True Lives

True Lives

He doesn’t feel the blood running down his arms, or dripping from his fingers, he is aware only of the rush of excitement as adrenalin sprints through his veins. The chase has been good. None of them stood a chance. He is the hunter. They are simple prey, frightened and paralysed; like rabbits flooded in a circle of light.
         This last one was beyond pleasurable, fighting to the very end, until his clever severed her hand, separating digits from arm. Her expression of horror will stay with him forever; he savoured it like a long-forgotten delicacy. The woman’s disbelief was palpable as she watched, wide eyed, whilst her fingers continued to contract for long seconds. With a final twitch they lay still and lifeless on the stone floor.          Death sought her out, presenting her with a vision of her own mortality. Struggling to comprehend, she fainted and blackness overcame her.
         Ordinarily he would force his victim awake and restart the game, but tonight there was greater fun to had, more rabbits to skin, so to speak.
         He dragged the limp body to the room’s centre and started work. With a deft flick he despatched the woman; a single, swift swipe across the neck, a thin red line that grew to a gaping space, as her head, no longer held by elastic skin fell backwards, the pool of blood building quickly….

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“Oh Jesus Jack, this is gross!
         Bev Copper turned away from the screen, her fingers locked tightly around the stem of her glass; the Merlot’s deep red did nothing to erase the memory of the horrid scene she had just witnessed.
         The image abruptly changed; blood streaked, pearlescent walls disappeared, replaced by the scene of a young couple stumbling blindly through narrow, dark corridors. Fear was chiselled, like a granite carving, on the fleeing man’s face. His wide eyes reflected ambient light as he glanced behind for signs of their pursuer.
         “Come on, Bev.” Jack replied, “It’s just a bit of fun. It’s not real. Besides this was your idea.”
         Bev hugged her knees and pressed further into the faded cushions that adorned their tattered sofa. She nervously fingered her raven hair. On the television, the camera zoomed to the pair of rubber boots that stepped through the growing pool of blood. Dark footprints trailed the man as left the room. The body, now dumped in the corner, was wedged awkwardly between the wall and porcelain toilet bowl, its head rested against the toilet roll holder. Tissue paper soaked up blood that ran from the gaping slash in her neck.
         Despite her revulsion, Bev was drawn into the macabre story as it unfolded in front of her. She took another long gulp from her glass, and savoured the spiciness of black cherry and the smoky aroma of aged oak.
         The couples’ flight ended at a dead end; they turned, fear stricken, eyes scouring the walls for an exit. In an effort to increase the tension, the camera zoomed in again, focussed on wild eyes fraught with fear.
         “Hey, look at that.” Bev laughed, “That guy looks just like your brother Eric!”
         “No,” Jack chuckled, “Eric’s a plumber, not an actor.”
         “Well, if it’s not him, it’s a damn good lookalike. He’s even got the same dopey mullet going on.”
         Jack laughed again, beer dribbled down his chin. Bev had a point; the guy on the screen was surprisingly like Eric. Wash away the blood, brush the hair, which did look like a mullet, and the likeness would be very close.
Bev turned to Jack, “Let’s give him a call and tease him about becoming a movie star. You know what he’s like, no sense of humour, we can really have him on.”
         Without thinking, Jack grabbed his mobile, thumbed for his brothers’ number. With dramatic wave of his index finger, Jack pressed the call button. Moments later the sound of a mobile ringing reverberated around the room. Two pairs of eyes flicked briefly towards the television.
         “Turn the TV down for a moment babe, will you.”
         Bev reached for the remote just as a frantic voice exploded from the screen, “Hello, hello, who’s that? Who’s there?”
         Ignoring the strange echo, Jack responded, “Hey Eric, its Jack. How’s it hanging?”
         “Jack?” the voice was filled with surprise, then, “Oh my god, Jack! You’ve got to help us. Please, you’ve gotta get us out of here.”
         Beside him, Jack heard Bev gasp, the intake of breath immediately followed by the sharp clink of glass striking the tile floor. Jack was vaguely aware of tiny shards and warm liquid hitting his toes.
         “Jack, Jack! Look at this.”
         “Shush babe, I’m talking to Eric.”
         Bev’s voice took a firm edge, “Jack! Look at the TV.”
         The harshness of her voice caused him to look up, his eyes instantly drawn to the television screen. What he saw made him slowly lower the phone. Framed within the boundaries of the television screen, Eric’s lookalike was speaking into his own mobile phone, his words projecting clearly through the speakers. “Jack, Jack! Are you still there? Jack, talk to me. We need help!”
         Through her own laboured breaths, Bev cried, “What’s happening Jack? How can that be Eric? What’s going on?”
         Jack signalled Bev to hold on, “I don’t know. Give me a minute.” Lifting the mobile phone again, he said quietly, “You still there, bro?”
         “Yeah. You gotta help us man. Amy and I, we’re trapped in an old warehouse. Some guy with a knife is chasing us. You have to get us out of here.”
         From the television came a piercing scream that echoed around the room, causing both Bev and the woman on screen to jump.
         “Christ, what was that?”
         “Jack, listen, we’ve got to keep moving, or he’ll catch us.”
         “Who man? Who’s chasing you?”
         “Don’t know, but he’s killing people here. Help us,” the screaming in the background grew louder, more prolonged. “The waterfront. We saw the harbour, and the old storage tanks, from a window.”
         On the screen Eric and Amy started running again, Eric puffed as he talked. “All the doors are locked, we can’t get out. Come quickly.” With that the connection died.

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“What are we doing here?”
         The drive across town had been taken at breakneck speed, red lights hadn’t existed as Jack narrowly avoided several collisions in the race to the waterfront. Auckland’s industrial harbour side was deserted; sparsely spaced street lamps cast barely sufficient, isolated pools of yellow light, across the weed strewn pavement.
         The pair swung their heads like fairground clowns as they cruised the deserted streets, frantic to find the right location.
         “They could be anywhere,” Jack hissed, exasperation clear in his voice, “That’s if they are even down here at all.”
         “A warehouse by the harbour is what Eric said. This is the only place I know that still has warehouses by the water. Do you have any better alternatives?” she immediately regretted the harshness of this last comment, “Sorry.”
         Since receiving the call, panic had built steadily in the pair. At first Jack was disbelieving; however the images on the television, the phone conversation with Eric, the synchronisation of picture and voice had ultimately convinced him that something very strange was going on. Belief cemented itself when the scene returned to the antagonist; male, heavy set, decked in butchers’ apron and rubber boots, the blood-stained smock stark in contrast to the grey surroundings, flashes of light reflected from the meat cleaver as it swung at his side.
         Even more sinister was the slow, deliberate, self-assured stride; a killer confident in his territory and the expected outcome.
         Jack pulled up outside the last building on Beaumont St. A three story concrete factory was centred within and overgrown lot. The car park was empty and clumps of long grass had grown through concrete long given over to neglect. Razor wire fencing, ragged with several breaks, surrounded the building.
         “This has to be it,” Bev said, “There are no other buildings on the street.”
         “Yeah, I agree. You can see the old storage silo’s from here as well. It has to be the place.”
         Jack leaned over the seat to retrieve a heavy sports bag, “Ok, let’s look around. Stay close and be careful.”
         Bev grabbed her own bag and followed Jack to the fence.
         Parting the fence for her, Jack helped Bev and followed her through the gap. He looked about nervously and said, “I don’t know what the hell we are doing Bev, perhaps we should have called the police.”

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Jack turned to Bev. She was squeezed into the space underneath an office desk, in an attempt to hide.
         “See if you can get through to Eric while I check the other offices.” he said. “If you get through, tell him we are here. Try to find out where in the building they are. I’ll be right back.”
         In the blackness, Bev fingered the mobile, pressed the resend button and waited, desperate for a connection this time, “Be careful, Jack.” She whispered, but he had already gone, leaving her to cower in the darkness.
         The room was so silent she could hear her heart thump as it hammered against her chest wall. Adrenalin and anxiety mixed, causing her to draw quick short breaths. Gosh, I hope this works out, she thought to herself.
         Lost in her thoughts Bev was surprised when a voice spoke to her from her right, causing her to crack her head on the desk in shock.
         “Jack, Jack, is that you?”
         Bev nearly dropped the phone and replied. “No, Eric its Bev. Are you guys OK?”
         “Yes, were OK. We are on the top floor.” He sounded out of breath, “Where’s Jack?”
         “He’s looking around some of the offices,” she replied, “We are on the floor below. Listen out for us.”

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Jack slowly opened his eyes, blinked against bright stars that burst through his head like a pyrotechnic display. He lifted his hand; a growing bump sprouted on his forehead. Fortunately the skin was dry. No blood, he thought, thank goodness.
         Cursing his stupidity, Jack sat up and fumbled for his bag, alternately rubbing his shin and head. The overturned chair had caught him by surprise. His blind kick sent the chair tumbling across the room, tripping him in the process. His reward a thick head and a nasty bruise to boot.
         Idiot! Serves me right for not using the torch, he chided himself. But shit, that hurt.
         Jack sat up and considered the situation. His search had turned up nothing. No clues, no traces of anyone having been here; certainly no bodies, even the overturned chair had felt out of place in the otherwise utalitarian offices that he had searched. He began to wonder if they had entered the wrong building. I better get back to Bev. She’ll be having kittens by now.

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Bev wasn’t there when Jack returned to the office. He was certain this was the room he had left her in. To be sure, he had checked the rooms either side of this. Neither had a desk; one room was empty, devoid of all furniture except for a grimy whiteboard, the other featured a large round table, surrounded by several metal chairs. Bev was in neither. He felt his panic rise. Where was she?
         Jack’s mind raced. Bev was missing! Which meant what, exactly? Had she been scared and made her way back to the car? Jack couldn’t believe that she would have left. He had been adamant about her staying put. No, he thought, she wouldn’t have left the building without at least telling him.
         He considered the alternatives and leapt to a horrifying conclusion. The killer must have found her? An invisible hand clenched his heart, squeezed it tightly. For long seconds he couldn’t breathe. Abruptly his heart beat back to life. He gasped and rocked backwards against the now vacant desk.
         Pulling out his torch, he shone it around the room. In the dim light he saw no signs of a struggle. The furniture remained as he remembered it; nothing disturbed. Thank goodness.
         Jack calmed somewhat and steadied his breathing. No, she would have screamed if that was the case. She must have moved herself for some reason. But where would she have gone?
         Had she tried to follow him and gotten lost? Again, he couldn’t see how she could have passed him without his knowing. Unless…
         Raising his hand to his forehead a thought occurred to him. Maybe she passed me when I hit my head. That made sense; he had been so dazed he wouldn’t have heard anything, at least for a few moments anyway.
         He decided that Bev must have moved ahead to look for him and his brother. With little option, Jack continued his own search.

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Dust floated in front of him, a light blanket of sparkles reflected the dim moonlight that fought to penetrate the grime encrusted windows of the stairwell. Somebody has just been here, Jack thought. His hope lifted. Perhaps it was Bev.
         Jack covered the torch lens with his hand and switched it on. He shielded the light, pointed at the stairs seeking footprints or other indications of who may have passed. The risers were covered in smudges; several people had passed this way. The impressions of two specifically caught his attention. Smaller impressions, clearly those of a woman, had been smudged by the thick tread of a man-sized shoe or boot. Boot! The image of the white boots from the movie screen flicked in his head. For the second time he experienced a shortness of breath, this time followed by sharpness in his chest. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he grasped the stair rail. His frayed mind flicked between images of Bev slouched on the couch with a glass of wine and the body of the young woman lying on the bathroom floor. My god, he’s following Bev.
         In his panic he rushed forward, almost stumbling on the top stair. Along the right hand corridor, something moved. Jack stopped, dropped to a crouch and retreated one step. He peered around the corner. The shadow was large; very obviously a man. In the dim light, the silhouette of a thick set neck and broad shoulders filled the hallway.
         That’s him, Jack thought to himself. That’s the killer.
         The figure turned and entered a doorway to his left. There was a swagger of confidence in his walk.
         Jack realised that this would be his chance to subdue the man and rescue his family. He retreated several more steps and opened his bag. His hand searched for the rubber grip. Locating it, he retrieved a black handled claw hammer and hefted it in his right hand. Leaving the bag on the stair, Jack stepped lightly on to the landing and followed the dark shadow.
         The doorway led to a small entry way with two more doors. Both doors had small, square, wordless signs. Maintaining as much stealth as he could Jack peered at one of the signs. The plastic plaque was etched with the outline of a woman. A bathroom. What is he doing in the bathroom?
         As if in answer, he heard the familiar rush of a toilet flushing, followed by water running and paper towels being pulled from a holder. Jack found himself repulsed that this monster, which could so easily slit a throat, could be so concerned about his toilet hygiene.
         Heavy footsteps approached the inner door. Without thinking, Jack pressed himself flat against the door to the women’s washroom, and held his breath. The hammer rested loosely in his hand. As he waited, he wondered if he could really do this. Less than forty minutes ago Jack was nestled nicely at home, beer in hand, watching movies with Bev, working sedately through a bowl of chips. It was one of the few times in the year when he was happy to be alone or in the company of few friends. He had never expected to find himself in this situation. Again, he wondered if he could carry through.
         The door opened. The bulky figure, clad in the long coat, stepped out. He didn’t look around, mercifully unaware of Jack’s presence. Before he knew what he was doing, Jack stepped forward and quickly raised the hammer above his head. The figure saw the movement and turned his head. Too late. The hammer smashed into the man’s face; obliterated the prominent nose. Teeth shattered. With a heavy thump the body struck the floor. Jack dropped onto the prone form, the hammer slammed into the head time and again; blood and brain splattered his face, hands and t-shirt.
         Horrified by his actions, Jack staggered from the body, certain the man was dead. He leant against the wall, rising bile stung his throat. Retching a combination of fear and horror Jack spewed vomit over the concrete floor.
         Jack stood, wiping away the rancid fluid that clung from his chin. Every breath he sucked smelt of puke and he battled to fight against his a growing nausea. After several minutes the sickness passed and he stood. Composing himself, Jack avoided looking at the body and left the room.
         Now that the killer was dead, Jack’s thoughts turned immediately to Bev, Eric and Amy. God, I hope they are still alive. Jack sprinted along the remainder of the corridor screaming urgently for Bev, Eric and Amy. At the end of the hallway, he saw a stripe of light penetrate the closed doorway. Bev? With renewed energy Jack rushed to the door and threw it open.
         Light and sound exploded as he entered; a cacophony of cheers and hoots greeted him. The large space was ablaze with colour; the walls adorned with streamers and banners. A semi-circle of familiar faces stared back at him.
         From his right a familiar voice called to him, “Hey big fella. Did you like our game? You didn’t think that we could leave our April Fools Birthday Boy at home alone on his big day, did you?”
         He felt lips press against his cheek. “Especially not on your 30th birthday,” Bev whispered into his ear.
         Another voice, “Yep, we thought our little ruse would work wonders. We needed something completely over the top to get you here.” Eric let out a laugh, “It was all Big Dave’s idea. He thought that if your little brother was in trouble, you would come running, and he was right. Here you are.”
         Jack stood dumbstruck, his mind reeled. Big Dave. Big Dave set this up? His eyes scanned the room. He couldn’t see the chubby face of his oldest friend anywhere. He raised his hand to rub his face and noticed the blood for the first time. Staring at his bloody fingers he thought of the body lying outside the bathroom door, the large nose, and familiar trench coat.
         A man gasped to his right. Others now spotted the blood stained hands and splattered t-shirt. A woman screamed, noticing the gore encrusted hammer drop to the floor closely followed by Jack as he blacked out. His last thoughts were of the curse that had seen him born on April Fool’s Day, and the prone body. Before darkness overtook him, Jack prayed that it wasn’t Big Dave.