The Cell
An old story from years ago. It is pretty long (ok it is reeeaaaallly long)but probably good to while away 15 mins of work :)
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:20, 4 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

ta do
-1-
The leaves danced in the sunlight, swirling around the trees, mocking them for being rooted to the spot while they could fly forever. Crimson reds, golden yellows and chocolate browns mixed together in an autumn cocktail, chasing the sun and running from the wind.
It was a perfect day for a picnic and two people were taking advantage of this. Nestled between the trees on a blanket, lying together with the empty food containers scattered around them. The wine bottle had fallen on to the ground its contents consumed, the strawberries and cream were long gone and all that remained were the green stalks discarded in the bottom of the tub, trying to escape their cell and leap into the wind to mingle with the leaves.
The man stirs, pushing himself up on to an elbow and looks down into those eyes. Those emerald eyes. He had memorised every fleck in them, every change in hue. He runs a finger down her cheek, her soft pale skin, over the mole on to those lips. Without saying a word he puts his hand in his pocket and pulls out a small blue velvet box. She gasps. Without saying a word he slowly opens it revealing the ring inside. She sits up. He looks at her as he takes the ring out and smiles slightly as she brings her hand up to him, he slides the ring on as she leans up to kiss him, whispering the word he had been waiting to hear.
“Yes”

The sharp crack of the lightening awoke him from the dream. As his eyes adjusted to the blackness he started to make out the familiar shapes. The small table over in the corner, the door that seemed to absorb any light that dared enter, making it even blacker than the surrounding walls. The bunk bed directly above him. The window to the left. The bars that sliced the moonlight causing it to fall in broken pieces on the floor.
He sighs and his hand instinctly moves to the walls, fingers passing over the smooth surface of a photograph. He can see the smiling face on it, the way the hair falls over her face, the way her eyes sparkle, the exact position of that mole. He drops his hand back on to the hard bed, standing up and wandering to the window.
The storm was in full force. Rain hammering down on anything unlucky enough to be out there. The guards who had the unenviable job of night patrol were hunched over into their collars, the rain bouncing back up and soaking them from all directions. The thunder rumbled so loudly you could almost feel it through your feet and vibrating up your spine. The lightning, which was occurring at pretty much exactly the same time, forked through the cloudy sky illuminating the entire complex and allowed him to see the town in the distance. He could almost see the park, see the tree with the heart and their initials, taste the strawberries, feel her kiss.
Wearily he turned away from the window and padded back to the bed. He knew the dreams would return as soon as slumber took him but he was too old and tired to fight them off anymore.

-2-
The ringing of the phone cut through his buttery thoughts, bringing him to full awareness in the blink of an eye. Scanning the room he vaulted over the sofa and picked up the handset just as she was entering the room. Smiling in what he hoped to be a casual way, he answered the call.
“Hello.”
He tried to maintain a neutral outlook, smiling at her, walking off to his office and making his free hand do the “yadda yadda” motion to try and convince her it was just work. He wished it was work. Instead it was that silky voice. The voice that swirled into his ear, wrapping itself around his brain and squeezing it, shutting down logic and reason and reverting him to the basic instinct of survival.
“It’s late.” The voice mutters. “We had an agreement. You have broken that agreement”
“Wait...” He tries to interject but is swiftly cut off
“No, I have waited enough. Your time is up.”
The dial tone comes mockingly down the phone. Sounding worse than the voice. He feels like he is in syrup, everything is slow motion as he tries to run to the lounge.
The solid wood door explodes inwards just as he reaches the lounge. The chocolaty brown splinters scattering over the golden yellow carpet. He sees them enter; big blocks of darkness, networks of scars cover their leathery skin, empty eyes. Those eyes. Windows to a place so dark that the shadows try to hide.
The evening sun glints off the metal barrel, he starts to try and dive in front of her. Her face is twisted in horror, shock, anger? And then… nothing. He feels an angry, primal scream starting deep inside him and filling his throat, escaping out in a burst of utter despair.
She falls to the floor. Crimson red completing the autumn cocktail.

His eyes slam open. He feels like his heart is going to jump out of his chest. His hand moves to his brow where the salty sweat has formed and is running down his eyes and cheeks. The closest he has come to crying since that night.
He sits back up and walks back to the window. The sky has cleared slightly. The rain nothing more than a downpour, the thunder just a distant rumble, the lightning barely letting him see to the other side of the courtyard anymore.
He realises he has been playing with his wedding band. The gold almost cutting into his skin nowadays. He looks down at his hands, the darkness providing no hindrance as he knew them so well now. He knew every scar that ran across the back of his hands, he knew exactly each of them was from. Running up his wrist and arms, mingling and dancing with the tattoos that covered him. The grinning smiles of the skulls etched into his skin, surrounded by leaves. Leaves of red and yellow and brown, which had faded over time. He wishes memories and pain faded as easily as the tattoos.
The dreams have been more vivid tonight. He can still hear that voice in his ear, see her unblinking eyes, feel the vibrations as the goons turned and moved through the remains of the door, smell the gunpowder.
He sighs. Wondering if this is a final test. Wondering if his time if finally up and he may be reunited with her.

-3-
Oakfalls was not a shop he could afford to buy from. Their exquisitely crafted desks and wardrobes ran in to the thousands, the luxurious leather sofas and divine four poster beds were the epitamy of finely crafted furniture and their lamps and taps were the finest fittings around. However he had wanted to please her, to give her things as beautiful as herself and give her the life she deserved.
Loan sharks were ten a penny nowadays and it wasn’t hard to find one who agreed to lend him the money. He had vowed only to borrow as much as he needed, but human nature is greedy and he had already splashed out on a sports car for both himself and another for her.
Of course she had been asking how he could afford this, and he had fobbed her off with excuses about nest eggs and stock options. The look on her face when she saw the new Persian rug, the Egyptian cotton sheets or the state of the art gym was addictive. He wanted to give her everything she wanted, to see how happy it made her.
Of course there was always the question of repaying the money, and that sort of money was not going to be made by anything legitimate. He had friends from the few years he spend in the services, of course he never elaborated on what services they were, who had given him the names of a few contacts. The most lucrative job he had found was for a man they called Mr Andrews. He had called Mr Andrews one day and had managed to secure an interview. It was held in an old and dusty warehouse on the south side of the river, the bare floorboards creaking and groaning with the weight of the sunlight, the broken windows letting the cool breeze in to chase the mouldy smell around the building.
He walked up the old stairs to the second floor where he could see the “office” had been set up. Walking nervously towards the desk, he noted the cigar, the sharp suit, and the dark sunglasses and arched hands on the desk. He was motioned to sit down and did so accordingly.
“I am impressed.” Stated Mr Andrews, his voice deep and rough, commanding yet weirdly soothing. “Of course I have run all the necessary checks on you, and obviously you have passed.” Mr Andrews must have noticed the look of mild confusion as he continued, “Because if you hadn’t you would never have made it this far.” Mr Andrews smiled, shark like. “You’re first assignment is a Mr. Simon Fitzpatrick. Here are the details. You are required to read and memorise them now. No physical material I ever give you will be allowed out of this building” he pushed forward a dossier.

The storm has subsided to mild rain that echoed weirdly around the small cell. He woke up and went to relieve himself. He shook his head slightly, trying to dislodge the thoughts in his head, trying to get rid of Mr Andrews and Mr Fitzpatrick from where they were stomping around in his memory. Sighing quietly to himself as he returned to bed and lay down once again he knew exactly where his next dream would now take him. To that cool spring day, June 21st a Monday, on the roof of the Geritire building, peering down into the building opposite, seeing Mr Fitzpatrick through the sight on his sniper rifle, and hearing the birds chirp, the cars run down beneath him and the blue butterfly that hovered about in front of him as he slowly pulled the trigger.

-4-
The bullet sliced through the air, heading toward the target. Hitting the glass and shattering it into a thousand pieces. He watched the splinters explode out and how they glinted in the warm summer sun, how suddenly they became a thousand mirrors, reflecting the hard steel hitting its soft target.
As the body hit the floor he was already packed up and he turned away slowly, hearing the screams. Oddly he felt himself smile. This, he though, is what it feels like to lose your soul.

The calls were more frequent now. Mr Andrews was pleased with his work it seemed as he offered him more and more high profile hits. He had actually quit his boring desk job, although of course he hadn't told her. He would leave the same time everyday, coming back at roughly the same time. Coming up with BS about what jobs he was doing, always leaving the possibility that he would have to go back to the office if he was needed, just in case he received a call.
He looked forward to the calls now. At first the fact he was taking a life bore into his concious, nagging and squirming in his head. Making him feel sick, he couldn't sleep. But now. Now the thrill of the chase, the planning of the hit, the pull of the trigger. He was untouchable. The police were clueless. The hits seemed random, they had no idea when the next would occur. There were sometimes days or weeks between the hits, sometimes the body was never found, sometimes it was never even missed.
His phone rang. He didn't say anything, and all that was said on the other end was: “Another”

Sitting in the chair, reading the dossier, he had a strange feeling. Like he knew this person. He checked the name again. Miss Annabel Steward. The first time he was handed a female hit he was shocked, he refused point blank. Of course this isn't the kind of business you could refuse in and after a few threats from Mr Andrews he begrudgingly did it. Now they were all the same, men, women it didn't matter. Never children though. There were some unwritten rules everyone stuck to.
It struck him. One of his wife's friends. She had attended the wedding. His mind raced, she had bought them a horrific crystal lion thing that was still cluttering up the mantle. He had never liked her. He read on. Turns out she was a high flying lawyer now, trying to prosecute someone Mr Andrews didn't want going down.
“Fine” he said, pushing the dossier back. “What's my window”
“Three days,” Mr Anderson replied “I know it's a tight deadline which is why you were my only choice. Anything you need you can get from here.” Mr Andrews held up a card while his photographic memory took a snapshot of the address, he got up and left. His mind already racing on how to achieve the hit.

The cold dawn light made the cell seem even more miserable than usual. He sighed. This night was seemingly endless. He estimated he had only been asleep for an hour or so since his last awaking. He could almost smell the blood, see it seeping down the walls. He could picture Annabel's face as he burst into her apartment and shot her right there. He knew going there was risky. He knew it wasn't his style, but the thrill he got was unbelievable. He had never felt so alive, and yet so dead. The police blamed the mob bosses. He was even dragged to her funeral by his sobbing wife.
Suddenly his cell door was flung open. The guard stood there, his words fell like concrete slabs.
“You have a visitor”

-5-
As he walked down the cold empty corridors of the prison, seeing the predatory eyes of the other inmates glowing from within their darkened lairs, he felt strangely detached. It was almost as if he was floating a few feet behind himself. Watching him walk. Noting how he walked surprisingly lightly for such a big man. They stopped at the end while the guard unlocked the gate, the heavy key's loud clink as it released the lock seemed to pull him together.
He was ushered in to a small room with a table and two chairs around it. They were those nasty cheap red bucket type chairs that you didn't want to sit on for more than a coffee.
The guard pushed him down roughly in to the chair furtherest from the door and walked back out without saying a word.
He looked round the room. There was a long thin window at the top of the room on the east side and the morning sun was streaming through, bathing the room in a warm golden light. The door opened once again and a man entered. The room seemed to drop back into darkness and a chill descended.
“Why what's the matter?” Mr. Anderson asked “You look like you've seen a ghost.”
Mr Anderson slowly removed his sunglasses revealing the long scar that ran from the top left side of his forehead across his eye socket and on to the side of his nose. Reaching up he tapped the left eye, the sound weirdly hypnotic.
“The finest glass. After you're rather rude thank you for me giving you the chance to do anything you wanted I had to have one made. You remember that night Alex?”
Alex flinched slightly as his name was used. He was so used to being nameless. Abanding his name and everything about his old life on the day she died. On the day Rebecca died Alex had died with her.
“Let's recap shall we?” Mr Anderson smiled, his gold tooth glinting wickedly in the morning sun. “Let me take you back, Alex, to that night. I believe it was snowing....”

It had been snowing. The air was so crisp and clean. The sky peppered with stars and a full moon peeking out from behind the clouds.
Alex stood on the roof of the church. He had been coming here more and more. Not for religious reasons. He didn't believe in any god anymore. It did, however, give him a great view of the village. He saw Mr Anderson's house, could see him sitting by the fire reading a book. War And Peace. How appropriate.
He shimmied down the drainpipe and stalked over to the house. This was personal, this had to be done face to face. Unwritten rules and all that.
When he had found out it was Mr Anderson that had arranged the hit on Rebecca his blood froze, his heart stopped and he had actually vomited. On a rather lovely antique sofa actually. He had started planning straight away. His meticulous mind churning over every detail, every option and every possible way he could kill him.
He carefully picked the lock on the door and snuck inside. He had memorised the layout of the house from blueprints and his surveillance over the past month.
Moving into the sitting room Mr Anderson looked up as he entered and almost smiled.
“Well,” He said putting down War and Peace “I was starting to wonder when you would get here”
Alex shook his head. The details of what happened next were hazy. He remembered anger, a rage so primal it consumed him and controlled him direct from instinct, bypassing his brain and reason. He remembered the blood. The blood that spilled on to the floor, that spattered up the wall, that covered him. He remembered afterwards taking the long knife and slowly bending over the still body of Mr Anderson.
As Rebecca always said: An eye for an eye.

-6-
“Well you left me in quite a state Alex. Took me a good few months to get over that. You see your downfall was to let your feelings get in the way. You became vengeful and impulsive as opposed to calm and calculated. Human emotions,” Mr Anderson shakes his head slightly “Is the downfall of people like you.”
Alex stared at Mr Anderson, he thought, just for a second, he saw a skull on the pupil of that glass eye.
“Well Alex it was nice seeing you again.” Mr Anderson rose from the chair and walked to the door.
Alex waited, he expected for him to turn and kill him right there and then. But Mr Anderson opened the door and left the room leaving Alex alone again.

As he was escorted back to his cell Alex felt distant again. His head was spinning. Why was he still alive what was the point of the visit. As the door of his cell was opened and he was pushed inside he saw it. His photographs of Rebecca, all he had left of her had been burnt. He knelt down on the floor next to the pile of melted paper. On the top of the ash was her eye, ripped from the photo. The only remaining thing left of her. It stared back at him.
Death would have been a release, death would have been too kind.

As his cell door slammed closed he felt his heart break for the second time.
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:21, Reply)

Very interesting stuff.
Quite dark and intense. I like.

One thing I'll share that I've had to learn- be careful with tenses, switching back and forth between the past tense and present. (It was a beautiful autumn day, the man sits up and smiles.) That's one of the mistakes I always catch myself doing when I re-read something I've written.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 22 Aug 2008, 16:53, Reply)

I like it
It's the sort of story that you have to really pay attention to. Vague yet descriptive
(quagarr, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 17:04, Reply)

Cheers
@TRL Yeah it is one of my biggest problems switching between tenses. I keep meaning to edit this to sort that out but am slightly worried I will end up changing the whole thing and just annoying myself!
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Fri 22 Aug 2008, 18:08, Reply)