His breath was harder than he wanted it to be, desperate to control his nerves. Hands shaking; at least he had a good grip on his memory. He couldn't forget what they needed. He didn't dare forget. Almost at the rendezvous point, just nearly enough. Able to relax for a moment.
Footsteps. A good sign. Electricity as the hairs on his arms rose. A gasp as the sack was dumped over his head and a rope tightened around his neck. They hadn't mentioned this part.
*
"Seventh circle of hell is reserved for traitors... welcome."
A baseball bat to the chest brought the suspect to the floor.
"Shit..."
"You're in it."
After a while he couldn't tell what was hitting him. Trying to distinguish between kicks and the baseball bat wasn't enough to keep his mind from the pain.
"You thought you'd sell us off?"
Definitely baseball bat. This was clearly not the correct rendezvous. As more kicks came, he desperately tried to retrace his steps. Wrong right turn? Was it supposed to be a left? No. The instructions... a kick... had been very clear. He was sure he was bleeding, probably from several places.
Then nothing.
"I'm gonna gut you like a fucking fish, you..."
The shouting has muffled the sound of footsteps. There was the sound of a struggle. Somebody gasping for breath. A gunshot.
"Sorry I'm late..."
One down...
"I hope you now fully understand the gravity of the situation..."
The sack nodded.
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Interview - Stage One
Interview commences. Another bullshit four hours of not getting anywhere. Yeah right. Time to dispense with procedure.
"When we're finished with you, you're going to be begging for death."
The tape had stopped running.
"Recognise that voice?"
No response.
"You said that to my daughter."
No response.
"Take the gag off and pass me a hammer. I want to hear this fucker beg for death..."
"You can't do this man... you're cops..."
Suspect already sweating.
"I want the names of ALL your men, and I want the evidence I need to bring them in. You're going to get it for me."
He swung the hammer down, just half an inch away from the suspect's thumb. There was a gasp of relief. Clearly his training had been inadequate. They hadn't been expecting to get caught. Poorly planned, poorly executed.
"You think you're not big enough for this, is that it?"
The suspect nodded. He was still blindfolded and didn't know where he was.
"Please... please don't kill me..."
The cop laughed. Clearly he hadn't explained himself properly.
"No. Of course not. Not yet... fetch me the saw... let's cut the fucker's hand off!"
The gag was replaced, though the subject struggled in the chair.
As the breadknife was dragged across his wrist lightly, the noises from the handkerchief stuffed into his mouth began to increase in volume. As it was dragged back with just enough pressure to break the skin and draw blood, the suspect was trying to scream.
The knife was put down.
"Do you understand yet?"
The suspect reluctantly shook his head.
"I appreciate your honesty. You're mine now. You will deliver my property to me. I have the power to keep you alive for as long as necessary, so don't even think there's an easy way out of this..."
The suspect nodded.
"When we're finished with you, you're going to be begging for death."
The tape had stopped running.
"Recognise that voice?"
No response.
"You said that to my daughter."
No response.
"Take the gag off and pass me a hammer. I want to hear this fucker beg for death..."
"You can't do this man... you're cops..."
Suspect already sweating.
"I want the names of ALL your men, and I want the evidence I need to bring them in. You're going to get it for me."
He swung the hammer down, just half an inch away from the suspect's thumb. There was a gasp of relief. Clearly his training had been inadequate. They hadn't been expecting to get caught. Poorly planned, poorly executed.
"You think you're not big enough for this, is that it?"
The suspect nodded. He was still blindfolded and didn't know where he was.
"Please... please don't kill me..."
The cop laughed. Clearly he hadn't explained himself properly.
"No. Of course not. Not yet... fetch me the saw... let's cut the fucker's hand off!"
The gag was replaced, though the subject struggled in the chair.
As the breadknife was dragged across his wrist lightly, the noises from the handkerchief stuffed into his mouth began to increase in volume. As it was dragged back with just enough pressure to break the skin and draw blood, the suspect was trying to scream.
The knife was put down.
"Do you understand yet?"
The suspect reluctantly shook his head.
"I appreciate your honesty. You're mine now. You will deliver my property to me. I have the power to keep you alive for as long as necessary, so don't even think there's an easy way out of this..."
The suspect nodded.
Tuesday, 22 March 2011
Holiday
I remember it well. The cave by the beach. The sting of too much salt water hastily inhaled going for a swim in the sea. "It'll do you good," they said. I bought the child an ice cream. My grandson. He was always so happy there, even after his mother died. I remembered the confusion among the arcade machines, giving him more coins for the games. I cried whenever I went back. I used to stick a twenty pence piece into the earth by his grave, knowing that somewhere he'd be laughing, glad his old grandfather got the joke. I tried to be happy there, remembering his smiling face, but it was always ruined by the image of him shaking, in tears, holding me the day his mother died. My daughter. He had been a great comfort to me. I miss him. I miss him terribly.
Thursday, 10 March 2011
ISSUE 7 - RELATIONSHIP SPECIAL
Download it here:
http://www.mediafire.com/file/hyka6u89z45fxl6/Mindsweeper%20Issue%207.pdf
http://www.mediafire.com/file/hyka6u89z45fxl6/Mindsweeper%20Issue%207.pdf
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Stan
New one...
Stan
"Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Stan, the guy you sold your soul to."
It was all so wrong.
"You sold your soul to me. There was no mistake. I can assure you we're quite particular about these things. I have a certificate and everything..."
"Look, just fuck off, alright?"
"no need to be rude sir. Tourette's Syndrome as well as dyslexia?"
"I'm not dyslexic."
"Need glasses then? I hear Specsavers are..."
"I DO NOT NEED GLASSES"
"Was only saying..."
Stan shambled about in silence for several minutes.
"What are you still doing here?"
"Well, seeing as I now own your soul, I have to take it."
"Can't you wait until I die?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so, but you told me to go now."
"I see."
"You haven't thought this through very well, have you?"
*
He shambled away. It was the fourth case this week. The old devil wouldn't be pleased in the slightest. He hadn't meant to let them slip, but he wasn't terribly mercenary in these affairs.
He didn't want to be let go. It wasn't his fault, and he rather liked Hell. The air conditioning in the office had broken again though, and there were never enough engineers. God seemed to have a monopoly on all the good ones. At this rate he'd have to take more drastic action.
Perhaps it was just that Heaven Industries paid higher wages. As a demon, Stan hadn't had a choice. He'd have preferred one of the islands where they'd dumped all the landfill... tax collectors.
Come to think of it, in a way, he was glad he wasn't on any of them. All those numbers tended to give him a headache, dancing about the page like a plague of rotten angels.
"I don't care if you make the world work, you can just bugger off..."
"What was that Stanley?"
The old devil. Stan was silent.
"What's the matter, Stanley? Not... frightened, are we?"
"N... n... no sir. No reason for us to be frightened. After all, you're..."
"I'm what, Stanley?"
"You're... erm... here."
Evidently.
"I have a... little job for you to do for me Stanley."
The old devil began to outline exactly why it had been necessary for him to employ Stan.
"I do find these humans so terribly tiresome Stanley. I mean, where is the JOY in a dead man?"
"I... I don't know sir."
"We need them live, Stanley. Or at least... you need to bring them to me."
"Alive sir? Abduction isn't really my..."
"I know, Stanley. How do you feel about... murder?"
"Well, after that sir, they certainly wouldn't be alive."
The old devil nodded.
"I am aware of that Stanley. That is not your concern, now please answer my question."
"Well, I've never done it before sir. I started in Administration and..."
"Enough."
The old devil disappeared. A new assignment had been flagged.
*
An engineer. Perfect. Stan arrived in the evening. Two knives, some rope, a blowtorch and a bottle of bleach. Gloves. YOu could never be too careful. The blood was always difficult to shift.
"Hello, who are you?"
The engineer looked friendly enough. The kind of beard a pleasant neighbour would have. Stanley stabbed him in the throat. There was no blood.
"All the engineers in the world to murder, and I pick one who's already fucking dead..."
*
"Stan, where are we going?"
Stan refused to look at the engineer. There seemed no point in dignifying such a stupid question.
"A better question would be 'Why am I following you instead of fixing your air conditioning unit?' "
The question stumped the engineer, but he continued to follow Stan.
"Where are we?"
Stan turned, and the engineer was silenced. A flash in Stan's eyes dragged fear through the engineer and stabbed into his brain.
"I think you know."
They walked through the door and saw that the Satanist was where Stan had left him. He'd heard them materialise. Part of the engineer was stuck in the door. A common mistake for beginners. Spinning round the Satanist saw the smile, but not the knife.
"W... what's going on?"
"You're coming with me..."
"But... but... you're not the devil..."
"You have no idea..."
As Stan drew the knife, the Satanist began to speak.
"You... you can't do this man... I'm protected by the circle man..."
As Stan began to cut the Satanist's head off, it was clear he had a disregard for geometry.
"I work for the devil, Shithead. The Lord of Lies. Why would He stick to a promise?"
The engineer picked up the limp body which had already fallen out of the circle.
Shithead spoke.
"Do I get to meet him?"
Stan sighed.
"Can't anyone ever die properly around here?"
Stan
"Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Stan, the guy you sold your soul to."
It was all so wrong.
"You sold your soul to me. There was no mistake. I can assure you we're quite particular about these things. I have a certificate and everything..."
"Look, just fuck off, alright?"
"no need to be rude sir. Tourette's Syndrome as well as dyslexia?"
"I'm not dyslexic."
"Need glasses then? I hear Specsavers are..."
"I DO NOT NEED GLASSES"
"Was only saying..."
Stan shambled about in silence for several minutes.
"What are you still doing here?"
"Well, seeing as I now own your soul, I have to take it."
"Can't you wait until I die?"
"Well, yes, I suppose so, but you told me to go now."
"I see."
"You haven't thought this through very well, have you?"
*
He shambled away. It was the fourth case this week. The old devil wouldn't be pleased in the slightest. He hadn't meant to let them slip, but he wasn't terribly mercenary in these affairs.
He didn't want to be let go. It wasn't his fault, and he rather liked Hell. The air conditioning in the office had broken again though, and there were never enough engineers. God seemed to have a monopoly on all the good ones. At this rate he'd have to take more drastic action.
Perhaps it was just that Heaven Industries paid higher wages. As a demon, Stan hadn't had a choice. He'd have preferred one of the islands where they'd dumped all the landfill... tax collectors.
Come to think of it, in a way, he was glad he wasn't on any of them. All those numbers tended to give him a headache, dancing about the page like a plague of rotten angels.
"I don't care if you make the world work, you can just bugger off..."
"What was that Stanley?"
The old devil. Stan was silent.
"What's the matter, Stanley? Not... frightened, are we?"
"N... n... no sir. No reason for us to be frightened. After all, you're..."
"I'm what, Stanley?"
"You're... erm... here."
Evidently.
"I have a... little job for you to do for me Stanley."
The old devil began to outline exactly why it had been necessary for him to employ Stan.
"I do find these humans so terribly tiresome Stanley. I mean, where is the JOY in a dead man?"
"I... I don't know sir."
"We need them live, Stanley. Or at least... you need to bring them to me."
"Alive sir? Abduction isn't really my..."
"I know, Stanley. How do you feel about... murder?"
"Well, after that sir, they certainly wouldn't be alive."
The old devil nodded.
"I am aware of that Stanley. That is not your concern, now please answer my question."
"Well, I've never done it before sir. I started in Administration and..."
"Enough."
The old devil disappeared. A new assignment had been flagged.
*
An engineer. Perfect. Stan arrived in the evening. Two knives, some rope, a blowtorch and a bottle of bleach. Gloves. YOu could never be too careful. The blood was always difficult to shift.
"Hello, who are you?"
The engineer looked friendly enough. The kind of beard a pleasant neighbour would have. Stanley stabbed him in the throat. There was no blood.
"All the engineers in the world to murder, and I pick one who's already fucking dead..."
*
"Stan, where are we going?"
Stan refused to look at the engineer. There seemed no point in dignifying such a stupid question.
"A better question would be 'Why am I following you instead of fixing your air conditioning unit?' "
The question stumped the engineer, but he continued to follow Stan.
"Where are we?"
Stan turned, and the engineer was silenced. A flash in Stan's eyes dragged fear through the engineer and stabbed into his brain.
"I think you know."
They walked through the door and saw that the Satanist was where Stan had left him. He'd heard them materialise. Part of the engineer was stuck in the door. A common mistake for beginners. Spinning round the Satanist saw the smile, but not the knife.
"W... what's going on?"
"You're coming with me..."
"But... but... you're not the devil..."
"You have no idea..."
As Stan drew the knife, the Satanist began to speak.
"You... you can't do this man... I'm protected by the circle man..."
As Stan began to cut the Satanist's head off, it was clear he had a disregard for geometry.
"I work for the devil, Shithead. The Lord of Lies. Why would He stick to a promise?"
The engineer picked up the limp body which had already fallen out of the circle.
Shithead spoke.
"Do I get to meet him?"
Stan sighed.
"Can't anyone ever die properly around here?"
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