C M Thompson What Lies in the Dark (retail)

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.Every smooth-tongued man could be him, every drink could be spiked.Tonight, he could be there, out to get another unsuspecting victim.Everywhere the atmosphere is tense, though ironically, the pubs are the safest place to be.The conversations are all about him.Hushed whispers as every stranger, every loner is carefully scrutinised.Inevitably, “Maybe it was The Krill,” is one joke made by several different groups, a joke always met with nervous laughter, no one wanting to acknowledge the dark truth lying behind the joke.It could be the Krill.Here tonight, and tomorrow night, even for the rest of the year, people are thinking, jumping to conclusions and that is always dangerous.It isn’t the first murder that this city has seen, not even the first this year, but the fact that it is a young girl, killed with no obvious motive.The fact that the news has covered it so mysteriously: confirming the mutilation but not giving any juicy details has sent the city into motion.Several super-sleuths are already blaming her boyfriend, romanticising the idea of a torrid affair, maybe with her boss, which had been fatally discovered.Not knowing that Fran Lizzie’s boss is actually a happily married 60-year-old woman.Stella is still working tonight, even though she has heard about the murder, she doesn’t really care.Stella isn’t going to lose forty, sixty quid over some girl.Stupid bint probably deserved it anyway.Stella hoists her short neon skirt even higher, revealing even more tantalising thigh.The lack of girls out tonight will probably work to her benefit anyway.The sword squelches through the green flesh, pixels of blood washing across the screen before dramatically fading as the orc falls to the ground.Another one bites the dust.Kain, even after two hundred orcs is still thirsty for more, craving that teeny rush of power derived from a kill.The power Kain so rarely feels in real life, the secret thrill of just being better than everyone else at something drives Kain to continue.It isn’t as if there was anything better to do now, just yet.Slice, slash, and squelch.Next!Kain inhales another lungful of smoke, heightening the heady rush of orc demise, maybe next it should be a dragon demise.Every so often just checking, making sure there is no chance.No, but you have to be sure, just have to check … no definitely not, safe for now …Fran Lizzie’s flatmate has finally stopped wailing.She is staring blankly at Fran Lizzie’s bedroom door, just waiting for Fran Lizzie to get up.Fran’s jacket is still draped across the kitchen chair.Her dirty dishes from last night’s dinner still lie in the sink, three messages from Steve are bleeping on the answer machine.The whole flat seems to be waiting for Fran to come home.To step through that door, because everything is just fine and everything is OK and Fran will be here, any minute now, any minute now … now … now.Fran Lizzie’s flatmate just doesn’t know what else to do, so she is sitting here, waiting … waiting.Tomorrow Fran Lizzie’s mother will be here, just to check, and there will be more tears and her flatmate will finally realise.But for now she is just waiting and waiting, staring numbly at the closed door.Brandi is listening to her mother bragging on and on about the nice young man her sister is seeing, a bright young man who just happens to earn lots of money doing some computer nonsense.Her mother will never understand the internet industry, always arguing that it is for people who have too much time on their hands … but those who are making their fortunes from such an industry, Well hello Mister and do have some tea.Brandi can’t stand listening to her mother’s insistence: “You could also find such a man if you tried, maybe if you straightened your hair and wore that dress I got you for Christmas.” The offending unworn dress that Brandi had decided made her look like a thirty-something, has-been hooker.Brandi sometimes wondered what her mother actually wanted from her.Why torture her every week with, “You could be like your sister if only you would …” What exactly did her mother want? Brandi had a goodish job, she didn’t want for anything (well maybe those boots she had seen, so sexily centred in the shop’s window.) But that just wasn’t good enough for Brandi’s mother, oh no.She had to be sleeping with the next nerdy millionaire and buying diamonds like candy.The resentment is enough to make Brandi want to drink until sunrise because Brandi knows, her mother knows, her sister also knows that Brandi will never be good enough, she will never date the right man, or wear the right clothes, never do anything quite right.The next door neighbour and the milkman also probably know this.So why does her mother do this to her? Why continue to torture her every week with nagging whines?Brandi decides it is simply because her mother is Satan reincarnated.Fletcher is cooking, it is what he does, particularly when he is stressed or worried.He doesn’t do decorating or cars, the sad kitchen will attest to that.He is standing in a kitchen that is desperately in need of a paint job, the grease-stained walls need to be re-tiled and while we are on the subject, his car needs a wash and a vacuum, and Mrs Claire Fletcher would be very happy if Fletcher would just clean out the empty crisp packets.Tonight Fletcher is in the mood for chilli.The chilli recipe his mother had written down was neat and precise.She has even added little explanations to each ingredient, explaining why the cumin/chilli/paprika need to be added, to flavour the meat and dull the harshness of the red chilli powder.After careful deliberation Fletcher decides that Chinese five spice and mixed herbs are just as good.He pokes around the overflowing cupboard for kidney beans, Claire had promised to buy some and they are in there, behind the tins of mixed vegetables.But Fletcher cannot see them.Giving up, he decides that baked beans are just as good and throws those in instead.Stirring the concoction briefly, he thinks the chilli is looking pretty damn fine, get a whiff of that lads! His stomach is rumbling in anticipation.Fletcher then chops the peppers, concentrating every brain cell on not cutting his fingers, just focusing on slicing through the thick green flesh of the pepper, forgetting, again to remove the pepper seeds.Trying to think only of the food and not the female, chop, now lying, chop chop, dead on the cold glass chopping board, chop chop chop, every violated piece being probed, chop chop, by the doctor’s scalpel.Examined then thrown to boil [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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