a desk, and a badly abused metal waste bin cowers in the corner. He has a large scar on his chest; the edges are bright pink a vivid contrast with his skin. The scar is self-inflicted, a stylized scarification design depicting a phoenix rising from flames, the lines neat and precise but angry with the memory of the lemon juice that had been used to raise them up from the background.
He tries to ignore the accompanying memory of the woman who he had coerced into carving the intricate design for him all those years ago. She had spoken about love and spirituality at length, a modern day flower child confusing his intense silence for interest and concentration, warbling on and on about the search for truth and reason. The desire to harm her had been extremely strong, but would have proven impossible, since there were several others present watching the ornamentation taking shape. A certain part of him wonders whether she would still be living in the same place now.
A small russet colored spider busies herself constructing a new web in the top corner of the window frame, buffeted from time to time by the movement of air through into the room. Twice a day her home is destroyed when the man opens the window and closes it again, but her patience is limitless and the spot yields an abundance of flies drawn by the tempting odors inside, so she persists with her rebuilds.
The monster has none of her qualities. The pain she causes out of the necessity to feed herself, his borne out of sadistic enjoyment and the strange creeping madness that tells him that he needs the fresh blood to rejuvenate his own.
He can feel it building inside him now, the maddening sensation that alerts him when it is time to hunt again. First an itching and tingling in the extremities, signaling the spoiling of the fluid in his veins, this will gradually become a burn until he can ignore it no longer. For now he sits in calm silence though, fixating on the people passing in the street below, embracing the changes inside and imagining how it would feel to take them all one by one and drain them completely.
I think I'm afraid which pisses me off, since it's not a sensation that I'm accustomed to. A terrible night's sleep punctuated by blood-stained dreams that I can't quite recall doesn't help matters, but the presence of Marcus beside me in the car right now is helping a little – misery loves company. I can feel his eyes on me trying to read my expression, and when I glance across at him he looks nauseous and skittish. I wonder if I look the same.
The purple BMW parked opposite us outside the address doesn't help either, since it serves to confirm that Levi 'Evil' and 'Arachnid' Jones are probably inside, quite possibly watching us shitting ourselves across the street and laughing their asses off.
“ Do you think they'll flay us alive first, or let us say our piece and then start the torture?”
“ Thanks, Marcus, I feel so much better about this now.”
“ You're welcome. Anyway, it was your bright idea, I'm just here to back you up, mate.”
“ Fantastic job you're doing too.”
We are on Corporation Oaks in Mapperley Park, at an address listed on Crimint – the police criminal intelligence database - as the permanent head of operations for Bennett and Jones's gutter empire. I want to talk to them about our sharp-toothed friend, and hopefully be in a position from there to be able to narrow down the pool of potential suspects. Unfortunately, men in their particular line of business are not always happy to meet those from ours.
Searches on Crimint, also helpfully advised us that the two men are strong suspects in the murder of a Police Officer back in Kingston. The victim was the head of an anti-drug gang task force, employing heavy handed tactics in an attempt to clean up the city slums. It had been going very well, until person or persons unknown threw a tire full of petrol over his head and ignited it, delivering the charred body to the
He tries to ignore the accompanying memory of the woman who he had coerced into carving the intricate design for him all those years ago. She had spoken about love and spirituality at length, a modern day flower child confusing his intense silence for interest and concentration, warbling on and on about the search for truth and reason. The desire to harm her had been extremely strong, but would have proven impossible, since there were several others present watching the ornamentation taking shape. A certain part of him wonders whether she would still be living in the same place now.
A small russet colored spider busies herself constructing a new web in the top corner of the window frame, buffeted from time to time by the movement of air through into the room. Twice a day her home is destroyed when the man opens the window and closes it again, but her patience is limitless and the spot yields an abundance of flies drawn by the tempting odors inside, so she persists with her rebuilds.
The monster has none of her qualities. The pain she causes out of the necessity to feed herself, his borne out of sadistic enjoyment and the strange creeping madness that tells him that he needs the fresh blood to rejuvenate his own.
He can feel it building inside him now, the maddening sensation that alerts him when it is time to hunt again. First an itching and tingling in the extremities, signaling the spoiling of the fluid in his veins, this will gradually become a burn until he can ignore it no longer. For now he sits in calm silence though, fixating on the people passing in the street below, embracing the changes inside and imagining how it would feel to take them all one by one and drain them completely.
I think I'm afraid which pisses me off, since it's not a sensation that I'm accustomed to. A terrible night's sleep punctuated by blood-stained dreams that I can't quite recall doesn't help matters, but the presence of Marcus beside me in the car right now is helping a little – misery loves company. I can feel his eyes on me trying to read my expression, and when I glance across at him he looks nauseous and skittish. I wonder if I look the same.
The purple BMW parked opposite us outside the address doesn't help either, since it serves to confirm that Levi 'Evil' and 'Arachnid' Jones are probably inside, quite possibly watching us shitting ourselves across the street and laughing their asses off.
“ Do you think they'll flay us alive first, or let us say our piece and then start the torture?”
“ Thanks, Marcus, I feel so much better about this now.”
“ You're welcome. Anyway, it was your bright idea, I'm just here to back you up, mate.”
“ Fantastic job you're doing too.”
We are on Corporation Oaks in Mapperley Park, at an address listed on Crimint – the police criminal intelligence database - as the permanent head of operations for Bennett and Jones's gutter empire. I want to talk to them about our sharp-toothed friend, and hopefully be in a position from there to be able to narrow down the pool of potential suspects. Unfortunately, men in their particular line of business are not always happy to meet those from ours.
Searches on Crimint, also helpfully advised us that the two men are strong suspects in the murder of a Police Officer back in Kingston. The victim was the head of an anti-drug gang task force, employing heavy handed tactics in an attempt to clean up the city slums. It had been going very well, until person or persons unknown threw a tire full of petrol over his head and ignited it, delivering the charred body to the
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