A Sliver of Light Read online

Corp Talk

  In choosing those people to participate in the Russian Roulette, it was always a matter of making sure Derek and Zoran obtained someone deserving. There were a few dregs of society that they managed to drag in each time they held the game, thereby doing society a favour by eliminating them.

  Improving the gene pool – that was the rationale.

  One such person is Franklin.

  Franklin Bletch was, by most accounts, not a very nice chap. There were not many people he worked with who could say things like:

  “Franklin’s a really decent guy.” Or:

  “Franklin Bletch? Yeah I know him – great bloke.” Or:

  “Franklin’s fair, honourable and hard-working. A real pleasure to have as a colleague.”

  In most cases the unanimous adjective to describe him was simply: scum.

  Here’s one story from someone who met Franklin in the Philippines. Jason Jenas never knew Franklin before this night:

  I remember meeting Franklin in 2007 in a bar in the Philippines called “The Crystal Ball”. This was the sort of sexy shithole that only large Asian cities can produce and, quite frankly, I was more than a little uncomfortable in it. I mean, I like a sexy woman as much as the next guy. But Asian women just don’t do it for me.

  I know that sounds terribly racist but is it racist to explain a preference? I just don’t find them all that attractive. However, after having been away for a couple of weeks or so, my standards were beginning to waiver a little bit and I was starting to come around to them more. Sure they had great bodies and, as the time wore on (and the beers took effect), I could feel myself going down the road of “Oh fuck it, why not?”

  And Franklin was my chauffer! In this place, all the girls knew him. But, most importantly, the boss knew him.

  “That’s Manuel . He owns the place,” Franklin explained to me as the little slimy man hugged Franklin’s wobbly body, his tiny hands slapping the fat roll on Franklin’s back, below his shoulder blades. I could see Franklin’s fat shudder under the impact and even through the haze of beer, smoke and sex, I wondered what his life expectancy would be lugging that fat around year upon year.

  Manuel showed me and Franklin a few local girls and we each picked two of them. Well, Franklin picked all four as I was still new and shy to this whole Asian prostitute thing. Franklin knew his stuff – the girls he picked were young but not virgins. I am too embarrassed to tell you what happened next in any detail. I will say, though, that Franklin did fuck all four of the girls and I had a crack at two of them. I was so pent up with sexual energy that I came in no time at all. I’ve never been one to “back-up” with a second round so I simply lay back and watched the girls have fun together.

  But Franklin was in his element and he was in for the long haul. He offered me some ecstasy (I declined), some Coke (I declined) and some Valium (I needed). After a while, this look came over his face and it scared the shit out of me. I wanted to leave but through the valium hit, I was just too zonked to be bothered moving. It was hazy for me and alcohol, valium and the general sex in the air did confuse me a bit.

  But I do remember Franklin fingering one of the girls. Then two fingers, then more, then his whole fist was in there. It wasn’t sexy at all, it was violent – like he wanted to punch her womb! She was making noises but I couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain. One girl left only to be thrown back in again by Manuel who was outside the door. Franklin grabbed the escapee, flipped her onto her stomach and then entered her from behind. No lube, no preparation – straight in her ass. I didn’t mistake that scream for anything but pain. Within seconds he had come, pulling out of her ass as he did so. One of the other girl’s head was close by so he forced his cock down her throat, choking her with it. He finished coming down her throat, blood and shit from the other girl’s arse now staining the sheets.

  I was speechless and still out of it. Franklin turned to me, his erect cock slowly starting to recede into the fat rolls of his stomach (I always wondered whether fat people actually had small cocks or was it simply their fat that make the cock look small?). He grabbed the side of my head with his sweaty smelly hands and looked me in the eye.

  I nearly shit myself – I’d never been so scared in my life. The look on his face made me feel like a scared little kid on his first day of school all over again.

  “Fuck off!” he said “Fuck off, and I never want to see you again!”

  So I did. I never went back to the Philippines and I wish I’d never met Franklin Bletch.

  Franklin had no issues with back-stabbing a colleague in order to gain the upper hand or simply been seen in a better light.

  Franklin thought nothing of planting marijuana in the locker of a co-worker and then anonymously notifying his manager that one of the lockers had dope in it. His colleague was caught, Franklin was the only one to replace him as supervisor and he was promoted accordingly.

  He was currently the national procurement manager for Steelco – a national steel distribution company that imported long steel products (beams, tubes, pipe and plate) from overseas. Most of this came from countries like China, Taiwan, Japan, Korea, Malaysia and Thailand. Franklin has risen to this position through the incompetence of others – mainly his own managers that had taken the fall for Franklin’s inability to do a decent day’s work. He was known as Teflon – “nothing sticks” – and that was certainly true. He managed to consistently talk his way out of why the company lost money on this deal or that, always managing to clear his own name by slinging enough mud that stuck to the name of his manager.

  How did Derek know all of this? It was his job to know. His contacts and sources are thorough and it’s important to him that anyone who plays this game deserves to be here.

  No-one is innocent.

  Eventually Franklin rose to a position where he was virtually self-employed. As National Procurement Manager (NPM) he worked his own hours, travelled where and when he wanted, and enjoyed life to the full. Each trip away was spent at nothing less than 5-star accommodation. He ate three massive meals a day, thought nothing of racking up bottles of Moet & Chandon on the corporate credit card when out with suppliers to add a “value proposition” to the “customer relationship management”.

  Frankly Franklin had no idea what either of those two corporate phrases meant. Franklin was fluent in “Corp-talk” – a method of incorporating somewhere between two and four words that, when connected in a phrase, actually don’t mean anything at all. But they sound like they should. Using terms such as “Synthetic Relationship Synergies” or “Achieving Collaborative Co-Operative Outcomes” actually don’t mean anything at all. But when these words are put together, they can be interpreted as whatever the reader wants – and used to justify why Franklin has spent $3000.00 on dinner for 6 and a night out in Bangkok.

  His deceptive and near-on fraudulent abuse of his fringe benefits paled into insignificance in comparison to his extra-curricular nocturnal activities. An example of which was a recent trip to China where he visited the north eastern city of Dalian. He stayed at the Kerren Hotel which was one of the few decent hotels in Dalian and just down the road was the infamous Five Colour City.

  During the day, Five Colour City was very quiet and simply looked like closed shops and bars. But once the sun set, the area opened up into a seedy array of back street bars, gambling houses and whatever else you wanted to find. Franklin knew that every Asian city was like this and if you were looking for a certain activity, you would be guaranteed to find it in a place like Five Colour City. Bars were owned and run by women and he hardly ever saw a Chinese man in them. They were small, no more than maybe 200 square metres and staffed by women. Technically the girls were “hostesses” but it didn’t take Franklin long to realise that whilst prostitution was illegal in China, the girls only earned decent money from guys like Franklin.

  In China, like most Asian countries, the dollar can go a long way and the lure of Western riches makes this lifestyle addictive fo
r quite a lot of Chinese women. Their prospects of decent money and wages in most Chinese professions are pretty low, especially when they are not educated, and Franklin knew this as well as anyone else. They were ripe for exploitation and exploit them he did.

  In Dalian, he was there for four nights and he had two girls every night, all night. He stopped short of general debasement when it came to sexual activities and it wasn’t entirely rape – but it was pretty damned close.

  Franklin never asked for their ages and consequently he was never told any lies. He knew that the older they were, the more they’d been around so he preferred them young anyway. To him that meant less chance of catching any sexually transmitted diseases The fact that their under-developed bodies still showed the signs of drug abuse escaped his detection, but he did use condoms. Narrow hips, small breasts, soft and unblemished skin all pointed to the girls being under-age but Franklin fucked, teased, pinched and slapped them all the same.

  As he aged he became more adventurous and specific about what he wanted. Simply fucking one or two different young Asian girls each night didn’t excite him anymore – he needed the thrill of non-compliance, even if it was simply a game-play. He could always find someone in his network of nefarious associates that would provide him with someone who would be willing to play the victim for the extra cash.

  In China it was Mr Lim.

  In the Philippines it was Manuel Aroya.

  And in Thailand he could always call upon Joey Chop.

  Joey Chop’s real name was a mystery to Franklin and he would never have been able to pronounce it anyway. Joey could always get him girls that he said liked to be hurt a bit, slapped, tied up, tortured. Joey’s girls always made it seem very real; they acted like they didn’t want to be there and that what Franklin did to/with them was not what they wanted. But, at the end of the evening, they always collected his money and that was enough for Franklin to assume it had been totally consensual.

  In Taiwan, Albert Chee knew Franklin:

  Unky Frank, he a hard man. He very special man to please but he know what he want. All the girl here call him Unky Frank – he like a uncle who always give you the money. But Unky Frank not a very nice man. He make my girls sore and the cannot work for a few days, maybe a week sometime.

  One of my new girl, Anna, she go with Unky Frank for escort. Escort here means that she spend time with him and make sure he has a good time. All mens have good time with my escorts. Anna come back the next day with marks on her back, her ass. I check her out and her pussy very sore, bleeding from the inside. I think maybe she have a miscarriage and I get very mad at her. I tell all my girls to take the pill.

  But Anna say she take pill – this what Unky Frank do to her. I say What he do? And she tell me. Oh, I cannot say here to you now – it makes me sick to even think of it. But Unky Frank he do some bad things. After dat one time with Anna, I tell him no more girls from me. I can’t afford to have them out of action. I need the moneys!

  I don’t know where he get the girls from now and I no care either. He not welcome here anymore, but I’m sure he welcome somewhere.

  This went on for years and this was why Franklin now sat in a room full of deviates as sick as he was whilst he waited for his turn to die.

  He’d been found out and it was only a matter of time before his secrets got out. The more he got away with it, the more lax he became in hiding it. Now, as Franklin sat in his own soiled underwear, Derek could see that he rued the day he took Phil Phillips with him on a business trip to Bangkok.

  Derek had met Phil through an “associate” and he had supplied a few players in the past twelve months. Derek was a little curious about the company Phil kept and the people he knew judging by the quality of reprobate he dragged in. Franklin was certainly the most deserving he had seen in a while though.

  But, right now, Phil’s location was so far from Franklin’s mind he could care less. Derek could hear him tell Stephen some of the facts, leaving out the details of some of the torture and rape fantasies that he had acted out. Franklin didn’t know how Stephen would react if he knew that big fat Franklin Bletch had forced a 13 year old Philippino girl to give him a rim-job whilst he raped her with a champagne bottle.

  “And that’s about it really...I may have done some bad shit, but I don’t deserve to die for it surely?” Franklin pleaded.

  From his vantage point above the ceiling lights, Derek could see and hear them clearly – the suspended fluorescent lighting obscuring their view of the glass windows looking down on them.

  “Come on Franklin,” said Carly, “There’s more to that bullshit story than you’ve told your new best friend here. You know it!”

  “No! I’m not saying anymore. How do you know this stuff anyway?”

  “I told you, I have been here before. I have spoken with Zoran – I am prepared for this.”

  Derek watched their interaction, captured their sounds. He liked the fact that they thought Zoran was in charge. Power by proxy is an addiction hard to kick.

  “What do you mean?” Asked Stephen.

  “Look, I’ll tell you more after the next round. I don’t want to spoil you just yet,” she said coyly as she gave Stephen a little wink that was about the sexiest thing Derek had seen in a long time – not since he’d left Africa.

  Not since he said goodbye to Sonja.

  The last time he saw her was at the airport on the day he and Zoran left. He watched her walk away, that graceful stride that made it seem like she was walking on air. The way her hips swayed, so sexy, so sensual – it put him in a trance. He knew she needed some time, he needed it too. These feelings, this pain he felt in his chest – this was like nothing he’d ever had before.

  The thought of her made him ache and gave him even more conviction in knowing that this would be the last night.

  “You’re assuming I survive the next round,” Derek heard Stephen say.

  “I’m assuming I will.” Carly replied and moved back into her position.

  Straight A’s

  The men in Judith Scruth’s life were:

  Asif.

  Alan.

  Alex.

  She loved each of them in very different ways and each of them had had such profound effect upon Judith’s life – from her first love, hopefully, the last one she would ever have.

  Judith met Asif el-Masri when she was in Egypt. She was sailing to England on a working holiday and stopped in Egypt for a week sight-seeing. Nowadays going to Europe for a few months or a year to work was almost a rite of passage for any young Australian. But, back in 1965, it was almost unheard of for a young woman to travel to the other side of the world by herself to seek adventure and experience. Judith got as far as Egypt before she fell in love – and if she could have stayed she would have.

  Egypt was not a safe place but Judith had always been fascinated with Egyptology and there was no way that she was getting that close to the Pyramids and the Valley of the Kings without visiting. Asif ran a tour company out of Cairo, with several buses taking tourists to all the main sites. She had never met anyone like him in her life, he filled every sense she had with wonder and excitement. Her skin tingled whenever those deep brown eyes stared into hers. There was more than a passing resemblance to Omar Sharif’s character from “Lawrence of Arabia” (Sherif Ali), olive skin, intense brooding looks, and an air of calm when all around seemed like chaos.

  This was less than 10 years after the Suez crisis and those wounds were still visible in the people and the city. Tourists were encouraged but it still didn’t feel safe at all – except when Asif was near. With him Judith felt safe/comfortable/secure – it seemed like no-one would even dared to try anything whilst he was with her. She fell for him so hard because of the differences and the similarities he had with father.

  Here was a man the polar opposite to the conservative man that brought her up – a wild, entrepreneurial Arab who was passionate, emotional and powerful. When he held her, Judith could feel the w
armth from his hands shoot through every bone and muscle in her body – like a shot of life into her soul.

  She was supposed to stay for a week but overstayed her visa by two months. Eventually the police caught up with her and Judith was kicked out of the country, sent on a ship to Italy. She kept in touch with Asif for a short while but he knew he could never leave either. His family and his duty was to stay in Egypt and he eventually married a local girl. After 1967 she had no idea what happened to him.

  To Judith, it was a far away land, a whirlwind romance. It was such a wonderful time, in a world that seemed new and for her, so young and wide-eyed, anything seemed possible. And anything possible that could happen, did happen. All other romances would pale into insignificance in comparison to this – although she didn’t know that at the time. In Europe, for the three months she stayed (having never reached London), she knew several men. Whilst the sex was okay with most of them, the “romance” was never there. They seemed so cold, distant, dispassionate compared to Asif whose fires raged so hot and fierce that Judith was consumed in them every moment she was in his presence.

  Even now, looking back, Judith felt the familiar tingle within her body – warm at the romance, sexual at the physical memory.

  Alan Scruth could never match that level of excitement, but he didn’t need to. If Asif was everything a young woman needed at the age of 20, then Alan was the same for a woman of 27 who had seen her share of the world and was ready to settle down. Alan was safe, loving and tender – he had some of the conservatism Judith’s father had, but he was also more open minded. She fell in love with him at a wedding they were both invited to – Alan was the cousin of the groom and Judith worked with the bride in a typing pool.

  He held a good job selling real estate and, at 29, already owned his own home. Alan was very open and passionate when he was with her – but he would never show that to anyone else. He was a firm believer in “behind closed doors”. He always said that he had a reputation to uphold and needed to be seen to the leader and the head of the family.

  But, behind those closed doors, he was years ahead of his time. His tenderness and openness with Judith was a wonderful compromise between the passion and fever of Asif and the rigidity of her upbringing. He talked about how he felt, about his work and how things affected him. He was the original “SNAG” but he never knew it at the time. Judith was really worried that, at first, he simply wanted a “mother substitute” – someone female to look after him, tell him everything would be alright, bring him soup when he was sick.

  But what he really needed was a partner in life – someone he could share his inner most thoughts and feelings without fear of judgment or ridicule.

  They had two beautiful children – twins – born in 1973. Judith struggled with memories of the birth of her children because of what happened afterward.

  “It” happened.

  She and Alan always referred to it as “it”.

  When they referred to “it” at all.

  “It” was the death of her two babies – Charlotte and Isabel.

  They were only 4 months old and Judith was struggling badly with Post Natal Depression (although they told her, back then, it was called the “Baby Blues”). Everyone was around to help her in the first month or so which was a great help even though, after a while, she just wanted to be alone with her family.

  The truth of the matter was that she didn’t want to have children anyway. Judith knew that Alan did and she loved him even more for the fact that he never pushed her or urged her in anyway. The getting pregnant part was a sheer accident. But she knew that having the baby (which turned out to be twins) would change her life considerably. She knew that Alan would split his affections and love between her and the babies. And Judith knew that she would do the same to him.

  And then they had the car accident. It was like some demon knew her inner most feelings, things she would never admit to Alan and then conspired to make it happen. A truck ran straight through a “STOP” sign. With no child restraints in cars in those days, the girls stood no chance and died almost instantly. Alan never walked properly again and Judith got out of the wreck with barely a scratch on her.

  After this, she knew she never wanted to get pregnant again and Alan always said: “we can never replace the girls, but we could try again”.

  But Judith couldn’t do it. She took the pill without letting him know and never got pregnant again – after a few years, Alan realized that it was never going to happen. They’d had their shot at the happy nuclear family and a sleepy truck driver took all that away from them. It took her many years to realize that she never wanted the babies anyway – if she really did, she would have become pregnant earlier.

  Then, the guilt set in.

  Other people thought Judith was heartbroken or depressed at losing her babies and she genuinely was both of those things for a while – but the reality of her feelings (which she could never admit to Alan) was that she felt guilty because secretly, deep down, she was glad they were gone. Judith never consciously wished them dead, or away, but when fate intervened, she felt relief.

  Then guilt – and that had never gone away.

  Ever.

  But her and Alan never stopped loving each other and, in 2007, Alan was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Men of his generation had to be forced to get it checked and, by the time he did, it was basically beyond hope. He did have a brief period of remission for a few years but Judith knew that the evil parasite within him would eventually consume him and eat up the man she loved from the inside out.

  They only had each other – there were no kids or grandkids to help out, or look forward to spending their autumn days with. Judith watched Alan slowly have the life sucked out of him – like some sort of organic, multiplying vampire was sucking him dry from within.

  His sharp wit, his sense of humour, his dry outlook on life – that was the last thing to die. Even when his body had starting giving out and the care he was getting was purely palliative, he’d still joke with her. She recalled that once she dropped a cup of water off the edge of the table and onto the side of his bed about 5 minutes after the nursing staff had changed the sheets.

  “Oh fucking hell!” Judith cried out in frustration.

  Quick as a flash he said :”I hope they do, coz that’s where I’m going!”

  Judith laughed and then, almost immediately burst into tears. The end was so close and they both knew it. He was more accepting of this than she was, probably because of the sheer inevitability of the situation and the fact that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  But Judith had to live on. She was losing the one person that she could always rely upon and the one she had chosen (and who had chosen her) to live with forever. And, then, very soon, he would be gone and she’d be alone.

  There was nothing wrong with her at all – NOTHING! She’d had mammary exams, pap smears…you name it. All came back with a clean bill of health. She had barely had a scratch in her life – even the accident that she subconsciously willed to take her babies away left her with only the slightest cut on one arm. She knew she had many years left – probably 20 or 30 really. She was fit as a Mallee bull.

  Judith didn’t want to live on without her man – her life.

  Alex Trevayne was the Occupational Therapist at the hospital. In the initial stages of Alan’s stay (which Judith thought was temporary and ended up being his last ever move), Alex provided Alan with exercises and therapy to assist with the treatments he was having. Judith struck up a real friendship with the young man who could easily be the right age to be her son. He was a shoulder to lean on when she needed it and genuinely cared about Alan – and Judith. She had never seen another man so gentle and patient with Alan, his tenderness with treating him was very touching.

  When Alan finally passed, Alex came to the funeral and they talked at the wake. He said that if she ever needed to talk – even just to let off steam about how she felt – then to sim
ply call him or see him. He could easily have given her the name of any number of counsellors or shrinks that he knew, but he asked her to see him.

  Judith didn’t have the courage to call him straight away. For quite some time she tried to live on without Alan, achieving some things she never thought she ever would. She started up a “bucket list” – things she wanted to tick off before she died. As she was progressing through the list, she came across Alex’s card – some nine months after Alan passed.

  This was at a stage where she had never felt so low in her life – the grief she felt was so much stronger than when her own parents passed away. It multiplied as time went on – time made it worse. She was torn into pieces, her heart felt like it had been ripped from her. She couldn’t breathe at all, her throat constricted and she felt like the weight of the entire world was on her and crushing the life out of her. She lost weight, couldn’t eat…Judith was going downhill.

  Alex saw this when she went to see him and they talked. Judith was there for three hours and she just opened up to him like she had never done to anyone – ever. Not Alan, not Asif…no-one. She told him all about Asif and Egypt – she didn’t skimp on the personal details either. Judith told him how the sex made her feel and how she had never felt so alive.

  Judith told him about finding love again with Alan and she told him about their babies.

  Judith told him how much she loved Alan – her husband and her reason for living.

  Judith told him how much she loved Alan and how much she missed him.

  Judith told him how she had cried more in five days than in her entire life. She told him how her very life was crushing around her and emotionally (and mentally) she was falling apart at the seams.

  She told Alex that she knew her body would outlive her mind and she feared being an Alzheimers’ vegetable for 20 years in some nursing home, wasting away without even knowing. A burden on society and a shell of her former self.

  Judith told him she wanted to die.

  And she told him she meant it.

  And that is why she was in this twisted game of chance. Alex knew someone who “knew someone” and she ended up there. She knew that they were a little taken back by her willingness to be included but Alex knew that, for Judith, this was her best way out.

  She owed him a debt she could never repay – but he didn’t want payment anyway. He was a humanist and his reasons for helping her were truly altruistic, she knew that.

  That’s love – and that was why she loved him so.

  Tuning Out

  Stephen’s handshake was firm, but Carly expected that it would be. She very nearly told him all her secrets right there and then, but she wouldn’t say anything with that lecherous slime-bag Franklin Bletch hanging around like a bad smell. Which was an oddly appropriate simile given his current scatological condition.

  Carly wasn’t completely sure how accurate Franklin’s story was, but the crux of it was about right from what she was told. One of Zoran’s contacts, a nefarious sleaze called Phil something, knew about Franklin and his reprehensible activities throughout South East Asia. Carly met Phil the last time she was there – her skin crawled at the thought of his presence as she recalled their brief meeting. He was sitting in a leather reclining chair and furiously masturbating whilst watching the show go on around him.

  He wasn’t pleasuring himself watching the orgy, he was doing it watching the Russian Roulette.

  His eyes were too close together, like the holes of a bowling ball. His long pointed nose and chinless jaw-line created rat-like features that, combined with his too-close eyes, gave him an evil, nasty appearance. That was Carly’s first impression, his thin, scrawny arms pumping away at an unusually large member – it was like he had someone else’s penis, it didn’t match him. Carly wasn’t tempted in the least by Phil – his appearance and overall sliminess was so off-putting that Carly’s stomach churned at the thought.

  Phil’s arms (and his whole body) were emaciated, skin hung off the bones showing little evidence of any muscle beneath. As he jacked off, the skin under his upper arms flapped like the arms of an overweight Grandmother waving to her grandkids. His little black eyes, pinched together at the bridge of his nose, were accentuated by the furrows of lines that crept up his forehead – he looked even more intense as he flapped away at himself.

  Carly wondered what the policy of Phil and Franklin’s employer was with regards to hiring staff – did they specifically target persons of ill-repute and sick proclivities? Or did those traits develop as a result of working there?

  She can’t think about them anymore – they both made her bilious.

  And then she felt it again, stabbing through the very heart of her insides. The pain, the growth, the expansion.

  Her cancer consumed more healthy tissue, eating its way to oblivion. If it had a brain it would stop growing, realizing that its own ambitious growth will lead to its ultimate demise. But it had no brain, no concept of self. It cannot perceive of rational thought.

  It just does what it does.

  Eats…and kills.

  The wave of pain was cresting over Carly and even though she felt the swell of this thing was getting larger with every day (and the waves getting bigger and stronger as a result), she could tell when she was at the crest and the subsiding pain allowed her to function again. As this happened, she realized that Stephen was talking to her again. At least she thought he was talking to her. It was hard to tell sometimes as he seemed to be having several conversations at once.

  “- just intense huh?” He finished and Carly had no idea what he was referring to.

  “Yeah,” she said in a very non-committal way. Stephen noticed this and was very polite about it.

  “You weren’t listening were you? I understand – this is a very stressful situation we’re in here. Sometimes I tune out a bit too.”

  That must be it for him – he just tuned out from a conversation when things all get a bit too much for him. God, Carly wished she had that ability! To tune out from all around you. In some way Carly did that as her cancer attacked her – but it was an involuntary silence and she could not predict when it will happen. Sometimes it was at the most inopportune moment, like when she rode the bus and just before her stop comes, she sat riveted to the seat for two more stops until she had the energy and where-with-all to get off the bus and walk back the way it came.

  Tuning out – that’s why she was there.

  Carly wanted to tune out of life.

  Her cancer was the white noise between radio stations, a fuzzy all empowering sshhhhh that she could not escape. More and more stations were disappearing, the white noise section of the band is getting larger – the distances between the sanctuary of easy-listening stations and underground hip-hop were getting farther apart.

  My cancer…what a term! Carly thought.

  “Oh Cancer, my Cancer!”

  Carly had a sense of ownership when she called it “mine”– because no-one else had a cancer like it.

  Carly thought: This is my cancer. There are many others like it, but this one is mine. My cancer is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. Without me, my cancer is useless. Without my cancer, I am useless. I must kill him before he eats me.

  She could not give the cancer a name – even though she had heard that some people do. By killing herself she would kill the cancer – she couldn’t do that if she had named it. It would be like killing a pet. In a twisted kind of way, this was her pet; one that was consuming her slowly from within. A relentless parasitic pet.

  Carly realised that Stephen was waiting for an answer, or a reply of some sort. She felt like she should just blurt it all out to him, tell him why she was there, what was going on with her. Compared to most of the other players in this game, there was no obvious outward sign of anything physically wrong with her. But that was all a façade and she wanted to scream to someone: “I HAVE CANCER!!! I AM DYING AND THAT IS WHY I’M TAKING CONTROL
OF THIS FUCKING THING ONCE AND FOR ALL.

  “I WILL NOT LET IT BEAT ME!

  “I WILL KILL IT BEFORE IT GETS IT”S CLAWS IN TOO DEEP!”

  She was too late of course, because it had her to the bone, but she still had the power (and the will) to end its growth prematurely and save herself a lot of anguish and pain along the way.

  She wanted to tell these things to Stephen. Carly had noticed him looking all “doe-eyed” at her and she thought that he had fallen for her in some way, even though they barely knew each other. But, in extreme circumstances (and their current predicament would certainly count as one of those), feelings and emotions were heightened and Carly felt that Stephen was falling in love.

  Carly didn’t know what was going on inside his head and she didn’t really want to either – his lips moved involuntarily again as if on cue, to illustrate her point that there is certainly some sort of inner monologue happening that she was not privy to.

  But the feeling was not mutual for Carly. Not that Stephen’s unlovable because that’s not true. He had a charm and presence that was quite likeable and, outside of this situation, she could see herself with him.

  The way his loosely curled hair fell across his face was very endearing, he brushed it back nonchalantly and hooked some longer strands behind his ears. Carly had never liked long hair on a guy but, on him, it looked great. He reminded her of a young Chris Cornell – from the days of Soundgarden in the early 1990’s. Carly’s neighbour would play their music incessantly when she was a kid, grunge being the “Next Big Thing”. Stephen had that same intense stare and dark eyes that leave you in no doubt that there was a lot more going on within that head of his than what you hear come out of it.

  Carly felt awful at leaving Stephen hanging, promising to tell him and Franklin some sort of conspiratorial secret or information after the next round. That fact was there really wasn’t anything to tell. What you see is what you get in this room. But, what most people in the orgy didn’t realize, was that this only has a limited life-span. Carly could see that and she knew Zoran did too.

  This gathering was like her cancer – it grew and fed upon itself until it reached a point of critical mass. And implosion (or explosion) was inevitable. Carly didn’t intend for her implosion to ever happen – she was releasing the pressure early and killing it stone dead.

  Carly felt that Zoran might have plans along those lines for this gathering too.

  Virgin

  After the previous round in which two lifeless corpses of the damned were dragged from the room, more people wandered into the Roulette room to watch Round 3. The words “Round 3” were barely out of the Derek’s mouth when bets started flying about and the tension in the room began again to mount.

  By this time Franklin had stopped his blubbering and had resigned himself to yet another bout of intensity. The relief of hearing the click almost made the sheer tortuous agony of waiting for it worthwhile. It seemed almost worth going through that to experience the adrenaline rush of relief at the end. However, what Franklin knew, was that eventually that rush of relief wouldn’t come at all.

  Franklin shuffled into position – his spot on the floor marked by the soiled stain that he has previously left there. Like an actor returning dutifully to his mark, Franklin returned to the perfect spot as instructed.

  Stephen was not so keen to continue now though. There was unfinished business with Carly and his interest was sparked by her. His previously nihilistic approach to this had been spoiled by this beautiful creature and he wanted to know more about her. She took a few steps and took her position whilst Stephen sat there transfixed by her.

  Just bloody typical, he thought. Why is it that I should meet someone that I want to get to know better in the most unlikely of places? I’m involved in a game that I have no real chance of surviving – only to meet someone in the same game that I want to spend more time with! Unbelievable!

  This thought conflicted strongly with his previously unwavering belief that he was doing the right thing. Unknown to Franklin (but maybe known to Carly) Stephen, too, was here voluntarily. And now that there was no turning back, he was having second thoughts? Well, not second thoughts per se – the reasons for being here still existed and he still knew that this was the correct course of action for him – but he certainly wasn’t ready to die in this round. He closed his eyes again, knowing full well that this would drown out the thoughts of Carly as the demon came to him.

  Sure enough, the redness began as his eyes shut. The noises from the orgy and the other protesting contestants were not enough to drown out the roaring of the fire demon that consumed his thoughts.

  Well HELLO again – nice of you to drop by; I wonder why you’re here – hahaha!

  The beast that visited him nightly was now able to come and go as he pleased – flashing on and off even as Stephen blinked. He could hear the demon screaming at him from inside, convinced that everyone else could hear it too – so realistic were the demon’s calls. But when he closed his eyes, the aural assault because visual too and he saw the demon filling his head.

  He knew better than to answer it’s questions, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. He tried to block it out, but it read his mind – it knew what he was blocking out.

  Her? Ah-ha, you’re trying to block her out by visiting me! Having second thoughts are you?

  Ignore it – Ignore it - Ignore it - Ignore it - Ignore it –

  It doesn’t work that way and you know it; you’re pitiful; woeful!

  Stephen felt that he was burning up from within, that the fire from his tormentor was licking the inside of his skin and threatening to split it like a raw sausage on a BBQ. The vision of the demon burning him with his eyes, tongue and breath drove away the thoughts of Carly and reminded him of the necessity of his actions.

  When he opened his eyes he was, as if by magic, in position and holding the Smith & Wesson gun once again aiming it at the back of Franklin’s fat sweaty cranium. The bets continued in the room even though there were less of them to bet upon. Stephen wondered if the Extreme Team ever got tired of this game but, judging by the intensity of the room, that didn’t seem to be the case.

  The countdown to zero began and as they reached the final moment, the guns clicked away.

  Click.

  Click…click…click

  And so on.

  PAUSE!

  The pause was as quiet yet as tangible as a gunshot ringing out and within a second it was apparent to everyone that they had gone a round without a death.

  “Virgin round!” Someone yelled and that sparked off a pandemonium of yelling and re-betting. Stephen knew that their respite was only temporary – the rules for just such an eventuality were spelt out to them all earlier in the day. But the feeling of relief was mixed with one of disbelief when it happened. Stephen thought that, like round 1, someone had refused to fire – delaying the unavoidable. But this was genuine and he almost smiled thinking that he had dodged a bullet and will have some more time with Carly.

  It was statistically possible that they could go round after round of dud shots – or virgin rounds as they seemed to be called in here. There’s a one in six chance of being a killer (or getting killed), so therefore a five in six chance of surviving. As the numbers fell, the odds increased that they’d all survive the round. That was why the Derek announced:

  “Round 4 to commence immediately – hold all bets!”

  The guns were taken off the contestants and they were instructed to remain where they were. Franklin’s shoulders moved slowly up and down and Stephen could tell that he was again crying to himself – quiet though, but sobbing none the less.

  “Franklin – just relax will you. It will be over soon. You knew the rules.”

  “Yes…” he sobbed, sniffling back a nose full of snot. “But I didn’t agree to play!”

  “Well it’s too late now – you have to go through to the end.” Stephen was getting a little tired of Franklin’s self pity.


  Just fucking shoot the fat bastard – put him out of our misery!

  He wasn’t the only one tricked into this game and he wasn’t the only one complaining about it. Those that tried to get out of it earlier felt the full wrath of Zoran and his team but at least they had the balls to try and do something about it. Franklin cried and whinged, but he didn’t have the guts to try and rebel.

  The guns came back into the room after only a short period – obviously a quick re-load and then Round 4 would begin. Although they had been told that the guns would only ever hold one round, Stephen wasn’t so sure about that. After the virgin round 3, it seemed likely that extra bullets would used to guarantee at least one head shot in this round – otherwise this could go on indefinitely. In the make believe world of movies etc… extending the game long into the night would set up for a great finale. But everyone here had jobs to go to tomorrow, things to do.

  The contestants were handed their weapons again and this provoked #9 into action. Up until now he’d been a bit like Franklin – crying, pleading, trying to buy his way out whatever way he can. But now he stood away from the ring of contestants, taking his aim from the back of Carly’s head, and waived his weapon about in front of him. He wasn’t really aiming at anyone in particular, just everyone.

  “I’ve fucking had enough of this you sick bastards!”

  “#9 – return to your position,” Derek commanded from out of sight.

  “No – anyone who comes near me will take pot luck with this gun!” He waved the gun around in front of him, wildly pointing it at the various guards who had started to close in upon him.

  Carly, who had been in front of him, ducked out of the way as one of the guards sprung at #9, knocking him down and landing on top of him. The gun was still in #9’s hand and the guard went to reach for it but #9 raised it to his own forehead. The guard stopped just as the barrel touched #9’s forehead, a bead of sweat running from his skin into the eye of the barrel.

  “One more move and I’ll blow my own fucking head off! What odds will you pricks give me for that hey?”

  “5 to 1!” Came the call from the back of the room and laughter came out of the audience who were turned on beyond pleasure to see this. It didn’t often happen like this in their games, where one person would try to kill themselves, but when it did, it was always fun to see. To most in here, the best part was look of sheer helplessness and defeat when they actually squeezed the trigger to blow their own head off, only to find that the chamber was empty and the gun is ripped out of their hands.

  “Come on #9, don’t be stupid,” the Derek was more conciliatory, he didn’t want a suicide in here, not like this anyway – it was not what they were here for.

  The guard was still on top of #9, his face mere inches from the desperate man. His hands were within easy reach of the gun but he’d never be able to move fast enough to stop the hammer coming down and releasing the projectile – if there was one in the chamber.