A Sliver of Light Read online

  #9 looked into the eyes of the guard, so close they were almost out of focus. The guard moved his head ever so slightly to see if there was a bullet in the chamber – if not, he’d rip the gun out of this dickhead’s hands and belt him to a pulp with it!

  As he moved, #9 saw what he was doing.

  “No you don’t!”

  The guard, in a split instant, noticed that the chamber was loaded but he didn’t have time to register that. #9 pulled the trigger and the world exploded in the guard’s face. #9’s head heaved and tore apart in a mass of blood, bone and flesh. Some of it ripped into the face of the guard. The bullet actually ricocheted off #9’s skull and changed direction slightly, burying itself into the guard’s neck, tearing his aorta open.

  As he rolled off the dead body, the guard flapped at his own pulsing wound. Another guard came over to assist but even Stephen could tell that this guy was going to bleed out in front of them all. There was more blood coming from the guard than from any of the other victims. He tried to cry out but it was all gurgles and bubbles coming from his mouth.

  Mayhem was taking control of the crowd now and the contestants didn’t really know what to do. Then Stephen heard a “click” behind him and realized that #12 had fired.

  “Hang on!” he yelled as he swivelled around. Just as he did, more clicks were heard and he realized that they’d all fired so he casually squeezed his trigger as well without even looking to see if he was still aiming at Franklin.

  When the gun went off it was such a surprise to Stephen that he dropped it and it clattered to the ground so loud he was surprised he heard it above the din within the room. The bullet missed Franklin altogether and hit one of the spectators in the balls. The man was standing in front of Franklin waving cash around. He was totally naked and wore a cock-ring at the base of his penis. The bullet bounced off that and deflected downward, and tore through his scrotum.

  Bulls-eye! You’ve actually done something worthwhile you twat! BRILLIANT!

  The man fell to the floor in a screaming heap, his one testicle still barely attached, the other one gone for good. He too was losing blood at a rapid rate, but his screams were terrifying, high-pitched wails that filled the room and silenced quite a few of the spectators. One of their own was down and that certainly wasn’t part of the game.

  “Everyone calm down”, came the call from Derek, but mayhem was starting to take over. The guards were trying to keep their fallen comrade alive but they were only succeeding in pumping more blood out of him. Some of the crowd were helping the fallen voyeur but his screams had panicked a few and even the orgy had stopped. The contestants were getting very nervous and order needed to be restored – and fast.

  And then, from the side door the dead bodies disappeared through, entered Zoran.

  Surprise! You’re Dead!

  Officially they started with 16 people in the room after meeting Zoran for the first time. At first Stephen thought there were more than that but it soon turned out that several of the others turned out to be guards/henchmen/thugs charged with the duty of keeping order by any means.

  Zoran started, his accent was strong, Eastern European, but the message was clear.

  “Ladies and gentlemen…welcome. Some of you I meet before, some of you this is first time. For some of you, this will be most difficult of things to understand but I will do my best. As you can tell, my English is not so good…but I think is better than your Croatian – yes?”

  There were a few nervous titters as if they were all listening to the CEO giving an address as a corporate conference.

  “Come on, people…you can relax a bit more than that? Let’s get straight to the point shall we? We all know why you are here. You have been told of most extreme and fantastical orgy in the country…hell, maybe the whole world! Well, I can confirm to you for now…this is a fact. Tonight’s festivities will be debauched, depraved and disgusting as anything you have ever done before. And each of you will have starring role!”

  Zoran extended his huge arms outward, encompassing them all. Stephen noticed the size of his hands and he could sense the power that they held as well. This guy was intimidating just to look at but he was trying to be casual…it wasn’t working.

  As Stephen looked around the room, some of the people standing there were almost salivating at the thought of participating in this extreme orgy. Stephen knew the real story here – it was why he was here. What interested him more than anything was how the others would take the news when they heard it. He wondered how many of them were here by choice like he was. He tried to pick them from the group but it was hard – Zoran held everyone’s attention.

  Almost everyone – I’m still here with you remember; you’re not going to go through with this – I know you.

  Yes I am. I need this.

  You’re a pussy – you’ll shit yourself and pull out; like you always do.

  Zoran continued:

  “Now tonight there will be fucking…lots of fucking. There will be spanking, whipping, slave play. Whatever you want to fulfil your sexual fantasy – so long as is consensual – this will be here for you all to see. But here is catch.”

  The room’s atmosphere paused – suspending breath. The unsuspecting were about to experience a double-cross – a cruel twist of fate that sealed them with a covenant.

  A covenant of death.

  “Tonight, only one of you will be lucky – the rest of you will die.”

  The last few words echoed around the empty room, bouncing off the solid walls. They looked amongst themselves before a voice from the back asked: “What the fuck do you mean?”

  Blind-sided.

  Zoran’s face set – hard. “What do you think I mean? Tonight, all of you except one will be dead. And you will do it to yourselves.”

  There were a few small protestations instantly but the rest soaked up the information before responding. Even for Stephen, it was somewhat of a shock to finally hear these words even though he was waiting for them. The moment had finally come for him to help rectify his situation but he still felt scared. Zoran was a lot more intimidating and over-bearing than he had expected – the guy’s menacing presence was a sight he wasn’t ready for.

  Zoran continued:

  “People, I know is shock. However, you all know that you are here for reason. Some of you are very lucky we haven’t called police in for some of the crimes you have committed. Each one of you here has forfeited your right to life – whether voluntarily or through your deeds.”

  “You have no right!” Yelled someone.

  A woman’s voice screamed, “You can’t do that!”

  A man from the back somewhere, “You’re joking right? Just trying to scare us?”

  “No,” Zoran continued, “I can assure you I am not.”

  A fat middle aged man, whom Stephen came later to know as Franklin Bletch, at the front then turned to the others: “Yeah, it must be like that Fight Club film. You know ‘the first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club’. Shit like that hey?”

  Zoran shook his head knowing that he was going to have to show these people that this was for real. Then the opportunity presented itself anyway.

  “Well, if I’m not going to get my cock sucked, I’m fucking outta here!” A tall blonde man in his late 30’s started to walk away from the group towards the door they came in through.

  “Sir, you cannot leave!” Zoran pulled a pistol out of his jacket pocket and levelled it at the would-be escapee. “Once you walked through that door, you sealed a covenant with your life. To break equals death. You cannot leave.”

  “Fuck you buddy – if I wanna go I’ll go. You can’t fucking stop m-“

  He was stopped before finishing the sentence by two quick blasts from Zoran’s 9mm – the bullets hitting him in the head and killing him instantly.

  PANIC!

  A few people decided to take this as their cue to get out but the doorway in was the only way out. The guards drew out batons – iron
clubs that were about two feet long and they swung them towards those trying to flee. The sound of the iron crunching against bone was one that Stephen had never wanted to hear again but here it was. This was a different context, but the results were just as traumatic.

  Most of the people simply hit the floor but a few tried to get out. That was when Stephen knew that there were about 10 guards in the room. They mercilessly beat the panic stricken few, bashing them continuously even after they hit the ground. Stephen watched as one woman’s head was opened up by an iron bar and the guard continued anyway, only stopping once he saw her brain and he knew then that she was dead.

  The firefight lasted all of about 10 seconds but once finished, there were 4 dead bodies on the floor and 12 cowering at Zoran’s feet.

  “Well,” he said, “that was a lot less trouble than I thought. You see, if we have made any mistakes about type of people we have chosen, they usually fight a lot harder than this. But you all are the worthless cowardly scum that I have been led to believe – it looks like we have chosen wisely. This will make for very special evening indeed.”

  A couple of the people gathered started to cry, including the fat guy who was the fan of Fight Club. Some were in shock (or at least that what Stephen thought – they could have been there under the same pretence as he was), and some simply sat there bewildered.

  You really are a waste of good skin aren’t you? I knew you’d be too gutless to do anything – sitting there pussying out you wee spineless turd! You’re a fucking embarrassment.

  Don’t please…

  Ooohh whinge, moan, complain; sad and pitiful indeed

  The demon taunted/mocked.

  “Now, before any of you ask me ‘WHY?’ you ask yourselves this: ‘what have I done? What lead me to this point in my life?’

  “Think about it long and hard, look deep within yourself and realize what you have do in your past. Be honest – have you done bad things? Illegal things? Immoral things? Things that have hurt others, repeatedly? Ask yourself these things. You can question me; you can challenge me. But you will end up like these people – sooner or later.

  “You see, that is your only choice now. The last thing that you have any power over, any chance to determine, is whether you die here and now, or whether you take your chances and die later on.”

  The room was deadly silent.

  “You will enter a game of Russian Roulette. I don’t know why it’s called Russian, I don’t think they invented it but, knowing those bastards, nothing surprises me with them. You will play and gamble your lives. People will watch, some will place bets upon you and whether you will die. Or not. One will survive, the rest will die. It’s simple.”

  A whimper from somewhere…”But…”

  “Fucking ‘but’ nothing! There are no ‘buts’. You are nothing – you are not even human. You are lower than shit; you are toys for the amusement of others. You have no rights, no choices, no power. I own you. The only thing undetermined is the random chance of when you die.”

  He smiled, sharp brilliant and white. His long nose and defined features gave him an other-worldly look about him, almost like a vampire or some undead monster. He didn’t yell because he didn’t need to. He had created the perfect atmosphere of fear – complete attention was on him and his ominous tone meant that every word was absorbed, every tone felt, and everything believed. They knew he meant it and that this was for real.

  “Tonight…you will live to the edge of life and only one will come back.”

  And with that the mini revolution was over. Zoran spelled out the rules but most of the contestants were not listening – they were watching the guards drag away the corpses of the lucky ones who got off lightly. The contestants did not realise that the lucky ones were dead, but they soon would.

  Zoran had a unique way of resolving conflict.

  Pathetic

  Once he entered the orgy room, Zoran commanded the complete attention of all inside. His presence was enough for almost everyone to calm down – right now! His stare met that of the guards who looked fearful and ashamed that they had let proceedings get out of control. Without a word he signalled to them to drag out the dead body of #9. The sound of dead flesh being dragged across the concrete was all Stephen could hear. The room had fallen silent, the orgy had stopped, even the blasting techno music had been shut off momentarily when Zoran entered.

  As two guards heaved the body of #9 out the door, Zoran approached the fallen audience member who had, by now, stopped his screaming and reduced it to a whimpering sob.

  “Why are you crying like sick dog?” Zoran enquired, though even Stephen could see that it was not because he cared about the man’s health – it was because he liked to watch him suffer.

  “Uurrmmfff…” came the sound from the man whose testicles had been blasted away by an errant bullet.

  Unimpressed, Zoran looked at Stephen – the culprit. His steely gaze would normally have put fear so far into Stephen that he would be turned inside out with terror. But, right now, in his stage of life/death, Stephen wasn’t the slightest bit intimidated. There was nothing that Zoran could do to him that would be worse than he had already done to himself.

  Zoran was unperturbed by Stephen’s lack of fear. He knew why Stephen was there and he knew that his fearlessness was borne from issues within, not from Zoran losing his hold over these people.

  “You!” He pointed at Stephen. “You come and help this man.”

  “What the hell can I do to help him?”

  He’s going to hurt you

  Everyone looked on as if to agree – there was nothing Stephen could do.

  “You made this mess – you clean it up.” With that, Zoran leant over to Stephen and gave him another revolver. “Finish what you started, or kill yourself. I don’t care which it is.”

  “How many bullets are in this gun?” Stephen asked although he already suspected the answer to be –

  “All of them,” replied Zoran.

  “So maybe I’ll shoot you and a few others in this room first, before I shoot myself. What do you think about that?” Stephen felt, for the first time in a year, some level of power and control.

  However…

  You dickhead! Don’t you think he’s thought of that? You really are a hopeless case.

  Zoran took out some notes of cash and put them at his feet. “I will bet anyone in this room $10,000 that he will not shoot me.” He threw his large arms wide, like the wingspan of some massive bird of prey.

  The crowd was silent and Zoran leant in towards Stephen and rested his head against the barrel of the gun Stephen held. He looked Stephen dead in the eye, only a few feet apart now.

  “You are not a killer and you will not kill me,” he said. “But you will do what I say and finish this scum that whimper like sick animal.”

  Everyone was looking at Stephen waiting to see what he would do.

  Blow his fucking head off you weasel, you waster, you shit! DO IT!

  So he did the only thing he could do – he dropped the gun on the floor.

  Zoran clapped his huge hands together, the large mitts sending echoing sounds around the cavernous room. “I knew it!” He proclaimed out loud. “Even now, you still value life!”

  Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK!

  And with that Zoran took out a foot long hunting knife, turned around and bent over the bleeding patron. He grabbed the man’s head, his strong leathery fingers gripping the man’s cranium and he slashed the man’s throat in front of everyone.

  Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK! Soft, weak, pah-the-TIK!

  Due to the blood loss already suffered, the neck wound didn’t spurt like everyone expected – but
the man still choked and slowly bled out in complete surprise at how his night ended up.

  “I cannot have anyone talking. That includes I injuries, hospitals, or anything like this.” Zoran addressed the crowd who were surprised to see one of their own dispatched with such ruthless efficiency. “You know the rules here and the need for this to be quiet. I have no choice for this man, he could not see doctor. Now, he sees God instead.”

  Just like that – then he was gone.

  Decisive Action

  When Zoran returned to the viewing room, he looked drained and tired. He didn’t look like Zoran anymore. He was a shell – a vessel that contained organic material that was assembled in such a way to as to create a human being in the shape of Zoran, but he didn’t seem to be inside it anymore.

  “What’s the matter?” Derek asked. He hadn’t seen Zoran like this in a long time, not since they left Namibia.

  “I think I had enough – I want to waste them all!”

  “Well obviously you can’t do that,” Derek replied quickly even though he knew – and Zoran knew – that if he wanted to waste them all out there, he would do it. And he could do it too. The only thing really stopping him from doing so was Derek. The consequences of his actions were no deterrent for Zoran. In coming to Australia, he figured that the worst thing that would happen here would be jail – and jail in Australia versus Croatia, or Namibia, or Columbia, or any other shithole that they had toured in the last 15 years was a lot better prospect to consider.

  Jail for Zoran would be a salvation. In some way Derek felt Zoran was only keen to come to Australia so that he could go to jail. He was approaching forty years of age and although he wasn’t the smartest guy in the world, even he had started to realize that no matter how much pain and destruction he caused, he would never satisfy his soul. He will never fill the hole that has no boundaries.

  Zoran had a closet full of skeletons that rattled incessantly. His mind a melange of malicious memories – history that eventually weighed upon him.

  Namibia nearly killed him in the end. With the reputations they had earned, life became pretty easy. There was the occasional skirmish to get hot under the collar about – the odd thief would try his luck, a local bureaucrat played the officiousness card and received a little slap – but, in general, it was a quiet life and Derek was getting used to it.

  Normally Derek would have been bored in this type of situation. But, in Namibia, his perspective changed when Sonja changed him forever. There were times in everyone’s life when certain people can change the course of one’s future without even realizing it; and that was what happened to Derek in the most unlikely of places.

  This created a bifurcation for Derek – history with Zoran or a future with Sonja. He knew that Zoran wasn’t ready to settle down and change – he was still up to his old tricks and not keen to adjust at all.

  He would use drugs to sedate the workforce, amphetamines made them work for 12 hours or longer. By providing them with stimulants and maintaining strict discipline (combined with a fearsome reputation), it’s amazing how much work they got done.

  Zoran would provide “5-htp” (5-Hydroxytryptophan) as an aid to the speed hangover that inevitably occurred. 5-htp is also an aid to sleep and works as an appetite suppressant as well. It alleviates depression and Zoran’s use of both drugs made for a generally subservient workforce.

  But amphetamines as a stimulant had its drawbacks and dependence was high. Fights regularly broke out between “employees” mostly due to paranoia because the 5-htp would only work so well. They lost quite a few employees to night-time stabbings and murders. Zoran’s “bush justice” of public floggings, torture and capital punishment became regular occurrences and only enhanced their reputation.

  Michael Mitongo was a foreman that Derek hired and he had worked well for him for many months. He, too, often took speed and helped with keeping order at the mine. But his paranoia was terrible and he became convinced that Zoran was taking the diamonds that Michael’s team mined and was keeping them for himself. Derek knew that Zoran had no need for stealing or financial gain – the concept of it didn’t appeal to him.

  However Michael was convinced and, being a well-liked leader of the teams, his cancerous rumblings started to take root.

  Zoran needed to take decisive action.

  Zoran took divisive action.

  Zoran had Michael “getrek en in kwarte gesny” – Afrikaans for “drawn and quartered”.

  Michael’s four teams of employees were forced to watch Zoran tie each of Michael’s arms and legs to the rear bumper of a jeep. The jeeps were driven by four members of the teams – they knew that if they refused, they’d be the next piece of entertainment. They all knew Zoran was a “moffie” (slang for homosexual) and they knew that his taste for sexual gratification did not include consent. The drivers edged the vehicles slowly forward whilst the ropes tightened around Michael’s limbs.

  Slowly Mitongo rose from the ground and hovered a few feet above the dusty soil. Stretched out as far as his limbs would take him, Zoran stopped the jeeps and had them idle whilst he went to work on Michael with his hunting knife. He made slight nicking incisions at the stress points of Michael’s limbs to assist with separation – what he wanted to see were Michael’s limbs ripping off at the same time.

  Then, on the count of three, the drivers floored the jeeps.

  No one ever accused Zoran of anything again.

  But, after a time, this all ceased. The two of them had become too good at keeping the locals in check. Derek was happy with that, life changed for him. His life with Sonja blossomed, his viewpoint, his priorities, his whole outlook on life took a turn in a direction that he never thought possible.

  Zoran was a different matter. His sexual assults became more brazen, more random. He would attack men and women, sometimes boys as young as 14. Derek could sense a suicidal futility to him – he was starting to get “jungle fever” and Derek feared that eventually he’d bite the end of a 9mm pistol and put the world to rest.

  Fate had a way of throwing a curve ball every now and again – and Sonja provided that for Derek just when he felt that Zoran would finally end his own suffering. She wanted a break – the sort of break that even Derek knew meant an indefinite one. In the past, Derek’s relationships were limited, but he still understood what Sonja meant.

  She offered no reason other than she needed time apart to assess her life and what she wanted. Derek knew that meant “who” she wanted – that was, did she want Derek?

  Derek had never felt hurt like it – the ache deep within his chest throbbed every day but he knew that the only way to keep her was to let her go. She refused to talk about her reasons, which made it hard for him to address them.

  Then he received the call from Scott Tilbury back home in Australia. He and Derek served together in the SAS for quite some time and he was now the Sergeant-at-arms of White Trash – a Perth based outlaw motorcycle gang. The 1%ers.

  Derek knew Tilbury was trash in the corps as well so he had finally found his calling. His thuggery was what had him discharged from the army so, for someone like Tilbury, joining a bikie gang was not much of a fall from grace. White Trash started out as a neo-Nazi style gang but quickly spread into the typical drug-dealing gang Derek expected they would be – aligned with other gangs for protection and networking.

  Tilbury needed someone external to the gang to run this party – someone not associated with the bikies. This was a good money-spinner for them – each participant paid good $ for the privilege of partaking in their particular peculiar proclivities.

  A year ago, the group was much smaller then – just your regulation congregation of perverts who enjoyed hurting and pleasing each other in a consensual way. Zoran was robotic at these events – he got no satisfaction from the sex whatsoever. If there was no real resistance, then he simply could not even get an erection.

  Derek didn’t partake at all – this was business. A means to an end.
His heart and soul belonged elsewhere and he looked at this as penitence – a payment to make so that one day he could return to her.

  And then….

  Zoran found three addicts at the rear of the property – all of them smacked out of their heads on heroin. Despite Zoran’s use and abuse of drugs in the past, heroin was the one drug that he could not abide.

  “Look, here!” He pronounced. “I have found three wastes – what do I do with these?”

  There were only about 15 or so of the group at this stage and, when he came in with these three zombies, the whole room lit up and bayed for blood. Zoran took out an old revolver he had kept, placed a bullet in the chamber and the bets began.

  The death created life – the party grew and it had started to get to a dangerous level. Noise was being generated and intruders had to be dispatched. Underground noise is inevitable – urban myth has existed for years about things like snuff movies or Russian Roulette parties. These rumours have to start somewhere. This little gathering had grown and the numbers had become uncontrollable.

  Each time a new party was set up more people were present. They had more participants for the Roulette, more “in-volunteers”, more to cull out at the welcoming stage.

  Tilbury said: “Maybe we could set up franchises?

  “Go global?

  “Global Roulette?

  “A way to thin out the numbers; right wing population control. Fascism is on the rise again, left wing politics is a thing of the past, hippies and tree-huggers looking back through rose coloured glasses at the 60’s and 70’s. The modern world is spinning back towards right wing politics as the older generations (who knows of the perils of such dogma) start to die out. The younger people don’t have that history, that first-hand experience. Nationalism, anti-globalisation...it all helps fuel the rise of the right!”

  This was classic Tilbury and Derek knew that it was the beginning of the end. He had contacted Sonja regularly over the past nine months – she rarely returned his calls. But, over time, Derek felt that things were working out between them. Light at the end of the tunnel.

  This soiree was doomed. It grew organically from something that was an accident. And now Zoran said that he wants to kill them all.

  “It is too much people, it’s out of control,” his frustration evident.

  “You need to keep yourself interested.”

  A smile came to Zoran’s face– a smile of malice. His teeth emerged from beneath thin lips, his nostrils flared and Derek knew what he was thinking. Zoran tapped a finger to his temple for the international symbol for “Great idea!”

  This was one of Zoran’s favourites. In this one, people took on roles that they never thought they could, achieved things that they never dreamed of before.

  It was time for a Death Match.

  The Most Selfish Room in the World

  “I can’t believe you shot him,” Carly said to Stephen.

  “I can’t believe there actually was a bullet in the gun!” He replied, incredulous.

  “Are you okay?”

  “What? With shooting that weirdo in the nuts? Yeah, no problems at all with that!”

  “No, I meant…you know…Zoran…” Carly was almost scared to say his name out loud unless he came back into the room – like kids saying “Bloody Mary” 3x over and then the ghost coming back to kill them.

  “Oh that…” he looked down at the floor, away from her. “That was nothing – he’s just beating his chest for everyone else. He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

  Carly looked at Stephen and she could see that there was something else going on with him. She had noticed him, a few times, sitting there and his lips were moving but nothing was coming out, like he was talking to himself inside his head or something. She could tell he didn’t realise he was doing it. She wondered what was actually going on inside that head of his.

  But, then again, did she really want to know? There’s lots going on within Carly’s head and likely the same inside everyone’s head in this room – would she really want to know everything that people are thinking? What about Zoran? Carly tried to imagine what was going on inside his head.

  PAIN! SCREAMING! FIRE! DEATH!

  Or maybe it was simply

  …………………………Nothing…………………..

  He could be simply dead on the inside and all the pain and mayhem he caused was his way of filling that void – like dumping all that he wasted into a black hole to fill it. But that hole could never be filled – he just didn’t understand that it was futile to try.

  And, one day when he did realize this, that was the day he would probably die.

  Men like Zoran don’t live long and happy retirements, tending their gardens, taking long walks with the dog, maybe the occasional game of golf. Men like Zoran go down in a hail of bullets, a wall of flame.

  Carly felt it again as she leaned in to talk to Stephen – the cancerous growth stretched its arms out wide and tore her insides apart. What she felt was her stomach tearing in two, her liver being ripped from its position, her spine being plucked out one vertebrae at a time. She winced at the cramping agony that crippled her and she was forced to turn away from him just as she was going to tell him that Zoran is indeed one scary bastard.

  Maybe Stephen knew this and was just putting on a brave face. But, right now, Carly didn’t care as she tried to maintain some calmness as the assault within her body raged. The pain lasted longer each time, only by a second or so but that one second felt like an eon when she felt like she was being turned inside out. She held her breath and sat on the floor, waiting for the pain to subside. In a few year-like seconds it started to do so and she slowly let out the breath she was holding – relief palpable.

  Carly’s eyes had involuntarily closed for a few seconds and, when she opened them, she expected to see half the room looking at her like she was some sort of freak. But there were no accusatory eyes gazing at her at all.

  This was the most selfish room in the world. In this room, people were so caught up in themselves that they barely registered anyone else or what was going on with them.

  For those in the orgy, they were engulfed by sensory overload, sensual pleasure and sexual tension. Each gratification that they wanted could be achieved and their senses were so heightened that it was almost impossible to see the forest for the trees. The search for pleasure, and the conquest attained when that search surely ended in success, added to the egotistical manner in which they all behaved.

  In the Russian Roulette room, they were so caught up in the reasons they were here or the reasons why they shouldn’t be here. They were not interested in how others felt, or what they were going through, or whether or not they should be there. They were only concerned with their own arse and whether or not they could save it (if they were there involuntarily). If they were a volunteer, then they simply wanted this to be over and done with as quickly as possible.

  Carly couldn’t speak for anyone else who had volunteered to be here tonight, but she was quite happy for this to end right now – but on her terms. One shot, back of the head, instant, painless.

  Painless = heaven.

  Not that anyone else in here noticed anything – no one else saw the agony she was in. No-one understood the need she had to be dead before anymore of them. After Carly was gone, she wouldn’t care what happened to any of them.

  Some of these scumbags were here for reasons that Carly didn’t even want to think about – like that over-weight sleazeball Franklin Bletch. Men like him really turned her stomach. He didn’t have a single redeeming feature – his body was a disgrace, he was a horrible person, he didn’t have much money (he spent other people’s money well though) and she was 99.9% certain he had a tiny dick.

  There wasn’t one reason why anyone would want to be with him. Those are the big four reasons why any woman would be with a man:

  1.Handsome, fit, strong, security

  2.Great personality, sense of humour, loving, caringr />
  3.Money – lots of it!

  4.Sex – great sex!

  Carly had known girls who would go out with a guy for only one of those reasons. She always maintained that a guy would have to have at least two of them. She did find a guy who had all four…but…well, Kelly was not in her life anymore.

  How could she go through life kidding herself that Kelly would leave his wife? Carly knew that he wouldn’t and she would never have asked him to neither. She loved him too much to put him in that position. Carly had to live with the fact that whilst he may be her “One”, he was someone’s else’s as well and she got there first.

  Besides, Carly was sure that Kelly’s wife she wasn’t growing a cell-deforming cancerous tumour inside her body that was going to strangle the life out of her before she was 30.

  This was her life and she had to deal with that. So, here she was, sitting on the concrete floor slowly catching her breath after another attack by the killer cells. In front of her feet was a small clump of hair attached to some scalp, a furry island in a crimson river that snaked its way out of this hell hole. In the background she could see a man bent over a chair, a gag in his mouth. He was side on to her and he turned his head to face Carly, his eyes locked onto hers. He couldn’t say anything, but he was grunting in pleasure as a woman (wife or girlfriend or whoever) wearing a strap-on dildo sodomised him.

  The woman held a small whip in her right hand and slapped it against his bare back, her left hand on his hip and she used that to force herself inside him with each thrust. His eyes showed pain, but a pain borne from pleasure not agony. He winked at Carly and she could see him smile through his leather ball-gag.

  Carly could see his rapture at achieving a fantasy he looks like he always wanted

  And she was jealous.

  Trough Monkey

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,” began Derek, “after that little interlude, it’s time for a break. I suggest we break for thirty minutes. The next round will commence then.”

  Carly walked over to speak with Stephen, her footsteps barely making a sound on the concrete floor.

  “What happened? Did you miss on purpose?”

  “No, I wasn’t looking. I didn’t realize there’d be a bullet in the gun”.

  Franklin still sat on the floor, his legs tucked up as close to his body as his overweight belly would allow. His head was buried in between his knees and he sobbed quietly, deeper and even more pathetically than he had done earlier. The futility had hit him once and for all. He knew that the bullet that ripped through the punter’s scrotum had his name on it.

  “That was meant for me,” he said quietly.

  Oh, here goes this prick again Stephen. Put it out of its misery.

  “What do you mean?” Stephen asked, trying very hard to ignore the demon in his head. It was here to stay now, enjoying itself, feeding upon the emotion and fervour in the room. The chaos, the anarchy, the complete lawlessness of the room fuelled the demon’s will.

  “I mean that I should be dead. And I would be dead if you hadn’t saved me.”

  “Saved you?”

  “You saved my life. I can’t thank you enough!” Franklin looked at Stephen, his soft pudgy face smeared with dirty tears, red eyes puffy and teary.

  “It was an accident Franklin, pure luck.”

  “No, it was fate,” said Franklin. He shifted his body around to face Stephen, the piss-stained front of his pants tight against his bulging stomach. “I don’t know if you meant it, but you did save me with the shot and –

  Blah blah fucking blah! This prick is so fucking sad!

  Leave him alone – you don’t know him.

  Yes I do; I know him better than you do. He’s a sick, twisted arsehole; that chick Carly knows what he’s like – look how disgusted with him she is!

  Stephen noticed that Carly couldn’t look at Franklin; she did appear like she was going to be sick.

  See? She hates him almost as much as she hates you.

  She doesn’t hate me.

  Yes she does; she knows you; she knows what you are like

  – “cause I can get out of this and change my life around. I’ve still got plenty of years left in me to make amends. I know I can!” Franklin sounded like he’d had some sort of epiphany by cheating death that closely.

  “Franklin,” said Carly, “you’re not getting out of this. It’s not fate, you just got lucky.”

  “That’s true, I just wasn’t watching that’s all,” said Stephen. “If I’d been paying attention, then I would have blown your head clean off.”

  And give the rest of us a fucking break!

  The demon was right – he did need a break from Franklin. The guy was a moronic whinger who simply wouldn’t shut the hell up. Why couldn’t he simply accept his fate and deal with it? Maybe it was because Stephen was here on his own accord that he couldn’t understand Franklin’s reticence at accepting his lot. He had tried with Franklin; tried to be sympathetic, tried to be a comfort to him because he felt sorry that he’d been tricked into the position he was now in. It didn’t matter to Stephen what Franklin had done in his life previously – the guy had been tricked into being here and had no say in his fate.

  But, then again, who does? Fate was fate – Stephen wasn’t sure what choice anyone really had. Sure people made small choices like what shoes to wear, or whether to choose Beef or Chicken at the bistro. But the big turning points in life, the path that life takes…that was fate and pre-determined. Even if some choices or decisions in life delay the journey or deviate it from it’s inevitable path – we all got there in the end.

  We all get what we deserve.

  And now Franklin’s whingeing and moaning was just about enough for Stephen.

  “I just can’t believe it is going to end like this…” Franklin lamented as he stared at the whitewashed concrete walls. In front of him a blood trail disappeared around the corner after the body of the slain voyeur was dragged away – another 150+ pounds of meat to be mince up and served to some unsuspecting punters.

  Fucking NOW! DO IT!

  “Shut your festering mouth, you whining baby!” It was Stephen spitting this at Franklin even before he knew it was coming out of him. He could hear the words and wondered briefly who was talking like him, in his voice. Then, as those around him all looked at him, he realized that the words came from him.

  “Wha-?” Franklin was agog/stunned.

  “You’ve done nothing but cry and bleat and moan about poor you, oh I don’t deserve this…yah yah yah since you got in here. I may not know everything you did to deserve being here, but I know it must be some pretty sick shit.”

  Good stuff!

  “You look deep within yourself and have a long hard look – and ask yourself: ‘Am I really hard done by in here?’ Go on, think about it.”

  “But I…” Franklin was without words.

  “Stephen,” Carly started, she could see Franklin was getting destroyed.

  “No, you know what he’s like,” Stephen said. “I see you squirm every time he speaks, each time you’re near him. You can’t stand being in the same room as the slimy fat bastard and it’s written all over you. Didja hear that Franklin – she can’t stand you. You make her skin crawl.”

  I’m so proud of you – maybe there’s hope for you yet

  Franklin was in tears again, but he had run out of fluid to emit. He just dry-sobbed into his scrunched up knees, a slobbering shell of a man who had just had the final nail driven into his dignity coffin and seen it sent into the oven. Stripped, gone, forever lost in a fiery wall of permanence – Franklin’s humanity (what was left of it) had gone the way of the Dodo.

  “Stephen – that was pretty cruel.” Carly looked at Stephen with a level of disapproval that he only ever saw from his mother. That look that said: “I’m not upset, just disappointed.”

  “It needed to be said Carly – he’s just on my nerves and I can’t take his shit anymore.”

  Carly figured that although Fr
anklin was a cretinous, lecherous fat bastard, the character assassination that Stephen unleashed seemed almost unfair – if it weren’t so true. She knew that Franklin’s past was one that did explain why he was here and why he had been “chosen” for the role this night held for him. According to the criteria for the group, Franklin’s actions in the past provided justification for his qualification for this role. The vigilante attitude of Zoran in that regard was spot on and he’d always been very careful about who was chosen and why. Research was conducted and no stone left unturned so that they could be 100% sure that they’d got it right in selecting candidates.

  It was the volunteers that could be unpredictable.

  “Stephen – escort me to the toilet will you?” She asked and he started to follow her out. The toilet was in the adjacent room and it was one simple unisex room with a few stalls, a urinal and some basins. It was all grey concrete and filthy smells. In the urinal lay the trough monkey.

  The trough monkey was a guy dressed in full PVC suit from head to toe – the mask very much like “the Gimp’s” mask from Pulp Fiction. The crotch had been cut out of the suit and his plastic-gloved hand pulled at his cock furiously as one of the punters stood at the urinal and pissed on him. The urine spattered down, hitting the monkey with a loud “patter-patter” sound, splashing over the punter’s legs and feet as well as flowing out onto the floor. The trough monkey continued masturbating, the man’s warm urine covering the monkey’s genitals.

  “Jesus Christ,” Stephen involuntarily blasphemed with a withering acceptance– wondering how it was that after what he’d seen tonight something new actually still shocked him.

  “He’s always here,” Carly said. “It’s his ‘thing’.”

  “I certainly didn’t think I’d see that tonight!”

  “Look, I know that Franklin’s a pain in the arse but he won’t be here too long anyway. He won’t win this thing; I know Zoran will not allow it. He’s finished. But losing it like that in there is not going to help you.”

  “Help? I don’t need any help. I know what I’m doing here.”

  “Maybe…” and her voice trailed off. He wanted her to say more but she looked as if she didn’t see the point.

  Carly looked pained, exhausted. It was like she was fed up and knew that further discussion was futile. She looked like she wanted to be sick. Maybe it was Franklin – she certainly had a pained expression on her face whenever he was in her vicinity – or maybe the trough monkey? Or maybe simply the entire sick scenario they found themselves in.

  See? She’s sick of the sight of you too? Can’t you feel the pain she has when she’s near you?

  Shut up, she’s just explaining things.

  Yes, but she is so sick of you!

  “Are you gunna piss or what?” A guard said, standing at the door, waiting for Carly to do what she came in there to do.

  Carly didn’t feel like urinating all over the trough monkey – even though she was sure that the freak in the plastic suit would certainly have welcomed it. Instead she chose a stall to maintain some level of modesty – even if the guard wouldn’t let her close the door.

  After she’d finished, they went back into the main room and the guards had given each of the remaining players a glass of water. Franklin still sat where he had for most of the game so far, wallowing in his filth and continuing to feel sorry for himself. Carly sat on the floor next to Stephen and he wanted to say so much to her, get to know her and her story, figure out what it was that made her tick. But he couldn’t find the words. What sort of small talk could he say in a place like this?

  “So, you come here often?”

  “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  “Do you want to dance?”

  HA HA HA! Dance?! That’s a good one!

  What?

  As if she’d dance with you? Dance with YOU? You? Dancing? Bahahaha!!!!

  The demon cackled away in Stephen’s head, the laughter threatening to explode out of his head and all over the room, exposing the demon.

  An old woman walked up to Stephen and stood in front of him. He had barely noticed Judith at first but then remembered her as one of the players in this macabre game – she was # 5. He face was set in stone, harsh and hard. She had beady little piggy eyes that were almost evil and squinty in the corners, like she spent years trying to see through people and figure them out. Her heavily lined face had a furrow between her eyebrows, a deep worry line that carved a canyon through her aged leathery skin. She looked like she’d done a lot of things in her life, lived more than most her age had. Stephen guessed she looked about 75 but figured she was probably younger than that.

  Right now, though, she was solely focused upon Stephen. Judith had steeled herself to say something to him and her determination and sincerity took any words he had out of him. He simply looked back up at her as she stood above him.

  “I heard what you said to the fat man,” she said. “It wasn’t nice at all.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t have to listen to his constant self-pity do you?”

  “Maybe not – but someone in your position should be more sympathetic.”

  “My position?”

  She’s got you son, she fucking OWNS you.

  No she doesn’t

  Yes she does! She knows...she KNOWS!!!

  “What do you mean ‘My position’?” Stephen asked.

  “I just thought you’d have more important things to worry about. You know, like walking. Or are you faking paraplegia for sympathy?”

  BANG! POW! There it is!

  The words seemed innocuous but, spoken from this old lady that could be anyone’s grandma, they hit home like an arrow through the heart.

  Take that you crippled, wheel-chair bound cunt!

  Blind Man

  After the violence that accompanied Zoran’s announcement that they were all to play Russian roulette, the welcoming room was in a state of shock; dead bodies littered the floor between cowering ones. Zoran commanded the gathering - fear filled them all now and no one dared move lest that be misinterpreted as an attempt to escape. Zoran raised his arms as he began to address them – he had rules and regulations he had to impart and in their states of shock at the sudden turn of events for them, he knew that he needed their undivided attention.

  “Please people,” he began, “Relax. Sit if you want. No-one else need to be hurt if you all listen and behave.”

  Stephen too was scared, mainly because he was worried that he’d be shot before he had a chance to even play the game. There was a macabre side of him that was interested in the game, how it played out and what it would actually be like. He was interested to see if he could actually do it. Not enter the game – he knew he could and would do that – but whether he would have the nerve to shoot someone else in the head.

  The hard thing, he thought, was that he wasn’t angry or upset at any of these people. If he was, then that emotional conflict would take control of his feelings and his morality and he knew that he would be able to kill someone.

  If someone harmed my parents – dead!

  If someone harmed my little nephew – dead!

  If someone harmed your girlfriend – DEAD!

  He knew the demon would bring that up and he struggled hard to keep the words inside his head, words that, if he spoke them out loud, would certainly turn all the attention to himself. And attention, in here, was not what he wanted. They already looked at him funny, like a lot of people do, even though being in a wheelchair isn’t exactly uncommon; even for someone as young as him. Most people assume car accident or something anyway, but still…the looks he received here were very similar to those he got every day anyway – he could do without the attention. In here, he felt, attention would get him killed prematurely.

  Leave it out! It wasn’t my fault

  No, of course not, it’s NEVER your fault is it you weasley fuck? There’s always someone else to blame.

  But I…

  St
ephen knew it was an argument he couldn’t and wouldn’t win – the demon had all the answers and no matter how much he tried to defend himself, or argue his side of things, he knew that it would not listen to him. It had made its mind up and that’s that.

  Zoran continued: “Look, there are number of rules I need you to abide by so in small while we will be going through those and you will learn them all. If you forget, or you don’t like them…well, take a look around. You don’t want to end up like that, do you?”

  For the next few minutes, Stephen and the others watched as one body was dragged away after the other.

  “Neither did they I suppose,” smirked Zoran.

  Blood splatters replaced the spaces once occupied by living, breathing people. Stephen was all too aware that those in the room were either here of their own volition – which, to be truthful, was few and far between – or had been lured there against their will because of the things they had done in their lives. Therefore, those that left as corpses were not to be mourned. In most cases they deserved to be dead in the eyes of Zoran and, indeed, most of society. Of course, that didn’t make the sight of a woman’s head being opened up by an iron bar any less confronting or disturbing, but Stephen could justify it by way of vigilante-ism. Of sorts.

  Come on! You CAN’T justify this.

  Yes, we have all forfeited our right to being alive – that’s why we are here.

  Not me! I fucking don’t deserve this you selfish little arsehole.

  So! That’s it! That’s why you’re so pissy today – you’re scared to die!

  Silence….

  More silence…

  Stephen wondered if he had done it – achieved something that he had battled his adult life. Keeping the demon quiet and at bay. He hoped that he had done it anyway but the reality was that although the demon was sometimes quiet, he never went anywhere. He was always in there and always would be. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  A short while later the room seemed to have lost the tension in the air. The bodies had disappeared, although no one made any attempt to wash away or clean up the blood and mess that was left behind. That served as a deterrent, a constant scar that reminded everyone that non-compliance was dealt with very strictly indeed.

  “OK – people,” Zoran began, “let me give you brief run-down of the rules in here. Tonight the members of our group will start arriving at –“

  Scared to die? There’s no death, no relief from this miserable existence that you call ‘life”. This “life”, as you know it as, is only one part of a series of states that you will find yourself in and I will be with you every step of the way.

  Stephen can’t hear Zoran anymore. The sounds coming from the Croatian’s mouth were dulled blurs, audible smudges on his consciousness as the demon was beginning one of its rants. It hasn’t done this for quite some time and it now chose this moment to begin.

  Then again, it’s never really chosen an opportune moment for Stephen. Each time the rants have begun at almost exactly the time that he was glad there wasn’t one – usually just when he was starting to think that it was asleep, or tired of haranguing him.

  Pride precedes the fall – another saying that flickered into his mind only to be drowned out by:

  You pretentious twat! Half the time you make these stupid little sayings up, then pretend to not know where you heard them as if to give them some validation – who are you trying to impress? Surely not me? Maybe you’re trying to impress yourself – yes? Is that it? Trying, in vain, to impress the one person you can never fool. How are you going to convince yourself that you are anything more than the worthless, snivelling wretch that I know you are?

  I know all your stories, I know all your tricks. You can’t fool me and I won’t let you fool yourself – I can’t have it! It’s quite pitiful really – watching your inept display at justifying yourself to yourself, trying to convince yourself that you actually have meaning and substance. You’re a blight, a boil that needs lancing – spreading your pent up virulent pus over society so that they can see the noxious soul of your being as well as I can. I can feel you now, wanting to cry, wanting to try and argue the point with me and yet you don’t even have the fucking balls to do that either do you? You’re such a waste of breathable space that I wonder why it is that you haven’t managed to kill yourself before now.

  Did you think that you’d be able to “work this through”? Did you actually contemplate the thought that you could drive me out and live happily ever after? I know that you’re a deluded fucktard, but that level of naivety I thought was beyond even you. Where do you think I’ll go? Haven’t you worked this out yet? You really are an oxygen thief.

  Remember Morrie Mosby? Of course you do – you spent enough time with the blood sucking wallet emptying con-man to know exactly who I’m talking about. The charlatan who relieved you of about $3000 worth of psycho-analysis – how much good did that do for ya? Hey? FUCK ALL!!! That’s how much. All that bleating about how your family was poor, and that you never had the start in life that others get and boo-hoo-fucking hoo!!! He kept you talking and talking and talking – didn’t leave a second of room for me to open my gob and expel upon him the true nature of the cunt that sat in his office. Never gave ME the opportunity to tell him about the REAL Stephen Sharp – the cold spineless prick who stole money from the wallet of a blind man –

  Now hold on! I never did such a thing.

  Yes you did; money from a drunk blind man in a pub.

  No I never. Remember – I found the wallet, no one in the vicinity claimed it, no ID in it, so I used the cash to get in a few rounds.

  Well, that’s stealing in my book – and in the books of most other cunts and they would tell you so if you had the gumption to ask them.

  I didn’t know it was the blind guy’s wallet until an hour later when he came back to the pub with his mates looking for it.

  No excuse – you’re a low, tea-leafing worm and there’s no denying that! I’ll not hear another word about it anyway – I told you at the time what I thought of your actions and I’m not going through it again. You have consistently failed to yield to my moral stand against your debauched lifestyle so there’s not much chance of that desisting now. That mischief maker Morrie Mosby did NOTHING – BUPKISS! – to make things better. There was no opportunity for me to impart upon him the reality of your time on this here planet we’re standing on – oops, sorry wheelie-boy, bad choice of word huh?

  In his head Stephen could hear the roar of laughter as the demon seemed quite chuffed at his little joke. Stephen was quite used to it now and, in fact, he was pretty sure he’d heard it all before. He was a little disappointed that he allowed himself to be drawn into arguing the point over that night in the Victoria Hotel where he big-noted himself by shouting a few rounds with the cash he found in the wallet. The truth is, he was about half sure that the wallet belonged to the blind guy who was sitting at the next table, but he felt that if he simply handed the wallet in to the bar staff, they’d pocket the cash anyway.

  The demon was right – he was a cunt.

  “ – under no circumstances are you to leave this room,” Zoran continued. Stephen heard the demon’s laughter fading into the distance – a soundtrack to his consciousness that, he hoped, had reached the end of the disc and was fading off. No segue into the next track, no prolonged silence before the hidden track at the end of the disc.

  What did the Demon mean about “life”, and “existence”? Stephen couldn’t allow himself to believe that he would never be rid of the cause of all his pain. The concept of eternity is hard enough for a mere mortal to fathom anyway, let alone an eternity with in-built torture. What if death wasn’t the release from his prison he’d hoped for? What if he carried this baggage through to another realm? God, he hoped the Atheists were right!

  And, just then, he started to snigger. The soundtrack in his mind of the fading demon and his own confused thoughts were unknown to those in the room – their concentration was held
in fixated attention by Zoran. Stephen’s skull was the earmuffs that prevented those around him an insight into the world that lay within it. He knew that the sounds were totally inappropriate for the setting but he couldn’t help himself one little titter at the irony of his predicament.

  Zoran did not look amused.

  Stephen had his head down, avoiding eye contact whilst he stifled the laughter. He realized that the room was silent and knew then that his sounds were real and he’d made them out loud. Sometimes he didn’t know – the only evidence was that everyone around him now looked at him. Some of them nearby had started to shift away and this often happened in public places when he suddenly verbalized some of the stuff that went on in his head. It was as if they were afraid that whatever it was that caused this behaviour might spread to them – that they might catch “nutcase-ness”.

  In this instance, however, it was more out of self-preservation (futile that it was in reality) than anything else that some near him moved away from him a little bit. They moved because they didn’t want to be collateral damage when Zoran unleashed upon Stephen the punishment that they all knew was coming.

  But it didn’t come. Zoran looked at Stephen and when Stephen lifted his head to notice the stunned looks around him and then focused on Zoran, he saw a glare that immediately extinguished any feelings of jocularity or self-satisfaction with his little internal monologue. The man’s gaze could melt the ice caps and Stephen sunk further back into his chair.

  This chair….this fucking wheelchair chair, thought Stephen and he waited for the demon to start up again. He knew well enough that the demon did its best work when he was particularly vulnerable. And, in one half-second glance from that psychotic European giant, he was reduced back to the exposed and helpless shell that he knew others felt he was. But, this time there was nothing from the demon.

  Was the chair the cause of all his problems? A symptom? Or the result? Stephen asked himself. Maybe all three?

  “Anyway,” Zoran continued after having dealt with Stephen’s inadvertent outburst as efficiently and as ruthlessly as he could, “that’s about it. There is about an hour before we begin. You will wait here until we call – you will be guarded. No-one will try to escape or, I will hurt you and make you WANT to die – but you will not die. You try leave now, and I cut off some fingers”

  They all got the picture – he needed bodies for the game. Stephen was now able to concentrate, partially at best anyway, on what Zoran was saying and he understood what the beast meant. He would hurt them, badly, if they tried to escape or cause a ruckus but he needed them alive to play the game. Not much point trying to play a game of Russian roulette with a corpse is there? Stephen thought.

  The enormous psycho left the room and they all sat on the cold concrete floor (well, all except Stephen who had a nice comfortable wheelchair to rest his weary bones in). Nobody was chatting but there was plenty of noise. Sobs came out of a few of them, the odd muttering from someone about the unfairness of it all, how they were tricked into being here, how someone (or so-and-so) was “going to absolutely fucking get it in such a bad way when I get out of here” – oblivious to the fact that none of them were ever getting out of there.

  They waited.

  Stephen waited too – not only for the reckoning that was coming but the return of the demon. He would certainly be back soon.

  Bucket List

  Judith saw the shocked look on the faces of both Stephen and Carly – shocked by what she had said and the fact the she actually confronted them. Judith couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her too, but she couldn’t stand there and do nothing.

  Everyone had avoided Stephen’s “condition” – no-one wanted to say anything or find out why he was there. Judith had no idea why he was in the wheel-chair, she just wanted them both to stop abusing Franklin. Judith didn’t know any of them and she certainly didn’t know Franklin’s past or the reasons why he was there. But, to her, that didn’t matter. What was important was that if someone was about to die, then they should be allowed to do on their own terms...with some sort of dignity.

  OK, she thought, maybe Franklin forfeited respect and dignity by crying and weeping – all the while soiling himself. But he was still a human being who deserved some respect – even if he didn’t respect himself.

  Stephen looked as if he was going to cry – Judith had hit him hard.

  “That’s out of order,” Carly said, realizing that Stephen wasn’t going to bother replying or stick up for himself. “You don’t have to say that – it’s hard enough in here as it is.”

  “Exactly!” Judith replied. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t be saying those things to him”. She indicated Franklin who had, finally, shut up.

  “He’s been a filthy sobbing wreck and Stephen here has just about had enough. This is stressful enough without listening to this guy’s slobbering all the time.” Carly was starting to get upset now – mainly because, for some reason, she felt some sense of loyalty to Stephen; that she was the only one who defend him in here – even Stephen wasn’t capable of defending himself.

  “He’s not the only one.” Judith could see several players now watching this little exchange – she’d blown her invisibility cover. They all saw her now, she was front and centre. Her ability to hide in plain view of the room had gone and she was exposed. “There are plenty of stressed people in here. There’s no need for that.”

  “You don’t know the half of what he’s done,” Carly said.

  “And I don’t care. It’s not important now. What’s important is that we don’t resort to attacking each other like that. It’s not what this is about.”

  Stephen butted in: “Just leave it”, he said to Carly. “She’s right.”

  “What do you mean she’s right? You’re faking it?” Carly was incredulous! She thought she’d seen some sick shit in her time, but someone faking paralysis? Maybe she was wrong about him?

  “No!” He cried. “Of course not! I meant that she’s right about what I said. It was out of line.”

  He turned his chair around and wheeled it a few feet away, Carly following. Judith could hear them talking quietly to each other, occasionally looking in her direction. She knew they were talking about her but hopefully she got through to them as well.

  She wondered why they were here.

  Mental problems? Almost certainly.

  Terminal illness? Possibly.

  What annoyed her was that people so young, with their lives ahead of them, would be in this game. If Judith had a terminal illness, she’d be out there living every day like it was her last, living life to the fullest and trying to eke out as much vitality as she could whilst she still could.

  Over the last few months that’s exactly what she had been doing anyway. She knew that she was physically healthy and would live on for many years, but she created a bucket list of things to do before she died anyway. In some sub-conscious part of her brain she must have felt that, by creating the list, she might create the illness. The illness that would lead her to death and back into her beloved Alan’s arms again.

  After Alan died, she drew up a list and thought that, maybe, doing these things might help her feel better and give her a sense of purpose in life – something to keep her going without Alan being there. The list was made up on the things that a lot of people want to achieve but never get around to it. She travelled, saw New York, Paris and finally got to London. It was a whirlwind and Judith loved seeing the places she had only previously read about – or seen in movies.

  But one word kept repeating itself over and over inside her:

  Underwhelmed, underwhelmed, underwhelmed, underwhelmed, underwhelmed.

  Judith knew what it was straight away. It was life without Alan. She wanted to see these things, visit these places, experience these things – but she wanted to do them with him. To experience these things without him left her feeling empty inside.

  She took photos of famous places and things – but
there were no reference points. A photo of the Eiffel Tower is simply a photo of a thing – without someone you know in the photo, it may as well have been ripped out of a travel guide. There was no emotional attachment, no feeling, in the photos and the memories she had. Yes, the places were ticked off the list, but she felt no sense of achievement because she hadn’t experienced these things with the man she loved.

  And she never would – these were goals that could never be met, never be achieved. The realisation of that hit her like a 50 tonne truck, followed quickly by one word, repeating itself over and over inside her.

  Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness, Loneliness.

  It wasn’t just in her head, but it seemed to throb through her very soul itself.

  She had completed her list but it left her more depressed and resenting life than when Alan had died. She felt she had wasted the last several months of her life trying to achieve the impossible when she could have been working out a way to be with him again. Judith felt she would live forever when all she wanted was her love back.

  And then Alex...

  Alex – my saviour, my killer, she thought.

  The one saving grace in the last year or so of her life had been Alex. Meeting him and confiding in him was one of the greatest things she had ever done and, after tonight, she would always be indebted to him for the help he has given and the love he has shown her.

  Alan was such a strong, confident and supportive man – Judith always felt safe and secure with him. They supported each other through thick and thin. Sometimes the best part of her day was crawling into bed next to him at night, lying with her head on his shoulder/chest, her arms draped across him, her leg over his. She just seemed to fit right into him, melt into one. He’d throw one strong muscular arm around Judith, gently holding her. She could feel the strength and power he had, yet he would be so gentle and precise with his touches – it was tender and wonderful.

  And then she saw him wasting away in that hospital bed whilst the cancerous cells chewed him up; sores covering the points on his body where his large bony frame pressed his skin against the harsh white hospital sheets. Bed sores are hideous, horrible things – the dressings were rudimentary and she was sure they must have hurt him more than he ever let on. Towards the end Judith couldn’t bear to even be in the room when the nurses changed the dressings. She could see the tears welling in the corner of his eye as they performed the necessary tasks, noticed the state of the old dressings and just wanted to end it all right there and then – for both of them.

  When she re-told this to Alex months afterwards, the pain came from so deep within her that Judith thought it was going to tear her in two. Her whole body heaved as she sobbed quietly. She didn’t make much noise, no wailing or histrionics – but the deep sobbing hurt so much that she was incapable of making much noise anyway. She couldn’t even bring her arms up to cover her face, shielding him from the awkward sight of an old woman crying in the hospital. Tears flowed like streams through the natural waterways Judith’s lined face had created, washing away the years of love, honour and companionship she had with Alan. If any word best described the feeling she had it was “watershed”. That was what it literally was – the valleys of age carried away the life she had with Alan and she was reborn into a new life.

  One that would begin with the end of the one man she would always love – and conclude with the end of her own life. In one moment of complete honesty, Judith knew what the future would hold and she knew that it wouldn’t take long to fulfil it – she just needed the means.

  And that arrived in the form of Alex. Judith didn’t know it at the time, but her salvation – her final solution – arrived with the words: “Are you okay love?”

  Judith’s reverie was broken by the entrance of Zoran. Every time he entered the room, everyone just froze and waited for him to do or say something. He had such a strong hold over not only the participants in the game (who had seen, first hand, what he was capable of), but also the “free” people in the orgy. They were all scared of him and rightly so – the guy was a lunatic, a sadist and, Judith suspected, a psychopath. She couldn’t tell if he was even enjoying it and that was the most worrying part.

  “Ok people, “Zoran began, “the next round is different.”

  The orgy people were excited; all their attention was entirely on Zoran as they awaited his announcement.

  “The next round will be…DEATH MATCH!”

  The place erupted, cheering, some literally jumped for joy. Judith didn’t know what a “Death Match” was but, judging from their reactions, she could tell it was obviously a big deal. She was getting to the stage where she wanted this to end. It had been exciting, but now enough’s enough. This whole thing was sick, she knew that, but that’s not why she had had enough.

  She was bored.

  She was tired.

  Judith was done.

  Metal Gulag

  Stephen sat in his wheelchair, Carly by his side. What the old lady had said cut him deeply – not because her words were particularly acerbic, but rather because of the sincerity behind them. She meant what she said and Stephen knew it. She hadn’t said it to be malicious or cruel, or for her own sadistic amusement. She said it because she felt it needed to be said.

  Stephen was still getting used to being in the chair. Wheeled incarceration.

  Stephen lost the use of his legs about a year ago, yet he still felt unnatural in the chair – would it ever end?

  ‘Lost the use’ – a term he still struggled with. It implied that that the use could be found again and, when it was found, he’d be able to walk again. But spinal damage like his was irreparable – there would be no miraculous discovery of the usefulness of his legs. That “use” hadn’t been lost, it had been taken away from him and the saddest thing of all was that, ultimately, when he really thought long and hard about it, it was Stephen himself who took it away.

  Carly was saying something to him, words of comfort he assumed, whilst he was taking leave from reality and visiting spectres of the past. Evil ghosts that popped into his day to day reality – even when he should be concentrating upon something very important. Like, for example, a beautiful woman consoling him in the middle of a Russian Roulette game.

  Feeling sorry for yourself again? Well? Are you?

  Piss off!

  No way Jose – I’m here until the end.

  Stephen could hear the demon smiling.

  Once again, the demon always knew just the right time to return; to resurface just when he didn’t think he could get any lower. The bastard would pop into his head to rub his nose in misery.

  You were off with fucking fairies again weren’t you? Reminiscing about all the bad stuff that has happened to “poor ol’ you”.

  Not now, I need to concentrate on what’s going on

  It was true that Stephen should have been paying attention. The announcement for a Death Match had just been made and the orgy people were very excited. That reaction did not bode well for the players in the game. Stephen had no idea what the Death Match entailed, but he guessed it was some form of one-on-one shoot-out or something like that.

  Those “fairies” you were away with – they work for me. They’re evil little seraphim that I command to get inside your head when I am bored with your sick reveries. Your contemplative selfishness makes me bilious and revolted. How dare you? Who the fuck do you think you are? What makes you so fucking special, so wonderfully important that you think you can indulge in such selfish naval-gazing? Hmm?

  It was on a roll again – this time it spat out each word with such vitriol, such passion, that surely someone else could here this too? Another tirade of abuse to come.

  You know, I’m getting tired of this shit

  YOU

  ARE

  NOTHING

  A speck, a blight. A sick affliction on humanity. An acne scar on the face of humankind – reminding them al
l of the worse kind of worthlessness that humanity can produce. You’re the Ying to Einstein’s Yang, to Gandhi’s Yang, to Mother Theresa’s Yang

  You know, I’m getting used to this now – I’m a bit over it to be honest

  Over it? You’re not fuckin’ over anything my little lab rat – my experiment! An experiment in excrement – that’s what you are! You’re not free from me, or my abuse, until I say you are. You will NEVER be free from me – NEVER!

  Its voice bellowed in his head, reverberating around and drowning out everything else around him. His skull vibrated.

  The demon was angered but that usually meant it would stay quiet for a little while. Although Stephen did not dare to close his eyes for fear of being blinded by the brightest fire of his own personal hell thrown straight back at him, his mind’s eye pictured the demon walking off, waving it’s arms about and muttering abuse like a homeless drunk at a train station.

  “Did you hear anything I said?” It was Carly. She could see that Stephen had drifted off into his own world again.

  “No, sorry, I was…” Stephen stammered a bit, briefly contemplating telling Carly all about the Demon, the wheelchair, and the reason why he was there. But he couldn’t do that, not yet anyway.

  Still not used to that wheelchair – confinement carriage.

  “I was just saying that you should ignore what that old woman said – that she won’t have long to live anyway.” Carly looked over at the old lady who had since sat back into her position as the crowd around her continued with the orgy. This was a tableau that Stephen felt surreal – a woman in her late 60’s or so surrounded by a heaving orgy and awaiting her turn to die in a game of Russian Roulette.

  “None of us have, do we?” Stephen replied.

  “I suppose not – but one of us will.”

  “Maybe her.”

  “I hope not – evil old cow.”

  “She’s not evil – she was right,” said Stephen.

  “I think she was out of order. What’s she doing here anyway?”

  “Don’t you know? I thought you knew about the people here?”

  “I only know about those that are not voluntary. People like you and her – I have no idea.”

  “Well,” Stephen speculated, “she’s lived her life. Maybe she has more of a right to be here than we do?”

  Stephen thought about that for a moment – did she have more right? The old lady had certainly lived longer; the rest of the participants were under 45 years old and this woman looked well over 60, maybe even 70. None of the other players had lived a full life yet. With no future to be had, was it better to waste away or end it quickly?

  Quality V Quantity.

  “I don’t think so,” Carly replied, “she has no more or less right to be here than you or me. Or any of the other poor wretches who have ended up here tonight. We all deserve to die.”

  He will never be used to that chair. Steel Prison.

  Again Zoran entered the room. And the crowd of naked (or near naked) onlookers began to fall silent. His mere presence demanded their attention, such was the aura he emanated. It was like a cancer slowly spread through everyone as, one by one, they realized he was there without him saying a word. The cancer of obedience.

  He began:

  “A Death Match has been called. Two participants will fight to death – the match is over when there is no breath in lungs of one of them. They fight here – in this room.” He indicated the blood soaked concrete arena upon which death had already rained. “There are no weapons other than whatever can be found in this room. There are no guns, no knives – this is hand-to-hand combat in its purest form. There is no refusal to fight – punishment for resistance is death. Am I clear?”

  His last sentence was more like a school principle than an enforcer of terror. They all nodded like school children too – the rules were clear indeed.

  Zoran walked over to Stephen’s chair. He leaned forward and put his huge hands on the arms of the chair, pinning Stephen to the steel frame.

  Metal Gulag.

  “You – I would love to see you fight. Love to see how a cripple could fight!” he leaned in close, his deathly blue eyes only inches from Stephen. Zoran’s breath smelt of onions and Stephen noticed the pock-marks of acne scars – signs that there was once a youth in this monster. The golf ball like indentations scattered across his face, punctuated by the stubble of his slowly growing beard. He stared into Stephen, searching for the fear that his presence usually created. But there was none – Stephen was not afraid. Stephen had come to this place to die and Zoran’s actions did not scare him.

  You’ll crack!

  No I won’t.

  Yes you will! He’ll see right through you. See you for the worthless, lamentable, pitiful excuse for a human being that you are.

  Maybe – but I am not afraid of him

  You should be

  “Well, will you fight for me? Zoran asked, knowing that he really didn’t need to ask Stephen – if he wanted Stephen to fight, he would make him anyway.

  I’m not scared because I have already seen the devil.

  Yes you have! I AM THAT DEVIL!

  The demon raged and in Stephen’s mind’s eye he could see the demon in a heroic stance, clawed arms reaching upward, head thrown back and flames shooting out like an aura around him, consuming the bestial torso licking at his contorted face. Even with his eyes open and staring deeply into Zoran’s face, the demon had managed to put an image into Stephen’s vision.

  He was invading reality more and more – his sight and now his speech

  “No – I am the devil” Stephen said. It was monotonous, calm and sent a chill through Carly. Only Zoran and Carly heard it.

  The demon said nothing.

  And then Stephen saw it – the weakness that he knew Zoran had. Everyone has a weakness – hell, even Superman had kryptonite! And most people have more than one. These weaknesses, these failings, are usually hidden and are only revealed when people need them the least. Zoran – monster, beast, dominator, killer, rapist, torturer, barbarian, sadist – his weakness showed just when he didn’t need it.

  No one else saw it – only Stephen. They were face to face, only inches apart, when Stephen saw the weakness.

  Doubt.

  Zoran had doubt. For a fraction of a second Stephen saw it in Zoran’s eyes. Zoran doubted now that he could break Stephen mentally, psychologically. Self doubt was Zoran’s weakness. Stephen knew it and Zoran knew that Stephen knew it too.

  Zoran backed away and, saving face, announced: “No – the cripple will not fight now. We need a fair fight, an even fight.”

  The crown anticipated.

  The crowd expected.

  The crowd held its breath.

  “You!” Zoran pointed at #12 – a tall, skinny, filthy mess of a man who was sitting on the floor, his knees pulled up to his chest. His head rested on his knees, face down, like he was asleep or totally oblivious to what was going on around him. “You will fight….”

  He scanned the participants, looking for #12’s opponent in the Death Match. Then he singled someone out.

  “You will fight the fat man!” Zoran pointed straight at Franklin.

  Death Match

  Given the type of game that was played with these pawns, these minions, making them fight to the death one on one was only a matter of progression for Zoran. Derek had seen him orchestrate a similar game in the past for his own amusement – a gladiatorial cock-fight. It sated blood-lust, it perpetuated hope.

  It suggested freedom.

  Freedom – as if many of these wretches ever had any freedom anyway, Derek thought.

  It was usually life’s detritus that ended up with in this game anyway; drug addicts, paedophiles, criminals in one form or another. Their lives were a long series of attempts to escape – escaping reality, boredom, or simply trying to escape themselves. The last one is the saddest and the most pathetic – in terms of futility anyway. How can you escape yourself?
r />   Derek wondered why you would want to anyway? To feel so disillusioned or insecure with oneself, to have such low (or lacking) self-esteem that a person would want to escape who they are?

  A circle had cleared in the middle of the room, the participants now sat on the edge of it about to watch the death match between two of their own. Franklin was not an easy person to get into this game, Derek’s inside man (Philthy Phil) had to gain Franklin’s trust. He had appeal to Franklin’s sense of extreme debauchery without appearing too eager. These types of people can be paranoid and very skilled at sensing a trap, or a set-up. Fortunately Phil was very adept at luring Franklin in and, coupled with Franklin’s arrogance at getting away with things, they were able to get him here to participate.

  After years of being paid not to care about who lived and who dies, Derek found it somewhat liberating to allow himself the emotional freedom to care. There was a perverted sense of vigilante-ism that made him feel that eradicating these people from the earth in a humiliating and degrading way was appropriate somehow. Sometimes they tried to fight back, or beg and plead, thinking – even right up until the end – they could still get away with things. They soiled themselves, offered sexual favours, anything at all to avoid suffering a fate similar to that which they have inflicted upon others.

  Franklin fell nicely into that category – his demise was something that Derek felt wholly justified about.

  The wretch that Franklin was about to fight was one of those that Derek care not one iota for. He didn’t even know this drug-addled low-life’s name. There’s no way this poor soul will be the last survivor, Derek knew that for fact. This type of participant was cannon fodder for the Extreme Team – merely here to make up the numbers.

  In a past lifetime, this person had a family, loved-ones, and maybe even a life worth living; one that held potential and promise in some field or another. Derek always felt that everyone had a talent for something – he wondered what this guy’s talent was?

  Was he skilled at sports? Or some creative endeavour?

  The point was, essentially, moot to Derek anyway – the person (barely recognisable as one) was purely an addict beyond return – it held no gender, no identification, no humanity for him anymore. He felt nothing for it now that it is alive and will feel nothing for it when it dies. In Derek’s mind he’d rather see this thing batter the life out of Franklin because that, for him, would be more enjoyable. It would then get its head blown off in the next round of Roulette.

  “It” was actually a “he” and he had #12 on his back in roughly drawn texta marker. #12 was taller than Franklin, probably just on six feet tall. He was skinny in a wiry, scrawny way – emaciated was probably a better term. There were signs of pain on his body, revealed when Zoran tore off his shirt. Aged bruises on his back and ribs told the tale of homelessness; beatings, abuse, survival.

  Number 12 just stood there wearing aged, stained denim that looked like they were almost as old as he was. Everybody could see his hands twitching involuntarily – either through drug withdrawal or some sort of nervous disposition. Probably both.

  Zoran tore off Franklin’s shirt too and the crowd gasped audibly as they saw the smear of faeces at the small of Franklin’s back. It rose up from his cavernous bum crack; matted sweaty hair clumped together with shit. Franklin tried to put his fat fingers in to the belt loops of his trousers to hoist them up, but his bulbous stomach prevented any movement. Derek almost felt some pity for Franklin – that small part of humanity that never seemed to die no matter how much he tried to kill it. It still seemed to come back and haunt him every now and again.

  And it did so again as he watched Franklin fumble with his pants. The cynic in Derek reminded him of the things Franklin had done and the reason why he was there. Franklin was humiliated beyond anything that most people had ever seen before and this was accentuated by the laughter, jibes and taunts from the crowd of orgiastic onlookers before the Death Match.

  “What a hideous fat cunt!”

  “That is simply fucking disgusting!”

  “I think I’m going to be sick! That fat swine is making me physically ill.”

  And so on…..

  Money had started to be passed around again and everyone had ceased having sex to watch the Death Match. They could see that the bets were pretty even between #12 and Franklin and there was no clear favourite. It seemed to Derek that Franklin would have #12 in terms of strength and weight, but #12 had more of a survival instinct. Franklin was spent, mentally, whereas #12 was at a point where he didn’t really care if he lived or died – a point which he probably reached years before.

  Franklin’s tiny piggy eyes flicked left and right and all over the place, scanning the crowd for a way out or a sympathetic soul. All he found was sneering and laughing voyeurs, baying for blood and not caring if it was Franklin’s or not.

  He wasn’t focusing on anyone in particular, the tension in him mounted and Derek could tell Franklin was close to cracking. Franklin should, however, have been focusing on #12 who had leaned into the crowd and taken a large black dildo from one of the tables. As Zoran was about to say “Begin”, #12 pre-empted this by smacking Franklin in the face with the dildo.

  Zoran simply stepped back, a wide grin on his face, and the crowd cheered loudly – the fight was on.

  Franklin brought his hands up to his face. Even from his vantage point Derek could see that Franklin’s eyes were full of tears as the blood flowed from his clearly broken nose. #12 hit him again with the hard 12” dildo – causing more pain to Franklin’s face.

  The dildo hit Franklin’s hands as they protected his smashed nose, forcing them into his snapped cartilage and causing him to step back a little. Dizziness in his brain made him sway a little on his feet and Derek thought, for a second, that Franklin was going to be knocked out. No-one wanted that – especially Derek. He wanted Franklin to know when he was dying.

  The crowd cheered again as their blood lust was sated. #12 moved in again and kicked at Franklin’s groin, aiming for his testicles. But he missed as Franklin teetered backwards, his bare toes hitting Franklin’s solid, fat-filled stomach. That bent #12’s toes downwards, the effect of which was very much like stubbing your toes against a concrete step.

  Derek saw #12 recoil his foot as the instant pain shot through his leg. There was a soft crunching sound as #12’s big toe broke – the sharp stinging pain sent lightning bolts of pain up his leg and turned #12’s stomach. Derek waited for him to throw up.

  Franklin must have felt the kick but it certainly didn’t harm him, his stomach simply wobbled as it absorbed the impact. He was too pre-occupied with his face to immediately register that his assailant had broken his toe. Franklin took his hands from his face, his vision like looking through opaque tear-filled lenses at his opponent hopping on one foot holding his toes in agony.

  Franklin swung a wild, round-house punch with his right hand and collected #12 on the side of his head, just behind the ear. Pain was now sent up Franklin’s arm – he’d never hit anything so hard! It did, however, succeed in knocking #12 off balance and he fell to the ground.

  Watching people fight who had never fought before, or never had any training in fighting before, always made Zoran laugh. It was the same sadistic pleasure a cat got from toying with its prey, but it still made him laugh to watch people throw ridiculous punches, or scrap like crazy – especially when their lives depended upon it.

  Derek had never seen anyone ever give up – people will always fight to the death.

  To the crowd, this comical fight was only getting better and better – a homeless drug addict fighting an obese businessman covered in shit. One got his nose broken by a dildo, the other broke his toes kicking the fat guy in the guts!

  No-one was looking away – not even the wheelchair bound suicide player Stephen. Like a car accident, this fight drew in everyone’s attention even though some of the more humane members of the crew here wouldn’t like the end result. There was la
ughter from quite a few people, amused by the farcical attempts on display.