Trying To Run In Prison Part 4

Howard braced himself.

"Mr. Phillips are you there?" came a confident male voice from behind the door.

Howard snapped out of panic mode instantly as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water across him.

"Who is it?" asked Howard trying his best to sound equally confident.

"It's the police Mr. Phillips, you called us regarding a gang of people trying to break into your flat. Are you ok?"

That was the very question Howard was asking himself, he really didn't think he was.

"Yes, yes I'm fine," replied Howard doing his best to sound as confident as the voice coming from behind the door. "I will be down in just a moment." Howard quickly set about returning the cutlery he had collected to the kitchen and retrieving his clothes from the stair well before opening the door to the very impatient looking police officer.

"Thank you for coming," said Howard craning his head around the door and looking perplexed into the very empty shop. "did you not see anyone when you can in?"

"No sir," replied the officer "the shop was completely empty. Do you mind tell us what has happened sir?"

Howard raised his hand to his face and pressed his eyes. "Before you came, the shop was full of people dressed in hoods, I tried to escape out the back, but there was more in the lane, so I came back in and went up to my flat to hide. That's when I called you guys. If they weren't here then I think I may well be going mad.

"Ok sir, can I ask whether you have taken anything today?

"No, not at all." Replied Howard.

"Have you had anything to drink?"

"Nothing." Replied Howard.

"are you currently on medication for anything sir?"

"No officer, but I'm beginning to think I should be. I swear to you they were here."

"Ok, thank you sir. I have your description here if I could just quickly run it pa.s.sed you. You claim that the shop and lane were occupied by a group of tall people all dressed in the same dark rain coat with hoods up, no visible faces and yellow eyes."

"Look, I know how it sounds, I really do. But I swear to you I have not taken anything, not drunk anything and they were b.l.o.o.d.y there. They were hammering on this door just before you knocked on it."

"Sir, we did not see anyone when we arrived, but I have your description and will obviously keep an eye out in the area for anyone meeting your description. If that is all sir, I will be on my way."

"Yes of course officer, thank you ever so much for coming out, sorry to have wasted your time."

"Not a problem sir, please do call us if they make a reappearance, have good day." Replied the officer and her turned and walked out of the shop.

Howard ran upstairs as quick as her could, located his coat, phone and wallet and dashed back down into the shop. He decided to close up for the rest of the day and that a stiff drink was exactly what he needed.

Chapter 17.

Stevens stopped the DVD with a gloved hand, the dead lay waiting.

Chapter 18.

Thomas arrived home to an empty flat. The living room was depressing, a complete bomb site with just a tiny bit of non-cluttered s.p.a.ce on the sofa which looked suspiciously like a human figure. Thomas thought that it was as if the room was a giant jigsaw and someone had just reached in and grabbed out the piece with Larry on.

Thomas needed a drink. He tip toed his way through the Larry created wreckage and into the kitchen, opened the fridge, located an expensive looking imported German lager and began. The beers actually belonged to Larry, but Thomas figured that he would replace them in the morning. It wasn't as if he had to be in work.

Thomas thought about how he was going to tell people. 'How will they react? Will they believe me? Surely they will.' It was fair to say that Thomas was experiencing a complete mix of emotions. Part of him felt furious at the position he was in, this little s.h.i.t had framed him and put his whole career in jeopardy. Another part of him was scared, Thomas had never been in trouble before, not even a detention for handing in a late homework when he was in school. He was a 'by-the-book' kind of guy who always played by the rules. He had never been in a situation like this before. Thomas felt helpless, this was well and truly out of his hands. He was waiting for someone to make a decision based upon evidence that was false and there was nothing he could do about it except wait and drink. He cracked open the second can, retreated to the lounge, created a s.p.a.ce and set about trying to achieve a state of mental oblivion. He would tell the world tomorrow.

It was 12:38am when Thomas found himself being roughly shaken awake by Larry.

"Are you all right mate?" asked a very concerned Larry. In all the time they had lived together, he had never seen Thomas in a state like this. Thomas was sprawled out across the settee surrounded by a variety of cans. He was clutching a can of Guinness which he seemed to have poured all over himself and the dark patch on his groin was all the evidence that Larry needed to confirm that Thomas's mission to achieve metal oblivion was indeed a terrific success. Thomas's eyes flickered open.

"Are you alright mate?" asked Larry again. "Let me give you a hand to bed fella."

Thomas opened his eyes fully, smacked his lips, dropped the can of Guinness on the floor and began trying to sit himself upright.

"Jeez man what a f.u.c.king day man. I'm f.u.c.ked Larry, f.u.c.ked." Slurred Thomas.

"I can see that you t.w.a.t, but why have you got yourself in such a state, has something happened. You and Janet haven't broken up have you?" replied Larry.

"Nah man, nah. Not yet anyway, but soon probably though, I'm f.u.c.ked mate. It's all gone."

What's all gone? You're not making much sense fella, what has happened."

"The kids man, they f.u.c.king turn on you you know, f.u.c.king no loyalty no more. No loyalty. You f.u.c.king give and plan and give, but for what man, for it to be f.u.c.king robbed off you from some little lying little f.u.c.king gobs.h.i.te. I'm f.u.c.ked man, I've f.u.c.king as good as lost my f.u.c.king job."

"s.h.i.t fella, what the f.u.c.k has happened?"

"Ahh, little f.u.c.ker has lied man, he has f.u.c.king just gone ahead and f.u.c.king lied. Says all sorts of s.h.i.t and accused me. He has accused me with his lying little chavy mouth. Its lies though, lies I can do nothing about. Says I hit him, says I called him all sorts of s.h.i.t. Horrible, horrible little f.u.c.king s.h.i.t man, I'm f.u.c.ked."

With that, Thomas stood up on very unsteady legs and began forging his way through the sea of cans towards his bedroom.

"Sleep well man, I will work from home tomorrow so we can chat when you sober up."

Thomas woke up with the worst hangover of his life. It was so bad that he really felt as if he had done himself some serious damage. His vision was still blurred and any kind of movement was painful. He reached out to his left and retrieved the waste paper bin that lived on the floor and proceeded to throw up. The first vomit was dark black in colour as the Guinness which had refused to enter his stomach the previous evening gushed out, next a mixture of straw liquid and bile followed by fresh air.

Thomas continued to retch air as Larry walked in to see how his flat mate was coping with what he knew would be a catastrophic hangover.

"How's the head buddy? You look dreadful!"

"Cheers," Replied Thomas in between retches. "Kill me now!" Thomas mustered an embarra.s.sed smile. "Noticed I p.i.s.sed myself too, which is nice. Give me half an hour to have a shower and I will tell you all about my day of misery."

Larry returned the smile, nodded, turned and left Thomas to cope with the aftermath of severe alcohol poisoning.

Thomas arrived in the kitchen 30 minutes later looking very shaky and decidedly pale. Larry made him a cup of tea along with a gla.s.s of water and 2 ibuprofen.

"Get those in mate, they kick in fast and will help to shrink your brain back to its normal size. So tell me about yesterday."

Thomas sat down at the kitchen table, knocked back the tablets and took a sip of his tea and began filling Larry in with the details of his suspension.

"Have you told Janet yet?" asked Larry.

"Not yet, I have that to look forward to tonight. She is not going to be happy, I have just agreed to move in with her. Oh, s.h.i.t I meant to discuss that with you."

"Don't worry about that, we can sort something out. So moving in buddy, that's pretty huge. I'm really happy for you. She will be fine by the way, I'm sure this will all work out ok, like you said the kid is lying out of his f.u.c.king a.s.s, I'm sure they will see that. If they don't, I suppose you can always pay someone to give him a d.a.m.n good kicking in the middle of a forest somewhere." Smirked Larry.

"Ha, not a bad idea." Replied Thomas as he stood up and staggered the 5 paces across the icy kitchen floor to the fridge. "I think I need a little hair of the dog, I feel like death. I will replace these when I pop out later." Thomas reached into the fridge, retrieved a can of strong lager, cracked it open and drank deeply until 3 quarters remained.

"Fair enough, but you take it easy with that stuff. You don't have as much practice as me." Larry finished his breakfast and left the kitchen to get ready for work. Thomas settled back down at the table and continued his alcoholic breakfast.

Half an hour and another can of strong lager pa.s.sed by. "See you later fella, see you this evening!" Larry shouted as he slammed the big Victorian door behind him.

Thomas lifted is can in salute to Larry's farewell, took another deep swig and looked around the kitchen. 'I have never noticed that picture before.' He thought to himself.

He had lived in the flat with Larry for nearly 2 years now, sat at the table countless times and never noticed it before. The picture was in fact a painting of a woman dressed all in white, walking away from the edge of a cliff. The background was really dark as if the whole world around her had become a giant storm, but it said one word to Thomas, 'Hope'.

Thomas hoped that Janet would be understanding and supportive about the situation he found himself in, but he wasn't looking forwards to having to explain himself. He pulled another can from the fridge and took it with him into the lounge. 'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, Larry has actually tidied up. Perhaps I should get s.h.i.t faced more often.'

He placed his breakfast cans on the coffee table, rolled himself a cigarette from Larry's tobacco pouch, lit it and lay back sighing. Thomas was not a smoker, this was obvious by the way in which he coughed and spluttered after each attempted drag. He had taken up smoking in his first year at university, but only really as a token of his newly found freedom and he quickly gave up. He wasn't particularly enjoying this cigarette, but it was providing a welcome distraction and so he persisted.

He pulled out his mobile from his pajama pocket and text Janet. 'I need to see you tonight, I need to talk to you about something.' He sent it.

Thomas reached to the left of the sofa and retrieved Larry's red fender guitar and begun to strum the only song he knew how to play, Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here.

The reply from Janet came back in just under the hour mark. 'Ok, I can come to yours for 20:00, is everything ok?'

Thomas put the guitar to one side, took a swig of lager and text Janet back, 'Yeah, all is ok. How I wish, how I wish you were here.....x.'

Chapter 19.

It was fair to say that Craig had surprised himself by how he had responded to the very strange situation he found himself in.

After the two men had left, Craig composed himself and closed up the lot for the rest of the day. He took one of the cars from the lot and set about preparing for tomorrow mornings visit.

'I will not be bullied, I would rather die.' Was the mantra that Craig played over and over in his head. He three places that afternoon: A security shop, where he purchased 3 security cameras that he would install strategically around the showroom later.

A sports shop, where he bought a solid oak baseball bat.

A hardware shop, where he bought a small axe.

He returned to the lot and set up the three cameras. One trained on the front door, one on walk from the front door to the counter and the third on the counter itself. He placed the bat and axe on the counter, locked up and went home for the evening.

Craig arrived home just after 8 and popped a ready meal in the microwave. After the ping, he took the meal through to the lounge and sat in front of the TV. After an hour or so of uneventful local news Craig stretched, yawned and stomped off wearily to bed.

He turned off the bedside lamp and closed his eyes. Black.

The man stood in the middle of the sports hall crying. He must have been about 30 years old Craig thought. The hall itself was vast, about 3 times larger than a regular basketball court, with 2 sets of double doors on each of the four walls. The large lamps that illuminated the court flickered, hissed and swung casting eerie shadows of themselves and the man as they moved. The man looked panicked all of a sudden, turning his head this one way and the other violently as if looking for something he knew to be there. The lamps stopped swinging and the hazy white light changed to that of a warm orange glow. The doors at one end of the court boomed out as something with immeasurable strength hammered upon them. Boom boom boom. And then another.

In a few moments all doors were booming with the same rhythmic a.s.sault. Boom boom boom.

The man was hysterical with fear and dropped to his knees in terror clutching his ears with his hands. Craig saw what he thought must be blood beginning to trickle at first from the man's nose, then as if someone turned on a tap a red river run forth.

The booming ceased and the man instinctively dropped his hands. The orange lamps began to swing again and the large room started to vibrate. 2 hooded figures walked directly through each of the 8 doors and just stood watching the man in the middle.

The hooded figures took 2 steps forwards and stopped as behind then 2 further figures walked through the doors behind. 2 more steps forwards, 2 more figures, and so it continued. Within minutes a sea of identically hooded figures lined the entire hall and were slowly closing in on the man. Closer and closer. The man began to scream.

"I'm sorry ok! I'm sorry! I never meant to play! I never meant it, please leave me alone, I don't want to die!"

The figures pressed on towards their man beginning a gentle chant in retort. "T R I P T R I P T R I P."

The lamps shook violently and the scene was gone. Craig found himself following a group of 5 teenage boys on bikes in what must have been the early hours of morning. Through streets, across roads making traffic brake violently and blaze horns in protest, through parks and following the slow flow of ancient stagnant steams. They reached a residential area and stopped. Two of the boys dismounted their bikes and headed for a house with a large Victorian door.

A big, well placed kick took the door completely off its hinges and the two disappeared inside. They returned moments later with a man wearing pajamas who looked to be completely asleep. One of the boys carried him effortlessly over his right shoulder, climbed back on his bike and again they were off. Street after street, house after house flew by. The houses eventually started to fade away as they reached a pathway that took them into the countryside. The path took them through trees, past water and over hills. All the while the sleeping man lay undisturbed strewn across the boys unnaturally strong shoulder. The boys reached a clearing in the woods, stopped and dismounted again.

All 5 retrieved torches from their pockets and walked into the darkness ahead. As they walked on Craig became aware of a presence all around him, then he saw them.

Out of the tree line surrounding the clearing came thousands of teenage children all dressed in school uniforms. The group of 5 boys took no notice of the gathering crowd and carried on heading towards what Craig a.s.sumed was the centre of the clearing. The torches flashed this way and that, eventually the boys slowed the pace and the torches swept across a large wooden structure. As they approached it became clear that the structure was an enormous bonfire. An enormous bonfire lying dormant.

The boy carrying the man stepped up onto the pyre and effortlessly climbed to the top. Once there he set about tying the sleeping man to a stake at the very top. He completed the task and nimbly descended the ma.s.s of carefully positioned wood.

The ma.s.s of school children closed in and the boy who had carried the man held aloft a lighter. The crowd burst into riotous cheers and applause which gave way to a menacing chant.

"Burn the pedo! Burn the pedo! Burn the pedo!"

The boy rolled the lighter to life, bent and lit the bonfire. The chanting increased in speed and intensity.

"Burn the pedo! Burn the pedo! Burn the pedo!"

The fire took quickly on the dry wood and bracken, smoke plumed upwards and the fire flickered its orange glow across the chanting faces of the crowd of children.

"Burn the pedo! Burn the pedo! Burn the pedo!"

Still the man slept. The fire rose, the chanting ever increasing, the fire eating and climbing towards the man. It reached his legs and the fabric of his pajamas yielded to the heat and ignited. The flames were at his hips in seconds. The man's eyes sprung open, horrible distorted yellow eyes. He looked desperately at his plight and let out an unearthly and harrowing scream.