I wonder in which direction Linda G Hill is going to take us with her prompt for today’s SoCS post, so that we can discover what happens next in this continuing story. Let’s find out together, shall we?
” “man.” Use it as a word by itself or find a word with “man” in it. “
Hmm, easy enough…
The Accumulator, part twenty nine.
Scene: The darkened interior of a parked car at night. It is two weeks later.
There is a man behind the wheel of the car, dressed in dark clothes and a black woollen cap, he is studying the house across the street through a pair of compact binoculars.
As he lowers the glasses and studies a folder on his lap, we barely have time to wonder who he is before the picture is replaced for a few seconds by;
and we have our answer.
The director now provides us with a mini backstory sequence, introducing us to this unexpected new character, who…
…checked the time and shifted in his seat, trying to ease the ache in his back as he reviewed what he knew about this latest, desperately urgent job they needed him for, and right when he’d managed to schedule a couple of weeks off to unwind and play a bit of golf, too, so it’d better be really bloody important, or somebody was going to be getting an unsanctioned visit when they weren’t expecting it.
It wasn’t like he needed the money or anything, he was doing quite nicely thank you very much, but saying no to The Department, no matter how exemplary your service record, was never a good idea and “retired” usually meant something far more terminal when it came to severing your contractual obligations with them.
So Carlisle maintained a cordial relationship with his unofficially former employer and carried on a perfectly legitimate career in private security, on the understanding that, should the need ever arise for his services, he would return to work as a sub-contractor for the duration of the job, subject to the usual terms and conditions, of course.
He didn’t usually bother about the “big picture” when he was called in to do these last minute rush jobs; he’d just turn up, eliminate the sanctioned target, clean up if that was part of the job, make a nasty mess if that was required instead and dispose of anything that needed disposing of.
Then he would go back to his comfortable life in suburbia, fleecing stock brokers for extortionate security consultations, raking in easy money fitting burglar alarms for paranoid golf widows, sheltering in their gilded cages while their fat cat husbands screwed around with their secretaries.
He’d heard some crazy shit about this job on the grapevine and you would have needed to be deaf and blind to miss the news of Felix Braithwaite’s horrific death at the hospital, so Carlisle didn’t think a few sensible precautions were a bad idea, before he went strolling in there and found something he wasn’t equipped to deal with.
Frankly though, he thought all these rumours about strange powers and secret projects was just so much bullshit, to distract the authorities from whatever The Department were really up to. A good story for the papers to get their teeth into, some sensationalist opium for the sheeple, a sleight of hand trick, nothing more.
Still, people who he wouldn’t generally credit with much in the way of imagination had told him things you would need a lot of imagining to come up with, stuff you’d think was stupid if you saw it in a horror movie, so he’d have to play it by ear.
Patrick allowed the edge of the kitchen blind to fall back into place and turned to look at Cathy, who was watching him with an anxious expression.
“You’re right, yes, there’s somebody parked a little way down on the opposite side of the road. Can’t make out who it is, but it doesn’t look like the police to me.”
Cathy looked even less happy at this news than she had been when she’d noticed the car earlier.
“Well we know what that means, don’t we?”
“Yes, they’ve finally managed to track us down, we need to get ready to move.”
“That sounds like a very good idea, mind if I tag along?”
Patrick and Cathy both spin round in shock at the sound of the voice, coming from the door to the living room.
“Don’t look like that, I’m not going to bite, aren’t you going to offer me a drink before we go?”
Howard Grainger, aka Subject:Beta, grins cheerfully at them from the doorway, as the screen fades to black.
To be continued (using next week’s prompt)…