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Diced

Darkness hides the beast within

Resting from the probing light

Feasting on our fear of sin

To rise and devour us in the night

******************************************

The breeze gusted down the avenue bringing with it the smell of cooking, as families prepared for their evening meal. Misting rain twisted and turned sparkled like marquisettes, in the diffused light of the few streetlights that lit up the street.

 Leaves from the poplars that lined the avenue twisted and turned in the breeze as they fell from the trees, only to succumb to the dampening rain, settling in the road to eventually wash away down the gutters and into the drains.

  A dog barked in the distance, his call answered by another then another, followed by the angry shouts of owners and neighbours. Eventually a silence once again descended on the suburb, broken only by the sound of the rain and wind, and the occasional car that came down the street, headlights briefly cutting through the darkness as they passed.

He stood by the window, waiting, watching the white adobe house that lay diagonally across the road, waiting for his quarry to return home from the office, and whatever else he got up to after a days work.

“Work!” He laughed. “The only work that slime is capable of doing is to rob the poor and give to himself.”

He looked around the room, it was sparsely furnished, just a double bed, dresser, and a chair. The rest of the rooms were also lacking in content but that did not worry him over much.

The house had been vacant for a while, a deceased estate awaiting probate. The neighbours were unaware of the details, so it was easy for him to establish a pattern of occupancy.

He would arrive early in the evening, just after dark. Parking his car in the garage, then he would wait for an hour, drinking coffee and eating the occasional take away that he had brought with him. He would wander through the house, turning lights on and off, so that if anyone were a bit nosey they would see that someone was home.

 In the bedroom a time switch, set to turn the light off at around 9 pm had been installed. He would vary the times a couple of days a week, so a definite pattern would not seem apparent, he did not want any suspicions aroused.

 To be on the safe side, he always wore disposable latex gloves while inside the house. Tonight he would not be taking them off.

 After a time, he would leave by the back door, making sure he was not observed leaving, walk through the park to the Petrol Station; catch a cab to a local bar, where his Mustang was parked. He would then drive home, returning by the same route the following morning, dressed in a tracksuit and running shoes.

He always made sure he was carrying a newspaper or carton of milk. If a neighbour observed his return, it would be assumed that he had been for his morning run. He'd leave in the clunker Datsun just before daylight.

 Karl had two loves in his life; one was his Doberman, named affectionately “Bourbon”. He had named the dog after coming home one night to find a rather tipsy Doberman, trying to stay upright while at the same time trying to eat the washing machine. An empty bottle of JD lay on the floor of the kitchen, along with a few technicolour puddles. He had been tempted to name the dog “Vomit”, but decided against it. He felt it might cause some concern, if he took the dog to the park and started yelling, “Vomit! Here boy, come on Vomit!”

 His other love was a 1967 Mustang convertible. Deep candy blue duco, white leather upholstery with a white soft top, affectionately named “Gloria”, after a popular rhythm and blues number sung by Van Morrison.

Purchased as a wreck, and after many hours and much money, he had taken two years to painstakingly restore the car to its original glory. It was a car that drew attention wherever he went. He had bought the clunker from a wrecker’s yard, to use in his scheme. Plates had not been a problem, he had broken into the Police holding yard, taking the plates from a Ford that had obviously been there since Moses was a boy, something long forgotten by anyone who may have owned it, and forgotten by the Police who held it in the yard.

 He looked at his watch, seven thirty; it would be a long wait before he could act. His target would not be home until at least eleven, possibly later, but he was patient, he’d planned this night very carefully. Over a period of three weeks he’d watched the house over the road. In the first week he had knocked on the door, presenting himself to the woman as a gardener, offering to mow the large lawn and see to the gardens for a ridiculously low price, so low in fact that it would be impossible to refuse his services.

He always arrived after the husband had left for the office, and always left within three hours. He was no gardener, but neither was she, so she did not notice what little he really did. It had only taken two days to be invited inside. There had been a problem with the taps; the water flow had reduced to a trickle. He went back outside, turned off the water and then dismantled the kitchen taps. Using the excuse that he would need to get some washers, he had picked up her keys and left, returning a half hour later with new washers, and copies of all of her keys. After he had reassembled the taps, he’d turned the water back on and she had been so impressed that she had payed him and seduced him. He thought it was quite hilarious that, by turning off the water and pretending to fix the problem, he would end up in someone’s bedroom. He should try it more often.

Her name was Carolyn. Five foot two, hazel eyes and quite attractive for a woman of her age of forty-three. He preferred his women young, between eighteen and twenty? At that age they were easier to manipulate, like new clay they could be moulded into whatever he wanted, and then manoeuvred into oblivion when he tired of their particular style of fetish. He had lost count of the isolated gravesites that littered the countryside. He was confident that they would never be found, he always dug deep, picking the location far in advance of the deed, and never dug in the same area as the last one. Occasionally he would leave one to be found, a lesson to others of similar character traits, like junkies and hookers, and the diseased.

H I V carriers had no right to continue living, contaminating the population with their unnatural ways. They did have their uses; he would introduce them to parties, knowing for sure that by the end of the night at least one other would be infected. He remembered with some glee, taking an Aids infected Hooker to a swinger’s party, leaving soon afterwards.

Carolyn was married to Stephen, Stock Broker to his friends and acquaintances, loan shark to those who really knew him. He owed Stephen money, a lot of money. The heavies had been looking for him, and calls on his cell phone had not been complimentary, the threats becoming more and more violent with vivid descriptions of what would happen if he did not pay up.

“Geez” he thought, “its only ten grand. Anyone would think I wasn’t going to pay”.

The facts were that he really wasn’t going to pay. He had been sloppy when he obtained the loan, giving away too much that could identify himself as the borrower, and not the intended victim, some innocent preacher. But then who’s to say who is, and who is not, innocent.

It was when a visit had been paid to his Mother, and threats had been made towards her, that he decided to take steps to modify the lending terms.

Firstly he had arranged a permanent rest for the two thugs that had threatened his mother.

Next he had arranged a motor vehicle accident for Stephen’s Bimbo accountant. She really should get those brakes checked. In her case, better late that never just didn’t cut it.

Now it was Stephen’s turn. He had something special planned for Stephen, Something really special.

He rubbed his hands in anticipation of the night ahead, and against the cold night air that was beginning to seep into the house and into his bones. He shivered slightly, and then went into the kitchen to make a hot coffee.

He picked up his coffee and a stale donut from the box on the counter, munching thoughtfully he returned to his chair next to the window. Over the next couple of hours he dozed a little, always waking with a start whenever a car came down the street, settling when he realised that it wasn’t Stephen returning from his games of intimidation. The job had to be done tonight, before he could surround himself with more thugs.

He looked at his watch again, Eleven thirty.

The rain outside was starting to fall heavier. The wind was blowing against the window, making it difficult to see.

He was about to turn away when headlights appeared through the mist.

He watched as the car turned into the driveway opposite. Not sure whether it was the Stephens car, he opened the window to get a better look.

The rain blew in his face almost blinding him.

Straining he made out the silhouette of his quarry’s Mercedes. He sighed in satisfaction that the waiting was almost over and quickly shut out the cold night.

The rain continued to splatter against the window.

He knew it would be at least another hour before Stephen would fall into a state of drunken unconsciousness, and then he would move.

He knew the pattern of the house better than he knew his own.

Carolyn had told him that she did not sleep with her husband anymore; he was always too drunk or too tired.

 Stephen would come home and go into the study downstairs. He would drink a bottle of whisky and probably watch T/V, or a Porn Video, eventually drifting off into a drunken stupor in his chair where she would find him next day.

He checked his pockets, making sure he still had the keys to the front and back doors, and of course the gun safe.

Satisfied he went back to the kitchen and warmed some leftover sweet and sour in the microwave oven, and poured himself a glass of wine.

Sitting at the Table he went through his plan in his mind, ensuring that nothing would be left to chance.

At twelve thirty, he gathered his things together and prepared to leave.

He had made a poker in his workshop last week.

It was a poker with a difference.

Cutting off the hook that would normally used to hook logs in the fireplace, he had welded a larger hook onto the shaft, this hook was twice as long, slightly curved, and sharpened to a razor point.

The point of the poker had also been sharpened and reshaped to form a spearhead.

He put on his latex gloves, his black plastic Macintosh, plastic rain pants and hood.

Leaving the house he crossed the road ducking from tree to tree, more to avoid the rain than to be inconspicuous.

Moving up the driveway he came to the sidewall of the Adobe.

A light was shining through a downstairs window, ducking underneath the sill; he slowly rose up to look inside, taking care not to expose himself to whoever might be inside.

Diagonally opposite, a television was playing a Porno’.

An armchair was situated near the window, and slumped into it he could see the recumbent form of Stephen.

A glass lay on the floor next to the chair; its contents had spread a dark stain on the carpet where the drink had spilled.

Stephen appeared to be oblivious to the gyrations of the blonde on the television.

His snores and grunts could be heard even through the closed window, over the noise of the wind and rain.

Moving to the rear of the house, he fumbled in the dark with the keys, eventually finding the right one that would open the door.

Entering the rear hallway, he stood very still, listening for the noises that would indicate that Carolyn was still awake.

After a few moments, satisfied that all was quiet, with the exception of Stephens snorting, he moved into the library.

Crossing to the Gun Safe, he unlocked it, removing an illegal Glock Special from the shelf, taking care to check that a loaded clip was in place before sliding it into his raincoat pocket.

 Silently he moved up the stairs, stepping over the seventh stair, as he knew it was a bit loose. At the top of the stairs he turned left, going into the dressing room he put on a pair of Stephens shoes. He moved quietly down the corridor and stopped outside Carolyn’s bedroom placing his shoes on the floor outside before going in. A light was shining dimly through the partly open doorway. Slowly pushing the door, he looked inside.

Carolyn was lying on her back, eyes closed and softly snoring. Occasionally she would moan softly and smile. He would have liked to know what she was dreaming.

He approached the bed, taking the poker from under his mac, he raised it over his shoulder, his aim had to perfect.

He swung down and around. The sharpened hook caught her under the chin, piercing the jaw, through the mouth and penetrating the upper palate.

Carolyn awoke, eyes were filled with terror, she tried to cry out but all that came from her was a gurgling sound as blood filled her throat.

He pulled on the poker dragging her off the bed and onto the floor, then twisting and pulling at the same time, he heard a loud cracking as the jawbone firstly broke in two and then came apart from the rest of the face, leaving a gaping hole where the lower jaw used to be, ripping open the upper palate.

A low groan came from deep in her throat, and she lost consciousness.

He shook loose the remains of the jaw then proceeded to beat her around the head and body with the poker, the hook ripping chunks of flesh and bone from her Blood and brains spattered the walls and furniture, all the while he hummed to himself a tuneless number that had nothing to identify it with any known music. He called it his killing song and he always hummed it when he was “Working”.

He finally decided that she was dead enough. Carolyn did not look like Carolyn anymore; she resembled a pile of red jelly, quivering on the floor unrecognisable even as a having once been human.

He sat down and listened for a sound from downstairs.

All he heard were the faint sounds of snoring from Stephen still emanating from the sitting room downstairs.

He went over to the corpse and dragged her underwear off, deliberately ripping the clothing as he did so.

Her underwear was soaked with her blood.

Using her bloody Thong, he wrote on the bedroom mirror the word, ‘SLUT.”

 He left the room picking up his shoes as he did so.

As quickly as he could he went downstairs to the sitting room, taking the poker and the bloody underclothes with him.

Stephen had not moved. He was still slumped in the armchair. The Video had finished and had rewound, the news was showing on the television.

He carefully turned the volume down. He did not want to turn it off in case the sudden silence shocked Stephen into wakefulness. He had no doubt that he was drunk enough to not be disturbed, but he had no desire to test his theory

Moving over to the sleeping man, he carefully took his left hand, opened it and placed the poker in the palm, closing the fingers around the handle. He made sure the hook was facing outwards, as it would be, if the holder were the swinger.

He took the Glock Special from his pocket, carefully placing it in the right hand, finger on the trigger. He was not worried that he would wake and use the gun. In his stupefied state, he would not be able to take off the safety before he pulled his own gun.

Taking the underwear, he wrung them tightly then swung them so blood spattered on the recumbent figure, both his clothes and face. Then he placed them carefully, half in the trouser pocket making sure that they were hanging out.

He removed the shoes replacing them with the ones he had been wearing upstairs.

Moving to the front door, he released the latch opening the door slightly, enough to be seen when standing just outside the door.

Going into the laundry room, He went into the shower recess, turning on the shower to wash the excess blood from his Macintosh and plastic rain pants.

After he put his own shoes back on, he left by the backdoor, carefully locked it then ran from the house to the phone box on the corner. Picking up the phone, he dialled the emergency number.

“Hello, Emergency, how can I help you. Do you require Police, ambulance or fire brigade”?

Acting breathless he screamed down the line “Police! Hurry he’s got a gun”

“One moment sir, transferring you now.”

A new voice came on the line, “ Police here, Please state your name and nature of the emergency”

“Smith, John Smith, There’s been a domestic at Forty two the avenue Cosgrove. I heard a woman screaming, a man was yelling I’ll kill you. Thought I heard a gunshot.”

“Right sir, I’ll notify a car to go out and investigate. Would yo…”

He hung up the phone and went back around the corner to his hideaway. Entering by the back door he shed his wet weather gear, throwing them into the washing machine he turned it on making sure that only cold water went in. The last thing he needed is blood being cooked into the seams by hot water.

Removing the latex gloves, wrapping them in toilet paper he flushed them, taking care to put on a new pair.

He went upstairs and placed him self near the window opening it so he would see and hear better.

After about five minutes, a police car came down the street turning into the driveway of number forty-two, going up the short driveway to the front door.

Two Police officers climbed out of the car and approached the front door, seeing it was partially open, they drew their weapons, slowly entering they moved from his sight.

He heard voices raised, “Put it down now, put down the gun.”

Stephen shouting, “What! What’s going on?”

He heard the gunshots, counting them, one, two, three, and four.

Then silence.

The two police officers came outside; one went to the car and picked up the microphone.

He smiled as he pictured tomorrows headline.

“MADMAN KILS AND MUTILATES WIFE, SHOT BY POLICE”

He shut the window and started to laugh out loud, tears streamed down his face.

He went to the kitchen and poured himself another glass of wine. Lifting it high, gave a toast, “To Death, may she prosper.”

   He went around the house, cleaning up and removing any evidence of his occupation. Remembering to remove the fuses from the fuse box as he left.

Leaving via the garage, he drove the clunker over to the Police Holding yard. Entry was no problem. He drove the car around to the back of the lot, and parked it there, throwing the keys into the back of an old Caddie as he left.

He was careful to relock the gates, no use having them think someone had been there, although he had no doubts that break-ins were common.

He caught a cab back to where he had parked the Mustang. Bourbon was asleep on the back seat, and did not wake until he had started the car.

“Bloody lazy, that’s what you are” he said, as he gave the dog a scratch behind the ear.

He turned into the traffic, driving slowly down the street, taking in the fresh air, smiling to himself as he thought of the nights work.

He did not notice the car coming up behind him, until the headlights flashed in his rear view mirror.

Not wishing to be disturbed, he moved over to let them pass. But the other car moved over with him, sitting on his rear bumper, flashing its lights. He was beginning to get impatient with this so he moved to the curb, slowing down and stopping.

The other car pulled up behind him. The driver’s door opened and a guy got out.

Karl got out of the Mustang, it was then that the he recognised the other driver. His name was Jack or John, or something like that, he just couldn’t recall. All he knew was, that he was another one of the late Stephen’s goons. Obviously he did not know that he was now unemployed.

“Hey Karl, you got the money?”

“Nope, and you ain’t getting it either”

Jack, or was it Jock? Turned back to his car and waved to the passenger, who climbed out of the car. This was obviously the muscle.

“Hey Bruno, the man says he ain’t paying, might need a bit of convincing I reckon. Now don’t kill him mind you, dead he can’t pay up”.

As Bruno moved to the front of the car, level with Jock, Karl reached behind and pulled the magnum from his belt.

Pointing the gun at Bruno, he said, “Sorry fellas, but you’re fired”

He shot them both at point blank range. Walking over, he saw that Jock was still alive, the bullet had shattered his shoulder.

“Shit I need practice” With that he placed the gun against the temple, smiled, saying, “By the way, I should inform you that your boss is in Hell, I sent him there.”

With that he pulled the trigger, shattering the skull into a hundred pieces.

Just to be certain, he gave the same treatment to Bruno.

”Don’t want them rising from the dead now, Do we?”

He looked around to check for witnesses, but the street was quiet. Only the rats saw him drive off as his number plate disappeared into the darkness. The plate read;

 

NEMISES 01

***************************************************

Chapter Two

He sat on the stool gazing absently into the smoke haze. His glass, almost empty, sat on the bar in front of him. The Juke Box was playing a slow Blues number by some almost well known artist. Well, he thought, if he was well known I’d remember his name wouldn’t I?

Zac Johnson was in his cups. He had been named Zachariah Benjamin Johnson by his father, in memory of some long dead relative, who had the unfortunate luck to fight the Civil War on the loosing side, yet enough good luck, to turn defeat into gold, Black Gold, when he discovered oil on the Dirt farm he inherited from an Uncle who had, incidentally, the good sense, or foresight, to fight on the winning side.

At forty two he was feeling the pinch. Ever since his wife had died two years ago in a hail of bullets, let loose by some drug crazed junkie robbing the corner store, He had been coming here for solace. The regulars knew him well, albeit not to closely. He was a loner, only acknowledging the occasional “Hi” with a smile and a nod.

God he missed her. He still had nightmares about the day it happened. He was supposed to finish work early, but someone had called in sick, so as a favour, he took the shift. If only he had not taken that extra work, he would have picked up the groceries on the way home from work. Instead….He shook his head at the memory as a trace of moisture blurred his vision. Instead he was the one who took the call. He and his partner had turned up at the Store to be faced with a madman waving a gun around, screaming “I did it! By God I did it!” Firing wildly into the air. He had drawn his weapon, calling on him to give up, but the Junkie had turned toward him, pointing the gun. Both he and his partner, Josh, had fired at the same time, killing the perp instantly.

It wasn’t until much later that he’d wished he had only wounded the fool. If he’d only wounded him, he could have maybe made his death a bit more painful?

Three people were down that they could see. The store owner had his face obliterated from gunshot wounds. The Perps gun must have been loaded with Hollow point. Zac did not know him other than by name. Sanchez was a friendly guy who would always have a kind word for everyone. They would exchange greetings when Zac picked up the milk and Paper every day.

Beside him, his Daughter Angelina. Eighteen years old, just married six months, and pregnant. She had been mutilated, her belly cut across, the baby taken out and placed on the floor beside her. Carved on her chest, obviously with the carving knife which had been plunged into her neck, was the word “SLUT”

Next to her was a basket and shopping bags, with baby clothes, bottles, and a large box of chocolates. Not the kind of chocolates that they sold in their store, these were special. Today was her Mother’s Birthday. Maria would never forget this birthday. She was waiting at home for her family to return.

Angelina’s husband Marcos lay near the freezer cabinet starring at the ceiling. Well he would have been if his eyes were still in place. He had been shot twice, and the killer had plucked out the eyes with cocktail sticks, leaving them sticking out of an ice cream cake where anyone would see them, just inside the glass freezer door. The cake had writing on it, “Not for sale,” and ‘Happy Birthday Mama”.

At first he thought that was all there was. He felt nauseous and out of focus seeing the carnage around him so went outside and threw up. He lit a smoke and was about to settle in to wait for backup, when Josh came over.

Placing his hand on Zac’s shoulder he said, in almost a whisper, “There’s another one around the back”

Throwing his smoke away Zac turned to re-enter the store. “Shit! How many more, just the one?”

Josh took him by the arm, “Don’t go in there man, It’s Carly”.

“Bullshit!! I rang her twenty minutes ago, she said she was going to have bath and watch some television, then go to bed. She’s at home now”

Josh blocked his way, “No man, this is no Bull, it’s Carly, She’s… she’s... dead man, the bastard shot her, it’s not pretty, don’t go in there” By this time tears were running down Josh’s cheeks.

Carly was his big sister, she had brought him up when their parents had died in car accident when he was only ten. Now at twenty seven, he has lost both a sister and a mother. He loved her in a way that only he could feel. And when she had married Zac, he had felt just a little bit jealous. But then Zac was like a big brother, as well as his best friend and partner.

Zac pushed his friend aside, running into the store, and around the back counter. The moment he saw the dark brown hair, he just knew it was her. Slowly he sank to the floor beside her still lifeless body. He gently lifted her head and cradled her, whispering softly, “Wake up Sweetheart, please wake up”. On the floor next to her, a bottle of milk, and a packet of his favourite Choc Chip cookies.

When the Paramedics arrived, they found him there, still holding her, sobbing quietly to himself, whispering “I love you, please wake up” over and over.

The following weeks had been lost to him. He knew nothing, just sat in the corner gazing out the window, and talking to Carly, as if she were there. The only interruption was when they came to give him his little pink tablets, and his blues ones. Or when they took him to the bathroom, or bed. Sleep evaded his senses. He would wake up screaming every night as he relived the memory of seeing her on the floor.

He slowly got a bit better, until he finally convinced the Doctors he was okay, he was not suicidal, and no danger to the general public. So they let him out. Josh met him at the door to the Hospital, and drove him home.

On arrival, he just packed a bag with some necessities, and went right back out the door. He was going to stay in a hotel for a while, until he could settle his affairs and sell the house. Carly’s Life Insurance had paid out the mortgage, so he did not have to worry too much on that score. Josh had taken care of all the details.

From there, they went to the Cemetery, Buying some flowers from the vendor at the gates; he placed them on her gravesite. He almost lost it, but managed to keep things in check just long enough to get back to the car.

Josh refused to take him to a hotel, insisting that he stay at his house, while he got his life worked out.

He wanted to go back to the store, just to see it again. When he arrived, Maria was behind the counter. She greeted him with a smile, not recognising him at first. When she did she was all over him, telling the other customers

“This is the Policeman who killed my family’s murderer”, which made him feel a little uncomfortable.

She kept repeating, “Poor man lost his lovely wife right here behind the counter, right where I’m standing,” to anyone who would listen.

She invited him home to meet the family, an invitation that he gracefully accepted, knowing that he would not keep the appointment. He made a mental note to ring on the day, and apologise.

“Pressure of work, so sorry, maybe next time.”

He knew he would not be able to handle any more of Maria’s well meaning sympathy and praise. Besides, he did not feel like a Hero, If not for him, his Carly would still be with him.

It took a while, but with some fancy footwork, he convinced the Police Board of review that he was fit enough to return to work. He received a promotion to Inspector, which, to Zac, meant nothing at all. For him it was just a fancy title, given to make one feel better about doing all the dirty work, that the desk jockeys could not do.

He sold the house with all the furniture in it, using the money to buy a little cabin in the hills, and to buy a small apartment in the city, where he stayed while at work.

He preferred the cabin, high on a ridge, with good views, and hidden from the road by lots of trees and a winding driveway which was little more than where the trees had been cleared to allow entry.

The entrance was slanted in such a way that it was almost invisible, if one did not know what to look for, they would miss it completely, which suited Zac perfectly.

The “Secret” was known to only a select group of friend, and associates. Should anyone stumble upon the entrance, a few yards up he had placed signs which read,

“DANGER! UNEXPLODED ORDINANCE.”

“MILITARY PERSONNEL ONLY PAST THIS POINT.”

It did seem to get the point across quite well, as no salesmen or purveyors of religious artefacts had come near him.

He was disturbed from his memories by Damien, the barman. “Hey Zacman, Some dude wants you on the blower, you wanna refill before you go?”

Damien knew that whenever the phone rang for Zac, he would be off and not back for maybe a week or two. Unless it was a really bad night for him, then he’d be back tomorrow.

He always gave Zac a refill, on the house, when these calls came in. Had to look after the resident “Fuzz”, you never know when one might need him.

Emptying his glass, he pushed it forward with nod as he took the phone.

“Yes? Johnson here”

The voice on the other end belonged to Josh. “Hey Zac, Just got a call. Seems some guy killed his wife, and then got himself shot by a Patrol.”

“Open and shut, he did it, he got shot, no problems?” Zac reached over for his Bourbon.

“ Not so neat, seems there’s something wrong with scene, It just doesn’t add up, so we’ve been asked to look into it”

“Shit! Just when I was about to get comfortably numb” Zac liked to quote lines from rock songs that he felt described his actions or feelings, and Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” was one of his all time favourite Albums, so it got used a lot.

“OK, Give me the details” He took out his notebook and pen, it always looked cool when he did that, yet if anyone were to read it, they would not see evidence of criminal investigations, they would more that likely read his shopping list, or reminders to pick up the dry cleaning.

But it did impress the reporters and witnesses to see him walking into a crime scene, notebook in hand. It looked… well… kind of professional?

He wrote down the address in his book. “Who’s out there?” he asked.

“Phillips” Josh replied.

“Shit no, Jesus Christ, no wonder it’s open and shut. That idiot only knows how to write up Traffic.”

Zac had a very low opinion of Doug Phillips. A career cop, whose only interest was promotion to an administrative job, his rise in the department had been on the fast track, University educated, Law degree, Criminology and etc; an academic cop. In the short time that Phillips had been out of uniform, his closure rate had been exceptional, although many thought that it was just too exceptional.

Without saying he was a crooked cop, Zac reckoned Phillips fudged the evidence a little to get results.

“Ok, I’ll meet you out there, if you get there before me, check with the Crime Scene guys first. Who gave us the job?”

“The District Commissioner”

“Great” Zac smiled to himself. If there was no-one else who is wise to Phillips, District Commissioner Collins is one who is.

“Ok, when you get there, tell Phillips to piss off, this one’s ours. If Collins wants real cops on this, he must know something we don’t, and something Phillips has not noticed”.

He hung up the phone, sipped his Bourbon thoughtfully. No rush he thought, the victims were already dead, and Josh can handle things until he gets there. Besides, he was in no hurry to go out in the rain at this time of night.

He finally arrived at the house an hour later. Josh met him at the door. “

“Christ Zac, you’ve been drinking again. Collins is here, try to look sober”

“Look my friend, when someone calls me at my favourite drinking hole, on my night off, you gets what you get and nothing more. Anyway I think better when I’m half pissed.”

“What have we got?”

Josh filled him on the details, from when the Patrol Car turned up, the shooting, and the pile of jelly upstairs that used to be a human being.

They went upstairs first. The Crime scene people were still there, taking pictures, measuring this and marking that. In a room next to the bedroom the two patrolmen were in conference with a couple of suits, obviously Internal Affairs he thought. Young, clean cut and arrogant. The only things missing were the dark sunnies.

Jenny Pearson, CSI , came over. “Why Zac, long time no see, your looking good as usual”

“Yea, thanks Jenny, is that another way of saying you’re pissed again?”

Jenny Pearson, twenty three years old, a vision of what every man dreams of. Slim, trim and blonde. She had a thing about Zac, which tended to keep the other officers at arms length, but did not appear to be obvious to Zac.

“Zac, you know I would never infer that you have been over indulging, would I?”

“Hey! You two love birds finished? Come on, I want to get this thing out of here, the stink is getting to me”.

“Ok Josh, cut the crap, I’m coming already”

“Alright Jen, what do we have here?”

“The best I can tell, it’s a female, age unknown. The disposition of the body is anywhere you care to look. As to the rest, we’ll just have wait for forensics, and the coroner to tell us more. There is one problem, we’re missing a hand.”

“You’re kidding me, a hand?”

“Yea, well maybe it wandered off to take its revenge on the killer”

“Thought the killer was dead”

“That’s the point, this job was a setup.”

“How do you figure that out?”

“On the surface it all looks like a murder suicide. She was screwing around, he found out so he killed her in a fit of jealous rage. But. The real killer made a mistake. He or she, has left a bloody footprint, right where they stood next to the bed. Everything else was cleaned up, but obviously they did not notice the footprint because when they leaned across the bed, the toes and pad are under the bed”

She pointed out the print near the foot of the bed.

“Yea? What about the Husband, it could be his”

“Already checked, he still had shoes on, and no blood on his feet or socks. Another thing, the husband had blood on his clothes alright, but not sufficient for him to have done this” she said, indicating the body.

“If he’d done this, he would be literally covered from head to foot”

He went over to the room where the two patrolmen had been talking to the suits. They were still there; the suits or I.A. had left.

“Hi fellas, what happened?”

“Trust you to ask the obvious Zac. Look around, you might see dead people.”

“Yea right, funny boy John. At least when they’re dead they aren’t shooting at you.”

“Seriously though, when you got here what went down?”

“We got the call to come around following a complaint. Seems the guy didn’t leave a name, figure it was one of the neighbours. The front door was open and there was blood on the jam, so we came in to be confronted by a guy, all bloodied up, and holding a gun. He was waving it around, yelling and carrying on. Fred here told him to put the gun down, but when he pointed it at him, I just fired, taking him in the chest. Fred got the head shot in. The guy went down like poleaxed steer”

“Any ideas what he was yelling?”

“Not really, all I saw was the gun coming around, guess I acted instinctively”

“Thinking back, he seemed disorientated” Fred offered.

“Yea, now I come to think about it he was yelling something like, “What’s going on”. As if he was unsure. But then again he could have been drinking or on coke. I mean you never know and I wasn’t going to hesitate and ask silly questions just in case.”

“And then?”

Fred took over, “Well we came upstairs, following the trail on the carpet and saw this. John here called it in, and we waited down with car until backup arrived.”

“By the way Zac, if they find any strange DNA in the downstairs toilet, It’s probably mine, and a bit chunky, If you get my meaning.”

“Why all the questions?”

“Something’s not right”

“Hey hang on a minute….”

“No, not with your story John, just with the scenario. Jenny reckons there was a third party in here, and all the evidence points to it. It could have been a setup, with you two as the executioners”

Fred scratched his chin “Shit, that’s all I need to help me sleep. So we may have just shot an innocent man?”

Zac shook his head, he was getting tired, maybe it was time to give it all away and retire to his little cabin. Write his memoirs or something. Maybe brew white lightning for a change.

“ Don’t worry about it, the guy was a crook, hardly innocent by any stretch of the imagination. Besides, he had the gun. No fellas, you did the right thing at the right time, and I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.”

“Sheee…it! Fucking hell!” The scream came from the bathroom. Phillips came staggering out, white as sheet; he turned and threw up in the corner.

He turned saying “A hand, a bloody hand behind the seat.”

“Thanks Doug, wondered where that was.” Jenny walked over to the toilet and retrieved the missing appendage, placing it in a plastic bag. As she walked back, she gave Zac a cheeky wink. A guy from forensics, trying hard not to laugh said, “Maybe the deceased thought you would need help in there.”

Phillips looked around the room, seeing the smirks, said “Fuck you lot, I’m outa here!” with that he stormed out of the room and down the stairs. They heard him slam the car door and drive off into the night at speed.

The room exploded in laughter. Josh winked at jenny who said, “Well he wouldn’t leave would he?”

Zac suddenly realised what had happened, on one hand he was pissed off with the evidence being tampered with, on the other hand…..Well he could see the funny side.

“Ok people, a little respect if you please, that is a body on the bed, if you have not yet realised it.” The District Commissioner had walked into the room.

“Officer Pearson, I would appreciate it if you were a little less, how shall I put it? Yes, a little less Handy in future if you please”

Collins had no doubts as to what had happened, but he had enough faith in Jenny, to know that she had already mapped the position of the hand before moving it.

“Inspector Johnson, a word if you please”

But Zac did not hear a word Bill Collins was saying. He was oblivious to everything in the room. Everything except just one thing.

He was staring at the mirror, staring at the word painted in blood. That word,

SLUT!

Visions of another time, and place swam before him. Visions of a corner store, Angelina with THAT word carved into her chest, Carly lying on the floor. It was when he saw the two eyes starring at him on the window ledge, that everything went blank, darkness took over, and he knew no more.

Zac looked around, he was outside the Store, lying on the ground in front of him, he saw the prone lifeless body of a long haired, bearded male. He walked past and entered the store, looking around he saw Sanchez standing behind the counter serving a customer.

“Bread. Milk, six pack, and a carton of Stuyvesant. That’ll be nineteen dollars and twenty three cents. Thank you, please come again”

The customer thanked him and bid him a good evening, leaving through the floor.

Sanchez looked up saying,” Good evening Zac and how was your day”

Zac was about to return the greeting when Sanchez’s face disappeared, turning into a bloody mess.

“Madre Mia! Not again.” He fell to the floor, flopping around like a freshly landed Trout, and then he was still.

Zac felt panic rising inside him, he wanted to turn and run out the door, but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor.

Angelina appeared in front of him, she was holding out her baby to him, begging him with her eyes to take it from her. Zac could see her belly, sliced open with viscera hanging down, dragging on the floor, leaving a trail of blood. She opened her mouth as if to speak but a spout of blood spurted out al over him. The blood covered the floor, spreading throughout the shop. He could smell the pungent odour of copper.

Angelina screamed once, and then, slowly seemed to dissolve until only an empty shell lay at his feet. The baby swimming toward him through the bloody flood, mouth open showing long sharp fangs, and evil and malicious grin on its face.

With a silent scream Zac ran to the back of the shop, trying to flee the nightmare scenes.

He stopped suddenly, bumping into a shadow. It was real, solid, but only a shadow. He watched as Marcos walked down the isle. He was whispering.

“Mustn’t forget the cake, mustn’t forget the cake.”

The Shadow seemed to change form, it looked human, but Zac could not see it’s face. The creature growled from somewhere deep down inside it’s bowel. He watched as it leapt on Marco, knocking him to the floor. Marcos screamed as the creature plucked the eyes out of his head. He was still screaming when the creature shot him in the face. Screaming as his eyeballs were neatly placed on toothpicks sticking out of the cake in the refrigerator cabinet. The cake started to bleed bright red blood, spurting out over the glass doors, until nothing could be seen inside of the cabinet.

The screaming continued, loud and piercing. Zac realised that the screams were coming from behind him. He knew what was going to happen next, he did not want to look, he closed his eyes, but they were forced open again. The room turned around him until he could see his Carly. She was being pushed behind the counter by the dead man from outside. The Shadow creature was trying to drag him off her.

Pushing Carly down the man turned, he appeared to be trying to hold the shadow, wrestling with it, but he was thrown aside. The shadow turned, as if from nowhere a gun appeared, Zac screamed NO! as the shadow took form and shot Carly, it just kept shooting until the gun was empty. Zac tried to move, to fight the creature, he could not.

The dead man rose up, grabbing the creature, screaming, “Ahmat sabaat, amat sabachthnai, Io Adanai ! Allocer, Daemon, take form !”

The Shadow Changed. It changed firstly into a Human, light shining from its eyes. Then into a huge Wolf. The creature’s weapon fell to the ground, Picking up the gun, the dead man screamed “Agla! Agla! Elohim! I banish thee.”

With a hellish howl, the wolf became a shadow again. It turned, fleeing through the wall as if it wasn’t there.

The man ran to the door, Zac found his feet and gave chase. When he came outside he was confronted by a familiar scene, except this time he was the observer.

He saw himself and Josh climbing from the car, guns drawn. The man was standing there, gun in hand, shouting “I’ve done it, by the Gods, I’ve done it”

Zac heard the shouts, “Put it down! Put down the gun!”

He saw the man turn, a smile of victory on his face, he opened his mouth to say something. He watched as he and Josh gunned him down where he stood, then…. All was silent.

He stood there, looking down at the body in the car park . He bent down to examine it when the eyes opened. Rising before him, he spoke.

“He is not dead, I failed, he will return”

“What is it?” Zac asked

“He is a Daemon, a lord of the underworld, Knight of Chaos. Existing to cause Death and destruction wherever he goes”

Zac shook his head, “This is a dream” he thought to himself.

“No! This is not really a dream, just another reality. I come to warn you, he has already killed again, and will keep killing until he is stopped.”

“But how?”

“You will know”

“No! This is not real, it’s Bullshit, you here me, BULLSHIT! You’re dead, not here, not real”

The man just smiled saying, “Behold the legion of his dead”

Shadows started to appear around him. There were many. They could be recognised as human. Young women, Faces that were mere skeletal remains, with dark sunken eyes, maggots crawled in their mouths. Many were naked, men with gaping wounds where there genitals should be. Children crying out for comfort coming slowly forward, arms outstretched as if wanting to be picked up and loved.

He tried once again to avert his eyes, but they were all around him.

Then he heard the voice, Carly’s voice, “Zac, Zac, help me, please help me.”

He turned, Carly stood there, he reached out to touch her, to hold her again. He tried to kiss her, but as she came to him, touched him, maggots dribbled from her mouth.

She laughed, a deep guttural laugh, “Yes Zac kiss me, feel my flesh against your naked body, feel yourself inside me again.”

Her arms reached closer, fingers, like decomposed talons, reaching out, touching, reaching for his fly nails like razors………..

He screamed, as he awoke he heard the voice of the dead man in the distance.

“You will know him. He is known as NEMISES.”

He awoke with the scream in his throat. Sitting upright, sunlight shining through unfamiliar curtains, he felt disorientated, lost.

“Shhhh… It’s alright Zac. It’s only a dream”

He was choking back his tears, shaking his head. “Where am I”? he asked.

“You’re in my apartment, actually you are in my bed.”

He turned and saw Jenny standing next to the bed, her hand was on his shoulder, gently stroking, calming him.

“How? Why?” he asked.

“It’s ok Zac, you passed out at the house last night, Bill Collins was concerned it may be a relapse, I convinced him that you were just tired and needed rest, so I had you brought here by Ambulance.”

Zac took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled saying at the same time, “Thanks Jen, maybe you are right and I just needed a rest.”

“Yea right, more like a week on the wagon.”

The last vestiges of his dream still swam around in his head. In his mind’s eye he could still see Carly’s cadaverous smile as she tried to kiss him.

“No, it’s not… it was …eyes.”

“Yes, Josh mentioned something about the eyes, he said something about the night Carly died. But that guy is dead, you shot him. You did kill him didn’t you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure. The dream, it was…strange, really weird.”

“In what way?”

“I’m not sure yet.” He replied climbing out of the bed. It was then that he realised that he was naked. He quickly grabbed for the sheet to wrap around himself, but made a mess of it.

Jenny was laughing, “Don’t worry about, I’ve seen it all before, I undressed you. Remember? That’s right you wouldn’t remember you were like a baby.”

“Yea but that’s not the same as being awake is it?” he said, still trying to cover up, red faced and a little embarrassed.

“Put it this way Zac, I see it almost every day, it’s just that yours is the first live one I’ve seen in a long while. The ones I see are already dead and they don’t usually stand to attention.”

Zac gave up with the sheet and ran towards, what he thought was the bathroom, only to open the front door.

“Damn! Where is it?

“To your left, there’s a clean towel on the rack and I’ve washed and ironed your shirt for you.” She shouted.

“And close the bloody front door, it’s cold.”

He ran into the bathroom, and closed the door. He heard her mumble something as she walked past and closed the front door.

He climbed into the shower, savouring the feel of a soothing massage, as jets of hot water worked their magic on his aching muscles.

He reached for the soap, lathering himself all over. He started to soap his thigh when he gave a sudden yelp as a sharp pain shot up his leg. Looking down he saw four parallel scratches on the inside of his leg. Feeling a little disconcerted, he thought of jenny and wondered, “Did she do this?” he shook his head. “No I must have done when I was out to it. Jenny’s probably right; I need to go on the wagon for a while. No wonder I’m having strange dreams.”

Wiping himself off, he went over to the sink. Jenny had placed a new razor on the shelf for him. Feeling the stubble, he was thankful that she had.

He lathered up and started to shave, but the mirror kept fogging up. He wiped the condensation from the glass, as he did so, he thought he saw a shape standing behind him. Turning around, thinking it was jenny, he could have sworn that he saw a shadow slide up the wall, disappearing through the vents of the exhaust duct.

“No it must be a hallucination.” He thought it out aloud.

He finished up in the bathroom, dressed himself, and walked out into the hall, to be welcomed by the mouth watering smells of freshly brewed coffee, bacon, and fried eggs.

“Breakfast is ready” jenny called out.

“Just follow my voice, I’m in the kitchen.”

Her wandered into the kitchen. She had already set the table, and had poured his coffee for him. He sat down, picking up the cream he gave his cup a liberal splash.

“Jenny, you have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“Don’t worry about it” She replied. “Besides, as I said before, it’s a long time since I’ve entertained a real live man in my little world”

He laughed, watching her at the little stove. He realised for the first time just how attractive she really was, especially out of uniform. The sound of her laughter was like a tonic to his ears. A welcome relief from the horrors of work, or the loud company of the Bar.

She came over to the table carrying two heaped plates of bacon, eggs and toast.

“I hope it’s alright.” She said with a little wink, “I’ve been saving this for months, in the hope that you would drop by.”

They both started to laugh, although he sensed that in a way, she was being quite serious in what she said. He did not think he was ready for any attachments at the moment. He still missed Carly.

“Jenny, can I asked you something? Something a bit… well…Personal?”

She put down her fork, looking at him, “sure what do want to know?”

“When you…ah… undressed me last night, did you by any chance see any marks, like scratches on my leg?”

“No not that I can remember. Why do you ask, have you got scratches?”

“It’s probably nothing, while I was in the shower; I noticed four parallel scratches on my thigh. I thought maybe I fell over or something. It’s just that…” He shrugged and went back to attacking the food on his plate.

“It wasn’t me” She replied, examining her nails.

He finished his breakfast, and seeing the morning paper he picked it up. The front page carried the story of the night before.

The headlines read.

“CRAZED GUNMAN KILLS WIFE!”

“HUSBAND SHOT BY POLICE!”

It was reported last night the Stephen Broker, 53, a well known Businessman with underworld connections, murdered and dismembered his wife, Carolyn Broker, 27 at their palatial mansion. Mr Broker was in turn killed by police following a wild shootout in their home…etc…etc…etc.

“Christ! Can’t these idiots ever get it right” he said looking up at jenny, who was clearing the table.

“Read the bit at the bottom, that should give you a laugh”

Looking down the page, he read;

*********************

“It is believed that a Police Officer, Detective Zachariah Johnson, the senior officer on the case, was wounded in the ensuing battle. He was seen to be being placed into an Ambulance, and he appeared to be unconscious. A check of Hospitals in the area, has failed to reveal the extent of his injuries.”

Zac threw the paper onto the table. “Does that make me a hero? Or dead?” he asked.

“Oh I don’t know, I think it’s rather cute. You might even get a departmental award, for Valour in the Line of Duty?”

“Yea sure, maybe I should shoot myself somewhere, to give the story credibility”

“Well, you do have scratches don’t you?” she replied, laughing.

He scratched his chin, “I can just see it now”” he mused.

“For conspicuous valour, in sustaining scratches to the inside of his thigh, just below his balls, I hereby award Zachariah Johnson this bravery medal. Shit every guy on the force who has had a good night out would be lining up for a medal as well.”

Jenny turned around, choking on her coffee over the sink. When she had composed herself, she turned back saying.

“Seriously though, we have to get to work, so if you’ll excuse me, I shall go and change into my overalls. There’s plenty of coffee, so you will have to amuse yourself for a few minutes.”

As she left the kitchen, Zac was almost tempted to ask the question that had been posed by many of his fellow officers on a number of occasions. “Do you wear anything under those overalls?” But he decided to keep quiet, he was a bit curious though.

Twenty minutes later she was back, showered and dressed for work.

“The Boss said you could take a couple of days if you want. Reckons Josh can handle things for a while”

“Might be an idea.” He replied.

Jenny turned back, “ I almost forgot, he also said that if it was ok he would get Phillips to help out”

“Zac came to his feet, “over his dead body he will, let’s go. There’s something bothering me that I need to look into anyway.”

“Anything important?” she asked as they walked to the door.

“Just the details of the night Carly died, I haven’t looked at the file yet, and I curious.”

“Do you think that’s really a good idea? I mean the case obviously still affects you.”

“What gives you that idea? Okay I’m still a bit sore about it, but it’s been, what…two years?”

“Oh nothing, it’s just that you were calling out last night in your sleep, and I thought…well you know?”

He thought about the dream, and wondered if he should, or even could tell Jenny about it. He decided, like with the prior thought about overalls, he would keep quiet for the time being. At least until he has a chance to check a few things, like whether there was a Photo of the Killer on file, his name, and a bit of background. There was also the matter of the eyes.

They drove to the station in silence, each deep in thought.