Show No Mercy

by Bethany Walkers

  SHOW NO MERCY BY BETHANY WALKERS

  COPYRIGHT © BETHANY WALKERS

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Part One - Present

  When I lay and think, in my bed at night,

  the day you'll arrive, seems nowhere in sight.

  I toss and I turn, dreaming of you,

  opening my eyes ... checking if my dream came true.

  It didn't, again, and a tear starts to roll,

  weeping quietly ... my pillow I hold.

  Many sleepless nights I've prayed for you, my love.

  God touched my soul from heaven above

  He's answered my prayers for my bride to be.

  I've never felt this lucky, God did this for me.

  That's a question I asked each and every night.

  He must think you’re special, Sophie, and I know he's right.

  No other has made me feel so complete,

  my whole life was lived, just so we could meet.

  All these thoughts and more going through my head.

  I fall asleep not worrying, but dreaming of you ... instead.

  Chapter One

  The case study

  “… Now, I would like you to choose someone to do your project on. If you don't give me your finished work I can guarantee it will affect your grade," said the university lecturer, John Smith. Jazz was scribbling notes down viciously amongst the others, her pen sounding like a knife being pushed down in clay.

  She was one of those women who had it all: beauty, cleverness and popularity in her university.

  "Now, you'd better head down to the second floor, to gather up your information and to choose your victim with an illness that has affected their life. Come on, chop chop," John continued. This was a sign that his lecture was over.

  Jazz, joined her best friends, Amber and Gina, and they walked to the library together.

  "I'm pretty nervous about this project," said Amber.

  "Well, we can only have hope that we'll pass," replied Gina.

  They had reached the library, but John arrived before them.

  "Ha ha!" he grinned, showing his horribly wonky teeth.

  "You'll never grow up, will you, John?" Jazz shook her head.

  "Hey, what's wrong with having a bit of a laugh?" John smirked. "And that's exactly what you three never have. Some fun."

  "I have loads of fun, thank you very much. Take dancing, for example. I'm a pro at it, and it's fun,” Jazz retorted.

  "OK, OK, I get the story. Now keep on task and find your illness victim,” John said sharply.

  So Amber, Gina and Jazz went down to look at the files. They searched for hours, but none found them of interest.

  Suddenly, one big, pink, fat file caught Jazz's eye. She looked at it, and took it from the shelf immediately. She opened it.

  Inside was a photograph of a gruff, drunkard looking man. His eyes were black, and he had what looked like tattoos all over his body. Jazz couldn’t help finding it intriguing. There was something about this man that made her want to find out more about him.

  "He's probably just been placed in the wrong section," said Gina. "He looks like his life's ruined; he doesn't look ill."

  Gina’s words echoed in Jazz’s mind. He looks like his life’s ruined. This only gave her more of a temptation to look into his life, and to find out the story of what made him who he was now.

  "Let's ask John about it," Amber suggested.

  Jazz blinked, and nodded in agreement.

  "We'd like to do this case, sir," Amber told John firmly. Gina looked at her disapprovingly, not wanting to do this case like her best friends.

  "Since when did you start calling me sir?" John laughed. "Let me have a look then."

  Jazz passed the file over.

  John took a look inside it, and then handed it back immediately.

  “Best not. This case is too serious. I won't let you handle it. Remember, I told you that you were going to have to interview the person you chose? Well, if you interviewed him, he’d probably kill you with one of his bare hands."

  "But John! It looks really interesting!" Jazz insisted. She wasn’t going to stop pestering John until she got what she wanted.

  "I won't hear of it." John folded his arms.

  Jazz continued to beg, and then tried to charm him with her cutest smile. This was a very rare thing that she would do, especially because of the fact that John looked like a human rat.

  "Oh, all right, then.” John just had to give in. “But you need to come back tomorrow. I know that's it's going to be a Saturday and you're probably planning to have a shopping spree at the High Street, but there's a lot of information you need to collect about this case. It's nearly the end of the day today, so we won't have enough time to go through everything you need to do."

  "OK, sir," said Amber. Her mind rushed with excitement, and Jazz was literally jumping. She was staring at John as if she could have hugged him.

  Amber always had a habit of calling John sir, even though he was only a couple of years older than her. John certainly didn’t look young, though. He always wore a buttoned suit which exposed his incredibly large stomach, his hair was already greying and his eyes could have done with some livening therapy.

  Amber and Gina stayed over at Jazz's house that night for a sleepover. Jazz had her own apartment because she'd moved out of her Mum and Dad's house. Amber thought that she was very lucky, but Jazz said it wasn't the best thing because she was living on her own and she had no company.

  The girls painted each other’s nails and gave each other makeovers, barely talking to each other because of their excitement about tomorrow.

  Amber was the shortest out of the three best friends. She had big, dark brown eyes, a golden tan, and long blonde hair flowing all the way to her waist. The thing she liked to do best was swoon over pictures of Ryan Gosling on Google Images. She’d watch re-runs of The Notebook over and over again, and then she’d cry for two hours non-stop.

  Gina was the nerd out of the three. She was pretty, with short, cropped dark brown hair and pale skin, with the most beautiful blood red lips. However, most of the time, she had her head stuck in a book, and she didn’t care about celebrities and boys.

  For tea, Gina had some salad because she was on a diet, but Amber and Jazz had fish and chips. After that, they watched TV for endless hours, before going to sleep.

  The next day, Jazz drove them down to the university, as promised to John. He was waiting there expectantly, with a file under his arm, with a suit on.

  "Right,” John began. “His name is Adam Attenborough and he suffers from a fifteen minute short-term memory loss, because he survived from a murder. Here are all his details."

  He handed over the file.

  "OK,” Jazz, Gina and Amber said simultaneously.

  "And if you ever meet him, don't do anything stupid," John warned.

  "We're growing ladies, sir," Gina said, smiling, and not taking things as seriously as she should. "We're cool."

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now, that's it, I suppose." John shrugged, about to head back to his office.

  "You could have phoned us," Jazz said, "instead of making us go to all the trouble of coming here."

  "It's private and confidential, it's no joke. Adam's a dangerous man,” John replied sternly.

  "Alright,” Jazz muttered. She had already had enough of John reminding them how dangerous the case was.

  "Well, bye, see you next time you come." John smiled his wonky teeth smile at Jazz, expecting her to flirt with him, but she just sighed and made her way out with Amber and Gina.

  Chapter Two

  Meeting him at the coffee shop

  The next day, Jazz went down to the local cafe next to the university hospital, which was named
Cappuccinolicious, arm in arm with Gina and Amber. They laughed and talked. Jazz ordered a black coffee for each of them, with some chocolate cake as a treat.

  As they took their seats at a table, Jazz caught the sight of a gruff, drunkard looking man. He had scars on his face and an alarmingly large scar which went from his forehead right to his scalp. His eyebrows were thick, and he had small, bloodshot eyes. He must have been very muscley, too. When he took his jacket off, you could see that he was wearing a tight black t-shirt, exposing his well-built body shape.

  Jazz thought about the picture in the file that had John shown her. This must be Adam Attenborough! She thought excitedly. Result!

  "I'll be with you in a sec' girls," Jazz said, standing up and glancing over at Adam’s table in awe.

  “Why?” Gina asked.

  “Adam Attenborough’s over there!” she exclaimed.

  Gina and Amber gulped as they watched their best friend walk over to Adam’s table.

  "Hi, sir! You're Adam Attenborough, right?" Jazz said, a little too enthusiastically.

  "How do you know my name?" asked Adam, puzzled. "I don't know yours."

  "Oh, how stupid of me. I've forgotten to introduce myself. My name's Jazz. I'm a medical student, and I'm currently at university." Jazz blushed, a little embarrassed.

  "OK. Good for you,” Adam shrugged, as if he were making a signal for her to leave.

  Jazz sought this opportunity to talk to him further. "I was just wondering if I could ask you a few questions, if you don't mind.” She didn’t even ask him if he did mind, and quickly shot into the first question before he could interfere. “How does it feel having short-term memory loss?"

  "It's ... really hard. So I take photos, to remember things,” Adam told her.

  Jazz whipped out her notebook and began to jot down the things he was telling her.

  "What are you doing?" Adam asked, ducking his head in front of her notebook.

  "Oh, some notes,” Jazz replied, smiling at him casually.

  "Scribble them out. Now,” Adam said, the anger building up in his veins.

  “But …” Jazz tried.

  “I said NOW!” Adam was shouting.

  Jazz nodded, scribbling them out and putting her notebook away obediently. I can write up these notes later, she thought. As she got back up to face him, she realized that sweat was beading on her forehead. She quickly straightened herself up, and then smiled. "How about you take a photograph of me?" Jazz suggested. "To help you remember me?"

  Adam couldn’t refuse. He got out his camera. It was the type of camera which printed out your photograph as soon as you took it (a Polaroid camera). Without even letting Jazz pose or anything, he quickly took the photograph.

  "Now take another one, for me. For when we meet," Jazz was so nervous that she couldn’t find the right words for her sentences.

  Adam did so.

  "Label them each with 'MY FRIEND'. So you know who I am to you."

  "You are very bossy, you know, Jazz." Adam didn’t mean this as a joke, he said it quite matter-of-factly.

  "I know," Jazz laughed half-heartedly, even though Adam thought it wasn't the slightest bit funny.

  “Come on Jazz, lets go now,” Gina said, grabbing Jazz’s arm as Amber grabbed the other. They began dragging her out of the cafe.

  "Bye!" Jazz said as her friends pulled her away. Adam didn't reply. He put a hand to his head. He had lost his memory.

  He stood up, wondering why he was in this cafe. He didn’t remember entering. It’s time to go home, he thought, nodding to himself. His apartment was the only thing he remembered.

  Adam’s house inspectors were waiting there. They showed their photos so that Adam could remember them.

  "Let's go inside," one of the men, who was named Tim, suggested. So they did.

  “Why don't you go to the house we provided for you?" asked Tim, intrigued. "What's this apartment to you?"

  "It brings back memories," Adam muttered. "About my love."

  "Oh," Tim said sympathetically, even though he didn't feel the slightest bit sorry for Adam. It was just his job to confide in Adam.

  Tim and the other house inspectors wandered around the apartment. They nodded in approval, praising Adam for keeping the apartment in a good condition. There was only one place that they hadn’t checked, the one place where Adam kept all of his secrets and memories hidden away.

  As they left, Adam shut the door firmly behind them. He looked at himself in the mirror. All these tattoos etched on his body, saying things like: SOPHIE WAS KILLED and MUST KILL JOSHUA.

  He had inked these messages on himself to give himself an aim in life after the tragic things that happened in his past.

  Adam walked over to his secret area, where he kept his noticeboard, which was brimming with notes and photographs. It was the only source he could turn to so that he could remember the terrible things that happened to him, just because of the one man that had ruined his life …

  Upon this noticeboard, it showed him all of his enemies that he had killed, each with the word DONE scrolled underneath them. There was only one person left to kill …

  He sat down, gathering up his thoughts.

  Chapter Three

  The policeman

  Adam continued to rest on his chair, keeping his attention to his photos.

  Meanwhile, outside, a policeman was paying a taxi for dropping him off. He gave twenty pounds, and then stared at the block of apartments in front of him. He walked inside.

  He had a rectangular face with a defined, slightly pointed chin and a sturdy jaw line. His dark eyes were small and spaced evenly apart, sitting below trim eyebrows that seemed to curve as a natural extension of his broad, rounded nose. He kept his mouth closed in a thin, straight line, and his hair—naturally light brown in color but powdered to a bright white—was neatly tied and worn back to reveal a wide forehead. The jacket he wore over his broad shoulders had neatly polished buttons, and the scarf around his neck was tied so that the ruffles perfectly filled the space left open by his coat. He walked straight, his face held forward in a steady gaze, and had an air of authority that was palpable. His name was Callum Hodgkinson.

  "Does Adam Attenborough live here?" the policeman asked at the reception.

  "Yes," replied the receptionist, who was a beautiful, irresistible lady, named Pearl. Her dark hair fell like a curtain of silk to the top of her waist, the sunlight catching the stray strands of hair that blew across her face. In a way this made her more beautiful, as the deep brown complimented her eyes which were of a similar shade. Her eyes were without doubt the most captivating aspect of her appearance, reflecting a look of wisdom far beyond her age that could not help but draw people in. She did not care much for wearing makeup, instead favouring a neutral look to compliment her natural beauty. Her tanned skin and tall, slender build was like that of a model's, coupled with the latest trends she wore gave the impression that she had just stepped off a runway. "On the top floor, room fifteen."

  "Thank you," Callum Hodgkinson nodded, smiling.

  He went up there, and opened the door to Adam’s apartment. Adam didn't notice. He didn't know the policeman was here. He just continued going through his photos.

  The policeman crept behind him. He lashed out, shoving Adam on to a chair with such force Adam nearly scraped his knee cap on the floor. "What the-" Adam began.

  “Shut the fuck up, you little son-of-a-bitch. Fucking dick head,” the policeman shouted viciously, as he got a rope and tied it round and round Adam very very tightly, leaving him struggling and unable to do anything. Adam was a muscley man, a little too muscley, but even so, he slept in to deep unconsciousness.

  The policeman used this opportunity to rummage through Adam’s belongings. He knocked over all of the drawers in a desperate search, because in the policeman’s eyes, Adam was a criminal.

  Chapter Four

  Finding the diary

  He began to tear up many of Adam's photos. Adam didn't know w
hat was going on.

  “Goddamit,” the policeman shouted relentlessly. “WHY THE FUCK CAN’T I FIND ANYTHING?!”

  But after searching everything in the flat, after approximately an hour, the policeman found Adam's 2005 diary. He opened it up.

  On the first page, there was a photo of an incredibly handsome man: he had perfect puffy black hair, light tanned skin and was wearing a formal suit.

  It was Adam Attenborough.

  Callum looked from the photo to Adam, to and fro. He was dumbfounded. “Holy shit,” he murmured.

  Underneath the photograph, Adam had written:

  My name is Adam Attenborough. I am a successful business man and am twenty years of age. I love my life, and how I live it, so I have decided to write a diary about it. I sound very silly, talking to myself as no-one is going to read my diary, but I might as well have an introduction anyway. I remember when I was a child, oh how much fun I had. Oh no, I'm going off topic. I tended to do that when I was a kid. Everybody laughed at me because I did it. Oh, I'm doing it again. Better start my diary!