that became victims or this countries selfishness. When you read this, you think about the next time you decide to throw away a plastic soda bottle instead of recycle it, or burn up all our gas fuel in your little Lamborghini Diablos and just think to yourself: I could be killing an entire town by doing this... and if you are....

Good.


* * *​


This story is about a family. Not any kind of family. A special kind of family. A family not tied by blood, but by friendship and love. Kids who've had rough lives, brought together and housed by one woman, Carol Grabowski who has taken them all under her wing.

She has three 'children': Jeremy, Kyle, and Molly. All from different places, but they had no one. They had nothing, but Carol found them, and gave them all a home. She has an assisstant, Dave Janowski, who comes to help them. What made these people special, is that when the poisoning happened, these five people, this family, survived

Carol walked up the stairs and knocked on Kyle and Jeremy's room.

"Have you two done your homework? You better not be having a social hour in here."

"Yeah we're done, Ms. G."

"Good. Get ready for dinner."

She then knocked on Molly's door and checked on her.

"How are you doing, Mol?"

"Bad, Ms. G. Bad."

"Why?"

"It's those dreams again. The flashbacks of my dad, throwing those barrels into the bay."

Carol put her arm around Molly's shoulder.

"It's gonna be alright, Molly. Come down and eat."

"Okay I'll be right down..."


* * *​


Normal, right? Wrong...



Dead wrong...​
 
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