Anger

Anger ~ Ira

Dear The Police,
the following sub-human scum will be destroyed –

David Morgan

Karen McAvor

Marcus Burns
David McGillan

Smug looking prick in petrol station

AND Angelique Nguyen

Yours sincerely,
The Killer
(The Killer)

The obese woman woke with a start. A nearby digital clock displayed 02:55. She checked the time then lay down again with a weighty sigh. After several seconds of silence, from downstairs there resonated a faint tap. The sound repeated itself twice. It was succeeded by a louder noise, as of an opening window. Her heightened senses detected a momentary inrush of night air. The window was heard closing and the atmosphere became flat again. She was no longer alone in the house.

Her heart was weak enough, laden as it was with a condition of some sort. It went into overdrive upon hearing the sound from below waft up the stairs to her bedroom. She sat up, breathing heavily. The door to the landing was roughly opposite but her poor eyesight would have found made it hard for her to locate even if she wore her thick-rimmed glasses. Her stubby fingers fumbled for them on the bedside table and she put them on. They scarcely improved her vision. The door was refracted as little more than a pale vertical sheen of greying white. A long silence followed but when she glanced again at the clock it only read 02:58. She waited pensively. At last another faint sound reverberated through the night. It was the creaking floorboard in the lower hallway she had been meaning to have fixed for months. There could be no doubt now: someone was inside.

Her mobile telephone was in her handbag. She could call for help! But she would not turn on the light ere it attract the intruder’s attention. Hauling herself out of bed she fumbled in the dark for the bag which she habitually deposited on the chair in front of her dresser.
“Shit!”
It was not on the chair. Nor was it on the dresser. Her already racing heart was seized with a brief bout of pain upon the electrifying realisation that she had not left her handbag on the dresser that night. She had left it on the table, the kitchen table. Downstairs.

She could have pulled her hair out. Instead she coughed and spluttered out a phlegm-filled whimper of frightened despair. The hall floorboard creaked once more. Maybe it really was her imagination she consoled herself. Perhaps she left the window ajar, forgot to close it and the wind blew it in. There was only one way to find out.

Halfway down the stairs she regretted not switching on the landing lamp above. The sudden influx of light would have caused any burglar to flee. It was too late now. She felt compelled to go on and was now convinced that any light would make no difference. Everything was dark and quiet. Outside on the residential street there was no sign of life as one would expect on a weekday after midnight. She set foot on the ground floor and stayed absolutely still. Her eyes turned slowly to the hallway window next to her. It was firmly shut. It had been her imagination. She walked briskly into the kitchen and gathered her handbag nonetheless. Her phone was inside; fully charged and primed with ample credit. Overwhelmed with fatigue she went back down the hall, set foot on the first step and halted. Between her and the landing stood a figure clad from head to toe in black. She dropped her bag and stepped back, causing the hall cabinet to creak as its legs grated the wooden floor. The intruder descended slowly and she unleashed a pathetic yell that would have been louder had her panicked surprise not been so potent. Her weight and terror nullified any ability to flee quickly so she put her back to the wall and watched as the person in black swaggered down the last steps and came face to face with her. All she could make out were the unblinking eyes. Rendered black by the hour of the night they still twinkled from the faint light on offer. The voice was male. Its coarse, spiteful hiss was imbued with red hot rage.
“Remember me Karen?

4 years 11 months 25 days earlier….

On Tuesday mornings at 10a.m. a representative from the police counter-fraud department visited the bank’s security office to receive that week’s collection of fraudulent cheque’s, counterfeit notes and fake credit or debit cards. It was now a quarter to ten and the weekly batch of illegal merchandise had still not been prepared. The reason for this was because the employee responsible was not there. As per usual he was running late yet again and his manager, a grim-faced, round woman with garishly dyed orange and purple hair, sat at her desk sternly surveying her computer monitor through narrow, rimless spectacles. The office door flung open and a lean, young man with brown hair and of average features darted in. He removed his hat and coat as quickly and as quietly as possible, mumbled a ‘hi’ to the woman at the desk, took his seat in front of her and fired up his PC. To any impartial observer witnessing the man’s arrival they would have noticed, by her barely-veiled expression of contempt, that the woman was disgruntled by his presence. Her countenance did not alter as he unlocked his desk drawers and extracted a bundle of files and associated paperwork. When he arranged these items he rose and picked up a bundle of envelopes, the daily post and started to open them.
“Marc.”
At her mention of his name the young man looked around nervously to face the woman.
“Sam from the police is coming to collect the counterfeits. Have you got them ready?”
The young man’s face went a tinge of pink.
“No, I’ll do it right now,” he said getting up. He opened a cupboard and took out a blue plastic sack destined for collection. Each item needed to be inventoried onto the bank’s records for future reference, a task that normally took a good half hour. It was now nine fifty-two. The woman sighed and said nothing. Marc opened the relevant file on his computer and began inputting the data.

At ten past ten the woman’s phone rang.
“Sam!” she beamed. “Come on through.”
She set the phone down and her temporary mirth reverted to her previous antipathy.
“Marc,” she said. “Have you finished?”
“I’m about two thirds of the way through them,” he answered.
A few minutes later a small, balding man in a black suit bounced into the office.
“Karen!” he exclaimed by way of greeting. “Marc. How you doing?”
Banter and small talk ensued. Sam sat down opposite Karen and held forth, with apparent amusement, on the nefarious schemes of various criminal gangs. There were Nigerian 419 scams that continued to fool even some of the most cautionary people, phishing, bouncing cheques galore and of course the attempts by eastern European gangs to ‘skim’ ATM’s to copy the user’s bank card and inserting a small, concealed video camera at the top of such ‘holes in the wall’ to obtain the associated four digit PIN number. Thousands of people worldwide have had there accounts cleaned out by this highly subtle method of theft. By the time Sam had finished his bemused rant it was nearly eleven o’clock.

For the past fifteen minutes Marc had sought to catch his boss’s attention but she either ignored him or was too immersed in Sam’s descriptions. Eventually Marc stood up and approached them with the sack and paperwork Sam and Karen were to sign to release its contents to the police.
“And how are you young man?” asked Sam with his trademark warm charisma.
“I’ll alright,” replied Marc. “I’ve got this weeks…. stuff,” he said, trying and failing to find the right word.
“Ah, good lad! Now, where do I sign?”
Marc handed him the document and Sam added his signature before Karen contributed her own.
“Now how are you getting on Marc? How long have you been here now?”
“About three months,” said Marc. “I started at the end of November.”
“And do you like working here?”
“Yes, it’s very interesting,” lied Marc.
“I’m sure you will be here for years to come! Maybe you’ll even take over when special K retires,” bantered Sam with a nod at Karen.
“You never know,” said Marc with feigned amusement.
“Well I’d best hit the road,” said Sam pushing himself to his feet.
“Marc, can you carry the bag out for Sam?” asked Karen.
“Yep,” said Marc.
“Do you take me for an invalid?” laughed Sam. “Anyway I’ll see you next Tuesday!”
“Take care Sam.”

Marc hoisted the sack over his shoulder and walked with Sam out to his car.
“You’re lucky to be in the security department Marc. Karen is great to work with. Everyone I’ve known in the bank wants to work with her!”
“So I hear,” said Marc though he could not understand why.

Karen greeted Marc’s return with another deep exhale. She waited until he had sat down until she spoke.
“Marc, a word please.”
He got up again and walked over to her desk.
“When Sam comes next week could you have the counterfeits ready on time please?”
“Yes sorry about that, I was running late this morning.”
“I know,” she said. “Now shall we have a look at today’s post?”
It consisted of invoices, fraud reports and junk mail.
“You don’t need to show me any ad mail we get Marc,” snapped Karen when the young man threw the last envelope in the bin.

Later in the morning the awkward silence became more acute. The half dozen other women of the money laundering team who worked in the adjacent part of the office chin-wagged amiably to and fro generally excluding the solitary pair. Marc avoided them. Once he had offered verbal help clarifying a local postcode and had been promptly called over by Karen, presumably irked by his demonstration of free will, to perform another task. Now things were coming to an ugly head.
“Marc. Another word please.”
Karen held up a sheet of pink paper. It was an invoice. The payment due date was two days ago.
“Oh,” whispered Marc.
“This was to be paid on the twenty-second,” said Karen calmly but beneath her words was a tone of abject disdain.
“Yes,” was all Marc could say.
“Can you explain?”
“I must have overlooked it Karen. Sorry.”
She pointed to the stack of files over on Marc’s desk.
“Are there any more unpaid invoices?”
“I’ll look,” said Marc, who was back at the pile of paper in a flash.
“Bring it over here,” she ordered.
He did and watched in trepidation as Karen whisked her way through the documents. She had not gone far when she stopped and scrutinised a report.
“All Saint’s College, cheque fraud, seven thousand pounds. I assume this has been reimbursed,” she said.
“Ye… No, it hasn’t,” offered Marc.
His boss pressed the report down on top of the pile and looked at his in disbelief.
“Right,” said Karen. She began rummaging further through the papers and soon found a second malefaction.
“Mrs Deborah Hoult, fifty pound reimbursement. Is this done?”
“I don’t think so.”
“If I continue will I find any more customers overdue their refunds?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Marc, somehow managing to stay in control.
“Come with me,” said Karen, fondling a key chain.

The resulting showdown took place in an empty, neighbouring office. Marc’s replies to Karen’s questions were monosyllabic. She kept her composure but could no longer conceal her mounting frustration, a feeling that had been building inside her since Marc’s appointment eight months earlier. Of course it was HR’s fault for assigning a young, inexperienced incompetent recruit to work alongside her. Not hers. Her private domain of the fraud department contained a member who had never been welcomed or treated with anything other than fickle respect. He had to go.

I took a deep breath. Then I yelled the word ‘fuck’. It felt good. So I repeated it two more times. Saying ‘fuck’ gets people’s attention. Karen suddenly changed from being a dragon to a frightened puppy. I reached for her throat with right hand and held her chubby neck with a claw-like grip, making sure to dig my long finger nails into her fatty flesh. Then I leaned back and head-butted her. She fell onto the desk behind her. It was pleasant to watch and I savoured the sounds of her huge backside bump against the desk and her moans as she writhed on the floor. Pathetic! She can talk the talk but she can’t walk the walk. She can bitch and moan and threaten and cajole but she can’t back it up with a fist in your face! Can you?

That was the worst day in that useless, shitty job! A twenty-four year old man made to work alone with a fat, ugly middle-aged woman who because of her low self-esteem, caused by her physical appearance, and her recent divorce from some poor, clueless sap, she took all her frustration out on me! From the moment I set foot in that office she didn’t want me. It’s true she put on a friendly front of initial welcome but it was gone in a week. Her curt language, deep sighs of frustrations ad the way she inadvertently crashed her wrist bangles onto her desk when making a point or reaching for her computer’s wireless mouse were excruciating. I went home every day a zombie, dreading the morning. Of course mum was of no help which wasn’t surprising. Okay she said. You don’t like your job, get a new one! Easier said than done. Don’t think I’m gonna keep you if you resign blah blah blah, cliché, cliché, cliché. Fuck it. Big ass K gave me no encouragement. When she was in a good mood then you had to be in a good mood. When she was in a bad mood then God help you if you didn’t acknowledge this by saying nothing or exaggerating your own feeling of despair at some department head not getting back to her about travel expenses to Bradford! I would have made more of an effort I’d had the support! Worst thing I ever did was taking that fucking job in a shitty fucking bank! I hate her so much its indescribable. There really should be a law against allowing fat women in a workplace, especially when they’re on their period and their vagina begins to leak. Not that the monthly toothless vampire’s delight was any excuse for her to be biggest bitch in the Universe. Double standards. Double fucking standards! She was consistently nice with the girls in the office, with Sam, with the security guards but with me? No. I did her no harm whatsoever. She got uptight and bitchy all of her own accord and took it out on me! She would not have been condemned had she treated me nicely and with the respect I deserve. World champion when it comes to sighing and banging your fucking wrist bangles down on her desk! Over n’ over n’ over n’ over n’ over n’ over n’ over n’ over n’ over n’ over n’ over! Fucking hell! I wish I could kill her a thousand times over! She treated me like dirt of her own free will. I did nothing to provoke it. I am innocent. She is guilty. How can I, as I man, have any self-respect for myself knowing that she is still out there, alive, while I am unable to move on with my life without addressing the issue? Psychiatrists can’t help. Mothers and fathers can’t help. Brother, sisters, cousins, grannies, aunts, uncles and friends can’t help. No one cane help. No one except me! I will therefore administer justice as I see fit. I will punish her soul so that God can judge her filthy soul, caked in sin the same way her disgusting gob was caked with five inches of makeup! I must consign her to the land of the dead for God to dispose her spirit into the fires of the inferno.

Sigh. Like I was saying she’s writhing on the floor in agony, her mouth gapes like a fish showing her pearly whites so I raised my heel to smash them out.

I should have done that. I wish I’d done all that. I wish I’d said ‘fuck’ and knocked her down but I didn’t. I just said sorry again. Then I walked out. But what Karen doesn’t know is that I am resourceful. She underestimated me. And while she no doubt gossiped to her mother and friends about the young man who, despite holding a first class honours degree, was little more than an apologetic idiot she doesn’t know one crucial fact. She doesn’t know that I had free and full access to the names and addresses of every employee in that institution. You see, I know where Karen lives.

Marc resigned then and there, exited the office, gathered his coat, set his security badge on Karen’s desk and left the building never to return. He did not lay eyes on Karen again until 4 years, 11 months and 25 days later.

“Remember me Karen?” spat the man in black.
She was unable to answer. He had already seized her neck and the pressure on her weak throat hardened. Karen’s heart bounced around her chest like a demented basketball. Then her flabby stomach was unmercifully impacted by her assailant’s free hand; over and over again. When she coughed up blood he stopped and released his vice-like grasp. The woman collapsed onto her knees but he caught her before she toppled onto her side. He produced a small silver knife.
“Remember this Karen? It’s the letter opener I used to open the post we got every morning. Sharp isn’t it? Very sharp. Here, take a closer look.”
He rammed the thin blade into the porous mass of flesh beneath her chin and stepped back. Karen’s eyes bulged as she keeled on her side facing him. A puddle of red fluid slowly expanded on the pine floor. While it did her body twitched sporadically before remaining still.
“Justice has been done.”
The man knelt down and blessed himself.
“Lord God, have mercy on the soul of this deranged woman who set out to destroy me, thy servant. Accept her into thine kingdom. Should her sins be too much then thy will be done. Thou will consign her to the pits of Hell where she will burn forever and ever. Amon.”
He rose reached into his jacket and took something from the inside pocket. It was a paintbrush with thick bristles. Dipping it into the mess of blood he then applied it to the peach-coloured hallway wall:

THAT’S ONE.

Elaine was almost asleep on the couch when Marc came home. He wearily threw his travel bag onto the floor and hugged his fiancée.
“Well how was Brussels?” she asked.
“Yeah. It was good. The same as ever.”
“Busy?”
“Very.”
“What did you get up to?”
“Meetings, meetings and em, meetings. Load of people in love with their voices talking shit about nothing in particular.”
“You’re so cynical!”
“I know.”
“You ready for tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m off again. Bloody Glasgow. I could do without it.”
“Oh, I know.”
Elaine rested her head on his shoulder.
“So nothing exciting happened?” she asked.
“No,” said Marc, looking ahead with icy detachment. “Nothing whatsoever.”

Twenty-four hours later a silver land cruiser pulled into a lonely roadside parking bay. It stopped and the headlights went off. The bay was made from churned, gravelly tarmac with an ugly clump of tree’s surrounding it on one side. A few minutes later a smaller car passed by and came in by the other entrance and stopped opposite the jeep. Off went its headlights and a male figure got out, climbed over the fence and walked into the trees. Seconds later the occupant of the jeep also got out and followed the driver of the car.

The jeep’s driver was a man was average height, dark, handsome and muscular. He was a regular visitor to the lay by. It was the most convenient place to meet men who shared his private inclination. Most of its regular visitors he knew to see and like him were married with children hence the importance of secrecy and discretion. However now and again a stranger would turn up; someone from a neighbouring town or county passing through, a guy who was in the mood for some no strings attached homosexual fun. Marcus Burns, I.T. teacher, home owner, jeep driver, married to Natalie, and father of two was in the mood. The arrangements never altered. Wait until after midnight. Turn up at the bay. Stop. Wait. If another car comes make sure they are genuine. It could just be someone stopping for a rest. If they are genuine they will park opposite, get out and go into the trees. Then you follow. If in doubt flash your lights. Marcus did not recognise the car nor did he get a glimpse of the stranger but what he had seen was sufficient to arouse him. The stranger had wasted no time paving the way into the bushes. Marcus felt he was in for a good time.

In the centre of the trees was a type of clearing, not very big but sufficient for his purpose. Indeed it bore all the hallmarks of recent, clandestine homosexual encounters: beer can and bottles, used condoms, and flattened leaves where the deed took place. But it was empty. Marcus had expected to find the newcomer waiting for him here yet there was no sign of him. Perhaps being unfamiliar with the area he had strayed.
“Hello?” said Marcus. He whispered this call. It was unnecessary to speak so softly as there was no one else visible nearby in the middle of the night but maybe Marcus felt a degree of subconscious guilt in his very presence there and thus kept as quiet as possible in an instinctive way of assuaging it.
“Hello?” he called again.
No answer. Marcus looked around him. He could see nothing.
“Where are you mate?” he called, louder this time.
Again there was no answer or sound of any kind. Then, suddenly, he thought he heard someone approach just ahead of him so he took a step forward and unbuttoned his trousers.

Marcus heard a click. It came from within his head. The leaves on the ground seemed to approach rapidly but really he was falling on top of them. He groaned and made an effort to crawl. Then the metal bar that had struck the base of his skull came crashed down on his spine.
“Hello poof!” growled a voice. “Is this turning you on?”

12 years 6 months 2 days earlier….

The restaurant of Café de Napoli was empty bar one table. Nine people sat at it. Mum, dad, son, his pal, granddad, two girl cousins, auntie. And, beside the two early teenage boys at one end, newly wed Marcus. The young men bantered animatedly while the older man listened and surveyed them with a smug complexion. His nephew Conor was opposite him and to his left at the edge was the nephew’s friend who was the quieter of the two. Marcus’s attention was squarely fixed on the latter. The teenager’s conversation pertained to football.
“I still think Italy are the best in the world,” said Conor. “If they’d beaten France on penalties they’d have got to final and easily beaten Brazil.”
“I’m not sure,” said his friend. “Brazil are hard to beat on any occasion.”
“Yeah but they never do as well when the World Cup is held in Europe, apart from 1958,” interjected Conor.
“That’s true, I suppose
“Tell me this,” interrupted Marcus. “Why do you two love football so much?”
Conor went suddenly silent so Marc fumbled for an explanation and employed all the clichéd superlatives. Marcus was unimpressed.
“Are you sure there isn’t another reason lads?”
“How do you mean?” asked Marc whose sensitive expression anticipated some ulterior intent on Marcus’s part.
“Well,” continued Marcus confidently. “You and him are always talking about it, talking about all those big men, all those big sweating men running around in shorts.”
Both Conor and Marc blushed. Had either of the two been the least bit more wilful they could have shot Marcus down then and there but the older man knew the game he was playing and he knew it well. It was the very early piece of a process dubbed ‘grooming’. It was a long shot it was true but Marc was a potential ‘mark’ in the eyes of Marcus. A young, clearly sensitive adolescent like him could, with enough manipulation, be persuaded to discretely accommodate Marcus’s bisexual inclinations at the next family barbeque. There was one due the following Saturday and after that his brother, sister-in-law and their son Conor were heading home to Liverpool depriving him of any access to Conor’s buddy Marc who seemed joined at the hip to his scouse mate.
“I’m just saying Marc, that’s all,” laughed. “Maybe that’s why you like football so much, eh?”
Marc looked downcast.
“All these private conversations going on between you too,” smirked Marcus. “You two better be careful. Age of consent and all that, you know?”
Again the two teens remained silent, hoping it would dissuade him from continuing his immature and highly inappropriate discourse. It did. Eventually Marcus shook his head in frustrated amusement and turned his attention to the adults.
“Pair of poofs,” he hissed, inwardly frustrated at falling at the first hurdle of manipulation. Still, there would be others.

And there were other from what I’ve heard. But don’t worry. Heterosexual Marcus never molested me or spoke to me after that awful incident. Sadly the following November my best friend Conor and his parents died from Carbon Monoxide poisoning thus cutting off any contact with his extended family. Yet of all the immature people whose stupidity has blighted my life his uncle Marcus has to be one of the worst, if not THE worst! What kind of grown man would talk that way? He embarrassed me, humiliated me and enraged me. I let this last feeling grow over the years and promised myself that if I ever saw him again I’d give him a piece of my mind. For anyone to inflict their perverse intentions on any non-consenting individual is a despicable crime. It is a crime that must be punished. I knew where he lived but decided that destroying him would be more fun if inflicted in a more subtle way. And here’s how….

That he is bi was common knowledge. His agenda with me was confirmation enough. Yet more substantial rumours filtered down from the Golf Club bar about several incidents in the men’s toilets and one, highly embarrassing Freudian slip. It began with an innocent conversation on the topic of Italian cooking. “Do you like cooking Marcus?” asked a denizen of the bar. “Yeah I love cock. Cooking! I love cooking!” He was never made to forget about it. Now everyone in town knew that the glorified pit stop on the river road was a rendezvous point for secretive homosexuals. I had always intended to sort that hive out with a Molotov cocktail one Friday night but I decided to focus my efforts on the individual who had wronged me. Besides when the queers hear of a brutal attack on one of their own at that location it will dissuade them from polluting it in the future. I wasn’t surprised to see Burn’s jeep there when I scouted it out one evening but I would have to wait until he was there alone. Alone, just as dear old big ass McAvor was when she got her just deserts.

“I said hello poof! Is this turning you on?”
The metal bar descended sharply onto Marcus’s right shoulder blade with an almighty crack! He howled at the impact and his assailant watched and laughed softly.
“Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination. Leviticus 18:22.”
A further blow was discharged onto Marcus’s leg.
“Don’t you read the bible Marcus? It can justify violence against anyone or anything if you interpret it broadly enough and are stupid.”
Marcus continued to moan, face down in the muck. His groans managed to form a faint cry for help.
“Oh no you don’t!” yelled his attacker, applying the bar to his victim’s spine again.
Marcus sobbed uncontrollably.
“I’m enjoying this Marcus. I will laugh for a while and relish my deserved revenge. Then I’m going to beat you with my friend, the iron pipe, a few more times. After that I might shove a kitchen knife up your hole after I castrate you with it. It would be kinda symbolic of my ultimate victory over global gayness. We’ll wait and see what mood I’m in. I’m not really one for blood though if I had to be honest.”
And laugh he did. And beat him he did. But he did not carry out his last threat. The attacker grabbed Marcus by the ankles and hauled him through the thorns back to the car park.
“Good news Marcus. I’m not going to kill you.”
He kicked away the bottom rung of the fence, giving him room to pull his victim onto the coarse surface of the lay bay.
“There are fates worse than death.”
Marcus’s assailant wrestled him to his feet and threw him face down on the bonnet of his land cruiser. His hands were duly tied behind his back. Then his trousers and underwear were dropped to his ankles.
“Oh God,” he muttered.
“Oh God is right Marcus. Now before I go I’ve a letter to show you. Actually I’ll read it out loud.

Dear Natalie, Susan, Darren, mum, dad, everyone at work, home and the golf club.
How are you all? I hope each of you are well. I am recovering in hospital after being brutally attacked at a well known gay meeting point outside the town. Yes, it is true, all your suspicions have been correct: I AM bi. Mum, I’d better explain this for you. ‘Bi’ is this context is short for bisexual, bisexual being a perverse sexual orientation whereby an individual is sexually attracted to members of both sexes. In other words I am such a big, selfish pervert who likes to have sexual intercourse with both men and women. Sick isn’t it? So yes Natalie I have been cheating on you ever since our first date some 17 years back mostly with other men, actually, ENTIRELY with other men. But what can I say? I’m weak and need psychiatric help and, after today, urgent medical treatment. So now that the truth is out in the open we can go on living our lives just as we did before except it will be very very different. Won’t it kids?
Bye for now,
Marcus.

“Some letter you wrote there. Short and to the point, much like your penis.”
The man produced a solvent of black spray paint and began to write something on the jeep’s doors. When he had finished he said:
“So I will leave you to it Marcus. I’m going now, gotta get to the post box. You see I’ve made multiple copies of your letter and I’m going to send them to everyone you mentioned in it. Then it’s homeward bound for me: to sleep in a warm comfy bed. If anything this event will make you think twice about being a stupid, immature prick. Praise God and good luck.”
The man walked back to his car and as he opened the driver’s door called back.
“Hey! Everyone going to work will see your bare arse Marcus. Haha!”
When he was driving on the open road, some distance from the lay bay, Marc removed his balaclava and smiled. Back at the site Marcus’s groans mingled with the birdsong of the dawn. His hairy left knee brushed against the wet paint that comprised the last letter of the freshly written statement astride his silver jeep:

2 DOWN 4 TO GO

“How was Glasgee?” asked Elaine, stirring a pot of casserole.
“Glasgee was fantastic but very wet,” replied Marc giving her a kiss.
“As usual.”
“As usual but I love it. We should move up there.”
“No thanks, not sure I could speak the lingo.”
“Everything okay with you?”
“Yeah, alls quiet. Mum’s coming round.”
“Well it won’t be quiet for long then.”
Elaine chuckled and slapped him with a tea towel.

The following Friday Marc and Elaine took the day off and went to Sand Dunes Beach. Marc had deliberately picked that day of the week for he knew that at 11 a.m. another couple would be taking a customary walk there. They arrived in the green expanse that was the car park. Only one other car was there; a red hatchback emblazoned with a massive spoiler and double exhaust. Its windows were tinged, its suspension low and its personalised number plate professed its owner’s love for ‘HIPHOP’. No one was inside or anywhere nearby. Marc eyed the tyres.
“Yuck,” said Elaine. “Why do those chavs drive monstrosities? Hey, I’m off to the loo. You walk on, I’ll catch up!”
Right on que. Elaine jogged over to the small cottage toilet by the car park entrance. Marc knew she had a weak bladder and always needed the toilet after a car journey. She would be at least three minutes so went over to the red car and whipped out a torque wrench. He had done his research. The make of car required Bridgestone Potenza tyres, RE720 and he had come prepared with the appropriate tool to unfasten them. Less than two minutes later he had removed the two front hubcaps, partially loosened the four nut bolts on each one and carefully replaced the caps. When Elaine returned Marc was pouring over the route map attached to a fence at the perimeter of the nature reserve.
“All sorted?” he asked cheekily.
“Yep!” said Elaine clasping his proffered hand.

They walked to the beach by a wooden path through the dunes. Marc put on a woolly hat and a pair of sunglasses. At the point they arrived at the beach they were passed by a young man and woman of roughly their own age. The pair were crudely dressed in casual sportswear; tracksuits, trainers and baseball caps.
“Pair of spides,” whispered Marc with real venom.
“They’re only people,” said Elaine.
“Well, technically they are. They have two arms and two and that’s where the similarity ends. No better than animals as far as I’m concerned.”
Elaine squeezed his gloved hand.

13 years 7 months 20 days earlier….

Thursday afternoon meant it was time for P.E. class. Invariably the final year students spent the final two periods playing five-a-side soccer and the two captains selected their teams. Marc, while far from being the worst player, was picked last and the game was ready to start. Despite only being a contest of schoolboys the participants took their football seriously. Ties were competitive and often far from being friendly. On occasion fights broke out between the players therefore the P.E. teacher, Mr Cullen who also officiated as referee, knew to stay alert: the slightest of minor altercations and a full scale brawl could erupt.

Marc instinctively strayed into his favoured position of striker. Scoring goals felt good, it relaxed him. He had scored nine in fourteen games that year and was hungry for more. His team went a goal down early on but one of his team mates levelled the score just before the interval and five minute break. The game had been genuinely competitive and Marc relished the intense atmosphere on the pitch even though he had not seen much of the ball. Early in the second half he got his chance. He drifted to the far post in anticipation of a cross from Connolly, his team’s creative playmaker. The cross came and Marc prepared to leap and head it goal-ward. A second before contact could be made a vast shape came between him and the descending ball. Marc was knocked to one side and David Morgan, the tall, heavy-set defender casually nodded the ball into the grateful arms of his goalkeeper.
“Play on!” snapped Cullen as no foul had been committed. Marc had simple lost to Morgan’s physique. The big lad was unsporting. He did not offer Marc a hand to help him to his feet but instead imparted a mocking, exaggerated chuckle. Marc was annoyed but such was his immersion in the game Morgan’s conduct was like water of the proverbial duck’s back.

Two minutes later Marc collected the ball on the edge of the box, beat his man and pranged a shot against the post. The panicked defence eventually walloped it to safety. Morgan however showed no alarm.
“Hard luck sweetheart,” he jibbed at Marc.
The forward would get his revenge soon after. His team were enjoying a sustained spell of pressure and a neat flick from Connolly put Marc one on one with the opposition keeper. Marc dropped his left shoulder and the last line of defence went to ground. As he did Marc casually slotted the ball along the ground and into the net. 2 - 1.

Morgan’s face went sour.
“Come on lads!” he yelled, clapping his hands in an effort to rouse his teammates. Marc, pleased with himself, inadvertently made eye contact with his foe and Morgan’s interpretation of Marc’s apparently arrogant smirk fired him up even more. Morgan’s team launched a comeback. Every loose ball seemed to land with one of their players and they made several good chances. Then in the final minute Morgan himself burst forward in the penalty box, dodged a lunging tackle, swerved round the keeper and blasted the ball high into the goal.
“Fuck me!” swore Connolly.
Morgan went wild. His shirt went over his head and his acolytes cheered and grabbed hold of him but he kept running and only stopped when he came face to face with Marc.
“What about that you faggot? Ten times better than your shitty goal. Whoa!”
“John!” said Cullen with a look of warning.
Morgan slinked off to celebrate more.

Time was dying out for either team to get a winning goal but in the last few seconds Connolly once again rattled the ball deep into the opposition area. All their men bar the keeper were up for it. They jumped for the ball but it bounced down and came to Marc’s left foot. He met it beautifully first time with an exquisite half-volley and it sailed majestically into the upper right-hand corner of the goal. But Marc’s cry of triumph was cut short. A searing pain leapt up his right leg as an ungainly mass of flesh pressed violently against him, sending him to the Astroturf. A chorus of worried faces encircled him.
“Patrick”, shouted Cullen to Connolly. “Run in and get the office to ring for an ambulance! Now!”

John Morgan broke my right ankle. It healed ages ago but at times I sense a lingering pain. Perhaps it is psychosomatic. Perhaps not. But the fact is I feel the pain, a pain I need not have felt had evil, in the form of John Morgan, not entered into the world. Evil, in all its forms, must be confronted. John Morgan did not need to break my ankle. But he did. He did so because he is evil and stupid. And do you know what he did when he saw me lying in the dirt, howling, with my ankle bent the other way? He smiled. Smiled! What harm did I ever do to him? I never swore at him, never threatened him, never insulted a member of his family so let anyone explain to me, if they can, why he took it upon himself to single me out and inflict harm on me? There is no logical explanation. He is a metaphorical child of the devil. He was no worth, no value, there is nothing whatsoever that is good about him. Now he is underemployed, working as a part-time jack of all trades and going out with a whore. If they should ever breed it will mean more people like him. His offspring will be imbued with his working class “values” and inferior cultural norms thus perpetuating the cycle of continually reproducing the most debase and worthless grouping of humanity. Such people are neither needed nor wanted by society. What are the government going to do? Throw money at the problem? Allow them to live off benefits at the expense of hardworking taxpayers like me and Elaine? The answer is yes. So it is up to me to solve the problem. It is up to me to prevent it. It is up to me to destroy John Morgan. And I should be thanked for it.

Two hours later after their walk along the strand Marc and Elaine went into town for a seafood lunch before driving home. At the end of a long stretch of road two miles past the entrance to the nature reserve the traffic had been slowed down by a police operation. Blue lights, police tape and orange cones encased a column of drifting smoke atop a smouldering mass of twisted red metal. Police vehicles, personnel and an ambulance were at hand.
“Oh God. Nasty accident,” mouthed Elaine, wide-eyed.
Marc said nothing, absorbed as he was in his dark private thoughts. Then his own eyes sparked into attentive poise when, lying perfectly choreographed at the roadside, was another burnt piece of scrap metal. It read: ‘HIPHOP’. Marc bit his lip to prevent himself from laughing
That’s three. We’re halfway there.

“Awful business,” said Elaine, leafing through the paper.
“What?” asked Marc who was channel surfing.
“That woman up in Carbach.”
“The murdered one?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what about her?”
“It was awful.”
“How’d she die?”
“Oh I can’t read it,” said Elaine squeamishly, handing him the paper.
“Neither can I”, said Marc. “I knew her.”
“How?”
“I used to work with her.”
“Really? When?”
“A few years ago when I worked for the bank.”
“God! You never mentioned it Marc.”
“I’d no reason to. I didn’t like her very much.”
“What was she like?”
“A real bitch.”
“Hey now you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Why not? If someone is a bad person you say so. I don’t see many people speak good of Hitler except Neo-Nazis.”
“I’m sure she wasn’t that bad!”
“She was.”
“Watch it or I’ll start to think you were the one who knifed her!” giggled Elaine.
“Dam you caught me red-handed!” laughed Marc with a glance at his watch. “Anyway,” he said getting up, “I’m going to my bro’s to get that CD. See you later.”
“Kiss kiss?”
“Kiss kiss.”

Less than three miles away a petrol station was closing down for the night. Last to leave was the cashier, Carl. He was tall, blonde and twenty-one and only worked in the station to supplement his student loan. With a cocky wave and wink goodnight to his young female work colleague he went off down the main road turned left into a housing estate then scaled a chain link fence into the park. It was his short cut home. The park was a wide open space with few trees or bushes and was unintentionally lit up by the street lights on neighbouring thoroughfares. It was enough for Carl to see any potential hazards in front of him whether they were muggers or sexual predators. All was clear tonight and the young man swaggered confidently across the common. Not far ahead however he noticed a long black shape, lying to one side of his path. As he drew closer he saw that the shape had two feet sticking out one end of what was a long black coat. Its wearer was lying face down in the dewy grass. Carl’s pace slowed. Although he was an arrogant, self-righteous young man he was not without a degree of compassion. Indeed deep down he was already contemplating the gossipy banter he would exchange with his female friends about how he had helped the drunk guy in the park the other night. He stopped and leant over the figure.
“Umm, hey are you okay?”
The man on the ground moaned.
“Hello?”
Carl was hygiene conscious and as he was reluctant to touch him with his hands he gently nudged the tramp’s side with his boot. All he got in reply was another groan.
“Listen, are you okay there?”
No response came and Carl glanced around him pensively. There was no one in sight who could help him so he took out his mobile phone with the intention of calling for an ambulance. Before he could dial however the prostrate figure moved. He was attempting to stand up. Carl pocketed his phone and offered the down and out a hand. With difficulty he helped him to his feet. The man’s face was covered with a thick black scarf leaving only the eyes on display. Suddenly Carl was struck by their familiarity but he had no time to dwell on this.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to phone an ambulance?”
The man shook his head indicating ‘no’.
“Will you be alright? I’ve got to go home,” explained Carl.
“Yeah,” mumbled the man.
“Alright then. Take care,” said Carl turning away.
“Wait,” said the man. His voice had lost its guttural weariness causing Carl to turn back in surprised alarm but before he could do anything he felt as if his private parts had been pounded by a falling anvil. He lurched forward coughing profusely and rolled onto the wet grass. The man unleashed a cruel blow onto Carl’s ribs.
“Do I still look like a queer?” asked Marc as the scarf fell away from his face.

4 months 2 weeks 1 day earlier….

There was always a queue when Marc sought to buy petrol. Then after he had filled his tank with thirty pounds worth of unleaded there was another equally slow queue waiting to pay inside the mini-mart. On this September evening however the queue was light when he went in to pay for his fuel. Carl was manning the counter along with an attractive girl aged about twenty and the pair bantered and flirted back and forth as they dealt with the customers. Soon it was Marc’s turn. There was no one behind him and he slotted his credit card in the payment slot.
“Pump number?” asked Carl, put out at the frequent interruptions.
“Six,” answered Marc.
“Enter your PIN,” said Carl.
Marc pressed the four digits and the machine churned out his receipt which Carl handed to him.
“Thanks,” said Marc.
Carl went back to his important chat with the girl while Marc turned off down the first aisle as he had just remembered to buy some pasta as well. His hearing was always good and when he lifted the package from the self from around the corner he heard Carl’s rasping voice say:
“That guy looked like a fruitcake.”
Wasting no time Marc reappeared. Carl’s face went grey and he braced himself while the girl looked to the floor and tittered uncontrollably.
“This too,” said Marc presenting the pasta. The scanner bleeped in the awkward silence.
“One pound please,” said Carl. Marc set the coin down noisily upon the counter and threw the cashier a look of hate. Carl avoided his glare and muttered a thank you. Marc grabbed the pasta and walked slowly to the door. He stopped on the threshold and looked back at the pair.
“Fruitcake fuck!” he shouted.
Then he went to his car without waiting for their reaction. Driving out of the forecourt he snuck a glance through the vast windows to see Carl and the girl in fits of laughter.

Enough said.

Carl made an effort to parry Marc’s next blow but the youth’s weak, lanky frame made it impossible. A barrage of fists reigned down on Carl’s bloody mouth. When a few of the teeth were wobbling Marc stopped. He yanked out a rucksack from a nearby hedge and opened it. The next thing Carl’s blurred vision saw was a cake. He discerned shards of cherry, raisins, nut and orange amidst the yellow crumble.
“Fruitcake?” asked Marc. “Care for a slice of fruitcake.”
Carl’s scared face and bloodshot eyes bobbled as Marc pulled the young man up to get a better look.
“Yeah? Alright!”
Marc tugged Carl backwards then rammed him forward, slamming his face deep into the cake. He cackled uncontrollably. Carl was let collapse and the cake disintegrated as Marc went to the rucksack and came back with a red canister. It was labelled ‘Red Diesel’. Marc dug his right boot into Carl’s stomach causing his to sprawl back onto the grass. His attacker took a fist full of fruitcake and stuffed it into Carl’s mouth. One of his teeth fell off as Marc removed his right hand which he then used to uncap the canister.
“Thirsty?”
He held Carl’s head down with his left hand and poured the liquid all over his face. It was enough for the young man to make one last desperate effort to escape but a multitude of unmerciful blows were applied to his stomach. Carl lay back and whimpered. His murderer struck a match and tossed it into his blonde hair. The resultant flame covered his head instantly. A coarse wail tried to emanate from Carl’s lungs and he frantically tried to put out the fire with his hands which in turn were scorched. Marc stepped forward and poured the remaining three litres onto his dying victim who could not even stand up. The fire blazoned with the extra petroleum, rapidly consuming the upper portion of Carl’s long, thin body. Marc threw the empty canister at Carl. It bounced off his blackening head and Marc gathered up the rucksack, threw his scarf around his face and disappeared into the empty park as Carl burned and died.
“Thanks for the petrol,” said Marc softly.

It was a Saturday Morning. Guests were coming to the house for dinner that evening.
“Are you sure you want to do the cooking?” asked Elaine.
“I am one hundred per cent sure,” said Marc laying out his kitchen utensils.
“I could help if you like”, offered Elaine.
“You could but you won’t.”
“Okay I’ll sort the wine out then.”
“Yeah, you do that. It’s your department. All the cooking will be done by me cos it has to be done right.”
“I’ll ignore that.”
“Good girl.”
“Now remind me what’s on the menu.”
“First up; segments of melon. Mains; choice of fish or chicken cutlets with basmati rice in a sweet and sour sauce. Desert: ice cream sundaes.”
“Sounds yum.”
“It is yum.”
“I’m sure they’ll love it.”
“Course they will. Even if they don’t they will say they loved it just to be polite. I don’t care as long as I like it.”
“Marc!” laughed Elaine, amused at his cynicism.
“You think I’m joking. Now it’s just the two of them, yeah?”
“Yep, just David and Angelique.”
“David and Angelique. Angelique and David. How nice.”
“It’s still going strong. Don’t say anything but there’s talk of wedding bells.”
“Really? How wonderful. Yawn.”
“Umm hmm. And they’ve been going out no time.”
Marc studied a melon he’s just whipped out from the fridge.
“What about us? Three years and I’m still waiting for the question.”
“Hmm? Oh yes, sorry about that.”
Marc got down on one knee.
“Elaine, will you do me the honour….of running to the shop for the rice?”
“Oh!”
She laughed, slapped him gently and went to get her coat.

1 year earlier….

A sheen of intense golden light immersed the broad vista of Phang Nga Bay at noon. The sea gleamed silver blue and lapped to the white shore and around the feet of epic towers of rock further out. Marc dug his feet into the hot sand and smiled as a tall Negro beauty in a red bikini passed by.
“Dam fine,” hushed Marc.
“Not bad,” said David, who sat to his left.
“She’s spoken for. I saw her with some German guy in the bar,” said Marc.
“Dang!” said David.
“You’ve got a hottie anyway mate, nicer looking than mine.”
“Oh, hi Elaine!” said David waving to a space behind Marc’s lounge chair. His friend started then smiled upon realisation of David’s mirthful hoax.
“No sign of them?”
“Nah, there’s a queue at the bar,” said David.
“Well, here’s to sitting in the sun drinking,” proffered Marc.
“Cheers!”
“Cheers big ears.”
“Not at all small balls.”
“Thanks!”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Ah, that’s good!” said Marc having sunk the last of his red cocktail.
“I want another. Do you?”
“Yeah and it’s your turn to. Thought they’d be back by now.”
“Keep your hands off that black beauty,” said David getting up and heading in the direction of the bar.
“I don’t see any horses,” called Marc as he began to doze.

Moments later his lips were met by another pair. He opened his eyes to see a slinky, attractive Thai girl in a multicoloured bikini leaning over him.
“Angelique!”
He gently pushed her away and looked frantically over his shoulder.
“Be careful!” he whispered. “They could come back any time!”
“Don’t worry,” said the girl brushing her tiny olive hand through his short hair. “I don’t see them.”
“Doesn’t matter, they could see us.”
“Pity,” she said sitting down with a hump in the chair that had been occupied by David. Marc clasped her wrist.
“I promise you before we go we’ll have time together. Just you and me,” he said soothingly. Angelique was unconvinced.
“Hard,” she said. “Elaine and David will always be around.”
“It won’t be easy but what do you expect?”
Angelique folded her arms and looked out across the bay. Marc, feeling guilty, moved closer to her.
“Hey now. You know I love you. I’ve got in over my head with Elaine. Things have moved to fast. She’s loud and brash; British and Irish women are like that. But you’re quiet, feminine and gentle. I just want to take care of you. You deserve it.”
“So why do you stay with her?”
“The same reason any man would.”
Angelique grinned.
“Sex,” she said.
Marc’s mildly embarrassed smile confirmed her easy guess. He did not object when she wriggled her hand into his.
“There’s more to life,” she said happily.
“Couldn’t agree more. Cut me some slack though, I’m a bloke,” chided Marc.
“You need a plan,” she said.
“Sorry?”
“A plan to dump her.”
“I do but I can’t do it out here,” said Marc referring to Phuket. “When we all get home I’ll see to it. Wouldn’t be nice to get rid of her on holiday would it?”
“No,” said Angelique. “Wait until we are back in Europe. It’s not fair to dump a girl on vacation. I will say goodbye to David too then you and I can be boyfriend, girlfriend together.”
“Promise me?”
“Yes honey, I promise you. And you promise me you’ll throw Elaine?”
“Promise.”
She ran her hand up his thigh. He pulled her close and kissed her.
“Let them see us,” he said. “I don’t care.”

At the kitchen counter Marc poured himself a glass of Chianti. His tongue jostled the red fruity wine around his mouth and he raised an eyebrow in satisfaction. Setting down the glass he went outside returning a minute later with a litre-big transparent canister containing an equally transparent liquid. It had an amber and black skull and crossbones label with ‘H2SO4’ stamped below. He opened the container and placed it on the sink. Marc then took an eye dropped from the cutlery drawer, removed its plug at the top and immersed it into the water-like substance in the container. When the dropper was filled he fastened it, sealed the canister and took it outside again, putting it in the garden shed. Returning to the kitchen he thoroughly yet gently wiped the dropper dry and cleaned the part of the worktop he had set it on. After wrapping the dropper in his hankie he gingerly wrapped it in a piece of toilet tissue, stuffed it in his shirt pocket then went upstairs to the toilet where he scrubbed his hands. Suitably cleaned he went back to the kitchen to find that Elaine had arrived home triumphantly with the basmati rice.

10 months 3 weeks 6 days earlier….

Marc sat alone in an isolated corner of the quiet coffee shop. He had read the headline article of The Guardian half a dozen times as he waited in nervous apprehension. When she finally arrived she was ten minutes late. Despite the day being grey and ridden with a consistent drizzle Angelique slinked into the café wearing thick sun glasses. Marc laughed and waved for her to come over. He stood up and kissed her on the cheek as she sat down.
“We can be seen from the street,” she said warily.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Marc. “We’ll say we met by chance if word gets back to either of them. We can say tell them that anyway, it will seem honest.”
Angelique looked unconvinced and distracted.
“What’s the matter?” asked Marc.
“Nothing,” she answered, looking over her shoulder and out the window to the damp scene outside.
Marc took her by the hand.
“So how’s everything?”
“Good,” she said softly. “David is a… he’s fine.”
Marc’s brow darkened.
“You’re still sleeping with him?”
“I have to!” she said. “Until my VISA clears. He’d throw me on the street if he knew of us. I’m sorry dear.”
Marc looked galled.
“I suppose there’s nothing else you can do,” he said, trying to rationalise it.
“If there was I’d do it,” she said insistently.
Angelique brightened out of politeness when the waitress appeared and took her order, her forlorn look reemerging when the two were alone again.
“Well,” began Marc venturing a smile, “at least we’re still on track. It’s just going to take longer before we can come out in the open. No point hurting either of them if they ever found out about us.”
“What about Elaine? You said you would leave her.”
“I know but I need confirmation that you’ll break it off with him.”
Angelique released his hand. She did not look pleased.
“You don’t trust me,” she said in a flat tone.
“I do. I just can’t rush things.”
“Okay,” said Angelique. “Promise me you don’t love her.”
“How could I love her? She’s a….”
“Yes?”
“She’s ugly!”
Angelique laughed.
“So why do you sleep with her if you think she’s ugly?”
“You got me,” smiled Marc.
“It’s okay you don’t have to say why. You are a man, I understand.”
“I need someone to keep me company.”
“One day you will have me. I will move in with you.”
“And I can’t wait.”
There followed only a mildly awkward silence. Angelique was served her Chai tea and Marc’s coffee was generously refilled. She moved closer to him.
“Marc. When I’m in bed with him I think of you.”
“Angelique, say no more please.”
“I just want you to know Marc.”
“I appreciate you thinking that way it’s just the thought of you and him….”
“Shhh”, whispered Angelique, interrupting him. “I know, I know.”
“It’s hard,” he said.
“It’s harder for me. Do you think I like him making love to me?”
Marc closed his eyes tightly.
“Do you enjoy making love to Elaine?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“If I’m honest, sometimes. With her though it’s just physical. There’s no emotion at my end. When I’m with you Angel you get my body and my heart. It’s you I want.”
Angelique warmly seized his hand again.
“I want you as my wife Angelique,” he concluded.
The girl melted as these words and dug her manicured nails into his hands.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Content, she moved her chair right next to his and put her head on Marc’s shoulder.
“That’s all I need to know,” she purred.
“You’d be happy with me?”
“I would. Absolutely.”

Bull.

The wok sizzled as Marc dashed it with chunks of chicken and strips of whiting mixed with green and red peppers, shards of onion, basil and assorted herbs. In an adjacent pots the rice boiled amidst overflowing white bubbles while the sweet and sour sauce simmered appetisingly. Elaine busied herself by primly setting the dining room table before disappearing upstairs to dress up for their dinner party.
“Nice outfit,” said Marc upon her return.
“You gonna get changed?”
“Maybe later, have to get this shit cooked.”
“Love it when you refer to food like that,” said Elaine.
“Table set?”
“Yeah, all done.”
“Okay, keep an eye on the grub and I’ll go and alter my clothing.”

6 Months 1 week 1 day earlier….

Man and woman were alone in the park. A mist spilled down from the heavens and covered everything but them. It filled the air with a lukewarm moistness that served to make Marc uncomfortably warm. He was worried as well. Angelique walked at his side, arms crossed, head down. Her body language radiated an awkward discomfort, one that was caused not by the weather but by her thoughts and circumstances. At last Marc broke the silence.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he said softly yet somewhat plaintively.
“It’s complicated,” said Angelique reluctantly, keeping her eyes on the rocky path underfoot
“David?”
“The truth is I feel different about him now.”
“Feel better or worse?”
“Well, better,” said Angelique apologetically.
A dumbfounded silence followed in the wake of her revelation. David’s heavy breath mingled with the sound of churning gravel from each step he took. He was too upset to speak.
“I have been living with him for nearly a year. He’s been so good to me.”
“So have I,” interjected Marc.
“You have, I won’t deny it.”
“So what’s changed your mind?”
“He has. I just don’t want anyone to get hurt. If I leave him now and you leave Elaine; that’s no good.”
“What about me?” asked Marc. “I’m hurt by your decision,” he said, already able to taste the salty tears that formed behind his eyes.
Angelique stopped and bade him to do the same. She put her hands on his arms that hung, almost limp, by sides.
“I’m sorry,” she began. “If you think about it Marc, what we did was just a bit of casual fun. It was nothing serious.”
“Casual,” repeated Marc under his breath.
“It was like we were teenagers having a secret love affair.”
“So it meant nothing to you?”
Angelique looked away.
“At the start it did.”
“But not now,” said Marc, her silence confirming this belief.
“It might have been different Marc.”
“It can still be different!”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. It’s gone on too long. I need to forget it and just have a stable life: no more affairs or worries.”
“And you’d rather be with him than me?”
“Don’t say it like that. We had our time, now we have to be realistic,” said Angelique with flummoxed diplomacy.
“You’d rather be with boring David than me,” stated Marc coldly.
“I don’t find him or you boring,” she countered.
“I should have known it was too good to be true,” he said with bitter wistfulness
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Won’t be the first time a girl’s broke my heart.”
Marc paused and took a breath of the misty air.
“But it will be the last.”
“What do you mean?” asked Angelique, her voice ridden with concern.
“Not for you to worry about.”
“Don’t do anything stupid!” she said. “Promise me you won’t.”
“No,” he answered. “The last time I promised you something you didn’t keep your side of the bargain.”
Angelique extricated herself.
“I’ve no answer to that,” she said. “I’m going to be late for work Marc.”
“Okay,” he said, utterly resigned. “Off you go. Leave me here all by myself in the fog.”
“Marc! Don’t stay here,” she pleaded. “We’ll walk back to the avenue.”
He declined her suggestion with an adamant shake of his head.
“I have to go now.”
“Then go,” he said, rooted to the spot.
“We can still be good friends.”
“That old cliché. Jesus!”
“Pardon?”
“Of course we can.”
“I’ll speak to you soon,” said Angelique. She stood on her toes and pressed her lips on his cheeks.
“Bye then,” he said.
“Don’t stay here Marc,” she implored.
“Bye.”
“Bye, see you soon.”
Angelique turned her back on him and walked off into the white vapour. Left in solitude Marc resembled a statue. An unfathomable length of traumatic time passed for him before he said aloud:
“Everyone who has ever hurt me will die.”

Whether you are a man or a woman there is no worse emotional feeling than rejection. Love, for better or worse, is a driving force. The desire for love, when at its zenith, is powerful. A man’s longing for companionship consumes him. It makes him do things he would normally consider unthinkably stupid. When your life reaches a point of apparent stability and happiness you relax. You also get complacent. You think nothing can upset your plans, your hopes or your dreams. But in this I was fatally naïve. I will admit it. Yet I would rather be naïve than evil. And I am not evil. I have administered moral justice four times. I should be thanked by mankind. God Himself should high five me.

When one’s hopes for happiness fill your heart and soul day and night it brings one to an altered layer of consciousness. The more sensitive among us lend it mythic qualities and when the less sensitive among us dash your dreams it is enough to drive you mad with perpetual grief. There is an old saying, “all’s fair in love and war.” This is a lie, an old lie. I assume it is meant to be construed with amused cynicism because, of course, all is NOT fair in love and war. When someone whom you think loves you leads you astray, uses you, abuses you and finally breaks your heart it is a feeling tantamount to death itself. And it is no wonder, therefore, that people have been known to kill for love. It is no wonder that I will kill again. This time for love. Ironic, isn’t it?

Essentially it was love that brought about this new chapter in the book of my life. Love for an angel started it, love for my own self-respect took it to a new, revolutionary extreme. My mind wandered back down my thirty years and found the most evil souls who ruined me: Karen McAvor, aka big ass McAvor. This fat ugly bitch nearly destroyed both my self-esteem and working career. Now that she is six foot under she will never bully anyone else. Marcus Burns. Ah, sexually normal Marcus. What need I say about him or John Morgan who was nothing more than a gorilla anyway? As for the smug looking prick at the petrol station young men like him deserve to be severely punished. I was his customer and just to impress some floozy with an IQ of three he insults me behind my back! David? I don’t actually hate him but he is culpable and will pay with him meaningless life. They can all thank a little girl from Siam for showing me the light. For showing me, inadvertently I must add, that whatever emotional or physical harm you inflict on someone be prepared to pay for it. Be prepared to face a conscionable rage that burns within my very soul and reduces all alleged morality to scrap heap of so-called hip culture of loose women, men with a handful of brain cells and young people who speak before they think. I am addicted to rage. Rage clarifies and upholds man’s true nature. Rage, of all the seven deadly sins, is at least an honest vice. Rage can justify anything. Sad but true.

Dinner was ready, the table set and the hosts dressed to kill. Their guests were only a few minutes late and arrived with jovial apologies and a bottle of wine.
“That’s for being late,” laughed David handing it to Elaine.
“Ta!” said Elaine. “Hey Ange!”
She warmed embraced the diminutive Angelique who automatically complicated the hostess on her outfit. David shook hands with the silent Marc.
“Well mate, how’s the world treating you?”
“Couldn’t be better,” said Marc stoically. “And you?”
“Life is good,” grinned David.
Elaine greeted David and as she did Marc and Angelique exchanged uneasily knowing glances.
“Angelique.”
“Hello Marc.”
It was only the second time he had laid eyes on her since that day in the park.

1 month 3 days earlier….

Surplus Sports Warehouse was the cheapest sporting retail store in a hundred mile radius. Those seeking to economise came in their hordes to purchase inexpensive clothes, footwear (mainly trainers or football boots), holdalls and just about any sporting accessory under the sun. Tonight however it was far from busy and in one of the lonely aisles Marc was shopping. He had already selected two pairs of sturdy black hiking boots and now sought something to complement them in matching colour. It did not take him long to find what he was looking for: the tracksuits were flying off the rails for a measly £15 or two for £22.
“Chavs eat your heart out! I bet John Morgan buys his shit here.”
He picked out a plain black tracksuit and held it up to the light to get a better look. It was exactly what he wanted. It had no trace of any other colour and even the manufacturer’s logo was a dark, barely recognisable indentation. It was perfect for moving by stealth at night. Satisfied he selected two of the black tracksuits in his size. Marc hated shopping at the best of times so he headed straight to the checkout.
“Marc!” called a familiar voice. He stopped and looked over his shoulder to see the familiar petit shape of Angelique.
“Good evening,” he said. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she said brightly, “I just called in here on my way home.”
“It’s a great place for cheap stuff,” said Marc, “especially socks!”
“Really?” chuckled Angelique. “I was actually looking for new sneakers. I’ve taken up jogging again.”
“That’s good!” said Marc.
“What about you?” she asked, seeing the bundle he carried. “Looks like you have been busy!”
“Yeah I just got some boots and tracksuits for some murders I’m going to commit.”
“Oh!”
Despite English not being her first language Angelique was sufficiently acclimatised to appreciate the often dark and cynical sense of humour demonstrated by some inhabitants of her adopted country. She duly interpreted Marc’s outrageous response as a bizarrely innocent exclamation.
“Well,” she stammered, “I hope you won’t kill me!”
“You? Never. I still love you. How have you been anyway?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said about to object to his blunt profession of love but he asked his next question before she could.
“And David?”
“He’s good.”
“Good.”
“Elaine?”
Marc rolled his eyes.
“Don’t ask.”
Angelique was about to question him further about her friend when Marc interrupted her.
“Why don’t you and David come over for dinner some night?”
“That would be very nice,” smiled Angelique.
“When suits you?”
“I’m not sure. I’d have to speak to David. Why don’t you talk to Elaine and we can arrange it for some weekend.”
“Great! I will.”
“Can’t do the weekend of the twelfth,” said Angelique looking thoughtful, we’re going to a B and B for Valentine’s day.” Marc bit his tongue. “But maybe the weekend after that,” she concluded brightly.
“Fantastic! Listen it’s been nice seeing you Angelique but I’ve got to zip,” said Marc whose bundle was beginning to weight him down.
“No problem Marc. I will SMS Elaine, ok?”
“You do that love,” he said moving off to the payment area, swaggering in a crab-like motion.
Angelique laughed, waved goodbye then resumed her search for shoes, grateful that he had not broached their old affair any further.

In the car park Marc opened the boot of his vehicle and put in the bag containing the black tracksuits and boots. He set it next to the other purchases he had made over the last few days: a black woolly hat, a black balaclava, a calibrated torque wrench, plastic lining, a canister of red diesel and a similar container labelled ‘H2SO4’.

The dining room was ambient. It was lit by many fresh, mildly scented candles and barely audible classical music was playing. The diner’s were enjoying their first course.
“Is that Wagner?” asked David
“Mendelssohn. Hebrides,” answered Marc.
“As in the Outer Hebrides?”
“Yes.”
“Tasty!” said Angelique. “Who cooked?”
Elaine pointed to Marc.
“I didn’t cook the melon Angelique,” laughed Marc. “I just chopped the bastard up.”
The others, though liberal minded, were quietly surprised at Marc’s uncharacteristic expletive.
“It’s only the beginning, wait until you sink your teeth into the main event,” he added with a wink.
“Why can’t you be like Marc, David? Why don’t you cook for me?” teased Angelique.
“Yeah David,” said Marc, “why don’t you?”
“I would if I have the time.”
“Any excuse eh Dave?” joked Elaine.
“I love cooking,” commented Marc. “I just can’t get enough of it.”
“You should have been a chef hun,” said Elaine.
“I know, could have opened my own restaurant.”
“You still could,” said David.
“Maybe one day,” said Marc, privately annoyed at the superfluousness of the conversation. Everyone had finished. Marc gathered the plates and went to the kitchen to finalise the main course.
“Who wants wine?” he called back.
“All of us!” replied Elaine.
Marc poured four glasses. Then he took a tissue from his shirt pocket.

As the four friends tucked into their meals silence fell. It was caused not by lack of conversation but pleasure at the quality of the food.
“Marc, this is so good!” said Angelique with genuine satisfaction.
“Yeah mate,” agreed David, “best stir fry I’ve had in a long while.”
“Thank you both. Elaine, would you care to compliment me on my cooking?”
“No, but I’ll go one better and make a toast.”
She held up her glass that was brimming with red wine. Angelique and David did the same. Marc, slightly embarrassed, followed suit.
“To Marc for giving us a fantastic meal!” proposed Elaine.
“Cheers!” said David.
“Chok dee ka!” said Angelique merrily.
Marc watched them sip their drinks before he slowly savoured his own. He smiled briefly.
“That’s that,” he said. “Thanks babe.”
Elaine winked at him as she raised her glass again. Marc coughed and said:
“Can anyone tell me where the four of us where one year ago today?”
Elaine and Angelique’s brows creased in thought.
“Phuket?” ventured David.
“Phuket,” confirmed Marc. “We were all sitting on the beach at about this time.”
“You’ve a great memory hun,” said Elaine. “How come you remember?”
“It was a very special day,” he replied, eyeballing Angelique who bowed her head.
“How so?” asked David.
“It just was. I’ve fond memories of that day.”
“It was a terrific holiday. We should do it again some time,” said Elaine who followed up her statement with a rough cough.
“You ok dear?”
“Yeah I’m fine. Bit of shrimp must have gone the wrong way.”
“Eat slowly, enjoy it,” said Marc.
“I loved our time out there,” said David. “That was your last trip home wasn’t it sweetheart?”
“This is my home now,” smiled Angelique.
“That holiday changed my life,” said Marc. “I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for it.”
The others looked at him questioningly.
“Sun, sea, sand, gorgeous food. You can’t beat it. All those lovely Thai beauties. I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
“Not if I can help it,” laughed Elaine, only mildly wounded by his remarks.
“It opened your eyes then Marc?”
“Sorry?”
“Last year’s trip?”
“Ah, it did indeed David. Opened my mind too. It put things in perspective. Ultimately it made me realise that if life deals you a bad hand you don’t take it sitting down.”
Marc’s tone was becoming increasingly serious while his words were ambiguously mysterious.
“Take it easy love, you’ve only had one glass!” said Elaine with amusement.
“Don’t worry babe, I’ll be alright.”
“Good times,” agreed David. “We should go back to Phuket for our honeymoon.”
“David!” said Angelique. The young woman looked angst. David mouthed the F-word at his verbal faux pas.
“Guys?” smiled Elaine.

Angelique brightened.
“Yeah it’s true,” she said. “We have got engaged. We were going to keep it private for a while longer but.... now you know.”
“Oh babes!” squealed Elaine, getting up to give her pal a true hug.
Marc starred ahead blankly.
“You next Dave!” said Elaine, hugging him in turn. “Congratulations!”
“Thanks Elaine.”
She sat down again with aplomb.
“Well, that’s some news isn’t it Marc?”
“Certainly is. To think my old pal David would finally get hitched.”
“A lot of girls will be jumping off bridges at the news,” said David.
Angelique slapped him playfully.
“Sad but true hun,” he added with a smile.
“Well Angelique, and Dave, this calls for another toast,” said Marc. Once this second salutation had been drunk Elaine espoused further congratulations. Suddenly she put her fingers to her forehead and frowned.
“You okay?” asked Angelique.
“It’s my head. My eyes too.”
“Is it sore?”
“It’s manageable, I’ll be alright.”
“Are you sure about that?” asked Marc almost theatrically and with no trace of concern. Only Angelique noticed the oddness of his remark.
“So,” spluttered Elaine. “Have you set a date?”
“We’re thinking of May or June,” answered David.
“Oh, you guys aren’t wasting any time!” said Elaine.
“Nah, there’s no point dragging it out,” groaned David. “Just get it over with. Weddings cost enough as it is.”
“Ouch!” giggled Elaine as she saw Angelique’s unimpressed reaction to her fiancée’s words. Discussion over its location, cost and potential guests ensued before Elaine brought Marc’s lingering thoughts back down to earth.
“And here I am still waiting for someone to ask me the same question!”
“Just biding my time,” said Marc, “just bidding my time.”
He was indeed biding his time in more ways than one.
“She won’t wait forever Marc!” joked Angelique.
“No indeed she won’t. While patience is indeed a virtue time waits for no man,” said Marc. “You never know when death may strike. As the man Himself said, ‘it will come like a thief in the night’.”
“Who said that?” asked David.
“Jesus Christ,” replied Marc, taking another sip of wine. Elaine rubbed her eyes. She seemed weary.
“Speaking of death, if you’ll forgive me for being so macabre, apparently the cops are clueless as to who did those murders,” said David.
“I’m not surprised. The police couldn’t catch AIDS,” muttered Marc.
“That’s assuming there were done by the same person.”
“So there was the woman McAvor and….”
“Carl Smallman.”
“How did he die?”
“You don’t want to know mate,” said David with a shuddering sigh.
“Gruesome I heard,” said Marc.
“You knew her, didn’t you Marc,” said Elaine with real tiredness.
“Hmm?”
“McAvor, you worked with her you said.”
“You did?” asked David.
“Yeah, for my sins.”
“Did you know her well?”
“I knew her well enough to know that she was scum!”
“God!” breathed David. For a moment he looked unconvinced. “You’re joking?”
“No,” replied Marc.
“She must have got under your skin mate,” said David, somewhat embarrassed.
“Not a pleasant woman, one of the worst human beings I have ever met….”
“Marc!” pleaded Elaine. “Could you stop talking that way?”
“Absolutely. I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead or the living.”
“Well regardless of your personal feelings mate I hope they catch whoever did it. She didn’t live that far away. The guy who did it could be lurking around here,” said David.
“Guy? Why do people always assume it’s a man? It’s sexist,” said Marc indignantly.
“Maybe it is sexist but when you look at the numbers….” David’s voice petered out. He set down his knife and fork and put his head in his hands.
“I don’t feel so good either Elaine,” he moaned.
“Is it your head?” mumbled Elaine.
“My eyes and my head,” confirmed David.
“Me too.”
Angelique, with a worried look, touched her man’s hand.
“Will you be okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, probably just a migraine. Do you have any Paracetamol Marc?”
“I’ll check. Do you want some Elaine?” asked the host, getting up.
“Yeah, please. Not sure I can finish this,” she answered, meaning her dinner. “Sorry hun.”
“It’s okay,” said Marc, lifting her plate.
“I’ll hold onto mine for now mate,” said David leaning back in his chair.
Marc fetched the tablets from a kitchen cupboard and gave them two each. While it could well have been the psychological benefit of consuming the pills the pair seemed a little better a few minutes later.
“That hit the spot,” said David. “But I’m still not one hundred percent.”
“Me neither,” groaned Elaine.
“More desert for us Angelique,” winked Marc. The young woman remained concerned.
“Do you want to go home,” she asked David.
“If I still feel bad in half an hour, yes.”
“I just hope it wasn’t something in the food but the chicken was cooked thoroughly,” said Marc innocently.
“No, you’re right it was perfect,” said Elaine.
David was rallying.
“Great meal mate but I can’t eat any more,” said David. “When you two come to our house for dinner I promise not to poison you.”
Marc laughed loudly. Elaine coughed violently.
“I’m going to be sick!” she croaked.
Her boyfriend leapt to his feet and went to help her.
“We’ll get you upstairs. You can lie down,” said Marc. Elaine rose reluctantly.
“Folks, I’m so sorry about this,” she said.
“Don’t apologise,” said Angelique. “Need help?”
“We’ll be alright Angelique, finish your dinner,” he said.

Elaine was violently sick into the toilet bowl and she clung silently to it for several minutes until Marc urged her to go to bed. Once she was lying down she claimed not to feel any better.
“Marc, I think I should go to the hospital,” she said in a broken voice. He did not answer.
“You fat ugly cow,” he said softly.
Elaine did not hear him.
“Hospital Marc,” she uttered. “Hospital.”
“Too late for that.”
“How?”
“If there was any chance of saving you,” he said calmly, “then we should have gone ages ago.”
With an effort Elaine opened her fearful eyes. This was not the upbeat, positive man she loved.
“You are dying,” he whispered.
Her blue eyes contracted as if they sought to ask him how he knew this.
“The stuff I dripped in your wine,” he explained. “First comes tiredness. Then your tummy goes all queasy followed by a splitting headache. Finally sight loss and death.
“Marc,” she whimpered. “Help.”
“Elaine, listen!” he said adamantly yet careful not to raise his voice. He knew that out of politeness Angelique and David would not leave until he had returned downstairs so he took his time.
“Listen, you are a disgusting pig. You are fat, you are boring. I would never have married you! The only fucking reason I stayed with you was because you gave a dam fine blow job!”
“Marc!” she repeated. “Help me.”
“No, I haven’t finished telling you everything. The second thing I want to tell you is that this time last year, at this very exact moment perhaps, Angelique and I were having sex on the beach and by that I don’t mean the drink! I had a great time with her. I wanted her not you! I still want her but it may be too late,” he ended thoughtfully.
Elaine was too ridden with pain to fully hear or comprehend his rant and she once again begged for help.
“If that revelation doesn’t kill you Elaine this one will,” he whispered spitefully. “Those murders. I did them! I killed them. McAvor and the prick in the park! That gay guy Burns who was beat beyond recognition; again, me! That accident we saw at the sand dunes; I loosened the front tyres because the guy who owned that chav mobile broke my ankle thirteen years ago. Now him and his bitch are dead! So you now know the truth Elaine. How does it feel?”
Elaine had closed her eyes. Her breathing quickened.
“Reqiscat in pace, loved one,” he said, reaching for a pillow.

I hadn’t planned this at the start. However it was necessary to spare her the resulting scandal and life time of torment. She would worry about what other people think when the truth comes out. Did she know about my intentions? Was she complicit? All nonsense of course but women are concerned about what other people think. I’m not.

“Elaine’s gone to sleep,” reported Marc. “She won’t be getting up again.”
“That’s a pity,” said Angelique.
“Yeah, well the three of us will have to keep the party going.”
“I’m not sure mate,” groaned David. “I feel like shite.”
“We must go home Marc, I’m so sorry we can’t stay,” said Angelique.
“David, you look awful mate,” said Marc. “Before you go you should lie down.”
David got up immediately and sprawled over to the long couch by the wall and lay down on it.
“What a weakling,” said Marc.
David did not hear him but Angelique did.
“What’s that word? I don’t know it.”
“Never mind girl,” replied Marc. He strode over to the sofa with clenched fists.
“What are you doing?” cried Angelique.
David, lying face up, starred at his friend with groggy eyes.
“God, this feels awful,” he said.
Marc glared at him.
“Up.”
“Huh?”
“Get up.”
“Marc, what?”
Marc did not repeat his demand. Instead he raised his right fist and crashed it down onto David’s ribcage. His panged response caused Angelique to rush over but by the time she did Marc inflicted an equally ferocious blow with his left hand.
“Stop!” screamed Angelique, trying to push Marc away. It was a valiant yet hopeless attempt. Marc blocked her with his right arm and sent several punches down on David’s exposed face.
“Far too easy!”
“Bastard!” yelped Angelique.
Her insult caused Marc to thrust her away. She toppled backwards and crashed into the dining table, sending food, plates and candles clattering floor-ward.
“You stole her from me!” yelled Marc, as he continued his assault on David. To Angelique a distressing few minutes passed by in an agonising blur. Before her the sight of Marc killing her boyfriend was imprinted on her mind as though it were a still image. She shut her eyes in despair.

“Have you ever seen someone die before your very eyes Angelique? If not then you’re about to!”
She found herself being dragged along the coarse floor. Next she was hauled to her feet. Angelique prised open her eyes to see David impart his last breath as. His face was swollen and bruised, his eyes livid in fear; the consequence of both the poison Marc had dripped into his wine and the abuse his body had endured. She raced to his side and held his still-warm hands that slumped across his torso. Marc watched her, unmoving. When she produced her mobile phone he sprung. Grabbing it from her he went and sat down, listening as the young woman from Thailand wept.
“This couldn’t have been scripted any better,” said Marc with a cold, distant gleam in his eyes.
“Angelique, I said, this couldn’t have been scripted any better,” he repeated but she was crying profusely.
“He had to go; he had wronged me though of all the deaths I’ve granted this was the hardest. David did not deserve to die. He never intentionally harmed me but you did. You left me for him. Seeing David die in agony is my revenge against you little Angelique. And feeling the pain you now feel makes it all worthwhile.”
Angelique said nothing. She just knelt and held David’s hand.
“No wedding now, eh? No church, no cake. No VISA. Let’s be honest Ange, that’s the only reason you were ever with a farang, huh?”
His verbal bait was enough to rouse her into speech.
“Not true!” she spat. “I love him.”
“Loved him. Past tense. He’s dead.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I already told you why love. Because you deserved it!”
“I am not your love.”
“I won’t waste anymore time then.”
He got down on his knees and shuffled over to her.
“Angelique. Marry me!”
The girl did not know if this was another twisted attempt at humour or whether or not Marc had gone completely mad. Despite her grief she decided it was both.
“Get away from me!”
Marc sighed; a deep sigh that McAvor would have been proud of.
“Fine,” he said, getting up. Marc sat down at the table again but then a new thought must have struck him for he rose and knelt down beside her again.
“I’ll give you one last chance to change your mind. Elaine and David are both gone now Angelique: dead! Now we can be together!”
“Elaine?” she sobbed.
“Yeah I poisoned her then finished her off with the pillow.”
“God,” said Angelique.
“Yes, God is good. I believe in Him but I was doing His will in destroying all these devils; all the people who harmed me even though I did nothing to them. I did not deserve it!”
“There’s more?” she asked aghast.
“A few more but don’t worry. We can move away from here. If we are careful enough no one will never know!”
“Oh God!” wailed Angelique standing up and turning away.
“Think about it Ange!” implored Marc.
“There’s nothing to think about Marc. The answer’s no!” she yelled defiantly. To her surprise Marc laughed.
“I’m glad you give me that answer,” he said coldly.
“Why?”
“Because it gives me another excuse to kill.”
Angelique braced herself but instead of attacking her Marc went and poured himself a large glass of rosso Chianti. From his shirt pocket he took a little glass object, held it over the glass and squeezed it. What looked like driblets of water fell into it. Marc set down the eye dropper, raised the glass, smiled then drained it in one go.
“Chok dee ka!” he said with satisfaction.
“What was that?”
“Sulphuric acid,” he replied.
“Hah?”
“Poison.”
“You’re mad!”
“To make things easier for you Angelique I need to tell you my final secret.”
“You need to get your stomach pumped!”
Marc laughed.
“There’s no way I’m doing that, just listen to me.”
She sat down on the sofa by David’s legs.
“I murdered Karen McAvor and the young man in the park.”
Angelique had been unprepared for further shock.
“What?”
“I murdered Elaine and David.”
Angelique bowed her head.
“I caused the death of John Morgan and his nameless bitch. Finally I attacked a homosexual named Marcus Burns, severely injuring him.”
“Why?” asked Angelique through her tears.
“Because,” answered Marc.
“Because?”
“Because I am addicted to it!” roared Marc.
“To what?”
“Anger!”
“What?”
“Ira! Rage! Wrath! Whatever you want to call it! It’s the purest emotion there is! It cuts through the bullshit fineries and reduces you to what I and the rest of man really is; an animal! My enemies who defiled me were wimps compared to me. True they could bitch, bully and manipulate and lie and cheat but could they do what I did? Could they kill? Could they coldly and carefully plan their revenge over the lonely years, never forgetting the injustices done to them? No! But I could! And I did! And it is I whom I still alive while they rot in their miserable graves!”
“You drank your own poison,” Angelique informed me meekly.
“And whose fault was that?” he screamed.
“Yours.”
“No. Yours Angelique not mine!”
“So now you are going to kill me.”
“It would be nice,” said Marc neutrally.
“Are you?”
He backed off and looked out the window into the back garden.
“This isn’t a movie Angelique. The police aren’t going to burst in at the last possible moment and save you!”
“There’s no point in killing me also. You’ve done enough.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”
Angelique blinked. Had she heard that correctly?
“You may go Angelique but I’d like you to stay a while.”
“Is it a trick?” she asked suspiciously.
“No. Think about it Angelique. I’ve got my revenge against you.” He nodded at David’s prostrate corpse next to her.
“You’ve suffered enough and will suffer in the days, months and even the years to come by what you’ve been through tonight. The memory will never leave you. That’s good enough for me. But right here, right now, let’s just be friends again.”
“Alright,” she said with no joy.
Marc suddenly held his chest before coughing long and hard.
“It’s started,” he said at the conclusion of the bout.
“Just go to hospital Marc,” said Angelique, coming to his aide.
“No, I’ll die here within my own four walls.”
Angelique began to cry again.
“Marc, I can’t stay and watch this. I will go mad. Just let me go. Now.”
“Kiss me first.”
She wasted no time and he felt the warmth of her lips once again just like he had at the beach far away three hundred and sixty five days earlier.
“That will do,” he said with a smile. “I’ll show you out. Here’s your phone.”

“Give me an hour then call the police,” said Marc when they reached the front door.
“Alright,” said Angelique.
“One more thing”, he said, taking something from his shirt pocket. It was a sealed white envelope.
“This contains a full confession,” explained Marc. “Give it to them please.”
Angelique took it from him.
“No problem,” she said, fingering its sharp corners.
Marc opened the door and she stepped out into the cool night.
“You should not have done it Marc. You let hate conquer you. It destroyed you.”
He shrugged.
“I shouldn’t but its too late now.”
He blew her a kiss, waved goodnight and gently closed the door. She watched him for a moment then went to David’s car to wait. Marc turned and trudged up the stairs. His stomach, bowels and head were on fire but he was still able to mumble one final string of words:
“There’s ways of destroying people other than death Angelique.”

They may well see through the letter but it’s worth a shot. At least it will cause her a helluva lot more bother and woe! Poor lil’ Ange! Hehehe! Night all.

Dear the Police,
My name is Marc Maguire.
I am the one responsible for the deaths of the following people: Karen McAvor, Carl (petrol station employee), John Morgan, Elaine Adams and David McGillan. I was also the perpetrator of a recent attack on a man named Marcus Burns, a gay. My lover Angelique Nguyen assisted me in these crimes. She is a Thai national who has lived in this backward country for two years on a working VISA. Her occupation is nursing assistant. We were involved in a complicated love quadrangle with both Elaine Adams and David McGillan. It ended badly and therefore I committed suicide. Angelique deserves to be punished for what she did yet that it up to you. You could say she has been destroyed enough as it is. I conclude this note by stating that we did what we did for the betterment of mankind and if you have a problem with that then go F yourselves!
~ Marc.

© Ciaran McVeigh 2011

Envy

Envy ~ Invidia

The rain had been pouring all night. It pelted the kitchen panes as the young woman put the kettle under the cold tap. When it was half-filled she lifted it and set it upon the Aga stove, the large monster of a cooker cast in creamy yellow that dominated one side of the kitchen. ‘Big Aggie’ never wasted time boiling the kettle but in spite of its efficiency the young woman loathed the machine. True, it was a God-send on cold, wet November days like this but she had never forgiven it. Years before, on her first day working in the house, Aggie had burnt her. She had opened the bottom oven’s cover to take out a roast chicken but had leaned in too far. Its inner surface brushed against her left wrist and scorched it. The mark was still there, arcing in a light brown smudge along her skin. Since that day the young woman had resolved to be careful whenever using the stove but no amount of caution could wipe away her scar. However the Aga was just one of many things she hated in that house.

While the kettle boiled she made the breakfast; the same simple breakfast she had made almost every day for five years. Two slices of wheat toast with rind-less marmalade and real butter. The kettle was whistling by the time the bread popped out of the toaster. Perfect timing as usual; precision always made the young woman smile. She filled the teapot and set it on a silver tray along with a small pitcher of milk, a bowl of sugar and a tea spoon. On the left-hand side of the tray she put a plate with the two pieces of toasted bread, a knife and two ceramic holders of butter and marmalade. With a sigh she lifted the tray and exited the kitchen. Half a dozen narrow steps connected it to the hallway. Compared to the kitchen it was a more lavish area of the house with a rich, red carpet, numerous antiques on display and a long mirror at the foot of a grand staircase. She stopped in front of it to check her appearance. Her auburn hair was neatly tied up in a bun while her uniform was immaculately tidy. It consisted of a black one piece, knee-high dress, a frilled white apron, opaque brown pantyhose and a smart pair of low, one inch black heels. A white cotton tiara, the final component of her uniform, was atop her head; primly setting off her hair style. After a long, expressionless look in the mirror she made her way up the stairs.

At the door to the master bedroom she placed the tray on a side table. Straightening herself, she coughed softly then gently rapped the door. A muffled sound from within came in reply. After turning the door knob the young woman gingerly picked up the tray and slinked into the bedroom. Although the light was dim inside from memory she knew the layout exactly. In a luxurious four poster bed she could discern the familiar shape of its occupant. She set the breakfast tray upon the bedside table without making a sound then proceeded to move to the other side of the bed to draw open the thick curtains, making sure to keep the blinds tightly closed. At the influx of light the sleeping form in the bed stirred. By the time the young woman had returned to the breakfast tray the sleeper was awake. She was a lean, mature lady with aquiline yet beautiful features rendered more graceful with age. Even though she had just opened them, her blue eyes shone with a satisfaction only perfect rest can bring. She shook her head to loosen her long raven hair and after running her fingers through it sat up with a contented sigh.
“Good morning Ma’am,” said the young woman meekly.
“Morning,” said the lady with a yawn.
Her maid reached forward to prise up the pillows in order for her mistress to sit more comfortably.
“Thank you,” mumbled the woman as she rested her back upon them. The breakfast tray was placed across her lap.
“How are you this morning?” she asked the maid.
“Fine, thank you Ma’am. Sadly it’s still raining,” she said nodding toward the window.
“Not again!” said the lady with amused disappointment. “That storm is a leviathan! I had wanted to go out today but I suppose I can just laze about the house instead,” she said smiling.
As per procedure the young woman had already added a tea spoon of sugar and some milk to the lady’s cup. However when she poured the teapot all that emerged was hot water; she had forgotten to add the tea leaves. The sight of her mistake caused her heart to jump. Her wrist also twinged at this realisation and the hot water duly splattered over the toast.
“Oh God! Ma’am, I’m so sorry! I didn’t add the tea leaves!”
Her employer gave her a haughty look. The young woman sensed a measure of contempt behind the expression but her nervousness was expunged when the lady’s countenance morphed into one more akin to understanding. She smiled causing a light feeling of relief to rush through the maid.
“Accident’s happen,” she said sighing softly before waving away the tray with its spoilt breakfast. Her maid picked it up.
“Shall I bring you some more Ma’am?” she asked as tears brewed in her hazel eyes. The lady’s voice was blunt.
“Do.”

Back in the kitchen the maid berated herself. How, after five years of preparing the same boring breakfast, day in, day out, could she have made such a sloppy mistake? At least she hadn’t spilt any of the hot water over her boss. This thought gave her a measure of solace as she hastily prepared a second, identical breakfast. This time she made doubly sure she filled the pot with three tea spoonfuls of leaf. As she ascended the stairs for the second time that morning to serve her mistress breakfast the young woman felt thoroughly rattled.

Having deposited the meal with the lady, who said nothing about the earlier incident, the maid left her alone to eat it in peace. On her way back down the hall she could not resist a quick peek in one of the rooms. She came to the appropriate door which lay at the opposite side of the house from the master bedroom. An archaic plaque stated the room’s purpose: ‘~ Toys ~’. After a cautionary look back down the hall towards her employer’s bedroom she opened it and went inside. The curtains were closed. ‘Ma’am’ had jokingly insisted they be pulled over in order to let the toys sleep and the young woman had obeyed the instruction. If ever she was caught she could always say she had come in to air or clean it but throughout her time in the house she had always felt compelled to spend time in the toy room. To her it had a unique serenity about it. No other part of the house made her feel as relaxed as the toy room but there were also times she felt afraid of it. This was because of Alice. According to the lady Alice was the princess of the toy room, queen of all its inhabitants. The wooden soldiers were her army, the rocking horse her steed and the other dolls her friends and servants. Her status was such that Alice reigned over her subject toys from on high, seated on her wicker chair that acted as her throne. It was perched atop a stack of five round hat boxes of ascending size the smallest of which bore the chair and whose lids were decorated with light pink and white chequers. They in turn sat in the middle of a white table that was thronged with cuddly toys of every shape, colour and description. Above them all sat Alice. It was hard to tell if she was made from porcelain or a fabric. Her expression was a plain, almost flat, smile that invited welcome in her arms which were outstretched in a permanent gesture of embrace. She wore black overalls on top of a red shirt which gave the doll a kind of regal quality despite wearing no crown on her dark croppy hair.

The young woman did not like Alice. There were times when she felt as if the doll’s expression changed from one of mirth to a scowl whenever the maid entered the toy room. Perhaps it was a trick of the faint light, mingled with an irrational, childish fear. Or perhaps it wasn’t. It was not something she liked to dwell on yet she often wondered why her mistress was so enamoured with such a simple looking doll. However it was the antique doll house that captivated her the most and the young woman could spend hours just looking at it in admiration of the exquisite details. After opening the curtains she knelt in front of it, emitting a smile of contentedness as she surveyed every inch of the antique model. The abrupt clamour of the servant’s bell brought her back to reality. She was up and out of the toy room in an instant while behind her the slightest of draughts eased the door shut.

It was not everyday that the lady asked for help getting dressed however of late it was a task she had requested with increasing frequency and the young woman had come to dread it. As she scuttled along the upper hallway she knew what she would be told to do. ‘Why does a grown woman want me to dress her?’ It was a question that confused her and the embarrassment it caused made her all the more reticent. Knocking the door to the master bedroom she was summoned inside. The lady stood at the far side of the bedroom by the open entrance to the wardrobe room. This was a room, almost as big as the bedroom, which housed all her expensive clothes and footwear. She was already partially dressed in her underclothes and tights and was holding up a smart one piece dress suit.
“I think you’d look good in this dress girl,” she said smiling as her maid approached. The lady held the dark, shiny gown against the young woman’s body. She nodded.
“Perfect. What size are you?”
It was a question the lady had asked her before.
“Ten Ma’am,” she answered blushing.
“Oh, the same as me,” said her boss coyly. “In fact you’d look fab in any of my gowns but I’ve always thought you look very smart in your maid’s uniform. It suits you much better. Don’t you agree?” asked the lady flatly.
“Yes I suppose so Ma’am.”
It was all the girl could muster in reply and she was further taken aback when the lady handed her the dress and stretched out her hands signalling an end to the conversation. She stooped and beckoned the lady to raise her legs. When she did so the maid pulled it up her body then assisted the lady put her arms through the short sleeves. As she scrutinised herself in a long mirror close by the young woman ran the gown’s zip up to the lady’s neck.
“There,” said the lady with hands on hips. “Magnifico! What do you think?”
Her maid beamed and nodded in acknowledgement.
“Very nice Ma’am.”
In truth she didn’t care in the slightest. The lady frowned and eye balled her.
“Just very nice? Well, aren’t you hard to please?”
The maid’s face went crimson.
“Well Ma’am, it is very nice,” she said fumbling for words. “Very beautiful even, you look wonderful!”
Her Mistress chuckled and put a hand on her shoulder.
“I was only joking. But thanks for the compliments. Now, some footwear!”
The maid entered the wardrobe room to select a pair.
“Better make it boots,” her mistress called after her. “It’s going to be cold and wet all day. Did you turn the heating on?”
“I did Ma’am,” answered the maid with a sniffle in her voice; a result of the lady’s infantile remarks. She came to the shelf that held the boots. It was so long it ran nearly the whole length of the room and was just one of several. The others were used to store the lady’s other shoes whether they were stilettos, pumps or sandals. According to her she had over three hundred pairs and her maid readily believed this estimate.
“Fetch a flat pair, knee high,” order the lady. The maid picked such a pair. Like all of the lady’s boots they were made from black leather and this pair had a shiny crocodile tinge.
“Ah, good choice,” said the lady when the maid returned with the chosen pair. She was sitting on the dressing table chair and when her servant knelt before her she stretched out her right foot. The young woman slipped the first boot up the silky tights and once in place fastened it with the zip. She did the same with the other foot and all the while the lady watched her.
“Good girl,” said the lady when the maid had finished. She rose and went to the mirror. Satisfied, she turned to the maid and clapped her hands.
“Right, get my wrap, the dark blue one. My shoulders are getting cold already.” The maid toddled instantly back into the adjacent room and retrieved the garment.
“Thanks,” said the lady when it was over her shoulders.
Although she preferred not to engage her employer in conversation the expression of gratitude gave the maid some confidence to venture a question.
“What are you plans today Ma’am?” The lady looked at her as if sensing some subliminal rivalry to her authority.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” added the maid hastily.
“I have things to do in the study. Depending on the weather I might go out later.”
The maid nodded. She hoped her boss would go out today and give her some peace for a while.
“Why would I mind you asking girl?” There was a trace of suspicion in the question.
Once again the maid grew hot in embarrassment and she furiously admonished herself for opening her mouth.
“I don’t wish to appear nosey Ma’am,” answered the maid red faced.
“Not at all,” said the lady. “We have a good working relationship do we not?”
“I should like to think we do Ma’am.”
“How long have you been in my employ?”
“Five years Ma’am.”
“Is it really five years? Goodness! Well, there you are! After five years I see nothing wrong in informing you of my daily plans.”
The maid nodded in relief.
“I’d even consider you a friend,” said the lady continuing, “If you weren’t just my maid.”
Her nose twitched momentarily, forming only the most subtle of sneers. She turned her back on the maid and sat down, tossing her hair backwards.
“Now girl, my hair.”
Although she failed to outwardly show it, these words hurt the young woman in a way no other utterance from the lady had before. Over the years there had been remarks that had upset her; a mild rebuke or a curtly given order but nothing qualitatively demeaning until now. Hitherto her sensitivity had only caused nightmares to sprout after a stressful day at Ma’am’s beck and call whenever the lady delivered a coldly impersonal word. Now she had to strive to hold back the hot onrush of tears as she began to brush her Mistress’s hair and hope she did not see her distress in the dressing table’s mirror. Fortunately for her the lady was too transfixed with her own face to notice the young woman’s tear-filled eyes. With this routine personal task done her Mistress quietly dismissed her in order for the maid to commence her daily household chores. She had been upstairs in the lady’s trying company for more than an hour and only when she reached the warmth of her kitchen sanctuary did her breathing relax again.

“I’d even consider you a friend if you weren’t just my maid.”
The phrase rankled within her. It repeated inside her mind over and over again. The more she tried to forget it the more it asserted itself. She made herself a cup of tea and swept the floor but still it lingered. It panged her to think that the lady would go so far as to say such a thing. Had she kept it to herself as a private, if not very nice, opinion that would be would be kind and professional but to have the audacity to say it to her very face crossed a line. Fundamentally, the young woman had no doubt that her boss had said it purely to hurt and humiliate her. She had dreaded this day would come.
“Familiarity breeds contempt,” she said out loud. “How very true. But it works both ways Ma’am.”
She raised her glaring eyes to the ceiling. If she could have seen through it perhaps she would have seen her Mistress applying makeup or lipstick before beginning another hard day of indulgence relaxation.

On the evening she arrived at the house it had been raining. Sometimes it seemed to her as if the same constant downpour had never stopped since that night long ago. She had rung the doorbell and stood waiting anxiously on the step. All she knew was that she had come to this house to start a new job working for the rich lady who lived there. Before that any mental recollections were faint and insubstantial. She could remember being small and having a wonderful time with children. Apart from that there was little else until now. Clad in a plain long coat, hat, dress and shoes with a light travel bag hooked over her shoulder, she was standing in front of a massive oak door that glistened with rain water in the dismal light of an autumn afternoon. It opened. The lady looked her up and down and gave her a smile she would become very familiar with.
“It worked!” she exclaimed.
“Pardon me?” asked the girl warily.
“Never mind. Come in dear.”
The young woman obeyed and wiped her feet on the mat as the lady closed the door shutting out the wind and rain.
“How do you do?” she said offering the young woman her hand.
“I’m very well though for some reason I’m very tired.”
“In that case we’ll get you something hot to drink. Hang up your hat and coat then follow me.”
The lady led her into a plush lounge with twin brown leather sofas and told her to sit down. A cosy fire burned strongly beneath a mantle composed of elaborate stonework.
“Get warmed,” said the lady as she left the lounge.
Several minutes later she returned and handed the young woman a warm cup of tea then sat down opposite, crossed her legs and gave her a long look.
“You’ve come about the position?”
“Position?”
“The job?”
“Ah yes, the job. I think I was told to come here,” said the young woman with uncertainty.
“That’s correct. Do you know what the job entails?”
“No Madam I don’t.”
“Well it’s very simple. I have a big house and it doesn’t clean itself.” She opened out her arms momentarily and gestured all around her. “I need someone to help out and I think you’d be perfect.”
There followed a pause that obliged the young woman to respond. Deep within her arose a warning that working here would be a bad idea yet the intense gaze of the woman and her friendly manner made her feel obligated to quell this negative notion.
“What will my duties be?”
“Cooking, cleaning, serving meals and anything else I may need done.”
“It sounds like a servant’s job,” said the young woman with a soft embarrassed laugh.
“It is,” replied the lady with no hint of emotion. With her discomfort beginning to show the young woman avoided the lady’s steely gaze. Her eyes swivelled randomly to the floor, the ceiling, the fire and she started to mutter an excuse.
“I’m not sure I’d like to….”
The lady rolled her eyes and raised her right hand.
“Look,” she said leaning forward. “I can understand a new job in a new house with me as your new boss is all a bit daunting. Believe me I’ve been in your situation but you need to learn to grasp an opportunity whenever it presents itself.”
The lady sighed and sat back again.
“I can easily find another girl to work here so if you want to take your chances elsewhere good luck. In this economic climate you will definitely need it. Now, what’s going to be? Yes? No? Deal or no deal?”
Never before had the young woman been placed under such pressure. For a moment she had been tempted to get up and walk out the front door and escape from this strange woman forever. However the lady’s words had frightened her and the simple truth was that she had nowhere else to go.
“I accept,” she said.
The lady grinned.
“Excellent,” she said. “I knew you’d make the right decision.”
She rose and offered the young woman her hand once again. The girl stood up and shook it tenderly.
“Welcome aboard,” whispered the lady.
With an agreement struck the young woman was conducted to her new quarters which were next to the kitchen. It was comfortable yet frugal accommodation with a single bed, dresser, wash hand basin, toilet, bath and wardrobe.
“Before I let you get settled in there’s one more thing,” said the lady opening the wardrobe. From it she took out a hanger that held an outfit concealed within a protective cover.
“You’re uniform,” she said handing it to the young lady. “You’ll be wearing it while on duty. Try it on and get used to it. The shoes are in the wardrobe. Goodnight.”

Five years on and her situation was as unchanged as the night she had come to the mansion. Contemplating that first encounter with her Mistress made her feel no better. Instead, it served to heighten her frustration that was sparked by the lady’s comment. Sipping her tea she considered leaving the house immediately. ‘And go where?’ she thought contemptuously. As far as she knew she had no family to speak of and although she had been friends with many people in the past their names and even their faces escaped her. Walking out was therefore not an option.
“Some day I will go,” she whispered to herself.
Time was now pressing and the morning waned. She decided to begin her housework chores.

Ma’am insisted on cleanliness. Everything had to be spic and span. Each day saw the maid painstakingly cleanse the vast expanse of the ground floor hallway decked as it was with a pristine red carpet atop varnished wood. She had already vacuumed this carpet and had nearly finished polishing the wood with a floor wipe when she spotted the lady at the top of the stairs. It was clear that she had been watching the maid for some time yet even when she realised she had been noticed her benign countenance did not change. She took her hands off her hips and descended.
“Hard at it, are we?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear.”
The maid could only admire her elegance as she approached. At times like this she wondered why the lady wasn’t married. In all her time working in the mansion she had never heard her mention a husband, boyfriend or lover of any kind. Certainly she was unmistakably beautiful. Her hair was perfect and her body was exquisitely enhanced by her taste in rich, fitted clothing. ‘Jealousy’ would not do justice to how the maid felt on beholding her Mistress at that moment whose very being exuded confidence and authority. By contrast the maid’s apologetic demeanour rendered her fragile self-esteem all the more vulnerable. She did not doubt that the lady was acutely aware of this. It felt as if she was intent on leaving her dangling on an emotional tenterhook or perpetual state of nerves. But why? Was it to control her? Humiliate her? Confound her? Or was it a combination of all these reasons? There was no way of knowing unless she asked the lady directly and as she could never foresee herself summoning the courage to question her the matter evaporated from her mind. She now braced herself for another conversation for the lady had reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Now what have you been doing?” asked her boss emitting a polite smile as she folded her arms. Her voice itself added to her status. To the maid it sounded assertively masterful. She curtsied.
“I have just begun my chores Ma’am. I hoovered the carpet and now I’m just polishing the floor.”
“Is that so?” asked the lady pointedly. “Well it certainly looks nice and tidy though I have to say I don’t know much about the technicalities of domestic cleaning.”
She leaned in and whispered.
“You see a job like yours, well, it’s beneath me.” The lady tilted back her head and laughed. “Unlike me a girl such as you is much more suited to this type of drudge work. Why, it’s what you were born to do.”
Her maid was lost for words. Rather than say anything she turned her eyes to the floor and continued mopping.
“Oh I don’t mean any offence. You should take pride in what you do even if it is just scrubbing my floors or polishing my shoes.”
The young woman focused squarely upon the movement of the mop. She must have gone over the same patch of floor about fifty times. The lady coughed.
“Excuse me girl. Do you mind looking at me when I talk to you please?”
With burning reluctance she stopped, swept away a tear and faced the lady.
“That’s better. Now I do not wish to sound rude but a grown woman like you should be able to control her emotions especially in a workplace. More to the point you should know to pay attention to me at all times. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
The lady drew nearer to her. Although her voice’s tone was lower its level of spitefulness had soared.
“Yes what?”
The maid swallowed hard.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Do I have to remind you on the proper etiquette for addressing one’s Mistress?”
“No Ma’am.”
“I should hope not. I will let it go this time. Still, one slip up in five years isn’t bad I suppose.”
Her attitude mollified.
“Forgive me if I have upset you,” she said warmly. “I cannot help being a little bit old fashioned when it comes to dealing with a servant though at the same time it is important for us to talk to one another. There’s no reason why we can’t be friends…of sorts. After all we don’t get many visitors, do we?”
Despite her sadness this fact caused the maid to think. The lady was correct. In five years no other soul had so much as set foot inside the mansion. Strange that she had never realised this until the lady mentioned it.
“It’s just you, me and the toys upstairs,” continued the lady. “So we may as well make the most of it.”
“I agree Ma’am,” said the young woman finally able to speak despite her angst ridden voice.
“I’m glad. You also just need to put a bit more effort into your work. If you do then you will no longer be just a good servant you will be an excellent servant. We can discuss it in more depth another time as I’ve some work of my own to do in the study. I would ask you to help but I doubt you could. It’s to do with finance, computers, et cetera; wouldn’t interest you dear.”
The lady winked cheekily then pointed sternly at the mahogany floor.
“Back to work!” she said with two sharp claps of her hands.
As the maid resumed polishing she walked off to her study but when a muffled noise as of something falling came from the upper floor the lady halted.
She called back down the hallway.
“Girl!”
“Ma’am?”
“I expect you’ve left a window open again. See to it,” she ordered pointing upwards.
“Right away Ma’am,” said the maid. She rested her mop against the wall and scuttled up the stairs. With her Mistress out of sight she cried openly. She went straight to one of the guest rooms and locked herself in its en suite bathroom. Extracting a lengthy piece of toilet paper she blew her nose into it and sobbed as she sat down on the toilet. The encounter at the foot of the stairs was a watershed moment in her relationship with the lady. Never before had she felt as sick and upset as she wept profusely into her hands. The earlier incident had been distressing enough but this time the lady had deliberately set out to be hurtful. Practically everything she said had been insulting and the young woman’s sensitive nature analysed the incident with furious intensity.
For her to always call me ‘girl’ when I am at least twenty three. Then she says I’m a grown woman! For God’s sake! She’d know all about the technicalities of domestic cleaning if she was toiling away on her hands and knees for ten hours a day! And who is she to say that I was born to do such work? I can’t even remember being born! I can’t remember anything before I came to this house!
This deadly thought made her drop the toilet tissue. Then she proceeded to thump the cistern behind her with her fists. Stopping, she put her hands to her eyes again and smeared the tears into her face.
Why can’t I remember? I bet that bitch knows the truth. I’m going to ask her one day. What will she say apart from correcting me? ‘Girl, kindly refrain from enquiring as to your origins, they are not your concern. Now you may have the honour of massaging my feet. Get to it!’ ‘Oh thank you Ma’am! What joy!’ Hah! I will break her neck if she doesn’t tell me! God, what awful thoughts these are! Stop it at once. Please stop it right now. You are a good person. Smile! Smile just like Alice.

Smile! And she did. The barrage of evil thoughts died away leaving her feeling calm and assured. She decided that, in part, she had brought the lady’s tirade upon herself. Of course her boss should know better but at the same time she had to stand up for herself within reason. The next time she saw the lady she would be prepared. She would be more confident whilst not overstepping the boundaries her position imposed.
But don’t forget, she knows something you don’t!
Before she could relapse into more analytical thoughts there came another noise from somewhere on the first floor. It was a dull thud but due to her closer proximity it was now louder. Wasting no time the maid got up and left the bathroom and guest room and returned to the hallway. She prayed that her Mistress had not heard it again for if she did she would soon be on the scene enquiring as to why the maid had failed to locate and put an end to its source. At least ten minutes had been spent crying in the toilet but to her relief there was no sign of the lady. First she checked the west end of the hall along with her Mistress’s chamber, wardrobe room and all the adjoining guest rooms. All the windows were solidly shut. With nothing amiss she went back to the east side and the guest she had passed through. Its windows were closed as were those in every other room in that end of the mansion. Finally she crept into the toy room. Typically, the culprit was there, in the last place she planned to check. A steady breeze lifted the silk inner curtain like a wavering ghost making the air rife with the damp coolness of the storm. In an instance the maid had the window closed. It must have been pushed ajar earlier when she opened the curtains that morning. Only when she turned to leave did she notice the mess. All five of the hat boxes lay in a heap beside the table. Clearly the wind had blown them down. Poor Alice and her wicker chair were somewhere amongst them. If the lady saw this she would know her maid had intruded so she picked up the largest box and set it back on the table. Just then the bell rang. Ma’am wanted something. The girl left the boxes in the heap they were in, gingerly tip toed from the room and descended the stairs.

Her Mistress sat at her desk studying her laptop computer with her back to the maid.
“You rang Ma’am?” she asked assertively.
“Obviously I did or you wouldn’t be here. Bring me my mid morning coffee please,” replied the lady without turning.
“At once Ma’am.”
“Girl,” said the lady flatly.
“Ma’am?”
“What was the cause of that racket upstairs?”
“Oh, you were right Ma’am. I had neglected to close one of the guest room windows when I aired it yesterday. I do apologise.”
The lady sighed.
“Try and remember not to do it again. I simply cannot tolerate carelessness.”
Not for the first time that day the maid was found wanting for something to say. In the end it was another apology.
“Very well. Dismissed.”
She retreated to the kitchen and quickly prepared the coffee. A new mood had come over her, one in which she actually felt a certain pride in serving her Mistress the coffee. The coffee would be presented to her, Ma’am would sip it and relax whilst the maid would slip back upstairs and tidy the toy room. After that, she vowed to herself, she would not cross its threshold for at least a month!

“Set it down on the table girl,” ordered the lady when she returned to the study with the coffee.
“Now, off you go,” said her Mistress waving her away as she set it down on the table between a sofa and the study fire. A minute later the maid was back in the toy room. Half a minute later the hat boxes were arranged in proper order with the wicker chair on top. She stooped to grab Alice. The doll was nowhere in sight! Her eyes combed the spot where she expected to see it. There was nothing. Then she surveyed every inch of the room. Still nothing. A frantic anxiety began to overwhelm her. Had she not seen Alice lying on the floor just before she had been called away to make the coffee? Now she was not certain however the doll had to be there somewhere. Perhaps it had got caught up amidst the other cuddly toys on the table and those scattered randomly throughout the room. Before she started to search she went to the doorway, peered out and listened. Her anxiety was such that she suspected the lady to suddenly appear and demand an explanation. There was no sign of her. However the maid had to move quickly for it was approaching luncheon which she had to prepare as well as finish the polishing downstairs. Alice was not amongst the toys on the table with the hat boxes. Nor was she with any of the other soft toys or behind the doll’s house or hidden in an obscure corner. Alice was gone. The only viable explanation was that the lady had taken her whilst she was making the coffee down in the kitchen. A paranoid thought subsequently occurred to the young woman on contemplating this notion. Had the lady taken Alice in order to test the maid’s honesty? She must have. It was the only logical conclusion one could reach. What could she do? If it was a game orchestrated by the lady she resolved to play no part in it. Should the issue of the missing doll arise then in all likelihood it would end in tears again. In the meantime she would follow the example of Alice and smile; smile as if nothing had happened.

It did not take long for her to complete cleaning the downstairs hall and by the time she had vacuumed and polished the lounge and dining room the morning was gone. The young woman was utterly exhausted following this session of physical labour. She felt as if she had been awake and on her feet for a lot longer than the five hours since she got out of bed. Yet she could not afford to take even a moments rest. Next on her busy agenda was to make the lunch before doing the laundry and cleaning upstairs. After that the dinner had to be cooked. Whatever free time she had in the evening was spent resting in bed after a long hot bath. The she would get dressed again to assist Ma’am with her nightly bath and serve her bedtime coco. It never got any easier and the maid was often terrified to think she would be doing this job for the rest of her life. For this reason she threw herself into her work so that any time spent thinking unpleasant thoughts would be largely minimised. It was not a thorough safeguard however. Ma’am’s new tendency for outspokenness and its emotional affect on the young woman had heightened her worries to a new, more dangerous degree.

After a faint rap on the study door the maid entered the room. Her boss did not even look up to visually acknowledge her. She gently walked over to stand next to the lady who was seated on the sofa reading a magazine.
“Pardon me Ma’am. It’s nearly lunch time. What would you like?”
The lady’s expressionless visage did not change. Nor did she look away from the magazine.
“Ah yes, lunch. Let me see. What did I have yesterday?”
“I believe it was salmon fillet with salad Ma’am,” answered the maid.
“Yes, it was good. I think I will have something simple today. How about vegetable soup?”
“Not a problem Ma’am.”
“I should hope not. Any idiot can make it.”
“I will make it at once Ma’am,” said the maid, stung by this last remark.
“Wait, I haven’t dismissed you yet girl,” snapped the lady as she moved away.
She closed her eyes and prayed that another lengthy put down was not imminent. The lady exhaled deeply and loudly set the glossy magazine upon the coffee table. Rubbing her eyes she then yawned and beckoned the maid to face her.
‘Alice! She knows!’ thought the maid as she waited for the lady to speak. Instead her Mistress gave her a long, contemplative and almost affectionate stare. Then she smiled at the maid.
“It’s nice to have someone like you to make my lunch. Believe it or not girl I really appreciate all that do for me. I mean that sincerely.”
This expression of gratitude served to relax the maid and she acknowledged this with a faint smile.
“I appreciate that some the things I said earlier may have upset you. If they did then I regret that.”
“Don’t worry Ma’am. I wasn’t upset.”
As soon as she uttered these words the maid new she had made a mistake. Her Mistress sensed the lie immediately.
“Come now. I knew I had upset you girl. Do forgive me. There are times I feel very lonely and bored especially over the last few years. As a result I’ve tended to lash out at you. It’s inexcusable. Even though I am your boss I have responsibilities as well; to provide for you, respect you, treat you like a human being.” She reached out her right hand and brushed it affectionately up and down the maid’s left arm. Was there a seductive glint in the lady’s eyes? The young woman certainly thought so but before she could protest the lady stopped. She rested her head upon her hand and again beheld the maid with warmth.
“Did you know I am somewhat jealous of you girl?”
“Why so Ma’am?”
“Compared to mine, your life is so simple. All you have to do is cook and clean. Of course you are kept busy and work hard but your duties serve no qualitative purpose. I, on the other hand, bear responsibilities that affect so many things. I am a wealthy lady of status. People look up to me. My conduct must be impeccable and mannered at every hour of the day and night.”
The lady sighed and stood up, pressing her hands against her back in order to ease whatever discomfort she felt. She made her way to the fire and warmed her hands.
“So you see girl everyone is watching me. It’s as if I cannot sneeze without it being gossiped about.”
She turned to face the anxious maid who was curious as to where this speech was leading. In spite of herself she was feeling sorry for her Mistress even though some of what she said had no logical basis. For a start to the best of her knowledge she was the only human being the lady had been in direct contact with for five years.
“But what can I do about it? I must carry on with this charade. I must appear larger than life for if someone like me gives up on life then what hope is there for the rest of you? I mean the little people, the workers. The farmers, the beauticians, the lorry drivers, the maids?”
She put her arms on the maid’s shoulders who tried to avoid the lady’s imploring, tortured gaze. Then she took the girl’s hands and clasped them firmly.
“You are so lucky girl. I wish I knew such simplicity in life.”
Following a long, awkward pause the lady let go and wiped her eyes with a silk handkerchief.
“We will continue this conversation later. Get me my lunch.”

Back in the kitchen the young woman carefully stirred a pot of vegetable soup that simmered on the stove. She did not know where to begin. At first she was confused. She could understand the lady’s loneliness for the maid herself experienced it daily. Mentioning other people however sparked off a train of thought. Who could she be worried about? No one ever came to the mansion apart from an unseen someone who magically delivered a week’s supply of food on the kitchen doorstep each Monday dawn. The maid had never laid eyes on them. While the lady did venture out on occasion it was always for a brief walk around the grounds, hardly enough time to be questioned or photographed by a society journalist. The maid simply could not put her finger on it. Nonetheless she felt sympathy for the lady along with a degree of guilt for having felt ill towards her. To top it all off she did not even mention Alice! She was certain the lady had the doll but could not be sure. The answers, if there were any, would have to wait. Lunch was to be made and all the while the rain rattled down outside.

Fortunately the lady said nothing bizarre when the maid served her lunch in the dining room at one P.M. She merely complimented her on the quality of the soup before dismissing her. As she ate the maid finally finished cleaning the ground floor hallway and, in anticipation of the lady’s afternoon routine, lit the fires in the both the study and lounge. When she returned to check on her Mistress the dining room was empty. Most likely the lady had gone to the lounge to relax as she normally did after lunch so the maid tidied and did the washing up. As she scrubbed the pots and crockery the air outside grew darker. On a day like that it would probably be pitch black by half past four. The maid loathed the long winter evenings almost as much as she did her employer. At least the weather was consistently bad whereas her Mistress remained unpredictable. As the light darkened so did her mood. Her afternoon, like every afternoon, would be spent cleaning upstairs.

When she reached the upper floor it seemed even darker than it had below. With a weary sigh she tightened her apron and started vacuuming.
What a miserable life this is.
More than an hour had passed when the strengthening wind whistled through the window chinks. The sound echoed from one end of the hall to the other, shaking the two arched windows that faced each other from opposite ends. It was a phenomenon that continued repeatedly for some time but the maid’s downcast mentality made her oblivious to it. Her mood had now sunk so low that the entire mansion itself could have imploded and she would not have raised an eyebrow. Instead the steady rhythmic pulse of the wind served to fix her concentration on methodically sweeping the wooden floors and fixtures in an exhausting cycle. Only when the lights flickered did she take notice. She had just thoroughly wiped the mantelpiece in her Mistress’s chamber but she could not continue working under the haphazard light. It did not stop. Checking the hallway she discovered the row of lights overhead were flickering also. A cascade of thunder reverberated in the tumults far above the house and as its echoes lingered throughout the house the lights failed. The corresponding salvos of lightening violently illuminated the long hallway for several fleeting seconds. In the still silence that followed the maid became uncomfortably conscious of something nearby. Whatever forlorn luminosity from outside managed to penetrate the windows was not enough for her to see it. Edging forward she could now discern a partial outline of an unfamiliar shape standing in front of the window at the far side of the hall past the toy room door. It was unmoving and barely a foot above the floor. Curiosity overrode any apprehension the maid felt as she moved hesitantly towards it. When she reached the top of the stairs, precisely half way along the hall, another blast of thunder resonated from the sky. In its wake came a lengthy series of flashes. With each one she saw the object form. The colours, the size, the shape and finally the smile; all garnered via sporadic glimpses came together; came together as Alice. Alice. The young woman’s fearful gasp could almost have rivalled the continuing thunder for loudness. For less than a second she saw the doll, standing against the window. She must have blinked because a second later the lights were back on and she was alone. The doll was gone. All the old, childish fears resurfaced as she stood transfixed; staring at the empty space by the window. This was no trick of the light, no delusion; it had been there. And it had moved. Even when the clamouring of the servant’s bell broke the quietude of the mansion she remained rooted to the spot. Then, after resolving never to come up there alone again, she practically leapt down the staircase in response to the summons.

Her Mistress was not furious but nor was she best pleased.
“I was ringing for age’s girl. Where on earth did you get to?” she demanded when the maid entered the lounge.
“So sorry Ma’am, I got lost in the dark upstairs. I had been cleaning,” she answered, almost sobbing.
The lady was unimpressed. Her arms were folded and her expression was firmly resolute.
“Pull your self together girl this instant!” With no hesitation she wielded her right hand sharply across the young woman’s face. It was the first ever time she had physically struck her maid. The affect froze the girl who stood there breathing heavily.
“That shut you up alright,” said the lady with real venom. “Now girl, explain yourself. What’s this balling in aid of?”
“I was…. The lights…” mumbled the maid.
“Speak up!” yelled the lady.
“Upstairs Ma’am,” she spluttered. “I saw….”
“Saw what girl?”
“Ma’am, the lights went out and…. I was afraid of the dark.”
It was a lie but the young woman shuddered to think what the lady would say if she told what she had really seen.
“Afraid of the dark?” repeated the lady with smug disdain.
“What are you? A little girl? A child? Well if that’s the case my girl perhaps I should treat you like a child. A slap is too good for you; a good spanking is what you need! Eh girl?”
The maid’s head was tilted down in shame. She said nothing. Dual lines of tears streamed down her cheeks in two shiny vertical streaks.
“No,” she said.
The lady breathed deeply in frustration. Her voice was calmer now.
“What am I going to do with you? All this just because you’re afraid of the dark! It’s ridiculous.”
She paused and looked sternly at the maid.
“Very well. Consider this a warning girl but should you ever behave in such a disgraceful way again you will be over my knee faster than you can say Jack Robinson.”
She stopped her rant again to let the threat sink in.
“Is that clear?” she hissed.
“Yes,” muttered the maid.
“Yes what?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I should hope so. Now I don’t want the power going off again so you are to go to the kitchen and check the fuse box. Think you can manage that girl or do you need me to hold your hand?”
“I can manage it Ma’am.”
The lady turned away and sat down on the sofa by the fire.
“And when you’ve done that, make me a cup of tea and bring me my slippers. Dismissed.”

A detached state of being, numb with grief, paralysed the maid’s senses. She trudged back to the kitchen with a comatose expression, her mind devoid of all thought. In silence she checked the fuse box, made the tea and retrieved the lady’s slippers. Around her the walls, floors and windows appeared to briefly flicker as the hall lights had done. Attributing it to the stresses undergone she focused solely on brewing the tea, making sure she added leaf to the pot this time. When it was ready she blew her nose, rubbed away her tears, picked up the tea tray and slippers and psyched herself for another showdown with her Mistress.

Her ladyship was seated as before; legs crossed by the open fire with one arm folded over, the other holding a book. With all due deference the maid approached and curtsied. She set the tea tray on the large antique table then lifted the slippers which she had slid inside her apron’s ribbon. Without looking at her the lady uncrossed her legs and planted both legs out on the floor. The maid knelt and unzipped the boots and slid them off her legs before putting the black felt slippers onto the lady’s stocking feet. Once done the lady pulled back her legs and crossed them again.
“Pour my tea girl,” she ordered, turning a page.
“Yes Ma’am,” said the maid softly.
She rose, added milk to the ornately painted china cup along with one cube of sugar. Opening the tea pot’s lid she gave the liquid a thorough stir, closed it then carefully poured it into the cup.
“You remembered the leaf this time girl?” asked her Mistress dourly.
“I did Ma’am, yes.”
The maid lifted the cup and saucer and offered it to the lady. Her hands shook, causing the mildest of rattles as the small spoon grazed the cup. Although right next to her, the girl’s employer still had her eyes aimed at the book.
“Girl, tell me something.”
“Ma’am?”
The lady finally looked at her and snapped shut the book. She smiled cruelly.
“Have you ever had a lover?”
Yet again she had rocked the boat that was the young woman’s nerves. If the earlier event was a watershed moment this question, laden as it was with a multitude of implications depending on how she answered it, was monumentally intrusive. Each conversation that day appeared to force her to open up her inner most thoughts and feelings to her boss who, each time, was prying ever deeper as if she sought to test the girl somehow by pushing her to the limits of her patience and each time she had been rendered either distraught or unnerved. No doubt the same outcome could occur now if the young woman allowed it. Determined resolve was one thing, implementing it against the sly verbal machinations of her Mistress was another thing altogether. Her first instinct was to bide her time.
“Pardon me Ma’am?”
“You heard me,” answered the lady wryly.
The girl looked at her flatly until she repeated the question, this time with less assertiveness.
“I asked have you ever had a lover?”
“Have I ever had a lover Ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“Oh I’m sorry Ma’am, I misheard you.”
“Well?”
“Ma’am?”
“Have you ever had a lover?”
The young woman answered honestly.
“No Ma’am, I have not.”
Her Mistress raised an eyebrow.
“I see. Well, I’m surprised. You are rather beautiful in your own way.”
She took the cup and saucer from the maid and sipped the tea.
“What kind of man would you like?” she continued.
“Well, I’m not really sure Ma’am. To be honest I’ve never given it much thought.”
For her the matter was simply not an issue. Years of insular drudgery in the house had sent such concepts of love and friendship to the depths of her mind.
“I find that hard to believe,” said her Mistress with mild surprise. “I’d have thought all the men would be queuing up to get a shot at you. I know I would.”
The glance her Mistress gave her was far from pure.
“If I was a man that is,” added the lady enjoying the young woman’s uncomfortable reaction. She eased back comfortably in her seat and put her feet up on the table.
“Well girl, if ever you do get around to getting a boyfriend, perhaps I will hire him as my butler”.
The lady contemplated this thought with another smug smile.
“But don’t worry, I won’t steal him from you. At least not at the beginning.”
Her employer nodded in satisfaction at this idea while the maid reddened with embarrassment yet again.
“Yes, that is what I’ll do. Then, when he makes love to me, you can watch us!”
The lady’s long throaty laugh made the young woman feel even worse.
“And if you’re a very good girl, you can join in!”
She resumed her outburst of merriment. Whether it was caused chiefly by contemplation of that eventuality or her servant’s abject shock was hard for the girl to construe.
“Why do you say such things Ma’am?”
As the maid asked this imploring question the thunder boomed and the very house itself vibrated in the audible wake. Had she cared to look and had her Mistress’s eyes not been shut due to the excesses of her merry spasm, they would have seen not just the lights, but their very surroundings flicker temporarily as though the very house struggled to sustain its power and very existence. Indeed the sudden return of the thunder correlated with the girl’s desire to yell abuse at her employer.
“I’m sorry dear,” said the lady handing back the cup and saucer. “It’s just my way of having fun with you. We have to joke and laugh every now and again, don’t we?”
“I suppose so Ma’am,” answered the maid with disinterest.
“We’d get you a man if any existed here.”
“What do you mean Ma’am?”
The maid’s curiosity was perked.
“Never mind,” said the lady whose interest in the matter had clearly gone but her dismissal of the question prompted the maid to think. In retrospect she sensed deceit from the lady. Throughout the chat regarding her non-existent lover the lady’s words had again confused her, especially the mention of men.
“We’d get you a man if any existed here.”
Where are the men? Where is everyone else? Where is the rest of mankind? Then, with the same undue suddenness of the lady’s inappropriate query, a desire to walk upstairs and go to the toy room filled her heart. She could not ascertain why but she somehow knew that the answer to all her questions lay inside that room filled with toys. The memory of glimpsing Alice returned to her yet this time it caused her no alarm. Strangely it gave her hope. Her old, infantile fear of the smiling little doll diminished forever at that moment. It was not evil. On the other hand her Mistress, while surely not the devil incarnate, was far from being good. She would make her excuses and search for the doll.
“Alright Ma’am if you will excuse me I must finish my duties upstairs.”
She curtsied and moved toward the door.
“Girl,” said the lady in a flat intonation.
The maid turned to her.
“I haven’t yet dismissed you.”
Mingled with the odd shimmer of her eyes, the young women gauged a trace of suspicion from her.
“But Ma’am, the upstairs must be done before I can start dinner.”
Her excuse was coldly ignored.
“Come here girl.”
The maid did not budge until the lady raised a bony finger and beckoned her thither.
“Kneel down,” she ordered when her servant was next to her. The lady’s toes kicked off her slippers and she thrust her feet toward the young woman.
“I would like you to rub my feet please. It’s been a long time since you massaged them. They’re certainly overdue some pampering, don’t you think?”
Although the pressing impulse to leave and enter the toy room still burned strongly within her, the maid felt obliged to grant the lady’s request. Even now, in spite of her epiphany, the sheer force of the lady’s personality drew her like an unwilling magnet.
“Fetch my foot stool and get cracking.”

Five minutes later she was on her knees applying her hands to her Mistress’s stocking feet. It was not a pleasant task but she bore it stoically having decided that the toy room could wait. Her resolve to search it however had not wavered. She was merely biding time.
“Oh I really must have you do this more often girl,” purred the lady. “It’s so blissfully relaxing.
“Would be my pleasure Ma’am,” lied the maid with a frown.
“I could get used to this,” said the lady, thoroughly relaxed. She put her head right back on the sofa beneath her crossed arms.
“If you had a lover would you do this for him?”
“Yes Ma’am, why not?” The young woman had no time for such small talk as she neared the end of her tether. She would humour the lady as much as possible as it now amused her also.
“Lucky him,” said her Mistress. “Or her if the case may be.”
“Possibly Ma’am, one never knows.”
Had the maid’s mood not been so adventurously defiant she would have remained silent. Needless to say the lady’s interest was kindled.
“Really?” A curious delight overcame her as she sat up straight and peered down at the young woman. The maid simply raised an eyebrow and imparted only a fractional smile.
“Very interesting indeed girl. I will have to keep my eye on you. I can’t have any immoral behaviour going on under my roof now can I?” She spoke with no hint of genuine concern then sipped the last of the tea.
“No Ma’am you can’t. You would have to punish me if there was.”
“I would. And I’d enjoy it too.”
“Then allow me to give you an excuse to do so Ma’am.”
She was about to do something reckless but was interrupted.
“I already do girl. I’ve been far too soft on your over the years. That is going to change as of now.”
The maid let go of her feet and stood up.
“But before I light up that silly little backside of yours girl, answer me this. Where is she?”
“Where’s who?” asked the maid. For a moment she became genuinely intimidated by her Mistress but the feeling soon passed. The lady leapt to her feet.
“Don’t you dare play smart with me my girl, you know dam well who I mean!”
“I’m sorry Ma’am,” said the maid sarcastically. “I don’t know what you mean!”
“Alice!” hissed the lady. “Where have you taken her?”
The maid was dumbfounded and scared again. Not because of her Mistress but by the implication of her words. The lady had not taken Alice from the toy room. This meant she really had seen the doll moving of its own accord!
“Ma’am, I swear to you I did not touch her, I’ve never laid hands on her in my life!”
“Liar! I will beat the truth out of you if I have to girl, I’ll break your neck!”
At this she lunged for the maid who had not anticipated any violence from the lady. Her well manicured nails scraped and tried to dig into the girl’s neck. She tried to push her away but the lady’s assault was fiercely determined. Her first defensive instinct was to raise her hands but her Mistress had already grabbed her neck and part of her dress so she thrust forward to try and knock her off balance. The effort failed. Then the lady managed to pierce part of her cheek with her thumb nail. It was enough to stoke the maid’s resistance and with one movement she jabbed her boss in the stomach, lifted her right foot and slammed it down onto the lady’s exposed counterparts. Her grip upon the maid loosened substantially and as she clutched her belly she was hurtled back onto the sofa where she whimpered uncomfortably. The maid was breathing profusely.
“I am going up to the toy room Ma’am.”

Her Mistress did not respond, so shaken was she by the girl’s fight back but her servant did not stay to assist her. In her mind the maid commended herself but her mild elation died when her attention became focused on the walls. They had begun to shimmer. The curtains and windows vanished and reappeared rapidly over and over again. Looking up and down in alarm she saw the same thing happening to the ceiling and floor. Only she and her Mistress remained constant. The surroundings then stabilised and everything was solid once again. Without giving it any thought the maid fled from the lounge and bounded up the stairs. Again the very house itself and everything in it flickered in quick succession. The more frantic the young woman felt the faster the phenomenon repeated. Somehow she knew would feel better and the terrifying manifestation would be banished if only she could reach the toy room! True enough it was intact and whole with no sign of any portion of it or its contents fading. There was still no sign of Alice.
“Alice?” she said, in a terrified whisper.
She ran to the other side of the room, searching vainly as she went. In the end she dropped to the floor and cried. Outside in the hallway, the rest of the house flickered. As her breathing grew more relaxed the flickering receded. All was tangible again. A while later the door opened fully.
“Alice?”
The figure at the door was too tall to be Alice. It was her Mistress. And she held a long, lean kitchen knife.
“It was fun keeping you ignorant all these years,” came her phlegm-filled voice through the dark. “But all good things….”
Alice’s wicker chair at the summit of the hat boxes was empty. Noticing this, the lady raised the knife and pointed it at the young woman.
“Where is Alice? Tell me.”
The sound of her voice was icy, exasperated; the lady meant business. But the maid did not cower. Leaning against the window, she prised herself up to stand and face her Mistress.
“I told you Ma’am, I did not touch her. That is the truth. Put that knife down please.”
“There’s a first. A maid giving her Mistress an order! It seems revolution’s in the air.”
The lady inched forward, poised with the blade.
“At least it’s not as pungent as your feet Ma’am.”
“Aren’t you the funny one? If that’s the case you can bathe them for me when you have calmed down.”
“That won’t happen, Ma’am, never again.”
The unhinged contortion on the lady’s face altered to its usual one of arrogant superiority.
“Kneel,” she ordered, gesturing to the carpet with the knife.
Her maid stayed standing.
“Kneel,” repeated the lady.
The young woman trembled. If she gave in and acquiesced now there would be no going back. She would never rebel like this again, never defy her Mistress so brazenly. The lady would inevitably remind her of this failure and take perverse delight in subjecting her to more inventive humiliations for years to come.
“Kneel,” said the lady pleasantly and in such a subtly seductive way that the young woman collapsed to her knees. Her defiance had failed. She was cornered and afraid yet again. Next thing she knew the tip of the knife was caressing her gullet, running smoothly up her throat to stop beneath her chin.
“I’ve won girl. Admit it,” said the lady in a soft whisper.
“You’ve won Ma’am. You’ve won,” whimpered her maid.
“I’ve won. Thank you girl.” She took away the knife and set it on the table. “Things are going to be a lot more interesting from now on girl. If you thought you had a hard time of it up to now just wait and see what I’ve got in store for you tomorrow and every other day from now on!”
Her softly intoned words sounded as if she was granting the maid a deserved reward.
“You will be slaving away night and day! You won’t be able to so much as piss without my permission and on top of all that we will be taking our relationship to a whole new level.”
She reached out her hands and ran them gently over the young woman’s hair. Then she put them on her chin and tilted the girl’s head upwards and stooped to brush her lips against hers.
“Did you like that? It matters not if you didn’t because you will grow to like it. Trust me. Now, before we begin our new lives, I still want to know what you have done with my favourite toy. Where is Alice?”
The maid’s spirits were utterly shattered. Death would have been a release for her as she had listened to the lady’s plans and inwardly grimaced when she had kissed her. Strangely it was the thing that always scared her that gave her hope. For the briefest of moments she saw it move and stop upright. There, at the door, stood Alice!
“She’s behind you Ma’am.”
The lady spun round and gasped.
“Just as I thought! But how did you….? I see.”
“What does it want Ma’am?” screamed the maid, pressing her body against the window as if she sought to extricate herself not just from the house but reality itself.
“Hush girl. Don’t be afraid. I understand now.”
“It can walk Ma’am! It can walk by itself! Oh God don’t let it near me!”
The lady laughed.
“Don’t worry girl, it couldn’t harm you even if she wanted to.”
“In the name of God please tell me what’s going on!”
“Very well, I will tell you. I suppose it’s only fair,” said the lady assuredly. “Then when that’s over and done with and you know the truth I will administer the punishment I mentioned earlier! But first, say hello to Alice.”
The lady picked up the doll and looked at it tenderly.
“Poor Alice! You know you should not be wandering about the house in the dark my dear, you might get hurt.”
She smiled at the doll and turned to the maid. Giving her a glare she finally broke into an evil laugh of triumph and raised Alice aloft like a trophy. Then she wrapped her arms around the doll and began to explain.
“Haven’t you ever put down your mop to think about it? Why do you never get any callers? Why do you have no family or friends to speak of? And why do you think you cannot even bear to look at Alice? It is because, girl, you are Alice!”
“How can I be Alice?” demanded the maid standing up again. “How? You’re insane!”
The lady was unphased.
“Prepare yourself to hear wrongs darker than death or night girl. It is too cold up here. Follow me to the fire.”

She kept her distance from the lady as she was led across the hall, back down the stairs and into the lounge.
“Warm yourself girl,” said the lady motioning her to the fire as she set Alice down upon an armchair. The maid watched as she approached smiling but when she was right in front of her the lady’s eyes were overcome by a far-away glaze as her mind resurrected long buried memories.
“Long ago I was a school mistress. And you were always there in my classroom Alice. I don’t know where you came from. You were the best doll, the most popular toy. The girls used to fight over you and even the boys liked you. I think they sensed the goodness in you. I loved my job but as the years past I grew bored and selfish. Sheer hedonism became a way of life, an addictive life at that. Beautiful clothes, delicious food, fast cars; I begged, borrowed, stole and gambled for material possessions until I had nothing but my job. It caused my marriage to fail and I was left alone. No husband, no children, not even a pet to keep me company. There came a day, some time after my husband left me, I sat at my desk in the empty classroom. The children had gone home, the rain teemed outside and I set the painkillers out on my desk, one by one in a neat little row. I wanted to take them all and be done with it. Life was a misery. Then, just before I was about to kill myself, you stirred. You moved. You even spoke! You said you were an ancient spirit of benevolence that took the form of a simple, friendly, smiling doll to better know the children of Earth. That is why you were called Alice; from the Latin meaning. Your life’s aim was to do good for the innocent, the children of this world. On that rainy afternoon however my plight and my feelings of self-hate served to awaken you. You could not stand idly by and watch me take my own life. You asked how you could help me and said you could do anything. All you wanted in return was to experience life as a human being. Now you could not bestow that gift upon yourself, you had to be granted it! I had to wish it upon you and only then could you make it a reality as a part of my wish. And so you made my fantasy tangible and read my mind to create the perfect life for me. My mansion, my wealth, my clothes; everything I could ever want, living isolated and alone in privacy, hidden safely away from the idiots of real life and the world itself! But that was not enough. I needed a companion, someone to talk to and, ultimately, someone to serve me, waiting upon me hand and foot! I took advantage of you. I exploited your naïve good nature for at the moment this place sprung into being around me I closed my eyes, held your doll-self tightly and implored you to always forget your previous life as a toy. In turn you immediately manifested yourself into a beautiful, young female body and appeared at my door clueless as to who you were and how you got there.”
“Nonsense,” breathed the maid. “Utter nonsense!”
“Is it? I assure you Alice that every word of it is true. Anyway, there you were; cold, scared and confused with nowhere to go. You easily agreed to work for me and have now the honour of serving me as my maid, forever, in the middle of nowhere in the beautiful rain that will pour for eternity. And I wanted you to envy me and lust after what I possess whilst knowing you can never have it! Deep down I know you still do!”
The maid shook her head and paced about in confusion.
“How can I be her?” she asked pointing to the doll. “She walks around of her own accord. I’m not responsible for that!”
“True. Physically speaking you are not her anymore, but believe it or not it is you who caused her to move,” replied the lady calmly.
“How?”
“I imagine some trace of your mind lingers within the doll. Today, when I subjected you to stresses you’ve never experienced before, your former self, driven by the heightened instinct of fear, panicked and sought to hide. So it fled from the toy room and lurked in the dark, empty rooms upstairs.”
Horrified, the maid put her face in her hands, and cried.
To her it was all absurd yet she could not deny the logic conveyed by the lady who strutted confidently as she held forth.
“I could not keep the secret any longer. Five years is long enough but although you now know the truth it matters little. In fact it is going to make my victory all the sweeter! I wanted to see how far you’d go, to test your endurance, and after all your defiance you are still mine, Alice. Even now, knowing your true nature will make no difference. You will be my maid, my servant, my slave and my lover forever. Enjoy.”
The maid said nothing. Her Mistress turned away and looked out the window at the storm. The maid’s voice wilted feebly across the lounge.
“What about kindness? What about love?”
“Kindness? Love?”
“If you were once in a place where love mattered you would understand Ma’am. As a teacher did you not love and care for your boys and girls? You were married. Did you not love your husband Ma’am? Do the rules of love and goodness mean anything to you? You ought to know that what you are doing is wrong.”
Speaking took its toll on the maid and when she had finished her speech she hid her face again.
“This is fantasy girl, an illusion you created! How can I do wrong? How can I sin when none of this is real? When I struck you earlier I struck nothing!”
The lady looked right down her nose at the maid.
“I doubt you even really exist,” rasped the lady.
“I am real!” insisted the maid.
“As for love,” laughed the lady. “Love. Do you think that bastard of a husband of mine cared one iota about love? Let me tell you something girl. The only true love is love for oneself! Marriage? Relationships? Friendships? They are chimeras. In life the only things that matter are power and money and here, in this unreality, I have them both.”
She went and picked up Alice, fondling the doll’s hair.
“I think I have explained everything girl. Do you have any more questions?”
The maid shook her head.
“Come over here then,” said the lady, stretching out her arms beckoningly. Placing her hands on the girl’s shoulders she looked at her tenderly.
“Things are going to be different girl but you will get used to it. One day you will appreciate me.”
The lady held up the doll.
“Won’t she Alice?”
She laughed, gave the doll another warm look then offered it to the maid.
“Here, take a look. Hold her. Look carefully into her face and eyes and perhaps you will remember.”
She handed the doll to the young woman and stepped away to stand by the fire.
“I will give you a moment to get reacquainted with yourself. After that, I seem to recall that you are due a severe punishment.”
Outside there rolled a wallop of renewed thunder. The house trembled, the lights flickered and the air itself seemed changed.
“That won’t be necessary,” said a voice that resounded in the silence following. While it sounded like the maid’s it was different; confident, assured and certain of itself. The lady watched in trepidation as her servant turned to face her. It was as if a new person had appeared. She looked identical to the maid but her bearing, posture and visage were altered. Gone was her uptight stance, her nervous features and her meek, apologetic eyes that now radiated poised mettle. Her smirking smile was too sincere to be false and her relaxed posture was bordering on suave. It was as though her old obeisance had never even existed. The lady’s instincts, so attuned to bullying the maid, had been smote with an alarmed confusion and the suffocating notion that she had just made a terrible mistake!
“Girl?”
Her voice quivered and the maid grinned affectionately at Alice.
“I’m afraid Ma’am that I lied to you. I said you had won but you haven’t.”
“But I have, you admitted so yourself!”
“I did but now I have remembered.” The maid’s tone became graver.
“That day in the school room long ago I also told you that my power was indomitable. Although I relinquished it when I acquired this form it had not gone away. I had to put it somewhere.”
Again she glanced happily at the doll as the lady watched warily.
“Girl,” she said. “Give her to me.”
“Please do not interrupt Ma’am. I simply cannot tolerate bad manners! If you really want, you can have Alice back if you like.”
The maid casually tossed her to the lady who caught it then looked carefully at the doll.
“You see Ma’am,” said the maid sauntering toward her, “My power rested in the doll, inside my old self and when you handed her to me just now, that grace was restored to me.”
“No!”
“Yes. Watch this.”
The maid raised her hands upwards and closed her eyes. As she did the mansion rocked. Dust seeped down from above, pictures fell off the walls, the fire roared in a frenzy and the windows rattled against a force other than the wind.
“Stop!” commanded the lady. “Please stop!”
The maid opened her eyes.
“Why should I?”
“Because we’ll die!” exclaimed her Mistress.
“No, you will die Ma’am, I won’t.”
The lady grabbed the mantelpiece to support herself and looked imploringly at the maid.
“When you entered this reality you said goodbye to life. There is no going back. I, on the other hand, am eternal. I can survive this dissolution!”
A wisp of white energy emerged from the young woman. It coiled around her then dispersed it every direction. At this the chaos increased. The windows shattered, the fire sent tongues of flame to burn across the room and a monumental din pierced the air! The lady flung herself at the maid’s feet and clasped her legs.
“But I beg you Alice,” she sobbed. “Please don’t do this to me! You are good, remember?”
“I am,” cried the maid.
“Then don’t do it! Please don’t!”
“I am good, that is true. But, like any creature, I have an evil side also!”
“It doesn’t matter Alice. Just stop it, I’ll do anything.”
“No!” she yelled. “I won’t restore that status quo. I will never serve you again.”
“Then restore it so that we’re equals Alice! Quickly!”
Around them an intense stream of indescribable energy was forming, absorbing the entire mansion at a terrible speed.
“I won’t!” said Alice the maid. “Never!”
The lady groaned.
“Then restore it as you see fit Alice, whatever way you want! Please!”
“Whatever way I see fit?”
“Yes!”
Alice’s eyes went dark as she pondered the idea.
“Very well,” she said eventually. “But you must wish it!”
“I wish it!” screamed the lady. “I wish it restored as you see fit! The way you want!”
She had barely uttered this when all was calm again. The noise was gone, the windows were intact, the fire burnt gently and the house was pristine and strong. Outside, the rain continued. The lady sighed in relief as he clambered to her feet.
“Thank you,” she breathed, setting the doll back on the armchair. “Oh thank you so much!”
The lady wept and hugged the maid.
“Killing me would have been senseless,” she said. “There’s no point in murder Alice, none at all.”
The lady produced her hanky and blew her nose.
“You did the right thing girl.”
The young woman wearing the maid’s uniform looked at her impassively.
“Girl?”
“Yes, sorry. I suppose from now on I must call you Alice. And you can call me by my Christian name unless you are too used to ‘Ma’am’.”
“Alice?”
“I promise you girl, this time I will be kinder. You can have days off, you can conjure up friends and treats for us. We’ll even go for walks together in the rain!”
Smug disdain swept over the young woman’s face.
“Alice? Girl? Is either a proper way of addressing one’s Mistress?”
“Pardon me?”
“When I was your maid, how did you react whenever I forgot my place?”
“When you were my maid? You still are, aren’t you?” The lady’s tense nerves infiltrated her voice when she asked this question. In response the young woman chuckled softly.
“Did you or did you not wish this fantasy restored?”
“I did.”
“Restored as I saw fit,” said the young woman jerking her thumb to her chest.
“But,” stammered the lady, “it is restored. My house is back; everything’s fixed!”
The young woman frowned.
“It was your house but not any more.”
“Our house then, together? How wonderful!”
“Not ours!” said the young woman firmly.
“Then who’s?”
“Mine.”
“Yours?” gasped the lady with fearful disappointment. The young woman inclined her head.
“All mine, along with everything in it.”
The lady shook her head rapidly.
“No!” she scoffed. “Look at you, you’re still my maid, you have your uniform!”
“It’s not my uniform, not anymore.”
“Then who’s is it girl?”
The young woman set her hands on her hips, smiled faintly and ran her eyes up and down the lady’s body. At that moment the lady realised with suffocating reluctance that the owner of the uniform was no longer the young woman, its new owner was her.
“Me?”
“You.”
“But you are good Alice. Surely we can be equals!”
“As I said, I am bad too. The human nature I acquired in this body is appealing. Only now have I the ability to fully experience it and I intend to enjoy myself. Of course I will need a companion; just someone to talk to. In particular I will require someone to serve me and wait upon me hand and foot!”
The lady cowered as the young woman jabbed her in the chest for there could now be no doubt that she would be the ‘someone’ of whom the former maid spoke. No longer was she the dominant Mistress of supreme authority or the self-indulgent hedonist. Gone too was her confidence, crushed as it was by the young woman’s display and inert power that radiated from her like heat. Most of all, the lady cursed her carelessness. It was true that she had no way of knowing that the girl’s contact with the doll would have resurrected the grace Alice spoke of but it galled her to think that had she not been so arrogant their former roles would have been maintained for perpetuity. Now, however, the lady’s role would be a different one. With nothing left to say she meekly bowed her head. Alice, reborn, surveyed the lady from head to toe and laughed seductively in a way not dissimilar to her former Mistress.
“All that was yours Ma’am is now mine. If you thought being a maid for five years was bad, try five hundred years or, better yet, five thousand. I can prolong your life for as long as I wish, mortal.”
Tears formed in the lady’s eyes.
“Now,” continued Alice, “tie up your hair! Such a long, self-indulgent style is inappropriate for a house maid!”
The lady obeyed her command; lofting her black hair into a pony tail which she secured with a dark cotton band presented by Alice.
“Perfect,” said the young woman.
Alice then lifted the firm cotton tiara from her hair and set it on the lady’s head. The older woman swallowed hard.
“That gown, remove it!”
“Please,” begged the lady.
“Remove it.”
A minute later the dress was off and the lady stood shivering in her underclothes yet this quivering was not caused by lack of heat but failing nerve. The young woman then took off the maid uniform for the last time. She smiled and handed it to the lady.
“Put on your uniform,” she ordered. “It ought to fit you as we are the same size. Remember?”

As she slowly put on her uniform the lady’s stiff breathing was audible. The young woman slipped off her flat shoes and kicked them over to the lady who put them on when the dress was buttoned up. Arms by her side she stood in silence awaiting her young Mistress’s first command. The young lady released her hair clips and let her shimmering auburn locks cascade down across her shoulders. She held up the lady’s gown.
“This morning you said I’d look great in this. Help me put it on.”
Kneeling, the lady assisted Alice into the dress and fastened it.
“You’d better get used to dressing me, old maid,” sneered the young lady.
Her new servant mumbled something.
“What did you say?”
It looked as if the lady had aged suddenly and her voice resembled a dry croak.
“I said that won’t be a problem.”
“Excuse me?” asked the young woman. The lady blinked hard.
“That won’t be a problem, Miss.”
“You’d better get used to calling me that,” said her Mistress joyfully.
“Yes Miss.”
“You have a lot of work to do,” said the young lady. “I want the upstairs swept and polished, the laundry done and my dinner on the dining room table by eight o’clock sharp!”
The lady nodded.
“Right now though, you can get me a cup of tea and a nice pair of your shoes. Sorry, my shoes. Those gorgeous, three inch, open-toed black pumps you love so much will do. Luxury will take some getting used to but I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”
The forlorn old maid’s expression of self-pity brought only another amused grin from the wealthy young lady.
“Dismissed.”
With that her former Mistress, now her servant, shuffled away to begin a new life of servitude. Alone, the young woman lay out on the sofa with a blissful sigh of pleasure. Moments later she leapt up again and dashed to the armchair.
“Hello me!” she said to the smiling doll.
Picking up her former self she laughed merrily and twirled round with the toy pressed against her heart. She came to the window and was pleased to see the rain disperse quickly as shafts of radiant light pierced the grey clouds and sent them away forever. Like the doll, the young lady could have smiled forever more at the sight.
“Look Alice,” she said. “The sun is shining!”

© Ciaran McVeigh 2010