Live Sweetly

The name is Bond. I hate the boring... give me something with an edge to sink my teeth into. Live sweetly...or die trying xx

Baby Soap

How far will you go to protect them

……coming soon 

'99 with a flake'

SCENE ONE

SFX         INDOOR ATMOS. A TV TURNED ON. ROBYN (26) ANGRILY STORMS UP A SET OF STAIRS. SHE SPEAKS WITH A NORTHERN IRISH ACCENT. CALUM (27) SPEAKS WITH A NORTHERN ENGLISH ACCENT.

ROBYN       (STOPS WALKING) Where were you?

CALUM       I-

ROBYN       WHERE were you? (A PAUSE) Well?!

SFX         THE TV IS SWITCHED OFF

CALUM       I came back here to lie down. I had a headache Robyn.

ROBYN       Another? Take two ibuprofen and get over yourself. Do you want this business to go under?

CALUM       No babes, I’m sorry. I just- How did it go?

ROBYN       How do you think it went Calum?

CALUM       Ah.

ROBYN       I was laughed out of the meeting. (SHE SIGHS). They could see I had no idea what I was talking about with net margins-

CALUM       Net profit.

ROBYN       See! This is why I needed you there! I’m the baker you’re the brains.

CALUM       There’ll be other investors.

ROBYN       Where are you going to magic them from then? That was THE PITCH and I needed you, like I needed you last Wednesday at the Bar Mitzvah! What’s the craic with that?

CALUM       I was helping Mauve out, working the till. She can’t run the caff without being able to do that- Don’t look at me like that. I’m sor-

ROBYN       Don’t you dare say it.

CALUM       Say what?

ROBYN       Sorry. (SADLY) Sorry won’t get us anywhere. It certainly won’t get us the investment.

CALUM       I’ll call them tomorrow.

ROBYN       It won’t help.

CALUM       It might. (A PAUSE) Pinky swear, I’ll get on it first thing.

ROBYN       Pinky swear won’t quite cut it today Calum.

CALUM       Pass my coat then?

ROPBYN      Why?

CALUM       Because Robyn, I’m going out to-

ROBYN       (IRATE) Oh leaving now. Are we? Really care about this business? And what about-

CALUM       If you let me finish! I’m going out to get you a 99.

ROBYN       Don’t be ridiculous.

CALUM       (WALKING) Do you want a flake with it?

ROBYN       You’re not seriously going out now? For ice cream? It’s nearly nine o’clock!

CALUM       I found you one at 3am!

ROBYN       (SOFTENS) But, that was in Blackpool.

CALUM       (STOPS WALKING) So? I’ve got my coat on now and I have a sixth sense for rogue ice cream vans. I’ll get you another.

ROBYN       (LAUGHS) Oh, come on.

CALUM       Nope, I’m going to get you one.

ROBYN       Stop being silly.

CALUM       Not until I’ve cheered you up.

ROBYN       (PAUSE) Then open up downstairs tomorrow and do the early shift.

CALUM       I can do that.

ROBYN       Okay.

CALUM      Now come here and give me a kiss then? (ROBYN WALKS OVER TO CALUM. THEY KISS) There we are. Better?

ROBYN       I’m still missing a 99. (THEY LAUGH).

FADE TO:

            SCENE TWO

SFX         INDOOR ATMOS. ROBYN AND CALUM’S BUSY CAFÉ. MAUVE (18) SPEAKS WITH A STRONG NORTHERN (ENGLISH) ACCENT.

MAUVE       Sleep in?

ROBYN       No, Mauve. I had the early off.

MAUVE       Must be nice for some.

ROBYN       Well, when you have your own business, I’m sure you can have all the time you want off Mauve. But, until then can you keep up with the orders?

MAUVE       Table nine and eleven are still deliberating and all the rest have their meals. And, I’ve checked up on their drinks.

ROBYN       Well done.

MAUVE       How did yesterday go? The big pitch. Calum told me all about it.

ROBYN       Well. It could have gone better, if somebody had turned up.

MAUVE       No! He wouldn’t.

ROBYN       He would! And did. His ‘little head’ hurt.

MAUVE       (CONCERNED) Is he all right?

ROBYN       Of course he is.

MAUVE       Oh, I just heard him on the phone the other day. Sounded a bit funny.

ROBYN       He’s probably just confused with how the phone works.

MAUVE      Maybe. He took down a booking for Thursday, somewhere across town. Do you need extra staff to work it? I’m free.

ROBYN       I’ll check the book. I didn’t think we had anything scheduled this week?

SFX         HANDS TYPING FURIOUSLY ON A KEYBOARD

ROBYN       We don’t have anything down for Thursday? You sure you don’t mean another week?

MAUVE       Nope, he definitely said this Thursday.

ROBYN       Nothing in the calendar Mauve, sorry.

MAUVE       Ah well, perhaps he was making plans with his bit on the side. (SHE CHUCKLES)

ROBYN       Calum? Away on! He wouldn’t dare. He’s probably meeting his friends down the pub.

MAUVE       Sounds about right. Calum likes a pint!

ROBYN       (SHE CHUCKLES) Don’t we all. Ah well, what time is it anyway?

MAUVE       It’s nearly half ten.

ROBYN       Right, can you ring the bills up on the till for the tables, and get the rest of the orders while I start on the lunch prep?

MAUVE       I can grab the orders, but I have no idea how to use the till?

ROBYN       Calum showed you how last Wednesday?

MAUVE       (CONFUSED) Calum wasn’t in last Wednesday?

SFX         PHONE RINGS LOUDLY

ROBYN       But- He?

MAUVE       You going to get that phone?

ROBYN       What? Aye. Go get those orders. I’ll sort the till.

MAUVE       (WALKING AWAY) (SARCASTIC) Okay, Robyn. Okay.

SFX         A PHONE IS PICKED UP. THE RINGING STOPS.

ROBYN       Apple Tree Café and Catering, Robyn speaking how may I help? (PAUSE). A wedding on the 21st? I’m not sure if we can do it at such short notice. (PAUSE). I appreciate that your caterers left you in a situation but (PAUSE). What day is that? (PAUSE). Thursday? Actually, you are just in luck - we have an opening.

FADE TO:

            SCENE THREE

SFX         INDOOR ATMOS CAFÉ. CLOSING TIME. CALUM COMES IN THROUGH THE DOOR SOUNDING THE BELL.

MAUVE       Back from work early?

CALUM       (CONFUSED) Yeah, it was quiet – What are you doing in this late?

MAUVE       Robyn took a wedding booking for Thursday; caters dropped out or something. She asked me to hold the fort until you got in.

CALUM       She took a wedding!? But there isn’t enough time to get everything sorted?

MAUVE       That’s what I said. She’s panic baking in the back.

CALUM       Oh dear. (HE SIGHS)

MAUVE       You alright?

CALUM       Yeah. Well kinda. My head’s killing me.

MAUVE       I’ve got some paracetamol if you want some?

CALUM       No, I’m-

SFX         SOUND OF A CHAIR SCRAPING ON THE FLOOR

MAUVE       Sit down. I’ll grab them and some water. (WALKING) You look worn out.

CALUM       (RELUCTANTLY) Yeah, alright then.

SFX         WALKING STOPS. A TAP TURNS ON. RUNNING WATER.

MAUVE       Take two tablets, not one. You’ll need to shift it before you go out with the boys!

SFX         TAP TURNED OFF. RUNNING WATER STOPS.

CALUM       The boys?

MAUVE       (WALKING) The pub. On Thursday? I heard you the other day on the phone - Robyn said you would probably be meeting the boys. (STOPS WALKING) Here’s your water. (A PAUSE) Calum? Water?

CALUM       Oh. Right. Thanks.

MAUVE       (CONCERNED) You sure, you’re all right?

CALUM       Yeah. Don’t worry about me.

MAUVE       No, come on. What is it? You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.

CALUM       It’s nothing.

MAUVE       Well it must be something to have you like this!

CALUM       Honestly, it’s nothing.

MAUVE       (SADLY) Don’t you trust me?

CALUM       It’s not that- (HE SIGHS HEAVILY) Fine. These headaches I’ve been having. They’ve been getting worse. So I went to the doctor’s.

MAUVE       Oh. Did they get you some better pain killers?

CALUM       Not exactly. (HE PAUSES) They’re sending me for an MRI scan on Thursday; on my brain.

MAUVE       A brain scan!

CALUM       It’s probably nothing and it’s precautionary, which is why I don’t want Robyn knowing. She’s got enough on her plate with the café, catering and now the lack of investors-

MAUVE       Shush! Don’t worry yourself about that. Concentrate on yourself for once! Come here.

CALUM       Mauve I’m fine - You don’t need to climb all over me!

MAUVE       But, you need a hug!

CALUM       Mauve really! Can you please get off-

MAUVE       But, what if the scan comes back with something on it. (HYSTERICAL) Oh Calum! What if it’s a tumour! Cancer?!

SFX         FOOTSTEPS

CALUM       It’ll be fine. It’s precautionary! Mauve get off me, I’m-

MAUVE       (HYSTERICAL) I’ll look after you. It’ll all be okay. Just-

CALUM       Mauve! Stop it!

SFX         FOOTSTEPS STOP.

ROYBN       (CURTLY) I’m sure it will all be okay. Mauve please detach yourself from Calum. You can go home now. Thank you for staying late.

MAUVE       But-

ROBYN       Please leave. I wish to speak with Calum.

MAUVE       (GUILTILY) I’ll get my bag.

CALUM       Robyn, it’s not-

ROBYN       Save it.

MAUVE       (CAUTIOUSLY) See you Thursday? The wedding?

ROBYN       Eleven thirty sharp. Bye Mauve.

MAUVE       (UNCERTAINLY) Bye.

SFX         MAUVE EXITS THE DOOR. THE BELL SOUNDS.

CALUM       (RAPIDLY) Robyn. She was upset about a boy or something. I was giving her a hug and she went all- I tried to get her off!

ROBYN       You must have tried really hard.

CALUM       Rob-

ROBYN       (IRATE AND BUILDING MOMENTUM) ‘It’ll all be okay Calum’? Okay that I don’t find out? Okay, that she’s only just not a minor!

CALUM       She’s eighteen!

ROBYN       So, it’s fine to sleep with her then?

CALUM       (FRUSTRATED) I’m not sleeping with her! She was upset! I was making sure she was okay. Robyn, I promise!

ROBYN       (SHE SIGHS)(SOFTLY) I don’t know if I believe anything you say anymore.

CALUM       What?

ROBYN       You never showed Mauve how to use the till.

CALUM       Wha-

ROBYN       You said you did.

CALUM       I-

ROBYN       Then I come in. And see you and her. And all your disappearing! What do you expect me to think?

CALUM       (HEARTBROKEN) I can’t even believe you’d think I’d do something like that to you.

ROBYN       I. Well-

CALUM       Look me in the eyes and listen. I’d never do anything like that to you. I swear. (A PAUSE) You have to believe me Robyn! Robyn?

ROBYN       (QUIETLY) Okay.

CALUM       Really? It didn’t sound like-

ROBYN       I said okay. And I don’t say anything unless I mean it.

CALUM       If you’re sure.

SFX         A SMOKE DECECTOR.

ROBYN       (SUDDENLY) The cake! I left it in the oven!

SFC         FEET RUNNING AWAY

ROBYN       (DISTANTLY) Nooooo!

FADE TO:

SCENE FOUR

SFX         BUSY WEDDING KITCHEN

ROBYN       (STRESSED) Mauve?! Did you take out all the cheese boards?

MAUVE       Yes!

ROBYN       Then why is there one here?

MAUVE       I –

ROBYN       Take it. Find the table missing one.

SFX         RAPID APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS

MAUVE       Yes. Oh! Watch it Calum, you nearly crashed into me!

CALUM       (STOPS WALKING) Sorry – table eight is missing a cheese-

MAUVE       (WALKING) Working on it now.

SFX         MAUVE’S RAPID FOOTSTEPS FADE

CALUM       Right, er Robyn I have to nip out for a little bit.

ROBYN       You can’t leave! We’re in the middle of a wedding!

CALUM       I’ll be 45 minutes. An hour tops.

ROBYN       What?

CALUM       I’ll be as quick as I can!

ROBYN       Where are you going! Can’t it wait?

CALUM       No it can’t. I’ve got an ap- I need to go. I’ll fill you in when I’m back.

ROBYN       You’re going to her aren’t you?

CALUM       What? Robyn!

ROBYN       Just leave. Go to her!

CALUM       I’m not going to see anyone! But, I do have to go. I’ll explain later.

ROBYN       Explain? I don’t want to hear it.

CALUM       Robyn you don’t-

ROBYN       JUST GO.

SFX         CALUM SIGHS. CALUM’S FOOTSTEPS FADE.

MAUVE       Calum? (WALKING) Where’s he off? (WALKING STOPS) I’ve delivered the Cheese board! (A PAUSE) Oh!? Has he gone?

ROBYN       Yep.

MAUVE       You’re not going to go with him?

ROBYN       Why would I?

MAUVE       The scan?

ROBYN       Scan!? He hasn’t got her pregnant that two- timing –

MAUVE      What?! No. Calum’s brain scan at the hospital. It’s today.

ROBYN       He’s going for a scan. And he told you! And not me!

MAUVE       He said he didn’t want to worry you. I thought he was going to tell you about it and the headaches!

ROBYN       What?

MAUVE       Robyn? Are you okay you’ve gone all white and-

ROBYN       Mauve I have to go. Hold the fort.

MAUVE       Fort? What? But, I can’t run a wedding, I–

ROBYN       Of course you can.

SFX         RUNNING FOOTSTEPS

MAUVE       Robyn?!

FADE TO:

            SCENE FIVE

SFX         INDOOR ATMOS HOSPITAL. MACHINES BEEP. THE MRI TECHNICIAN (FEMALE, 50) AND ROBYN SPEAK TO CALUM THROUGH A MECHANICAL INTERCOM SYSTEM. THE TECHNICIAN SPEAKS WITH A SOUTHEN ACCENT.

TECHNICIAN  Just lie back and I’ll start the machine. It’ll all be over in thirty minutes.

CALUM       Okay.

SFX         A DOOR OPENS. FOOTSTEPS AS ROBYN ENTERS    

TECHNICIAN  I’m sorry Miss you can’t be in here. Only relatives are-

CALUM       Robyn?

ROBYN       (IRATE) That, is my husband in that tube. So unless you have any objections I am going to be here.

TECHNICIAN  Sorry I thought-

CALUM       It’s all right she’s with me. Robyn? How did you know I was-

ROBYN       Mauve. She told me everything. You should have told me!

CALUM       I know.

ROBYN       I’m sorry for how I’ve been. I just thought.

CALUM       I know. It doesn’t matter now. You’re here.

ROBYN       Okay. (A PAUSE) How’s the view in there?

CALUM       Not great.

ROBYN       You look like a mechanical sausage roll.

CALUM       (CHUCKLES) Well that’s reassuring.

TECHNICIAN  Excuse me, but we have to start now.

ROBYN       Sorry. Calum, I’ll be outside. The 99’s are on me when you get out.

CALUM       Only, if you promise not to skimp on the flake.

ROBYN       (SHE CHUCKLES) I promise! In fact, I’ll get you two!

CALUM       Okay. See you on the other side.

ROBYN       I’ll be waiting.

SFX         SOUND OF AN MRI MACHINE STARTING UP AS THE TECHNICIAN’S VOICE COUNTS DOWN NUMBERS.

                                                           FADE OUT

Well Tumblr

Its been a while…

predominatly as i forgot my password.. had a dissertation.. moved to london (without anywhere to live)

now all of thats been sorted.. we’ll settle back down again?

Now… where my coffee

moleskinelovers:

lifeinalantern.tumblr.com

Moleskin’s - the way forward

moleskinelovers:

lifeinalantern.tumblr.com

Moleskin’s - the way forward

You’re a fool when you realise.

That you weren’t special.

You weren’t the ‘one’ for him, or her or them.

You were the distraction for the night, days, months or years that blurred into texts and bed hair.

But you’ll progress and prosper and forget.

But, they’ll always be the fool that let you go.

—From one friend to another

Teeth

 

            ‘That’s five bodies now.’

            ‘Or is it?’ The voice replied.

            ‘There are more?’

            ‘Perhaps. But, Kit, I’m not going to do your job for you.’

            ‘Isn’t it rude that you know my name and-’

‘Oh, I know a lot more than that. Kit Kat. Your wife’s nickname? Very original.’ It replied. John, the leader of the team listening in, slipped off his headphones and mouthed a message across the room escalating others into action.

            ‘You did your research.’

            ‘Well, some of us aren’t amateurs.’

            ‘We know how you killed them. The syringe punctures left traces.’

            A solitary round of applause echoed down the phone line and Kit’s hands balled into fists, nails turning from pink to white and reddening at their base. I scribbled down a prompt and flicked it over to him; he scanned it and continued to push.

            ‘You said there were more?’

‘No. I said perhaps,’ the voice paused and chuckled, ‘you should listen, Kitty. Time’s running out.’

            ‘For them?’

            ‘I said listen. Did I not?’

 I checked the stopwatch as the call began to close on the three minute mark. A smile crept across the techies’ faces. John mimed ‘thirty seconds’ at me. I signalled to Kit by tapping at my wrist and holding up three fingers.

            He nodded, ‘So why then?’

            ‘Why not?’

            ‘Don’t you feel anything for those you’ve killed?’

‘I had my reasons…and I could ask you the same.’

‘What?’ Kit replied. The line crackled, punctuated by a few breaths, he pulled the phone closer, ‘Now. Listen, here-’

‘I think not. Time’s up.’

The phone fell dead. Kit shouted out, ‘Tell me we got a trace.’ Nobody disturbed the silence. Ripping off his headphones, he drove his fist straight into the plasterboard and stormed out the room, shouting ‘Sarah!’ behind him.

*

I’d left number six in a gutter, number seven semi-submerged in his bath and number eight had washed up next to the pier. Now, a flat pack office set-up faced me, complete with plastic potted plant, MDF desk and a filing cabinet that wouldn’t prove a challenge to the most amateur of criminals. I strode around number nine lying motionless, face-down on the floor. I’d expected he’d be harder work than the others, but his lifeless form spoke as did his mismatched attire of stains and scuff next to my three-piece. The flip clock panel fell down to read 12:52, the click reminding me classes finished at one. Crouching down next to the body, I picked up the empty syringe and pocketed it, then ran one finger under the gum line. Latex navigated my way from squishy solidity to rows of gone off white and the join between. Using my digit I pushed the mandible apart to give myself room to work as nicotine, stale and congealed wafted out. I wrinkled my nose at the intrusion and forced my finger between metal and the flesh of the roof of the mouth; there was a slight click as it came away and I dragged the casing out of his jaw. I turned the crescent of molars in my hand and counted the sixteen semi squares. Laying it on plastic wrap, I crushed it under my boot, paying special attention to the wisdom teeth until each broke and crumbled away from the denture base. A square of black poked out against the white, its underside covered in a gold scrawl and its sides edged with anchor teeth. Standing at less than four millimetres in all directions I plucked the microchip out with tweezers, slowly so as not to damage it. I dropped it lightly into a ziplock bag, pushing the seam along the top until it sealed shut and concealed it in my pocket.

The clunk from the clock signalled 12:58 as I gathered up my things and ripped off my gloves. I left him in a heap on the floor, his mouth lolling open in a toothless smile; pausing only to dig my elbow into the fire alarm. The new-fangled American system screamed into action and I joined the crowds fleeing the sprinklers as the drops washed away any possible trace of my presence. I  pulled my hat down low to shield my face as the whole building emptied in just under three minutes and people gathered into their lines. My watch beeped once. I was still on time, two more to go before him.

*

            The phone rang out across the bullring and heads jerked until every eye in the office was focused upon it. Kit took it to his ear cutting the chime mid-note. He said nothing but shook his head several times, before replacing the receiver. The masses sat in their wheelie chairs, nibbling the edges of polystyrene cups as he announced ‘Booth’s gone,’ and I watched the colour drain from a roomful of cheeks. Kit about-turned, sweeping the phone to the floor and marched into his office. I followed him in, slamming the door shut on the delayed uproar of ‘Booth?’ and the monotone drag of a dialling tone.

            ‘How many now Sarah?’

 ‘Officially nine,’ I replied as he dumped himself down, ‘but, unofficially eleven.’

‘The others?’

‘We lost contact with two in the last week, no check-ins or activity reported.’

‘Physical proof of termination?’

‘Not technically Sir, but two bodies have been found. No finger prints. No teeth. Puncture to the neck. Just like the others.’ He sat eyes closed, face screwed up and set, the only motion about him emanating from his fingers drumming the arm of the chair. I played with the edge of my manicure pulling the little thread of flesh down until I felt the sharp indicator and ripped it off. ‘What shall I inform them?’ He continued to repeat his fingertip tune, but offered me no solution. ‘The public are talking. It’s already on the news.’ Slamming my papers down on his desk, I broke his chorus. ‘The agents are dead Kit! Deal with it-’

‘Deal with it?’ He said pulling himself up level with me, ‘You didn’t even know them.’

 ‘I’m sorry. But, it’s happened. We can’t change-’

‘I’m next,’ he said looking me straight in the eye, ‘I’m the only one left.’

I swallowed, ‘Then we need to catch him. But, you have to do something.’

He leapt into action; tearing open the door and startling the crowd, ‘Listen! You have twenty-four hours to get me something. A scrap of DNA; anything or, better still, him. I’m declaring this Situation Red.’ The faces stared back, ‘Well what are you waiting for?’ he commanded, and slammed the door on the rising commotion. He turned to me, ‘Get everyone in. No holidays, no sick days, no nothing, until I have him dead or better. Got that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good enough?’

            ‘It’s a start.’

‘Now, what’s next?’ He said, stretching his hands out in front of him and placing them on the window overlooking the South Bank. His outline against the glass blocked out the dying light filtering in through the window. Across the river, to the left of his thumb sat Big Ben and The Houses of Parliament, all at such a distance you could squash them between your fingertips.

                                                                        *

I snapped on a pair at my desk; I’d gone for green this time. The latex recoiled slightly and sucked against my palms in that bittersweet sensation, not clammy as others found, but secure. Pulling the letter towards me I toyed with the corner of the paper, feeling its edge against my nail before placing the eleven chips in the centre with a ziplock bag of my own, then folded the letter evenly and slid it into an envelope. I replaced the chair and made my way along the white taped walkway of my flat to the 1950s wireless radio. The smooth solidity of its exterior slid under my glove and I traced a finger down the grooves of beech against mahogany that ran on the casing. It shone out a dull light, vintage and soft, unlike the surrounding electronics that flickered with LED artificiality. Reaching just below my ribs it was substantial in stature and refurbished to my requirements. I turned it on, filling the air with electrical emptiness, pushing up hairs on the back of my neck. Twisting the dials on the front, I faded in and out of speech and song for the right frequency. The hour hand twitched towards the six and the pips sounded on the airwaves as I settled myself down to wait for today’s body count; if I was lucky it’d be into double figures by now.

                                                            *

I checked my phone: three missed calls and a voicemail from Kit, but it was too early; the birds hadn’t yet bothered to make themselves heard and I sat in my suit, impatient for the coffee machine to finish. The week’s post sat on the chair next to me. I rifled through an assortment of bills, junk mail and takeaway menus to discover one envelope with ‘Do not bend’ stamped clearly across the front. I dug my finger into the seal; ripped along leaving a jagged line of paper on the kitchen table, pulled out the letter inside and opened it. Things pattered down into my lap as I scanned from ‘Dear Sarah,’ to ‘The one they left behind,’ and the final ‘P.S – It was goose fat.’ I looked down to see a shower of microchips covering my skirt and a small ziplock bag of chunky dust. Trying not to displace anything, I speed-dialled Kit who picked up after three rings. ‘Get here now.’

‘Why?’

‘I have a feeling you’ll know why I’m covered in microchips,’ I replied.

‘Don’t touch a thing.’

He arrived ten minutes later with a team, all dressed in white plastic. Within seconds, two had plucked all eleven chips off me. Kit engrossed, darted between the typed fonts of the letter and envelope, eyes reading and re-reading it. The forensic techie took the ziplock bag to the window and studied its contents against the light.

‘What is it?’ I asked him.

‘Another microchip, just crushed I reckon, making twelve-’

 ‘Everybody out.’ Kit said, getting up from his chair.

‘But, Sir-’

‘Out. You won’t find anything,’ he paused turning the letter over in his hands, ‘I know who it is.’ The team filed out clicking the door shut behind them.

 ‘Remember that explosion off the coast of Italy in the late 1980’s?’

‘Yes, the rebels blew up a battleship.’

‘No, we did,’ said Kit. Putting his hand into his mouth, he wrenched sharply down. There was a click and he produced a set of dentures. Counting his way round the teeth, he took a knife from the rack and prised two wisdom teeth away from the rest. With one hand, he, crushed them on the worktop beneath his palm and slipped the dentures back into his mouth with the other. ‘Thirteen of us were sent as part of Operation Marianelli. They removed any trace of identity from us in case we were caught - no teeth, no fingerprints and DNA testing was less than useless back then - but we all had these for internal identification.’ He lifted his hand up and amongst the crush sat a microchip identical to the others.

‘But, it was terrorist activity. How could you?’

Seizing my hand he pulled me towards him, ‘Drastic action had to be taken, the threat was eradicated, the peace process pushed through and a treaty established. Thousands were saved.’

I snatched my hand back, ‘The UN called it an abomination. That casualty on the ship, he was burned so badly, nothing but an outline left. How-’

‘We thought it was Marcus.’

‘You left him behind?’

‘He was seeing to the wiring and I tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn’t. It was about to explode. But, it wasn’t him. It was goose fat!’

            ‘What?’

            ‘It burns like human fat. He must have drawn an outline. I had to get my team off there, we couldn’t wait,’ he said, eyes searching for mine, ‘but, why does it matter? He’s alive!’

‘And now the rest of your friends aren’t.’

He tried to sputter some more explanation, but I didn’t want to hear. Leaving him at the breakfast bar, I went to the coffee machine throwing the lukewarm batch down the sink and began the process again until the aroma filled the room. He was still there in his suit, not sharply cut like normal, but slept in and wrinkled. Dark circles etched his face as he deliberated over the letter. Pouring myself a mug, I took a sip of the bittersweet liquid, feeling it warm my insides and took a step towards him, ‘How can we find him?’

Kit smiled, ‘He was brilliant but, never good enough. The postmark. South London.’

‘But, thousands live there?’

‘Give Marcus a computer and he’s away. But he’s predictable, ham and cheese on Rye for lunch and Angus Steak only from St Andrews for dinner with a glass of Papstleiten Malojer, he had it every day. Same outfit, from Saville’s same cut just in different colours and everything in its place. Somewhere there’s an address with those deliveries and a truck load of medical grade latex gloves.’

‘How do you know all that?’

‘I was his commanding officer; it was my job to know any weaknesses.’

‘He might have changed.’

‘No, he had that routine for the ten years I worked with him. He’d have it shipped out on missions; it’s why I could never clear him for Solo missions.’

‘Okay, you write down the brand names, shops and anything else you remember and we’ll send them ahead to John. I’ll call the office and get a car.’

                                                            *

They fell into the flat in some form of organized chaos, each carrying an HK G3k. Black on black uniforms with lace-up boots edged along the walls before swinging round the door frame calling ‘CLEAR’, until each corner had been visually scraped clean. They pooled in the centre of the living room, pulling up the visors of their helmets.

‘I’ll call it in,’ their leader said, before grappling with the radio on his shoulder, ‘Break-Break. Suspect not present. Repeat. Suspect not present. Location clear. Over.’

‘Roger that. 10-4. Sending in support. Over,’ his radio crackled back.

There was more talk from the costumed crew as I opened my laptop and pushed the button prompting it to whirr into action. Today, I’d coated my palms in a lilac shade of latex and I flexed them in the small amount of space available in front of me inside the wooden casing. Through the fabric mesh, the heavies shifted from foot to foot and scratched at themselves; making monosyllabic conversation as I looked on. Smiling, I double clicked the short cut and sat back to watch.

                                                            *

Each and every item in the flat was encircled in a white outline, except for one empty rectangle on the left of Marcus’ desk. A line of hard drives on the top of the bookcase sat near a large free-standing computer screen which featured a countdown ticking its way towards 00:00. I strode over to the desk. Pens lay regimented side by side, colour by colour, the same brand label facing upwards. Wrapping my hand in my coat, I pulled a drawer open. Inside lay the same paper and envelope he had sent the microchips in.

‘Can someone bag this and check for a match?’ I called out and one of the plastic-coated party advanced towards me with dark blue gloved hands, then bagged, tagged and sealed the item in an evidence bag to be scrutinised back at the lab. I left him to check on Kit’s progress with the leader of the advanced unit; they stood by the timer watching the seconds fall away.

‘Sir, it appeared, while we were waiting on support.’

‘How long were we given?’ Kit asked.

‘Ten minutes,’ the leader replied, ‘I radioed it in when it started and then all the drives on the shelves kicked into life.’

Kit nodded, dismissed the man and turned to me. I ran over procedures taken so far to evacuate the building, setting John and his team in charge of the computer analysis and digital evidence, while the forensic team would search for DNA and physical evidence as the clock ticked from eight to seven minutes. John’s techies buffeted around us, photographing and setting up computer equipment.

‘You’re sure this is his place?’

‘Definitely, just looking in the fridge confirmed it. However, the white outlines are a new quirk; his OCD must have progressed.’ Kit replied.

I nodded and cast an eye around. The lights on the drives at first shimmered white, before a permanent red began to spread from one end of them to the other. At the bottom of the computer screen ‘SENDING’ flashed on and off as underneath, lists of e-mail addresses scrolled by.

‘What’s happening?’ Kit called.

 ‘He’s forwarding documents to all news and media stations, but wiping everything afterwards, Sir.’ John replied.

‘But how?’

‘Probably a pre-set programme. We can’t connect to any equipment in here; all the USB ports have been removed and he’s played with the internal wiring. The only option is wireless connection, but he’s encrypted it.’

‘Hack it or pull the plug.’

‘Pulling it won’t stop him. He’ll be accessing remotely and to have created such a system as this, he’ll have other means.’

‘Do something.’

‘There’s less than five minutes. We have to be realistic-’

‘Just do it!’

John ran back to his team’s laptop line up, fingers darting over keyboards. Their screens flicked through window after window, each filling itself to the brim with layers of 0s and 1s. I watched as a blur of binary digits in code strings flew across their pages, the sound of keys against seconds and my teeth destroyed the last indications of a manicure. ‘He’s used a variable-width, polynomial encryption.’ A techie shouted, sitting bolt upright.

‘It’s not solvable and we’ve got less than a minute.’ John said, eyes never deviating from the screen, ‘We need the password. Only one attempt allowed. Ideas?’

‘Search the place.’ Kit ordered and every set of hands began mauling through the flat, passing anything and everything under Kit’s gaze, until he snatched at a photo, ‘Where did you find this?’

‘It was taped to-’

‘He’s doing something,’ a techie shouted. On the main screen, thirty seconds flashed in red, then a series of ten short lines followed by a forward slash and then another series of nine appeared. Letters began to fall down starting with vowels, A, E I O and U and a hangman style figure began to erect itself at the rejection of U. More letters continued to fall until the two words Operation Marianeli sat side by side accompanied by a crudely drawn hung figure. The colour washed down Kit’s face as he studied the photo of the group of men, all but two of whom were dead. Kit featured amongst them, but in a much younger model. He flipped the photo over and on the back, there was a list of names and a date. Kit dashed forward, pushing John’s techies out the way and typed ‘13.8.1989’ into the password box hitting return, just as a cartoon laugh echoed through the air and

GAME OVER

Operation Marianeli Sent

flashed on the screen, before the power cut out.

‘Did it really send?’ Kit asked.

‘Yes,’ one voice replied.

I pulled my torch out of my pocket as Kit barged his way towards the exit, shouting, ‘Rip it apart.’ over his shoulder.

                                                                        *

I sat and watched as they brought in standing lights, shifting the wireless slightly as they crashed down a generator next to me to run them. Sarah oversaw the process and set them about their work, stripping my place bare of any hint of electronic equipment, while she tip-tapped about in her heels with notepad, advising technicians and answering calls from Kit. Her team photographed each section meticulously, switching between 50 and 80mm lenses and then removed each item individually, until all that remained was the furniture outline of the flat. Empty bookshelves sat next to drawer-less desks and filing cabinets. Sarah came and leaned against the Wireless. Her fingers lingered on its surface and I reached and placed my latex palm on the underside, less than two centimetres away.

                                                            *

With no personal effects remaining to hide its sparseness, I escorted the last techie out of the flat, sealed the door and walked down the stairs. The rest of the flats had been evacuated, but the residents lined the barriers around the site talking and pointing. Journalists had appeared in a chorus of ‘Operation Marianeli’ and ‘How could you leave him to die?’ My breath condensed around me in the night air as I started to seal the external door. One white plastic coated man tapped from the wrong side of the glass with his purple glove, grinning sheepishly. I wrenched open the door.

            ‘This scene is meant to be secure now.’

            ‘Sorry Maam, I was checking for letters downstairs and was directed to find you. Someone found something upstairs.’

            ‘I was the last to -’                                

            ‘It was urgent. Something to do with a laptop?’

I thanked him and raced back up the stairs, calling Kit on my radio. The door had been unsealed from the inside and I felt for my pepper spray located in my coat, nudging the door open with my boot. The flat was exactly as I’d left it, apart from the wireless that sat against the wall; the front of which hung open on a hinge. Inside was a cushion with the recent imprint of someone seated fading out of it, a laptop and a set of dentures, barring two teeth. Kit appeared beside me. I turned back towards the stairs but Kit grabbed hold of my arm and stopped me.

 ‘He’ll be long gone. Call a press conference.’

‘But, he was here!’

‘And now he’s not, make the call.’

‘There’s already one underway, back at the Southbank.’ I replied.

‘That won’t help. I left him. It was my decision. He knows this.’

‘So, why do you need a press conference?’

‘He wants an apology, and he wants the world to know about it.’

The screen suddenly lit up and across it crawled a series of words.

Sorry I could not stop and chat longer, Sarah.

Kit, it’s been a pleasure as always.

See you around.

The newly remembered.

The screen flickered then turned black as I turned to Kit, ‘He’s not going to stop is he?’ I asked.

‘No,’ Kit replied. ‘Not until he has me exactly where he wants me.’

tequilla o’clock anyone…

tequilla o’clock anyone…

(Source: ladybeybii)

2012

So that was the year that we danced, laughed, fucked around, cried, stomped and did things that scared us just that much to make the hairs rise on the back of your neck.

We fell in fountains, drank too much or not enough, lost some friends but gained others, remembered how to smile, forgot how to love and found it, discovered places, people and likes.  We were hated, betrayed, kicked and lost, but learned from it. We became the people we are today.

2013, will be the year of change and for some it will be the making of us. It will be the end of many things, but the start of something better.

But there three kinds of people.

The first linger. They can’t condense, or express it or write it down, filled with an underlying horror - this is it. This is all its ever going to be. Who either accept it; or pretend otherwise

And the second go skate in the breeze to choke out reality.

The third? Go for the beyond until they can touch it, taste it and crush it in their palms. But how?

You do what ever it takes. And that’s what makes the difference, they’ll never compromise compared to the sad sacks that sit screaming out our minds for an answer, but all they get is silence, which is what scares them the most.

but the ultimate question is who are you going to be… or can you be the maverick that breaks the mould?