Fly on the Wall

By David Jones
‘I know an old lady, who swallowed a fly,
I don’t know why she swallowed a fly.

Perhaps she’ll die . . .’

 'Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away...'

Hughes Mearns

The fly did not belong here. The small, darkened apartment was too quiet, too unearthly
to accommodate the infrequent buzzing of even the smallest of its kind. A fidgeting black
speck upon the landscape of an otherwise pale white windowsill, it stood out in all the
ways an intelligent fly would hope not to.
If this specific individual were capable of intelligent reflection, and let us not rule out the
possibility, then it may well have found itself marveling in distasteful confusion at the
strange layout of this particular environment. Dominating the centre of the space lay
securely a blue-quilted, heavy set, double bed: whose pillowed top rested with its back to
the door. The only door of the room.
Our hypothetically smart fly would by now be using in its mind the word ‘room’ as an
irritating but necessary replacement of the word ‘apartment’. Being the proud descendant
of an ageless species who are, by tireless experience, no doubt the leading scholars
regarding such human settlings, its evolutionary instinct (strengthened with each
generation of fly) would have screamed that compared to the expected apartment set-up,
this was no such establishment! And taking into account a fly’s 30 day lifespan: that’s a
lot of generations doin’ a lotta’ screamin’!
You see the word apartment brings to mind the image of numerous separate rooms,
usually done with the aid of walls and doors. Perhaps that was once true for this
‘apartment’, until some previous occupant became convinced of another presence and
decided to screw over any opportunity for it to hide with the aid of a sledgehammer and
multiple well placed swings. If this was the plan, then it worked.
From its position on the window-sill, our fly could view the entire ‘apartment’. With its
back to the window, it would first look past the bed to the one door directly ahead of it.
Its gaze would then sweep left to take in the most basic of kitchens, shoved up against the
farthest corner to make way for a lonely table and chair. Looking right, our inquisitive
insect would be sickened by a lack of toilet door (walls, and any effort to separate the bog
from the rest of this unnerving room), and mortified further by the careless placement of
a black leather couch and small bookshelf mere feet away. Were this insect in any way
hygienic, the absence of sink, bath and shower would have undoubtedly sent it over the
edge.
But the fly could not see so well. Despite having 2000 lenses in each eye, a fly’s vision
centers on the ability to detect and locate rapid movement. And as its current location
showed no interest or care towards the concept of movement, the fly was spared the
view’s minor details. Some could argue that in this case, nature was kind.
As a ghostly red light from a neon pub sign across the road filtered through the drapes,
the noisy black speck continued to flit here and there across the window sill, punished by
the room’s irritated silence.
The fly did not belong here. And it knew it.

Walking shoes are truly rare phenomena. Providing comfort and protection on even the
longest of walks, they also somehow succeed in being the quietest brand of shoes to grace
popular shelves.
Tony Havisham eased soundlessly into the apartment, and was struck by the silence of
the room. A wave of nostalgia passed through him as always, before he proceeded
towards the ‘kitchen’, throwing the wrapped remains of his KFC meal into a bin next to
the bed (his careless accuracy being the envy of any young hormonal teenage boy).
His tanned, rough hands fumbled with and opened the drawers within which one would
expect to find cutlery or napkins. Instead a vast array of tools and odd-ends greeted his
calm gaze: magnifying glass (typical), surveillance gear, profile paper-work, two fake
ID’s, etc. The tools of his career.
It could be argued that, in some way or another, Tony suited the room. His tanned skin
was well matched by a long, flowing, dark-brown winter coat. Resting above our famous
walking shoes were black jeans secured with a belt that may well have been plucked from
the Wild West, adorned with numerous patterns and carvings. An image that was further
emphasized by a ‘cowboyish’ black hat that sat comfortably atop his head, whilst
somehow managing to look cool. (Sorry guys, but if you or I were too put it on, the girls
would laugh: knowing that we were trying far too hard).
Passers by had often joked that Tony resembled a younger, browner Terry Pratchet. On
the off occasions where Tony had overheard such comparisons (more often than the
passers by would expect), he had actually spared a chuckle to himself. He admired the
author’s wit and style, though in truth, the difference in chosen professions ensured that
the two men truly were worlds apart.
Having found what he was after; Tony eased the drawer closed and strode towards the
window. He raised the small lens to his eye, and peered towards the crowd gathered
below the sign across the road. For a London pub it was emptying early, as the digital
clock on the table read 11:23 pm. The youths were already smoking, flirting, arguing and
laughing heartily along the pavement outside. A quick scan of each unfocused face
suggested his quarry had not yet left the pub, but with all the movement it was hard to tell
which ones he had and hadn’t already checked. He leaned closer to the window, unafraid
of the possibility of being spotted.
You see, man of the world that he was, Tony was fully aware that any girl dressed like
that (and to be honest, they all were) had long since fallen into an incredibly dangerous
habit. Though the poorly hidden stares of numerous horny men may have at first flattered
them, years of experience meeting creeps and coming to understand the true nature of
practically every man had brought them to the conclusion that there was always a perv
somewhere and that perv was always staring! So why bother looking for them? After all,
the first thing any smart girl learns when out pubbing or clubbing is that the one thing
worse than being stared at by a perv, is making eye contact with a perv! They tend to
draw their own hopeful conclusions. Then it just gets even worse, and much more
awkward! As for the guys, well, I don’t think I need to tell you why our subject knew
they’d be far too distracted to notice him.
Which, for the sake of their own sanity, is probably a damn good thing! For if they were
to look up at this particular window, the combination of red light shined across his face
and ‘cowboyish’ hat may well given them the impression that Terry Pratchet had passed
away and returned to torment the unsuspecting generation that his books had once so
entertained. Then again, maybe not.
Frustration towards the moving crowd eased when rain began to fall, Tony smiled at the
mayhem that inevitably ensued. Tarted up girlfriends who had originally been happy to
hang around now began dragging their men towards parked cars, while wannabe Edward
Cullens who had undoubtedly spent hours on their hair now abandoned the tough guy
façade in search of shelter before the illusion fell to pieces. . .
One by one, the street emptied, rewarded by Tony’s sigh of thanks. Then, right on cue,
they came into view. Though obscured by the rain, Tony could make out the black winter
coat, the messy gelled hair, and the arm thrown ‘protectively’ around the blonde girl
giggling into his side. As soon as they appeared, Tony was ready to leave. Upon doing so
he spotted a small fly sat on the windowsill, looking straight back at him. Or so it
appeared. With a fluid motion he eased the window open and guided it out, hoping the
rain wouldn’t prove fatal as it disappeared into the night.
Closing the window shut, he returned with deliberate focus to the kitchen drawers to
remove one last item. Closing the door behind him, he hoped he would resist the urge to
use it. In the absence of both Tony and the insect, silence returned instantly.
The room sighed in relief.

Someone, somewhere, once said that God was in the rain. As she was eased from the
warmth of the pub, Sarah couldn’t help but suspect that if this person was a female, then
they had never stood outside in the rain with a man they had even the slightest bit of
interest towards.
The reason being that this God had, for some reason, chosen to curse her gender with one
simple and unshakable fact: rain never makes long hair look good. It makes it ruffled,
twisted, matted and sticky. Add to that the fact that the generations long relationship
between water and carefully placed makeup was yet to show any significant signs of
improvement, Sarah came to the assured conclusion that this evening, God certainly was
not in the rain!
Her companion may not have agreed, were he spiritually inclined at all. The droplets of
water had given his messy gelled hair a sexy, rugged wet look. Thinking not for the first
time that boys didn’t ever quite realize how lucky they were, Sarah would bet money that
even if she were to attack the style with a full bucket and damp towel, it would still find a
way to look good. Were she not wrapped round his finger at this point; she may well have
landed a frustrated kick to his shin.
And she truly was wrapped round his finger, there was no arguing, she knew that much.
From the moment he had entered the pub four hours earlier and sat amongst the other
lads; he had stood out in just about every way. Where the others were drunk, he was calm
and sober. Where the others were rowdy, he was clearly very intelligent. Top that off
with dark messy hair, mysterious Latin tattoo on neck and a chiseled face: Sarah’s
attention was engaged. And then, the piece da resistance’! When she had finally
approached him alone, those green eyes had borne into hers and the words, “You should
probably avoid me Sarah, I’m trouble” were spoken. How could she resist?
She leant into his side again, and his smell blanketed over her. Unfamiliar with the brand
of aftershave he was wearing, Sarah marveled at how it added to his persona; somehow
taking the auras of strength and intelligence and blending them seamlessly together. Our
blonde beauty sighed in annoyance, what was it about the right aftershave that could give
almost any man such a presence, could say so much . . .
“Told you it was close” he whispered into her ear, gesturing towards a two-doored, black
Peugeot just across the street.
She giggled, and not for the first time. In fact he had been making her laugh a great deal,
wannabe players that always preached about a good sense of humor being the key to a
girls heart (or knickers in this case) were half right.
Half right because they always assumed that any humor would do, unaware that the right
kind was much, much more specific. Simply making the girl laugh wasn’t the Holy Grail;
a cheeky, flirty, laid back sense of humor was the key. And he had it.
Shielding her from most of the rain with part of his jacket pulled over her head, he lead
her gracefully to the car parked across the road; its black exterior shining darkly as the
street lights played across its wet surface. With a twist of the key, Sarah was guided past
the folded front seat, and nestled into the back.
At that moment Daniel’s name was called from across the street, and through the misted
window Sarah spotted the outline of a man she estimated to be around the same age
jogging towards him from down the street. The green gaze met hers once again and, with
a playful roll of his eyes, Daniel mouthed the words “Stay here” before pulling the seat
back into place and closing the car door.
Left alone in the back seat, Sarah began rubbing her hands together for warmth. The girly
butterflies weren’t showing any sign of fading, and she bit her lip in nervous anticipation.
The two outlines outside had now met and, noticing that the driver’s window was ever so
slightly open, she tried to listen in. Despite the occasional laugh and odd word, her efforts
were in vain.
At that moment a fly drifted through the windows gap, and nestled itself on the drivers
headrest. Also at that moment, an irritating thought crossed Sarah’s mind: why the back
seat? Why not just let her through the passenger’s door into the front? Paranoid and
ridiculous as it was, the thought bothered her the more she pondered on it.
The fly made its way down the back of the chair, until it settled upon a napkin tucked into
a netted compartment: red splotches covering it. The fly stopped moving.
Sarah gazed at the blood-stained napkin, the paranoid imagination of a child beginning to
take her mind over. She shook her head stubbornly and told herself to get a grip: blooded
nose, accidental cut, there were thousands of likelihoods to explain the stains in place of
the conclusion that she was in the back-seat of a sicko’s car. The back seat!
The first genuine stab of fear struck a sickly jolt in the pit of her stomach, increasing
further as other strange moments of the evening made themselves known. The way he’d
shown up alone, the way he’d already known her name, had paused before answering
with ‘Daniel’, and warned her of being ‘trouble’ and yet made no effort whatsoever to
resist her advance. He’d seduced her, no doubt, but why?
An intense stare out the window revealed that Daniel was in conversation with a slap-
head teen, perhaps a couple of years younger, nineteen maybe? Observation of any
further details were made impossible by the condensation and rainfall against the
window, and as the downpour increased, any chance of hearing what was being said was
tarnished. He’d closed the door after all.
Self frustration surged forward as Sarah recalled shamefully that this had always been
something of a girly fantasy; the danger, the rush. She was fully aware that her train of
thought was irrational, paranoid and unjustified. And yet that feeling within the gut, that
instinct, promised otherwise. There was much danger in this car, somehow there was no
doubt. The fly still hadn’t moved.
I will not be the dumb blonde in horror movies that risks her life for some ridiculous
thrill, the kind I’m always mocking in the damn cinema!
With a deep sense of inner strength, she adjusted the chair forwards and pulled on the
door handle. It opened too easily, too forcefully. The now strong wind whipped at her
face and hair, the cold rain soaking her arm in moments. Had the wind blown the door
open? Were the elements of this crazy universe finally conspiring with rather than against
her? A brief look out the door answered that question.
He stood in the rain, arm slung casually on the door frame and eyebrows raised in mock
confusion. The weather had indeed perfected his hair even further, dark wet fringe stuck
to his brow, emphasizing the tanned face and drawing her eyes to his. Those deep green
eyes, windows of a soul that no longer bothered to perform for her. The light within them
that had made her laugh, made her feel safe, suddenly vanished too quickly to be replaced
by nothing at all. Just green, just green empty eyes. The fly suddenly resumed movement,
leaving through the open door and into the night, unnoticed by ‘Daniel’s’ fixed gaze. The
skin-head was no longer anywhere to be seen.
Sarah knew herself well enough to know that, terrible an actress as she was, the look of
fear etched on her face was too obvious to hide at this point. She knew what was about to
happen, and he knew she did. Thus, the act that had fooled her so fully only moments
earlier was dropped like an immense weight from those now menacing shoulders. It was
a nice relief in a way, to no longer have any bullshit between them.
An immensely fast glance around indicated that, in humble gratitude to the rain, they
truly were alone in the street. The man pretending to be named Daniel smiled softly,
having clearly known for some time that there would be no onlookers tonight.
“What gave me away?” he tilted his head playfully to the side whilst never dropping eye
contact.
“A feeling”, the voice coming across much stronger than she’d expected it too. The wind
now blew the soaking droplets directly through the open door, ruining her makeup and
drenching the fringe. It felt funny considering only minutes earlier that would have
infuriated her. Seemingly entertained by this answer, the man remained silent and staring.
Sarah seized the opportunity to make this even more of a cliché’ than it already felt,
surprised that her body felt strangely numbed of fear, “I’ll scream”.
“Save your lungs Sarah, you won’t be heard”, his face showed no change.
“The pub . . .”
“Please Sarah, I chose you because you seemed smarter than the others. Let’s not play
this game hey?”. That damn smile again.
It was then that the fear finally hit, and began to sink in. Looking helplessly at the figure
blocking the best exit, Sarah finally came to terms with the fact that this was actually
happening. This was no channel that could be turned off, no book that could be put down,
and no story that could be ignored. Unless some miracle found her some way out of this,
she knew she was about to endure the worst moments of her life. Perhaps even the last.
It was that thought that did it. Sarah had always prided herself on being a strong person,
and when the first real tremor of fear shook her body she hated herself for it. As if
waiting for that very sign, an amused look took over his face as he began to lean his
dripping self into the car.
Refusing to move and show fear for him, Sarah controlled her breathing and stared
straight back into those lifeless eyes. They were the most frightening thing she had ever
seen. As images of friends and family flashed their way across her mind, the tremors
became uncontrollable and soon Sarah’s whole body was shaking. His hands reached
forward and grasped her shoulders tightly; hands that she knew intended to do nothing
but harm.
Though her first instinct was to fight, she fought to resist it. The only chance was for
someone to actually go out in this harsh rain, and walk past the car. If he didn’t hear them
coming, she might just have enough time to let out a scream. Then pray the passer by
wasn’t a coward or some elderly person: they weren’t good odds. But fighting him would
be pointless, he would win. Besides, she intended to spend as much time through this as
she could pretending he was a decent guy, that she had chosen this, before those firm
hands lost control and became dangerous.
Those same hands began to lean her backwards, to lie upon the seats, she obliged. This
should have at least been a little sexy, after all he was gorgeous. But as a hand moved
unobstructed to her face, and long cold fingers pulled her chin to the side to make way for
sickly warm wet lips against her neck, Sarah forced back the urge to vomit. The first tear
of childlike hopelessness (hot with shame) made its way down her cheek, and out the
corner of her watery eyes she saw him smile. Concentrating hard on the feel of her tears
against each cheek in an attempt to shut out the other sensations, Sarah began the
unpracticed robotic process of shutting herself down. Her will, her body, her very life, all
belonged to this sick bastard now. As the first tears of anger began to well up, our blonde
beauty spotted the sudden outline of a second man approaching the car.
He wore an odd hat, and his footsteps made no sound.

Sitting stationary behind the wheel of a car with misted windows during a wet evening is
about as close to invisible as one could hope to get. The dark blue Volvo was parked a
short way down the street, though Tony could have gotten away with being a lot closer.
He’d left the building the moment the other teen had turned up, providing an ideal
distraction to slip into his parked car unnoticed. Intensely focused eyes observed the area,
assessing among other things the time it would take to reach the Peugeot. In truth he
probably didn’t have to wait so long, but Tony refused to fall into the same trap that
ensnared so many experienced members of this profession. The key was to treat every job
as if it was your first, including the expectation of every worse case scenario and the
ridiculous attention to detail.
Every job is different, thus it is always your first. Hope for the best, and plan for the
worst.
It was the greatest lesson he’d ever been taught, and he focused all his work on it. He
owed his very life to it.
Once again alone in the street, the drenched young man now stood blocking the open
front door. The Peugeot faced Tony as his quarry, feet still on the pavement, began to
lean into the vehicle. The attitude and movement was different, more menacing:
somehow, though it was difficult to conclude how, the blonde had figured things out. Or
perhaps he had simply come clean, he was obviously smart enough to know that to any
observer, it would appear to be little more than two teens fooling around. Assuming he
kept his hand securely over her mouth.
The leech had now leant fully into the car, leaving only his trainers in full view. This was
what Tony had been waiting for; being cursed with morals he always waited to check that
the target’s nature was true to what he had been told. And given the signs and body
language observed both now and earlier, there was little doubt that his source was correct.
Plus it was often best for the girl, harsh as it may sound, to hang back a few extra
seconds. Step in too early; and they tended to delude themselves into thinking it wasn’t
going to happen anyway. At least this way, the lesson would be learnt and shared.
The Volvo door opened softly, the little sound it did make being easily drowned out by
the pitter patter of rainfall striking the now luminous road. Leaving his own door open,
Tony glided soundlessly towards the harsh scene. He really did like these walking shoes.
The inner professional took over as he began assessing how best to begin, based on what
he could decipher of the targets personality through previous tell tale signs. Wet fingers
twitched with animalistic desire, and the forbidden item began to feel heavy within the
now soaking winter coat. Forbidden, but oh so tempting.
Have you ever had a moment either in theatres, cinemas or simply leant over the pages of
a book; where you are faced with a truly sick, evil character? Your blood boils,
uninterested in whether this person is real or fictitious. And for the briefest of moments
you forget yourself, and later realize you’ve spent the last few minutes mindlessly
fantasizing about getting your hands on such a person. Wishing that you could step
through the page or screen, to deploy your own brand of selfish ‘justice’. Now imagine
that you could. That your profession placed you in a rainy street, with no observers save
for a single victim, only meters away from such a character. That you possessed all you
needed both physically and intellectually to accomplish such vengeance. Now add to this
the fact that rule number one dictated that you do not lose control. Such was the position
of Tony Havisham.
With one fluid motion, Tony’s hands grasped the exposed feet and pulled with
unrestrained force. The cocky adolescent flew from the car and landed face down on the
soaked pavement, body rigid with the shock of swapping the warmth of a woman’s skin
with the impact of cold wet tarmac.
Before he could recover, ‘Daniel’ felt rough hands grip his hair with agonizing force and
lift him to his feet. The rain blurred all vision as futile attempts were made to turn around,
but those hands were holding on too tightly to allow any movement. The tearing strands
of hair were suddenly yanked left then right and released as Tony’s victim was thrown
into the road. A sickening crunch sounded as the teen’s knee was first to make contact,
followed by the rest of his limp body as it rolled twice and came to a stop. The screams of
agony were soon silenced as his blurred assailant returned to strike at the exposed throat.
Red hot pain filled his lungs, followed by tears of defeat as ‘Daniel’ (now unable to make
any sound save for coughing and spluttering) raised his hands and closed his eyes tight
shut in horror. He was almost blissful when a well aimed punch to his left temple
released him into unconsciousness.

22 seconds. It wasn’t a record, but given the circumstances it wasn’t bad either. Eyes wild
with the desire to do worse, Tony nevertheless controlled himself and began to lift the
unmoving figure from the road. The sound of stiletto heels carried up the street, volume
increasing with each step. Shit.
Glancing over his shoulder, Tony spied a smartly dressed brunette (perhaps in her early
thirties) approaching from down the street. His mind went into overdrive, evaluating
everything. She had just turned a corner, meaning she hadn’t seen the fight. The wind had
also seemed to have blown the door of his Volvo shut. A plan formed already, and Tony
gave himself over to it.

Sammy wished once again that she had bothered to buy a car. London was easy to
navigate without one off course, but after hours working late cooped up in an office the
last thing she wanted was to brave this bloody weather. Besides, it wasn’t the safest
option to be walking alone at this hour. Especially with the clink clank of stiletto heels
that might as well have an inbuilt speaker for all rapists announcing, “This is to let you
know exactly where I am and that I wont do a damn good job of running very fast”.
Chuckling to herself, she rounded a corner and began to slow when the sight of a body
strewn across the road with a man standing over it reached her eyes. The tall cowboy
reached down and (with obvious difficulty and groans); succeeded in lifting the limp
figure into a protective embrace (the way a mother may hold a baby).
He turned to face her, and Sammy was greeted by a charming sigh of relief, “Oh thank
God for your timing, would you mind giving me a hand miss?”
He did look sweet; obviously holding his son or relation of some kind. He looked older at
least. Smiling, she walked over to them, “Rough night? Is he OK”?
“I have no sympathy for him, this isn’t the first time. You tell them not to mix their
drinks, and what do they do?”
“Heck, I’d be careless if my father was on the lookout like you”, she giggled.
“I do my best, though I’m not as strong as I used to be. Would you mind opening my car
door so I can get him in? I fear if I put him down again I won’t manage lifting him a
second time”.
The kind stranger handed Sammy some car keys (hardly managing to keep his son up at
the same time), and nodded to a Volvo only meters away. Jogging over to the car, she
unlocked the passenger side door and held it open as the unconscious drunk was eased
gently into the seat. The lights of the car’s interior illuminated his face, making Sammy
cringe, “A very rough night by the looks of things”.
“Oh don’t feel bad for him, I can guarantee it wasn’t anything he didn’t start”.
“Aren’t you worried”?
The worn looking father sighed, “The first time yes. The second time, yes. At this point
I’m actually glad to be honest; hopefully one day someone will beat him hard enough to
snap him out of his cocky attitude. Id go in the bloody clubs with him if I could”.
“Well he seems at least nineteen, and I don’t think they’d let you in with that hat”, she
leant against the car and bit her lip teasingly.
“Ahhh, that’s why I’m never invited”. They both broke into laughter, and he seemed to
relax a little.
“You do look young to be his father”, Sammy cocked her head to the side, studying his
face.
“That’s because I am, too young. A living testament to the curses of a foolish and
carefree childhood”.
“Like father like son”, she smirked.
“Bugger off”. They both broke into laughter again, as he walked over to the cars other
side and opened the drivers’ seat. “Well thank you ever so much for your help, saves him
sleeping on the road!” he extended his right hand and shook hers warmly.
“You’re most welcome. I’m Sammy by the way, was nice to meet you . . . .”
“Trevor, and the honor is all mine”, his smile beamed infectiously.
“You take good care of him now”
“Oh I’m not so sure about that, he’s got hell to pay when he wakes up”.
She giggled again and began to leave as Trevor entered the car and, waving a final
friendly goodbye, closed the door behind himself. Returning to the pavement, Sammy
resumed her journey. The rain was beginning to fade, so she committed herself to
enjoying the rest of the walk with a smile on her face. Moments like that did renew her
hope in mankind, she had to confess. It was nice to meet a dedicated, loving father for a
change. . .

Tony landed another quick punch to the slumps face, ensuring the kid remained
unconscious as the woman disappeared down the next corner. He waited a good few
seconds after she had vanished, just to be sure. Then, casting one glance around the
street, he got to work.
As he bound his victim’s hands and mouth, the young blonde girl crossed his mind.
During his 22 seconds of distraction, she must have bolted from the car and ran off.
Smart girl, but that meant Tony may only have another minute maximum if she’d chosen
to advertise the incident to anyone. Working faster now, Tony checked the street one last
time before transferring his quarry to the boot. A brief pause and glance around revealed
that nobody was present, all was clear. With the boot securely closed, Tony re-entered the
car and began to drive.

The soft rumble of an engine and the music of ‘Faithless’ coaxed Alex awake. If he
weren’t cold with sweat and nerves, he may well have appreciated the irony as the track
‘Insomnia’ drowned out his own sounds. The worst thing wasn’t the throbbing pain in his
throat, or on the side of his head as the gash dripped fresh hot blood down his cheek: it
was his inability to clutch at the pain as his hands remained tied securely behind himself.
Alex continued to squirm in grief for some time, until the sickly realization that he wasn’t
getting out brought him to stillness.
The irritating sound of a fly’s wings flittered to and fro, making its way over his jacket.
Alex attempted to crush it by rolling his body back and forth, but soon gave up as his
knee protested with stabs of white hot pain. Emanating a helpless sigh through his gagged
mouth, he closed his eyes and chose not to be distracted by the question of how the fuck a
fly had found its way into the boot.
For those sensible enough not to have endured a boot ride, it is a strange sensation. One
can feel every turn of the car, every maneuver and change of gear. The darkness
envelopes fully as the engine feels so very close and the vibrations of the sound system
send jolts through all your joints. Though this is nothing compared to the confusion of the
mind as it tries to grasp and accept the reality that your curled up body is probably
travelling in excess of sixty miles-per-hour. Then come the morbid thoughts of a crash,
being trapped in the boot of a burning car . . .
In other words it’s both a frightening and thrilling experience, and as an irresponsible
author I claim it is something everyone should try at least once. But then again, perhaps
not.
Alex’s mind was elsewhere, trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong. This
wasn’t right, things weren’t supposed to be this way. The universe was still on his side of
course, but it was difficult to understand how this was supposed to benefit him. Alex
understood that most people held the delusion that they were somehow centre of the
cosmos, that they were the main character in this crazy series of events called life. The
important difference in Alex’s case is that it was undoubtedly true for him.
He had always realized that you had many extras in life; uninteresting people whom the
universe would not miss and sought fit to remove whenever the storyline required some
casualties. Then you had your principals, the grounded people of magnetic personality
that were spared and protected on most occasions. Only to perish if the universe called
for some dramatic loss, to keep things interesting.
Then there was Alex, the centre upon which all other plot lines depended on. How he
knew this he’d never been sure, but as he’d grown up it had become clear. Always
‘lucky’, always arriving and leaving at the right moments, always untouchable. Until now
at least. He didn’t believe in God, so simply referred to it as a force of the universe. A
God wouldn’t have allowed what he did, wouldn’t have understood. The universe was far
above such petty deities.
Take Lisa for example, he smiled in spite of his situation. His most recent conquest; his
second. She had been a challenge, and he loved her for it. Always keeping him at arms
length, refusing to meet whenever he hinted at some place private and desolate. She had
been a true gem, beautiful with flowing brown hair and smooth, pale white skin. A lover
of poetry, books and fairytales; her idealistic view of the world being even more
seductive to Alex than those clear innocent blue eyes.
Alas, the universe had saw fit to intervene on his behalf. A late night teary phone call
claiming her father had shouted and stormed out (not to return until the morning), had
sealed the deal. She was alone in the house, and she needed a shoulder to cry on. He gave
her far more.
He hadn’t consciously intended to beat her black and blue, it just seemed to happen
somewhere between moving in on her and keeping her quiet. To his knowledge, she was
still in hospital. His identity was safe off course, tell them the right things and they kept
their mouths shut. The family must have begged to know who was responsible, but the
threat of further tragic casualties at the hands on his ‘gang’ would have guaranteed her
silence. The image of her beaten face returned to his mind, she may never be beautiful
again. He hoped not, no thing in life brought more satisfaction than the destruction of
something beautiful.
He was calm once again, as the car began to swerve left and right; indicating along with
the slowing speed that the journey was coming to an end. Alex knew he’d be fine,
whatever was about to happen would only prove to make him stronger. The pain was
even beginning to subside, gradually. He realized then with a smirk that he could easily
have won the fight if he’d tried; but the universe had made it clear that he needed to be in
this boot. He felt comforted realizing now that he was here by choice.
The car came to a halt, the engine clicked out. Alex breathed deeply through his nose and
prepared himself, knowing he needn’t fear any more pain. The sound of a closed car door
resounded through the darkness of the trunk, and heavy footsteps made their way closer.
He was expecting a bright light to greet his eyes when the trunk opened, instead his eyes
were greeted by only more darkness, save for his captors outline. Which he didn’t like at
all. The irritating insect decided finally to leave the boot, vanishing somewhere near the
menacing figure. Alex hated the way he suddenly felt, as if something had changed, that
some focus had decided to shift. For the first time in his life he felt very much alone.

Alex did his best to shake off that feeling as those tanned hands grabbed the back
neckline of his jacket and pulled. He rag-dolled from the car and was soon being pulled
along behind his captor, his eyes facing the sky and his feet dragging along with him. He
didn’t try to scream through the gag: that would indicate that he was not in control. The
main character had to be in control!
The searing pain in his right knee worsened periodically with each bump of the journey,
showing no sign of abating. This wasn’t right at all! Usually any pain Alex ever felt
would stop at a certain point, just enough to keep him toughened but not enough to make
him suffer unnecessarily.
This was very different, this was agonizing, and it wasn’t stopping. The first teardrop of
pain made itself known, which to Alex was more horrifying than the pain itself (if that
were possible). He tried to distract himself by viewing his surroundings through the
darkness, what he saw offered him no comfort or solace.
He was being led into an abandoned warehouse of some kind, surrounded as far as the
eye could see by half made buildings, fenced off areas, rubbish dumps, all of them
without any sign of movement or life.
Maybe I was supposed to actually escape the trunk? Have I failed, has the universe lost
interest? Am I alone?
For once, Alex Searle felt very human. His muffled whimpers began to echo as he
entered the confines of the warehouse. He tried to resist with his legs, to pull the other
way, but every time he applied any form of pressure his knee retorted with unimaginable
agony. His body became tired from it, and thus he was unable to suppress the shaking any
longer.
Was this how they had all felt?
Doors were opened as he was led deeper into this labyrinth of rooms and metal corridors,
his whimpers sounding like the anguished cries of some condemned spirit as they
rebounded and amplified of the cold hard walls. And it was very cold.
He realized suddenly how his tormentor was able to navigate through the thick blackness
so easily, glancing painfully over his shoulder he could see a very small hand-held torch;
providing just enough light to make the approaching few meters visible.
The man paused for a moment, making grunting sounds and tugging something with his
one free hand. Another difficult glance revealed that he was struggling with a particularly
large metal door, which eventually surrendered and slowly opened with a horrific grating
noise. The torch clicked off, and Alex Searle’s whimpering body was dragged into the
crushing darkness, the heavy metal door closing shut behind him with an almighty thud.

The black void was without any light, save for the green numbers of a distant digital
clock that read 1:03 am. Alex’s ragged breathing was the only sound for a few seconds;
fear overwhelmed him as he failed to see even centimeters in front of him, so dark. The
man’s voice suddenly killed the rooms’ silence, its tone frighteningly calm given the
circumstances: “You here J?”
“Ready and waiting”, came the unseen reply. The voice implied that of a man who hadn’t
slept in a long time (if ever); sounding weary and devoid of any spark, though there was a
small hint of anticipation that set Alex’s hair on edge.
At that moment, the small room sprung to life as a dim light bulb hanging from the
ceilings centre was clicked on. Alex squinted as his eyes adjusted to the light, and took
the opportunity to consider his captor.
The man had a certain presence, and it had nothing to do with the strange hat or brown
flowing winter coat. His blue eyes were fixed upon the second man, whose own baby
blues hadn’t left Alex for a second.
He was of average build, short dark uncombed hair framing a worn looking face. Dark
bags stretched under his eyes, and the distant expression made him look much older than
he probably was. The eyes however brimmed with life and focus.
He wore a dirty white buttoned shirt, its sleeves partially rolled up over his arms. The
look of him hinted to Alex that this was a hands-on workman of some kind, perhaps this
was his workplace. With his arms crossed over his chest, he continued to gaze solely at
the bound captive.
Unable to hold eye contact, Alex glanced now around the rest of the small room, feeling
gradually sick at what the surroundings hinted towards. A single small workbench sat
pushed against the wall behind ‘J’, adorned with numerous tools and implements. The
only other scenery was that of a crude looking chair fixed to the floor dead in the centre
of the room. He didn’t struggle as he was dragged to be placed in that very chair, his
hands now bound behind the seat. The injured knee relaxed a little with the absence of his
weight, and Alex did his best to focus on that single silver lining.
His mind had calmed a little now, these people seemed planned enough to know that
Alex had a very wealthy father (though granted, he hadn’t bothered to see the man for
some time). He would be kept here whilst they negotiated the terms of his return, and
then released after the cops had succeeded in taking them down. As for the courts, he
didn’t fear the probability that these scumbags would accuse him of attempted rape. With
the right calls and lawyers, his father would take care of that with a huge smile on his
face. Then these two would end up in some God awful hellhole for a few years, only to
wish they’d never been born when they were finally released. Alex resisted the urge to
look smug, he almost felt sorry for them. Almost.
Though one thing bothered him, you’d think that someone obviously this thoughtful
would take the effort to verify their prize before the empty intimidations started. As if on
cue, the man in the hat knelt down at Alex’s side, their faces level. As he spoke, the
second man didn’t move an inch or say a word, “I need to ask you two questions, so your
gag will be removed. If you scream, I will get to work with those tools. Do you think I’m
lying to you?”
Alex did, but chose to play along to get things moving. He shook his head slowly, and
gasped long breathes of air as the gag was removed. He didn’t scream, he didn’t need to.
“Well done, now for the first question. Before I begin asking, I want you to look at
something”, the man reached into his pocket and removed a very small but sturdy looking
hammer. The rough tanned hands held it up an inch from Alex’s face; he could see in the
light that much effort had been made to keep this small tool in good condition. It was
well polished with a small handle, devoid of any scratches or chips across its entire
surface.
“My colleague and I are very well informed, so to lie would be a waste of time. However,
if you do choose to lie to me”, his blue eyes bore into Alex’s with such intensity as the
voice became very firm and indifferent, “I will keep you tied to this chair as I set to work
on your knee-caps with this small hammer, and you will never walk again”.
Shock embraced Alex’s system as out of nowhere his eyes begin to sting with the threat
of tears, but luckily not enough to make them spill. Despite their obvious motives, he had
been taken aback by the delivery of the hammer-wielders’ warning. Had he not been
smart, he would have believed him entirely.
The cowboy removed his hat, revealing short brown hair that he ran his free hand through
as he cleared his throat. “First question, I needn’t warn you again that lying would be a
mistake on your part. Is your name Alex Searle?”
Floods of relief washed over him as this question confirmed his suspicions, though he
was curious as to how much they were going to demand. The second question would
probably be something along those lines, or some corny tradition such as ‘do you won’t
to live’. Nevertheless, Alex nodded his head, and the man smiled kindly, nodding his own
in appreciation.
“Very good Alex, my name is Trevor, and the gentlemen standing in front of you is JJ.
Do you recognize him?”
Alex didn’t, but liked how the conversation was losing some of its tense atmosphere. The
tears that threatened to well up now disappeared, and he was eager to keep the
conversation going. Coughing to clear his injured throat, his words came out awkwardly
but he was able to speak nonetheless, “It’s nice to meet both of you. But I’m afraid I’ve
never seen this man before, sorry”. The white shirted figure whom Alex certainly did not
recognize smiled softly, but continued his stare and speechlessness.
“Thank you for your honesty Alex, its nothing of importance. The reason I asked is
because my second key question, has much to do with him”. Alex frowned in confusion,
whereas the standing figure made no movement or expression.
“Alex, JJ here has an 18 year old daughter by the name of Lisa . . .”
Torrents of bile seized Alex’s chest as the truth of his situation made itself known, and as
the tools displayed in the room now promised more purpose than mere intimidation. The
tears couldn’t be stopped this time, and the urge to be sick was near impossible to ignore
as childish sobs began to rack his body. The man by his side continued calmly as if
nothing had changed, his warm breathe making itself known on Alex’s cheek, “She was
beaten near to death two weeks ago, and is only just beginning to rec . . .”
“Oh please no!!! No no no no no, please!!!” Alex had lost all control now, his tears and
sobs so extreme that his shrieks of grief and fear filled the entire room.
“Alex, were you the one responsible . . .”
“Please! I can’t . . . No I didn’t!!!” his hysteria only worsened as snot began spraying and
the entire chair shook with his convulsions. The hammer came down once, the movement
swift and without hesitation. The curved metal end struck the bone of Alex’s already
wounded knee.
Words cannot describe the feeling, but anybody who has experienced the sensation of
cold hard metal impacting bone will understand why the boy’s screams filled the room,
threatening to consume the entire warehouse. Amidst the blinding agony and blurred
senses that ensued, it was difficult to figure out if he had in fact been sick. A full minute
passed until the sounds ended and he was able to see the room once again, though sobs of
despair continued to rack his body.
“Alex, are you responsible for beating and raping this man’s daughter?” the voice
remained calm and almost friendly, as if nothing had just happened.
Too much of a coward to look any of them in the eye, Alex scrunched his red eyes tight
shut and nodded.
“Thank you Alex”, came the cold reply. The figure straightened up and stood as a second
wave of hysteria took over. Amidst the sobs, he saw the second man finally move and
hand the cowboy a brown paper package of some kind. The whispered dialogue between
them was spoken with much intensity, and the words washed over the tortured boy
without their meaning managing to sink in.
“You remember what I told you J”
“Nothing permanent or lasting. I know”
“And any cuts or burns . . .”
“Below the neckline, I understand. And I’ll remember to give him the letter; I can take it
from here. Thanks again”.
Sensing his last chance, Alex stared into the blue eyes of the man introduced as Trevor as
he began to leave. The figure caught his attempt and stared back, a vacant look of amused
curiosity on his face. Under the intense glare of those eyes, only one tearful word
managed to escape, “Please”.
The man stared back expressionless, raised his eyebrows slightly, and pushed open the
door. Without a second glance back, he disappeared into the darkness, pulling the door
closed behind him.
Somehow, Alex found it in him to finally look at Lisa’s father. The man stared back, a
clear but certainly not dominant expression of pity and regret on his face. As he began
rolling his sleeves up further, Alex released the last flickers of hope. There was no court
with them in this room; no policeman or teacher bound by a corrupt system to give him a
wide birth. This was old school, as they would say. A very different school that his
generation had little to equip themselves against, and thus Alex began to cry once again.
Lisa’s father advanced slowly, his eyes cold and soulless. As his sleeves were rolled up to
the shoulders, he addressed the young adult directly for the first time, his voice hoarse but
finally alive with focus; “You can scream now if you want to”.
A birds-eye view of London at this time would reveal a magisterial display of fireflies,
twinkling in the darkness as they follow one another along numerous twists, turns and
long hauls. Looking down at this beautiful show, one wouldn’t be surprised to hear that
the same view has been used by artists and directors the world over to represent the
insignificance of a single human being.
One of these fireflies happened to be the car of Tony Havisham, descending with grace
over a curved flyover.
Tony turned down his music, now playing ‘As the Rush Comes’ by motorcycle, and
prepared himself for an awkward conversation.
“I don’t usually allow pretty blonde stowaways in my car but I guess in your case I can
make an exception”.
“How long have you known I was here?” came the unsure voice from behind the
passenger seat. Tony smiled to himself as he shifted gears, “Since I got back in the car, at
the warehouse. I’m impressed”.
A quick glance in the mirror revealed a wet mass of blonde hair, as Sarah pulled herself
up lazily and leaned forward between the front two seats. Tony couldn’t help but chuckle
at her casual attitude.
“What’s funny?” she demanded.
“Your logic”
“How do you mean?” her curious frown creased through her makeup smeared but
beautiful face. Tony still couldn’t wipe the smile from his own, as the chuckle became an
embarrassing giggle, “A young scumbag tries to rape you, and suddenly a crazed man
with a strange hat appears from nowhere and beats him unconscious. So rather than run
down the street screaming to safety, you dive in the car clearly belonging to another
psychopath”. She tried to hide her own smiles as Tony giggled a little more, before
sighing and resting her chin over the passenger seat, “You’re not a psychopath, you listen
to good music”.
“That’s the tell tale sign criminal profilers have been waiting for is it?”
“Mm hmm, Daniel didn’t like Queen, I should’ve known”. Her eyes suddenly snapped
wide open, “Is he . . .”
“He’s not dead, I’m afraid. Though on the plus side, he won’t be bothering you or any
other girl again”.
“Not castrated him have you?!” she seemed genuinely disgusted.
“You’ve seen too many movies, he’ll still be able to use it but I can guarantee he’ll
choose not to” Tony flicked the left indicator as he turned into another well-lit busy road.
“So what has happened to him then?” she exaggerated the lack of interest in her voice,
indicating something that managed to bring Tony’s chuckles to an end.
“You’re concerned for him?!” he did his best to hide the frustration in his voice. Sarah
sighed, screwing her eyes shut, “I don’t know. I hate the guy, I just . . . Oh piss off I’m
not used to this ok!”
The chuckles began again, and Tony reached a hand back to smooth the girl’s forehead.
She didn’t flinch away. As he returned his hand to the steering wheel, Sarah sighed softly
to herself. He was a good guy, somehow she knew that much.
“Can you at least tell me what has happened to him, and at best why it’s happened”. She
listened closely as Tony vaguely explained the occurrences that had led him to pull Alex
from the car. The hiring of him through Lisa’s father, the story of Lisa, though his tone
darkened as the conversation turned to what was currently taking place only a few miles
away. “JJ will have him endure all the pain of his daughter, plus a little more if my
instincts are correct. It’ll be five hours of agony the likes of which most people will never
experience, but he’ll live. And after some time the wounds will heal”.
Sarah felt reassured knowing she wasn’t the only reason for Alex’s fate, but the thought
of what Lisa had endured regarding what she had almost been through hit home the
hardest. “Thank you”.
Again, Tony’s hand reached back to smooth her forehead as the words “There is nothing
to thank Sarah” were returned.
“What’s your name?”
“Trevor”, said Tony.
“I’m Sarah. Alex Searle then huh? I bloody knew his name wasn’t Daniel”, she removed
her hands from beneath her chin and began rubbing her temples. “One thing that bothers
me though, you said he had a wealthy upbringing; couldn’t he just have JJ prosecuted
when he gets out? He knows where Lisa lives after all”.
“Normally that would probably be the case, but with a few correctly worded threats they
keep quiet. It’s why I’m good at my job”
“How do you mean?”
“I wrote a brief letter, that JJ will give to Alex when he’s done. Basically it hints that I’m
part of a larger group, and that if he makes any attempt to reveal tonight’s occurrences to
anyone, he’ll die”. The calmness in Tony’s voice as he said this gave Sarah the distinct
impression that he had done this many times before.
“Besides, JJ’s moving away from London as soon as his daughter gets out of the
hospital”
“Is she going to be ok?”
“Yeah, the scars are healing well. If they continue at this rate she’ll be back to her
beautiful self in 6 months or so. As for Alex, he’ll stay well away from family or friends
until his own heal. The last thing he’ll want is anyone going to the police on his behalf,
he knows the consequences if they do. Seriously, you can relax. Everything’s going to be
fine”.
It was only at that moment that Sarah realized how tense she still was, her body still rigid
with the expectation of something dreadful. The moment this realization set in, the tense
floods of adrenaline eased and Sarah’s mind truly began to relax. With that, she became
an eighteen year old once again. Leaning back, she tried to avoid the embarrassing tears
of relief that began to spill, but knew also that they needed to be released.
As the tears became sobs, Sarah was reminded of memories as a child, when she had
harmed herself only to begin blissfully crying as the reassuring arms of her mother
arrived to console her.
Her savior had clearly been prepared for this; the car slowed and eventually pulled up
outside a small block of houses. Warm, gentle hands reached back and the sobbing
blonde was lifted into the front seat and placed on Tony’s lap. Her hair was soothed as
she cried into the stranger’s shirt, the gut feeling of danger now gone entirely.
It was only after a minute of this that Sarah glanced out the left window, and realized
suddenly that she was outside her home.
“How did you . . . He followed me here once didn’t he?”
The answering tone was kind and reassuring, “No, but he spotted you clubbing last week.
I thought it best to know where you lived, just incase”
Sarah chuckled to herself, “Stalker”
“I apologize”
“Don’t”, her brow furrowed as a thought crossed her mind, “I can’t tell anyone about this
can I?”
“No. but I’m sure you can think of something. You’re smart after all”
“I’ll just say I’d argued with a friend, and stormed home in tears. They’ll believe me, it
wouldn’t be the first time. If they’re even still awake”.
“Sounds air tight to me, now you need to go home”, the drivers door was opened and
fresh air flooded the Volvo. Her tears spent, Sarah climbed from his lap and stepped out
onto the road. She stood still for some time, gazing at the man who had saved her from
her own stupidity. He was handsome, late twenties or early thirties probably. Why did the
good ones always have to be gay, taken, too young or too old?
He seemed to read her mind, “Goodbye Sarah”.
She smiled back and nodded, “Thank you”.
He winked, and pulled the door closed. The engine purred to life softly, and the car
pulled away silently before disappearing down the road. Leaving the dark street in peace
once again.
Sarah let herself into her home with care not to wake the parents, ascending up the stairs
to her room where she undressed and climbed into bed. It took some time to remove the
thoughts of what might be happening right now if her rescuer had not intervened, but
soon they faded away with the fog of sleep. Sarah was mercifully spared of any dreams
as she drifted into slumber, safe in the warmth of her own bed.

Early the next morning, the sun rose to fill a pale blue sky. Its light glistening off the
roads still wet from last nights downpour, the air moist and the breeze cool.
At 6:53 am, a hooded figure walked amidst the other scattered early risers as they made
their hurried ways to parked cars, train stations and shop windows. Though the hood
succeeded in avoiding most potential attention, some who got close enough were treated
to the briefest glimpse of a battered and scarred face. Granted, these moments were rare,
as the figure seemed to do its upmost best to stick to back alleys and quiet roads wherever
possible. If you happened to be driving along a main road at this hour, you’d have been
none the wiser to his existence.
Though on those rare occasions where the structure of London’s streets forced it onto a
somewhat busier path, the hooded specter polluted each corner and group gathering with
a hum of whispered conversation and half baked theories.
Its pace clearly indicated that of an injured body also, and many whispers focused upon
the question of what marks must be hidden beneath the concealing clothing. The barely
masked limp and occasional groan only aided in fuelling such speculations as it
continued toward its unknown destination.
Most concluded this was the result of a wild and drink orientated bust up the night before,
causing all non-alcoholics to smile with gratified self assurance. Some went as far as to
question whether this victim could recall the chain of events that had led to such
grotesque injury. The speculation helped little though, as if the figure knew of those
responsible for his most unhealthy state, he certainly wasn’t saying.
And so the rumors became boring, with lack of evidence to stoke the fire further. And
thus London resumed its day to day course without delay or distraction, having
successfully avoided a potential fly in the ointment.
 I know an old lady who swallowed a spider;
That wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her . . .
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly,
But I don’t know why she swallowed a fly
Perhaps she’ll die . . .