The Spinetinglers Anthology 2011

by Nolene-Patricia Dougan

  She just glared at him. When it became clear that no amount of waiting was going to lead to the answer he wanted to hear, he continued.

  “Now if I let you speak, do you promise to talk to me quietly?”

  She almost nodded.

  “And sensibly? I need to know exactly what’s going on OK?”

  She was obviously frustrated that she couldn’t reply; yet, through her muffled, almost incomprehensible, words she was able to indicate she’d do as he asked. She had never been one to break her promises, and she didn’t now as David reached forward and gently peeled the tape from her mouth. She immediately made the most of her ability to talk, pleading with him rationally rather than screaming.

  “Please don’t. You know I can keep secrets. Nobody has to know, David!”

  He paused, knowing all too well how seriously he should take her when she addressed him without abbreviating his name, but before he could try and decipher what she was referring to, she continued.

  “You know I understand discretion. You taught me. Nobody has to know…”

  “Nobody has to know what?” David interrupted, abruptly. Her repetition was as uncharacteristic as it was frustrating.

  “What you’ve done… what you’re doing!” She’d stopped struggling now and concentrated all her efforts on what she was saying, as though every single word mattered on its own, but they meant nothing to him

  “So what am I doing?” He asked it both out loud and inside his own head. After all, her accusation that he was holding her captive might have been outrageous initially, but with every passing minute it was actually becoming true. He owed her patience at least, but time was a luxury he didn’t have. He raised his voice as much as he dared.

  “What do you mean please don’t? Don’t what?”

  Having been pushed to answer, she did so immediately and with clarity. The four words that followed were spat out, one at a time as if they were so obvious she shouldn’t have to say them.

  “Please… don’t… kill… me!” She appeared to have her own escape plan and was quick to elaborate. “You can leave, just leave all this behind. Or I will… whatever you want, just let me go and I’ll disappear.”

  It reminded him of the message she had sent earlier. His failing memory meant he couldn’t be sure what he had done last night, but it was unlikely he’d spent it following her; he’d genuinely tried to avoid her for almost a month now. They had crossed paths a few times over the past couple of weeks but that was just coincidence, yet if he couldn’t convince her otherwise it would eventually be her word against his. He’d have no alibi, or if he did, he wouldn’t remember. But how could he reason with her after what she’d just said? Kill her? How could that even enter her head?

  “Bev what are you talking about? I’m a stockbroker who couldn’t bring himself to sack his secretary. I couldn’t kill you… or anybody!”

  “Liar! You killed Emma!” Came the reply that seemed to knock his very soul from within him, rage filling the void left behind. Without thinking or exercising any further restraint, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her viciously. It surprised them both.

  “What did you say? What are you talking about?” He wasn’t confident of getting a sensible response, so without waiting he navigated the controls of his phone to view the recent calls list. With the mention of Emma’s name, he reconsidered the fact he’d heard her mobile ring… hadn’t he? Increasingly unsure, he rushed his own through its various menu options looking for confirmation of his sanity… and found it. He had definitely called her; but he couldn’t recollect dialing emergency services less than an hour before, yet his phone indicated otherwise. Nothing was making sense.

  Aching to hear her voice, he redialed Emma’s number and the unusual, almost playful ring-tone returned. This time he didn’t hang up, but tried to follow the sound, scanning the room until his eyes fixed on the bed sheets he must have thrown off earlier. He braced himself. They had not fallen completely to the floor and instead rested at an unnatural angle. He had to force himself towards them before kneeling down and lifting the nearest edge. David’s world fell silent. Absolutely silent.

  They were definitely Emma’s legs, and they were tied together in a way that proved whoever did it never meant for her to escape. He started to pull back the rest of the covers. Her hands were just as mercilessly bound and for a moment he rested his eyes on them, somehow managing to recall happier times; she’d never removed her wedding ring, whatever happened or wherever she went and it remained there now, serving as proof of her seemingly unshakable loyalty.

  Hope was ebbing from him as she showed no sign of consciousness, but as he began to ease her onto her side it disappeared completely. Her body turned, but her head did not… they were barely even attached.

  He stared wide-eyed, as did she. He knew he should close her eyes to save himself from suffering the terror still etched into them, but he couldn’t. Instead, he found himself edging away from her body rather than towards it.

  He held his face in his hands to hide that he was almost sobbing, but not quite; he couldn’t grieve until he knew who to blame. Once he did, revenge would be all that mattered. Only after retribution could he give in to the despair that would inevitably overcome him. He could compose himself for another minute or two; the truth couldn’t be much further away than that, and he needed it like oxygen.

  The answer to all his questions was across the room and couldn’t run away. David turned to face the girl who had come so close to destroying his marriage, for a while he had believed he loved her, but time proved it to be little more than infatuation. Seeing her like this, so vulnerable and fragile, only emphasised the youth and beauty that attracted his admiration in the first place. He couldn’t pretend to himself that he didn’t care about her anymore; but he could to her… and he’d have to now.

  There was only one way to do this; despite his feelings for her, past or present, he must not let Beverly even begin to suspect he’d set her free before telling him everything. He let his arms fall to his sides and bent down to reclaim the gun. Aiming it at her seemed impossible until he looked away, certain he wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretense and issue his empty threat if he saw her pleading eyes.

  As he turned, David caught his reflection in the mirror opposite. He looked like the monster he’d imagined hiding in the darkest corners of his room, but just maybe that would help him now as he needed to appear every inch the beast Beverly claimed he was. Perhaps the fact she was convinced he was capable of hurting her would mean he wouldn’t have to, and this horrific facade could only bolster that belief.

  He became so focused on the psychology of his strategy, he failed to consider the impossibility of his appearance; he’d retreated from what was left of his wife without even touching her, yet the blood that should still be within her was smeared across his face. He involuntarily announced his intentions as he instinctively tightened his grip on the gun. Beverly struggled frantically again in response, breaking the trance-like state in which David envisaged every possible scenario under which this could have happened.

  “Tell me everything…” He spoke slowly, wanting his tone to seem cold and emotionless, but failed to hide the heartbreak as his voice gave him away. Doubt ate into him as she reacted to his skull-like features, they were emphasised as only the deepest contours of his face had not been crimson-stained. Her frenzied efforts to escape escalated and David would almost have found room for pity had his sudden, delayed realisation left space for it.

  There were wet, deep red handprints on Beverly’s shoulders, exactly where he’d grasped her; something he had done before he’d discovered Emma. The world seemed to close in around him, crushing his insides like a vice as he began to accept what he hadn’t considered possible until now… that Beverly’s lies were the truth. The constant pressure to please both women must have broken him at last; the most recent, sarcastic reminder of his ill-judged affair proving to be one more than he could take. He was shaki
ng, losing control and almost unable to stand. The gravity of the situation was pulling him to the ground, towards the hell in which he belonged.

  “I can’t believe…” David found it difficult to finish his sentence and Beverly let him suffer for a while before completing it for him.

  “Can’t believe you… murdered your wife?”

  “Don’t! Don’t say that I…” He was dying from the inside out. It was already more than he could cope with. She didn’t have to twist the knife; it was cruel, but he couldn’t blame her. He tried to visualise what he had done, the guilt growing like cancer inside him. Had she actually witnessed the slaughter and been forced to await the same fate? If she had, she was relatively composed considering the situation... it wasn’t like her.

  She was in no way calm, but this was a woman who could reach hysteria in a traffic jam. He thought less about what she had said and more about how she said it; he looked into her rather than just towards her. She only returned his gaze intermittently; it was broken by glances behind him. She didn’t move her head, just her eyes; she didn’t want him to notice, but he couldn’t be paying more attention. For just a moment, he stopped torturing himself; he ceased picturing the unimaginable to consider the unthinkable.

  “What? What are you looking at?” He snapped, not caring if he shouted anymore, oblivious he was being studied, albeit from a distance. Her decision to ignore his question confirmed it was worth pursuing. She just continued describing what he had done as if he didn’t have the intelligence to fill in the blanks himself… she was trying too hard.

  He knew there was nobody behind him, but turned anyway. He was right, there wasn’t anyone there so he followed her eyes more closely; they led him beyond the room, out of the window and across the street. He squinted, but remained totally unaware he was looking directly at someone looking at him. But the unseen figure could see him perfectly clearly; David was magnified, his every move noted and reported… his body language constantly interpreted as he twisted and turned, unknowingly making himself an awkward moving target.

  “You killed her. The minute you moved back in with her.”

  Beverly never could resist saying too much. He had been right about something at least, she’d never break a promise; her last had been that he would regret breaking his. He cursed his judgment; he was wrong to doubt himself before suspecting her, yet he still struggled to believe she was a killer… until he turned to face her again.

  She knew there was no point in playing the damsel in distress anymore; her terrified expression was replaced by one of confidence and satisfaction in equal measure and it didn’t change, even when he pressed the barrel of the gun against her forehead. Still she seemed un-intimidated and even possessed the audacity to question him.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m absolutely sure.” He had no doubt that he meant it.

  “It’s just I know you sometimes have a problem with decision making.” She was still smirking, but now it was to his advantage. Begging for mercy would have made placing his finger on the trigger a little more difficult.

  “You promised I’d regret it.” David wanted her to know he was thinking clearly; that he was back in the land of the living and she was going to pay with her life for the fact Emma wasn’t.

  “I promised you’d both regret it.” She couldn’t help but correct him.

  At this range she couldn’t possibly think he was going to miss, so she must truly believe he wouldn’t have the fortitude… making such an assumption would cost her dearly. It would only make it easier. Her confidence that she knew his limitations was misplaced and he was about to prove it. She was twisted, but her plan would have bordered on genius had she just managed to resist enjoying it so much. It was an inventive way to eliminate herself from the suspect list, but she’d given herself away with the lack of self-control that defined her. He still faced a future alone, but it was more than she had. She’d underestimated him. He pulled back the hammer and curled his finger a little tighter around the trigger; that got a reaction from her and now it was his turn to smile.

  He took pleasure in letting her contemplate her predicament for a while. He wanted her to experience the fear Emma must have, and to endure the pain he was feeling now. He began to steadily close his grip but didn’t rush it, savouring every tension-filled second until a shot rang out.He’d been standing at point-blank range so Beverly’s head was thrown violently back by the force. At such an unnatural angle, blood gathered and settled in the shallows of her face. Had he been able, David would have looked away, refusing to accept that the sight of her, drenched in his blood, was the last thing he’d ever see. As he sunk to his knees, he watched it trickle down her face like an extension of her distinctive makeup while she slowly raised her head to witness the scene before her.

  She’d predicted several different outcomes. This was the most extreme but she couldn’t have wished for more. She tried to think of something poignant to say but there was no need; stunned disbelief was written all over David’s face and showed that with his dying breath he realised the full extent of her plans without any help or explanation. She quietly hoped he’d been reluctantly impressed at last… getting him to see her as more than just an exceptionally pretty face had been so hard to achieve.

  The mobile phone she’d returned to him after making her seemingly desperate, emotional call for help slipped from his hand and hit the floor unceremoniously whilst Beverly waited patiently for the corpse in front of her to follow. For a promising moment it looked as though he may have fallen backwards to display the crater in his chest rather than the comparatively tiny wound in his back, but he eventually collapsed forward, lifeless at her feet. It was typical of how inconsiderate he could be, but at least he no longer blocked her view. Glass was strewn most of the way across the room from the window, which was now completely shattered. She’d sworn she’d seen the silhouettes within it, analysing the situation and agonising over when to take the shot, but for a moment she’d almost worried.

  For an emergency response unit they had left it a little later than she’d estimated, but it was more than just an educated gamble. She’d allowed for delayed reactions, having only half-loaded the gun that David still clung to, even in death. He could have pulled the trigger another three times before she would have had to give up her charade, and she was certain there was little chance a trained marksman would have failed to respond by then.

  Had Beverly stood up, she’d have been able to see right through the man who’d failed to keep his word… if only it had been so easy when they first met. She sighed, hiding a wry smile she dare not show in case she was still the subject of a rifle’s telescopic sight. She would do nothing to ruin this now and adopted a more appropriate, shocked expression. She looked at the hole in the wall behind her and examined just how much damage a single bullet could do; it had gone straight though David’s heart. It was ironic.

  Just as she’d practiced, she hurried to close the empty handcuff around her right wrist, having left it free until the last possible moment, just in case. She tightened it as far as it would go to convince even the most suspicious investigator escape was impossible without the key which was waiting to be found in David’s pocket. With both hands locked behind her, she relaxed a little before clearing her throat and screaming hysterically for help, as if it wasn’t already on the way.

  The Chicken in Black

  By Nathan Robinson

  Aves was more than used to these long, cold corridors; with the chipped floors painted a macabre red and buzzing fluorescents striping the ceiling, so he no longer shivered with the cold. He never even had to blow his nose nowadays. The newbies did though. They all did. After twenty-five years of working in the same old factory, Harold Aves had acclimatised to the cool hum of each corridor and clinical processing room. He had evolved to suit his environment and it was where he was happiest. Besides it was where he met her. His last true love.

  His wife.


  His only grievance was his trick knee in his left leg, which after a quarter of century of pulling bulky Dolav’s round the factory floor was his only medical complaint. He was in tip-top medical condition otherwise.

  Working at Agricorn was his life, and he prided himself greatly on his work, keeping the factory in good working order. He’d never leave; he was part of the furniture, a relic of the company’s history. Last year, his bosses and the owner himself, Mr. Reid, had admitted that he was the oil that greased the factories gears and awarded him with a more than welcome ten percent pay rise.

  He should have celebrated, but had no one to cheer with. He simply shook their hands and thanked them quietly then went home to an empty house, had chicken chasseur, then went to sleep in anticipation for his next twelve-hour shift at six am, just like he had done every day since Daisy had died.

  That was it, married for a year then she had died in childbirth, taking the kid along with her as well. He hated that selfish bitch for the pain she had caused him. But after a time, he knew it wasn’t her fault, but he had to blame her, he had no one else. It was hard to forgive the dead. The doctors had said it was just one of those things. Amniotic fluid embolism to be precise. So he looked it up. The baby essentially poisoned the mother from the inside, something about foetal cells and hair in the blood stream.

  Whatever had caused it, he was alone now.

  And he kept it that way for twenty four years.

  Harold rounded a corner, limping slightly as he pulled the empty Dolav through the thick strips of plastic and into Preparation Room Seven – Portioning, De-boning and Filleting.

  He smiled routinely at the short, squat Filipino cleaning ladies as they finished wiping and disinfecting each and every surface, giving them a polite nod as they left for the night. Not many English worked in the factories nowadays. All immigrants near enough. Out of the six hundred that worked here, less than a hundred were English. Aside from the bosses, most were college kids, all after some quick dough before university, the rest were from the continent or the Far East. They all seemed pretty nice, never caused any real trouble. Besides the eastern European ladies were nice to look at, not that he’d ever instigate anything, though he knew some were desperate for a husband and the green coloured card of opportunity that came with marriage.