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Stream of Consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty nine…

Today’s prompt for SoCS, supplied as usual by Linda G Hill, allows us to continue this story by following this rather unique instruction;

” “book title.” Take the title of the book you’re currently reading or the one sitting closest to you when you’re ready to write your SoCS post and base your post on the title only. I’m not asking for a book review or a synopsis, just whatever the title itself brings to mind. “


{Nearest book: The Dark Tower by Stephen King.}

Hmm, interesting…

The Accumulator, part thirty nine.

Scene: Outside the derelict factory. 

The shot opens with Patrick coming out of the door, slamming it behind him before walking quickly along the front of the building.

A bright moon casts sharply edged, impenetrable shadows and gives the looming outline of the industrial hulk a stark, forbidding appearance. We can see Patrick until he turns the corner, heading for where the van is parked, then he is swallowed by the blackness.

Cut to: the van. 

After a few seconds, we hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel and see Patrick emerging from the gloom; glancing cautiously around him, he opens the sliding door and reaches inside. He comes out holding a petrol can and a handful of rags, slides the door closed and walks around to the opposite side.

We see him unscrew the petrol cap and begin feeding one length of rag into the tank, pulling it out and inspecting it with a nod of satisfaction, then repeating the process with the rest. He pulls out the last one and leaves the bundle hanging down the side of the van, the dripping petrol already forming a puddle on the crumbling tarmac.

As Patrick bends to pick up the petrol can, there is a loud crash from somewhere above him. He takes a step away from the van and looks up in time to see a shimmering shaft of energy burst through the factory roof and a rain of debris clatters down the corrugated panels, narrowly missing him as it falls to the ground.

He drops the can and starts to run back the way he came and we watch him vanish into the shadows, hearing his receding footsteps as our POV slowly descends to ground level and the overturned petrol can, it’s escaping contents forming a widening pool in the moonlight.

Scene: Inside the factory.

We see one of the three fallen figures by the pillar start to rise and the camera moves in and follows Carlisle as he shakily regains his feet and staggers toward the slumped forms of Adam and Cathy. He is trying to lift Cathy’s body off Adam without looking at the gaping hole in her back, when the door opens and Patrick comes running across the echoing space towards them.

“What the hell happened..?”

Patrick stops and looks down at the bodies in horror.

“Are they…dead? I mean, are they both dead?”

There was no mistaking that hole for a flesh wound.

“That is what I am attempting to find out, if I could get a little help here..?”

Patrick helps Carlisle roll Cathy’s corpse off Adam and leans down to check for a pulse on his throat, just as Adam groans and his eyes flicker open.

“Hold on, don’t move.”

Patrick gets up and looks over at Cathy, her eyes staring sightlessly up through the hole in the roof. He goes over to her and bends down, gripping her wrist for a moment with his eyes closed, then grabs her under the arms and gently drags her back until her head is no longer in the circle of light.

Returning to Adam with a bleak expression, he kneels down next to him and places his hand on his forehead. Adam’s body jerks briefly, his eyes snap open and he gasps convulsively.

Patrick looks up at Carlisle, who nods and bends to help him lift Adam onto his feet. The camera follows close behind them as they move quickly, supporting the stumbling Adam between them until they reach the car, lower him into the back and jump into front seats. 

Carlisle guns the sputtering engine and drives over to a rusty steel roller door in the corner of the building. He jumps out and fumbles with a padlock at the base of the door, heaves it up with a screeching rattle and hurries back to the car, then drives around and pulls up next to the van.

“Gotta light?”

Patrick leans forward and rummages in the glove compartment, pulling out a cheap plastic lighter, which he hands to Carlisle.

“Be my guest.”

Carlisle steps out of the car next to the petrol can. He picks up the can and shakes it, then walks slowly away from the van, trailing a steady stream of petrol behind him until the can is empty. Walking back to the car, he drives forward and leans out of the open door with the lighter, striking it half a dozen times before a low, rippling blue wave of flame flowed swiftly away from them.

Carlisle slammed the door and floored the accelerator, sending the small car bouncing forward across the uneven concrete to the gate as Patrick turned in his seat and saw the river of fire reach the van. There was a moment when he thought nothing was going to happen, then the black outline of the van, briefly visible against the flickering light, was blown apart in a short but violent explosion and engulfed in a roaring ball of flame.

*************

To be continued (using next weeks prompt)…

#SoCS

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Stream of Consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty eight…

Good morning/afternoon/evening wherever you are and welcome to today’s installment of SoCS, in association with Linda G Hill, who provides the inspiration to continue this story by leaving us the following prompt;

” “ick.” Find a word with “ick” in it or use it as a word itself. “

Okey dokey, let’s go…

The Accumulator, part thirty eight.

Scene: Inside the deserted factory.

The opening shot is of a door, just visible in the gloom. After a few seconds we hear the scrape of a key in the lock, the door opens and a powerful flashlight shines directly at the us, (artful lens flares glint dramatically) then the beam slowly sweeps left and right and the camera pans round to follow Carlisle as he crosses the empty expanse of concrete. He is followed by Adam, holding onto Cathy’s arm, her hands handcuffed behind her, while Patrick enters last, pulling the door closed behind him.

“I use this place for stashing motors before a job sometimes, there’s a roller door round the back big enough to get a fair sized van in here.”

Carlisle speaks over his shoulder as he leads the way to a small hatchback parked in the far corner, the scratched and dented vehicle as anonymous as any other cheap car in the harsh glare of the flashlight. Halfway across the floor, he stops next to one of the steel pillars supporting the roof.

“Ok, this’ll do, tie her to this. She can scream and shout as much as she likes in here, nobody’s going to hear her.”

“And you think you can just call The Department and tell them where I am and they’ll just come running, is that it?”

Even in the darkness, Cathy’s sneer is obvious.

“You must think you’re dealing with a bunch of amateurs like you, if you think they’re going to fall for that. They’ll more than likely blow the whole place up, just to be safe, then come in and poke around in the rubble to see if they got you.”

Patrick can’t bring himself to look at her and he speaks while staring at the floor

“You don’t place much faith in their loyalty to you, then, maybe they realise what a deceitful bitch you are?”

“Oh, darling Patrick, do grow up. You got taken for a ride, get over it, you’re not exactly a saint, yourself.”

“Ok, that’s enough, you don’t get a vote so shut your mouth. Adam, tie her to that bloody post and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Carlisle turns to Patrick and places a hand on his shoulder, making him look up, shaking his head and sighing heavily.

“Right, we need the van torched, but not until we leave, can you go and set that up? We’ll meet you there with the car in a few minutes.”

Patrick glances once, briefly, at Cathy, opens his mouth as if to say something, then turns abruptly and walks back to the door, slamming it loudly behind him. 

Carlisle turns to her with a grin.

“What, no moving goodbye? Although I suppose you never were one for all that icky romantic stuff, were you? Must have been hard, pretending to have emotions for all those years, hahaha. No, I mean, poor bloke and all that, you have to feel sorry for him, but he’s best rid of you, so he’ll get over it.”

“And now what, you kill me, now that you’ve spared his feelings?”

“What possible good would that do? We want you to be able to lead them to us, don’t we?”

“I won’t do anything to help you, you fucking…dinosaur!

“Oh, I’m hurt, I would have thought “role model” or “inspiration” would be more apposite, but never mind, I’ll get over it, too.”

Carlisle takes the handcuff keys from his pocket.

“Put her against the pillar we’ll cuff her hands behind it, not even she’s going to get out of that.”

He grabs Cathy’s arm and roughly turns her around so he can unlock the cuffs, making her grimace in pain.

“Hey! Be careful, you nearly dislocated my wrist.”

“Oh we don’t want that, you might be able to wriggle out of them, we’ll have to make sure we do them up tight.”

“Fuck you, Carlisle.”

Still holding her cuffed hands behind her and speaking straight into her ear, he says;

“Don’t worry, you won’t be here long, the police will be bored at this time of night and an exploding vehicle is bound to get someone’s attention pretty quickly.”

“What do you mean, the police?” 

For the first time, Cathy sounded less sure of herself.

“Oh, didn’t I mention that? Yeah, we’re going to call in an anonymous tip that there’s been a violent confrontation down here and sounds of a woman screaming, it might even include a description of the van, just to be sure they get the message.”

Adam interrupts, impatiently glancing at the glowing dial of his watch.

“What do you mean by get the message, what message?”

“She knows what I mean,…don’t you?”

He looks at Cathy, who glares back at him but says nothing.

“The Department will be monitoring police communications closely, it’s how they obtain much of their grass roots intelligence. Saves them a fortune, apparently. They will try to get a team here as fast as possible, I doubt they’ll suspect a trap if they think the tip is called in by a member of the public, but even if the coppers get here first, The Department can still get to her inside.”

“How does that help us?”

“Because the coppers already want her for assisting in the escape of you and Patrick, plus whatever other “terrorism” charges they’ve cooked up in the meantime, so she’s going to need to cut a deal with them; meaning she’ll have to lead them to us or spend a few extra years in jail. But, if The Department get hold of her, who think she might have gone rogue anyway, they won’t trust her if she says she doesn’t know where we are and they’ll employ some ingenious interrogation techniques, just to make sure she’s not lying.”

Adam nodded approvingly.

“Sounds like you have this all planned out.”

Carlisle looks down to unlock the cuffs as he speaks, fumbling to keep hold of the flashlight.

“Always think two steps ahead, that’s the secret…”

The second her hands are free, Cathy throws her head back violently, catching Carlisle full in the face as he looks up and he staggers back, blood streaming from a broken nose. Shadows loom wildly as the flashlight hits the floor and Carlisle falls to his knees, swaying and shaking his head like a punch-drunk boxer.

Then, before Adam can react, she charges at him; with the one free bracelet of the handcuffs wrapped around her hand like a knuckle-duster, she swings and lands a heavy punch, splitting his lip and smashing his front teeth. 

Adam stumbles back under the force of the blow, but as he falls, manages to grab her wrist with one flailing hand and Cathy crashes down on top of him, his head striking the concrete with a hollow thud. 

Blackness threatens to engulf him and a painful ringing in his ears intensifies as he feels his consciousness fading, so Adam summons the last of his strength and places his hand on Cathy’s chest as she struggles to stand up.

Now the director gives us a shot of Cathy from Adam’s POV, silhouetted against the light from the fallen flashlight, looking straight down into his face. She looks down at his hand, then back up, her eyes widening as she realises, too late, what he is doing.

Then the shot changes, so we see them from the side, as Adam unleashes a pulse of lethal energy into Cathy as she leans over him.

We see a brief, blinding light glowing between the two interlocked figures, then a shimmering, translucent beam bursts from Cathy’s back and a split second later a jagged hole is blown in the roof and a shaft of moonlight stabs down through the darkness, picking out the gory tableau below.
*************

To be continued (using next weeks week’s prompt)…

#SoCS

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Stream of Consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty five…

Hello there and welcome to the return of SoCS, after a three week hiatus, even if today’s post is a little short, continuing this story with assistance from Linda G Hill and her prompt for the week;

” “admit.” Use it any way you’d like. “

Right, where had we got to? Oh yes, I remember…

The Accumulator, part thirty five.

Scene: A derelict factory building, its brutal industrial outline silhouetted against the glowing orange lights of a distant town, while a full moon hangs directly above in the clear night sky.
It is the present.

The rusting chain link fence sags drunkenly, a broken gate hanging open, from which a redundant NO ADMITTANCE sign dangles, creaking as it sways in a slight, muggy breeze.

The wide opening shot now begins to tighten, gradually zooming in to a small window on the front of the building, which we glide through without incident and find ourselves in a large empty warehouse.
The perimeter of the cavernous interior is almost invisible in the gloom, indistinct walls rising into the shadows to meet the corrugated steel roof overhead.

The director treats us to a long slow pan around the silent space, coming smoothly to a halt as a diagonal shaft of moonlight comes into view, shining in through a broken roof panel.

Picked out by this solitary beam, as though by spotlight on an empty stage, a body is sprawled in a pool of blood, one leg twisted awkwardly beneath them, arms thrown out to either side as though welcoming Death, for there is no mistaking the stillness of the body for anything else.

From this angle it is impossible to tell who the figure is, the head and shoulders are shrouded in darkness, outside the jagged splash of moonlight, all we can see is that they are dressed in dark military style fatigues, but the gaping hole where their chest used to be is visible even from here.

After a few seconds, the screen fades to black.

*****

Scene: Inside the black van.
It is two hours ago.

Patrick is driving, travelling on a mostly deserted motorway, the strobing of streetlights flashing across his face, the strain of the day now starting to show in the dark rings around his eyes and the clenched muscles of his jaw.

Next to him, Cathy dozes in her seat while in the back, Carlisle watches her with a curious look on his face, as though trying to recall something just out of his reach. After a moment, the look turns to one of grim satisfaction and he sits back with a thoughtful expression as the van speeds on through the night.

***********

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {which can now be found HERE})…

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Stream of consciousness (not)Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty two…

Bank holiday Monday is the new Sunday, as far as my SoCS posts are concerned, anyway, so let’s see what Linda G Hill left as a prompt for us on Friday, with which to continue this strange tale;

” “yard.” Use it any way you’d like. You can even add letters to it to make a whole new word! “

That shouldn’t present too much of a problem…

The Accumulator, part thirty two.

Scene: Patrick and Cathy’s living room. Patrick is sitting in an armchair by the fireplace while Carlisle is lying face down on the sofa facing him, with his arms tied behind his back and his ankles tied together, a length of parcel tape stuck firmly over his mouth. Adam watches Carlisle from his position at the window overlooking the small back yard and Patrick smokes silently, staring into the fire.

From our vantage point at the end of the room, we can also see across the hallway and into the kitchen, where Cathy keeps watch on the street outside, perched on a stool by the window.

It is half an hour ago.

As the camera drifts towards the centre of the room, Patrick checks the clock on the mantlepiece and stands up, flicking his cigarette into the hearth in a shower of sparks. He walks over and rips the tape off Carlisle’s mouth in one swift movement, ignoring the grunt of pain and bending down so that his face is level with the incapacitated hit man.

“We had better be getting ready, if you think they’re coming at ten, that is. You wouldn’t be lying about that, would you?”

Carlisle glares at him for a second, working his jaw to try and ease the stiffness in the raw skin around his mouth.

“That’s the usual procedure after this long without contact. If they haven’t come by now, it means they’ve got someone keeping an eye on the place and know I’m still in here. Looks like they don’t trust me as much they said.”

“Well you better hope they still have your health and safety as their priority, because otherwise you might be in for a very abrupt retirement.”

“I’ve no interest in making life difficult for you, it’s not like I’m going anywhere, is it?”

“Oh no, perish the thought, you were just going to brutally murder us all for money, not do anything that would make life difficult for us, that’s a relief.”

The scathing tone in Cathy’s voice as she enters the room gets a chuckle from Adam, but elicits no further response from Carlisle, who merely shrugs and stares blankly back at her.

“There’s a black van a little way up the road, it hasn’t moved for hours and I just saw someone in the driver’s seat who wasn’t there earlier. I can’t see who it is, but they’re just sitting there, I don’t like it.”

Patrick looks at Carlisle and sees something in his face that tells him all he needs to know.

“Ok, that’s them. You all know what to do.”

Leaving Carlisle on the sofa, Patrick walks into the kitchen and peers through the blinds at the van, parked about thirty meters away on the other side of the road from the house. The driver’s window is open but the angle of sunlight on the windscreen makes it impossible to see who is at the wheel. 

He turns to see Adam placing a stool outside the kitchen, facing down the length of the hallway, as Cathy comes out of the living room, closing the door behind her. The camera follows Cathy as she walks down the hall, closing doors to the dining room and cloakroom, then drawing the curtains across the window next to the front door. She stops on the way back, picking up two thick rugs which cover the shiny laminate flooring, leaving them rolled up at the foot of the stairs. 

After Cathy rejoins the others, Patrick pulls the kitchen door closed so they are plunged into near-darkness and Adam nods with satisfaction.

“That should do it; coming in from the bright sunshine they’ll be practically blind for a few seconds, that’s all I need.”

“I hope so, otherwise we’re screwed.”

“Oh ye of little faith, Patrick, I’m hurt at your lack of confidence in me.”

“Just stick to the plan and we might get out of this alive. Cathy, time to get you upstairs.”

Taking one of the heavy rugs each, Patrick and Cathy head up the stairs, as we follow Adam into the living room; where we see that Carlisle has managed to roll off the sofa, only to get himself wedged underneath the glass coffee table, and he still lies there like some sort of bizarre and furious museum exhibit.

“Hahaha, is that your best attempt at an escape, you’ve really made a pig’s ear out of that, haven’t you?”

Adam stops, raises his arm and, much to Carlisle’s surprise, the steel and glass table lifts smoothly into the air and hangs there, swaying gently, a foot from the ceiling. Adam reaches down and hauls the Department man from beneath the hovering table by his bound ankles, then glances up and makes a small gesture with his hand. The table sinks slowly down, hitting the floor with nothing more than a soft thud and a rattle of an ashtray on the glass top.

Adam bows with a dramatic flourish and grins at the scowling assassin.

“You’re welcome. Now, it’s time for your big moment. Patrick are you ready?”

“I’m here, let’s do this…Shit!

This last exclamation is a reaction to the sudden noise of approaching sirens in the street outside, followed by the sound of screeching brakes and car doors slamming.

Moving quickly now, Patrick and Adam grab Carlisle, carry him out of the living room and place him on the stool facing the front door. They sit him with his arms tied behind the stool’s low back and Adam shoves a broom handle between the two, meaning he can’t lift his arms free, even if he stands up. 

Then Patrick heads for the stairs, vanishing around the corner on the first landing as Adam ducks into the kitchen and closes the door, leaving Carlisle alone once more, in the dark.

Which is when the front door crashes open and all hell breaks loose.

***********

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {Which can now be found HERE)…

#SoCS

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty one…

On my 54th consecutive day of blogging, another SoCS post uses Linda G Hill‘s prompt of the week to continue this story, so let’s see what she’s given us to play with today;

” “spell.” Use the word “spell” any way you’d like. Bonus points if you use it in the first sentence. “

First sentence, eh? Ok then…

The Accumulator, part thirty one.

Scene: Interior of a windowless black van, which, due to the unusually hot spell of weather, is already an unbearable ninety degrees by ten o’clock in the morning. 

The six man assault squad, dressed in black fatigues and rolled up ski masks, have been sitting in the sweltering heat for over an hour, following a report from the overnight surveillance shift that Carlisle hasn’t been seen since entering the target residence, nearly eight hours earlier. They are getting restless and beginning to grumble irritably, tired of waiting for the order to go in.

Carlisle had always refused to wear the combined bugging and tracking devices The Department issued to its field agents; he claimed it made him feel uncomfortable, mostly because the targets often started begging for mercy and he didn’t like the idea of the monitors eavesdropping on that, it seemed…undignified.

So, because Carlisle’s spotless record and impeccable loyalty allowed him a certain amount of flexibility, the powers that be granted him this small idiosyncracy; the compromise being that a covert surveillance team was despatched to all of his jobs. Without his knowledge, of course.

They were told never to interfere, (The Department needed to retain its facade of plausible deniability, after all) but were to report back on any deviation from his established routine, just in case damage limitation was required. Up until now there had never been a problem, but Carlisle was well known for his quick turnaround on this type of critical operation, so the assumption was that he’d been compromised and the big guns had been called in.

The man closest to the sliding side door of the van, designated “Alpha One”, wipes the sweat from his eyes and looks at his watch, raising a hand to silence his muttering colleagues as he pulls a mobile phone from his pocket and punches a speed dial button.

“Hello, this is Alpha One, the area is clear. I repeat; the area is clear, you are green to proceed.”

The squad leader ends the call and nods to his men, watching as they pull down their masks and perform a final equipment check, then he climbs over into the driver’s seat and opens the window, letting in a mercifully cool breeze in the process, and listens for sirens; his cue to begin the attack.

*****

Now our POV drifts over Alpha One’s head and out through the window, (the director has just got himself a new drone camera) where it speeds down the street; past Patrick and Cathy’s innocuous suburban house and dozens of others exactly like it, until it reaches the main road, where it glides smoothly to a stop and rotates, to show us a line of four police cars, parked just around the corner.

Policemen with their sleeves rolled up and collars undone lean against the cars, chatting quietly and smoking in the heat, then a phone rings and a few seconds later the order comes;

“Ok you lot, let’s make this look convincing. Remember, we’re only here as window dressing for the spooks, so I don’t want you putting yourselves in harm’s way, but any nosey neighbours are supposed to think tomorrow’s Daily Mail is right when it comes out with some bollocks about an “Islamic Terrorist cell in shootout with Home Counties police”, you get my drift?”

There is a chorus of replies, on a variation of “Yes, sarge”, as cigarettes are flicked into gutters, doors slam and engines roar into life.

The cars pull away from the kerb, turn the corner, and accelerate rapidly; sirens blaring, lights flashing, followed by the drone camera, filming from overhead, before screeching impressively to a halt, sideways, blocking the street with two positioned on either side of Patrick’s house, just as the anonymous black van swings into his driveway.

This is the moment the assault squad have been waiting for and, as the police officers set about conspicuously “securing the area” for the benefit of any curious members of the public, the door of the van slides open and the six heavily armed men pile out.

The camera zooms down to get us right in amongst the action.

Two of the team disappear around the rear of the house and another two make for the back wall of the garage and station themselves by the connecting door that opens into the kitchen, while Alpha One takes up position at the front door with Alpha Two, who carries a compact steel battering ram.

Raising three fingers to his second in command, Alpha One nods and silently counts down;

Three. Two. One.

He drops his clenched fist in a chopping motion and Alpha Two swings the ram, splintering the wooden frame and smashing open the door in a single impact.

Without hesitation, the squad leader charges headlong into the darkened hallway and the camera follows him, as the screen..

fades to black.

************

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {Which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty…

Welcome to a bank holiday edition of SoCS, brought to you by Linda G Hill and a prompt that inspires the continuation of this story;

” “moo” or a word that rhymes with it. Bonus points if you actually use the word “moo” in your post. “

Oh, really? Good grief…

The Accumulator, part thirty.

Scene: Adam and Patrick are standing in the kitchen, with Cathy sitting at the counter, all of them watching Carlisle with interest, as he gives every sign of fighting a battle with himself.

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

Adam grins at the sweating Department operative, who is gripping his right arm (the one pointing a gun at his own leg) with his left hand, trying with no success whatsoever to move it away from his kneecap.

“You’d think they would have warned you what you were up against before they sent you after me. Or maybe they don’t realise what sort of monster they’ve created, is that it, do you think?”

He gives Carlisle an expectant look, waiting for response, but all he gets in return is a glare, part angry defiance, part confusion.

“There really is nothing you can do, you know, I can keep you like that until your muscles are screaming in agony. Although I’m going to get bored a lot quicker than that, so you better start talking soon or I’ll just apply a little more pressure to your finger, and…”

Patrick sees Carlisle’s eyes suddenly widen and he can see the tendons on the back of his right hand begin to tighten.

“Wait!”

“Aha, he speaks! See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, why were you sent here, what did they tell you? Think carefully before you answer, I don’t know how sensitive that trigger is, but I expect you know how many lies to risk before you loose your leg.”

Carlisle looks at Adam, then at Patrick, who stares implacably back at him in silence. He licks his lips nervously.

“All I was told was that you and the girl were to be taken out.”

He nods at Patrick and shoots an apologetic glance at Cathy, as if to say “It’s just business, nothing personal”, then looks back at Adam.

“Nobody told me you were going to be here, I’m guessing they would have sent reinforcements otherwise.”

“What did they tell you about me and Cathy, why do they want us dead?”

Patrick takes a step closer to Carlisle, fists bunched and eyes blazing with fury.

“I was told you murdered a doctor called Felix Braithwaite and the girl worked with you to get inside the hospital. They’ve already put out police reports on you both tonight, probably to help explain the bodies they’re expecting to find in the morning.”

“But they said nothing about me, you’re sure about that, you don’t want to play for the first knee?”

“I don’t even know who you are, or what you’re doing here, you weren’t part of the job at all, as far as I know.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t seem very likely; seems to me you’re a specialist and they wouldn’t have sent you in unprepared.”

“I told you, I was only contracted to do the other two. Make it look like a falling out between conspirators, they said. No need to be too tidy about it either, that’s what they told me; “Make the girl as messy as you can, so it looks like he did it” were their exact words, whatever that to meant. I assumed you were some sort of psycho, going on what I’d heard about how Braithwaite died, so they obviously wanted me to cut her up a bit.”

“Oh, charming!”

Carlisle shrugs indifferently and meets Cathy’s furious gaze.

“I’m not an animal, you’d have been dead first, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Strangely, no, it doesn’t. Adam, couldn’t you get him to shoot off a toe or something?”

“Hahaha, I don’t see why not.”

Adam looks at Carlisle and raises an amused eyebrow.

“What d’you reckon, wanna play for a toe.”

To Carlisle’s surprise and despite his obvious resistance, the pistol abruptly jerks away from his leg and his legs buckle, forcing him to one knee. He watches helplessly and lets out a grunt of pain as the hand holding the gun jabs the muzzle violently into the toe of his boot.

Cathy laughs nastily and claps her hands in appreciation.

“Ha! This is better than watching one of those hypnotists who can make you munch on an onion or moo like a cow.”

“Now, I’ll ask you again; What did they tell you about Subject:Beta?”

Carlisle looks blank, frowning in what seemed to be genuine puzzlement. He purses his lips and shakes his head at Adam.

“Nope, you’ve got me there…”

His wrist twists sharply, grinding the gun barrel into the top of his foot.

“Ow! Fuck. Wait, wait…isn’t that some hush-hush secret agent crap? Above my pay grade, I don’t ask for details, I just come in and do the job, I’m supposed to be retired, for fuck’s sake. This was going to be a quick in and out and home for breakfast type of job, I’m not being paid enough for this X-Files bullshit.”

“You know what, I think I believe you. But I’ll have the gun now, if you don’t mind. We don’t want you to do yourself an injury, do we?”

Patrick can see Carlisle relax as the gun lifts away from his foot, but he still watches with fascinated suspicion as his arm stretches up towards Adam. The tightly clenched fingers open of their own accord, releasing their grip on the butt of the pistol as Adam takes hold of the barrel.

“Thank you, now we can all converse like reasonable people, far more civilised.”

“Wait.”

Adam turns as Cathy stands up, walks over to the still-kneeling Carlisle and looks down at him with disdain.
Then she slaps him across the face.
Twice, forehand and backhand.
Hard.

“Ok, now we can converse like civilised people.”

*****

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {Which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty nine…

Right, I don’t have much time, so let’s jump straight into today’s SoCS post, continuing this story by using Linda G Hill‘s prompt;

” “give/given/giving.” Begin your post with one of those words. Bonus points if you end your post with one as well. “

Ooh, bonus points, I like a challenge…

The Accumulator, part twenty nine.

Scene: Giving us a bird’s eye view of the darkened street, our POV glides silently along above the rooftops until it comes to a smooth halt, so we appear to be hovering unsupported, directly above one particular house. Then the camera goes into freefall and we find ourselves plunging downwards, spinning sickeningly.

Straight into the black hole of the chimney.

A rotating rectangle of light grows rapidly larger as we drop through the darkness, our descent slowing at the last moment, allowing the FX boys a smooth transition from CGI to live action as the camera emerges from the fireplace in Patrick and Cathy’s living room and drifts across to the open door, towards the sound of voices in the next room.

As we enter the kitchen, Patrick and Adam are arguing loudly, with Cathy’s voice raised above theirs in an attempt to enforce some order on the situation.

“Oh really, and who put you in charge all of sudden?”

“Look, all I’m saying is we should go over there and grab him, drag him in here and see what he knows…”

“Oh yes, brilliant idea, give him time to call for help as you go charging across the street at him. You’d have the whole bloody Department down on us in two minutes flat!”

“Come on guys, let’s calm down a bit, shall we?”

“We could creep up on him from behind, go over the back fence in the garden and come at him from the other end of the street…”

“You know there’s a bloody railway embankment on the other side of that fence, I take it? You hop over that, you’ll drop twenty feet straight down onto the tracks, that’s if you miss the power lines of course. Idiot.”

“Well you come up with a better plan then, if you’re so fucking clever!”

“Umm, Patrick, I think you’d better see this.”

Cathy has moved to the window and is peering through the blinds at something outside. She turns and looks at them with a worried expression, so Patrick joins her takes a look for himself.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

“What? What is it?”

Adam is heading for the window to see what all the fuss is about when he stops in his tracks and they all tense. The muffled, yet still very definite sound of breaking glass comes from somewhere down the hall.

Patrick motions for Cathy to stay where she is and beckons to Adam as he creeps towards the doorway.  The two uneasy allies take up position on either side of the open doorway and Cathy quickly runs to sit at the kitchen counter with her back to them, picking up a magazine which she begins to casually leaf through. They only have to wait a few seconds before stealthy footsteps approach, stopping abruptly on the threshold, presumably as the intruder spots Cathy. 

The first thing that comes into Patrick’s field of vision is a gun, swiftly followed by the hand that holds it and the rest of the assassin’s arm. Patrick sees the forefinger take up the trigger tension and he is about to make a grab for the arm, but never gets the chance.

There is a startled grunt from the doorway and the hand holding the gun starts to droop toward the floor. Patrick steps away from the wall and looks over at Adam, who is smiling in satisfaction; watching Carlisle’s shocked gaze as it follows his arm to the end of its ponderous arc, with the barrel pointing at his own kneecap. The strain shows on the gunman’s face as he fights to resist the unseen force, sweat standing out on his forehead, eyes darting this way and that, looking for escape.

Adam moves to stand in front of him and offers his hand in greeting.

“Oh I’m sorry, you seem to have your hands full. Hello there, I’m Adam, nice of you to drop in. Now, shall we have a game of truth or dare?”

Cathy grins at the bewildered Carlisle.

“Oh what fun. But I warn you, you better tell the truth, because I have a feeling you won’t like the dares you’ll be given.”

*****

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {Which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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