All or Nothing (11 page)

EIGHTEEN

“So you never married?”

Heather didn’t answer, her mouth being full of French fries. She chewed quickly and swallowed before answering the question. Kieran just sat and waited patiently. They were going nowhere, so he had all the time in the world. His piercing eyes stared at Heather and she fought back a blush. She finally swallowed.

“No, I haven’t found the right guy. To be honest I haven’t been looking. I barely get time to socialise anymore. I find it difficult being around people I don’t know—”

“—you're doing fine around me,” Kieran answered. “I didn’t mean to pry, though. I was just trying to generate conversation. Pretend I didn’t ask, eat your food.” Kieran smiled and looked down at his plate.

Heather and Kieran were sitting in a cafeteria. The décor was all too familiar to Heather, just as every other room in this mysterious place seemed somehow familiar. The surroundings were bright and clean. Steel tables and chairs sat in the centre of the room. Off to the right was a kitchen hidden behind dual swing doors. Kieran had brought Heather here and they had made themselves a hamburger and fries each. Heather had a cup of tea, also prepared in the kitchen.

They located a table and chairs furthest from the entrance so they could watch anyone who came in. Heather felt her spine tingle when she imagined the bald people eating in here, silently, methodically. She was glad they weren’t doing that right now. She pushed the thought from her mind and bit into her burger.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked.

Kieran put his burger down and took a sip of Coke. He looked around the cafeteria. Heather waited for his response. She found herself drawn to his eyes. Those stark blue eyes looked familiar. She didn’t know why.

He looked back at her, almost catching her stare, and smiled. Heather returned to her burger.

“Well…this is as far as I’ve come. I didn’t want to wander too far from this place because it felt safe. There's food and shelter here, so I decided to remain. I haven’t seen anyone in here for my entire stay so far. It’s why I’ve holed up in the larder over there.”

Kieran pointed to a door beside the kitchen. Heather realised she hadn’t notice it before, because it almost looked like part of the wall.

“There is a door at the end of the exterior hallway,” Kieran continued. “I haven’t explored though, but beyond it is a T-shaped hallway which must lead somewhere. From my experience, the cafeteria is a hub in any building that everyone has to visit on occasion. Chances are there is more than one exit. I say we stock up and go that way.”

Heather nodded. She knew there was no option but to go forward. Unless there was a door she had missed, between here and her original cell there was no other route. She swallowed her mouthful and pushed her plate away. She had eaten everything, which was no surprise to her.

Kieran smiled again. “We should stay here tonight and then move out tomorrow when we’re ready. It might make sense for us to get some rest before heading into unexplored territory. If that’s okay with you?”

Heather smiled and nodded again. She didn’t know what time it was but she knew she needed a rest. She sighed. Kieran looked at her again, resting his hands on the table.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing…Well, I suppose everything really. Here I am sitting in a strange place, enjoying a burger and chips as if I'm in a restaurant or on a date or something…And yet this weird shit is going on around us. There are human clones…I think. I end up in a cell and have to escape, barely clothed and I run into you. It doesn’t make sense, yet I can’t help feeling that, at last, I’m safe. Or else this place isn’t as malevolent as it seems. I should be bothered by all that’s happened, but I'm really not. Is that creepy?”

“Not really. They say that traumatic experiences teach you to handle grief or loss or danger in different ways. I wouldn’t be surprised if your mother’s death in some way prepared you for this moment."

Heather frowned. Kieran continued. "You can’t go lower than rock bottom and I feel you’ve probably experienced that moment in your life. Either that or you haven’t come to that conclusion yet and your brain is still processing all of this. Whichever it is, it shows you're strong and that you can get through this…”

Kieran looked around and took in their surroundings.

“…Well, whatever
this
is.”

Heather was silent for a moment. Kieran looked at her. "What's up?"

"How did you know about my mother?"

Kieran squinted. "What do you mean?"

"My mother," Heather continued. "I didn’t tell you about my mother."

"Did you not? I'm sure you did. A few minutes ago?"

"I didn’t…did I? Well, I don’t recall anyway. Who knows? It's been an exhausting day. My mind's playing tricks on me." Heather rubbed her eyes, exhausted. "I need some shut-eye."

"That can be arranged." Kieran smiled and shuffled along his seat.

Heather’s new friend stood up and collected the plates from the table. He walked over to the kitchen and disappeared through the doors. Heather climbed to her feet and stretched. She performed a couple of yoga stretches and jumped on the spot. She looked down at her makeshift shorts and top and groaned. She must look a right state.

Kieran stepped back through the door. He held something in his arms.

“Here, I got these for you. It won’t make you fashion model of the year or anything, but they’ll be warmer than that getup you’re wearing.”

Kieran handed her a pair of chef’s trousers. They had a checkered pattern like a cloth chessboard. He also had a white long-sleeved shirt for her. When she took it she realised it was a jumper. There was a pair of trainers as well. Heather looked at Kieran, dumbfounded.

“Chef has taste, huh? I’ve seen that before in kitchens, they always keep spare clothes around. Some kitchen workers change before and after a shift. You can thank the chef who obviously didn’t like walking around in public covered in soup spillage and fat spatter.”

Heather took the clothes and stood silent. She cringed a little at what she was about to say. She felt like a kid back in school.

“Is there anywhere I can get changed?”

Kieran laughed. “You can use the larder, if you wish, but it’s a bit cramped. I can turn around, if you prefer?”

Heather considered this and thought of the possibilities. She felt naked already with the sparse clothes. She probably wasn’t hiding much anyway.

“Okay then…turn around. I don’t want you catching a glimpse.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Kieran turned around and crossed his arms. Heather bit her lip and dropped her shorts. They nearly tore in her hands as she hurriedly ripped them off. She removed her ragged underwear too. She was suddenly aware that she was completely naked in the room, and imagined the clones walking in and having a look.

They didn’t.

She pulled on the trousers. They felt good on her legs, warm. They reached her waist and the button did up without a struggle. She lifted her top and threw it on the floor, noticing that her nipples were erect with cold. She pulled the jumper on and padded it down around her waist. The chef must have been of small stature because the clothes fitted her well, despite being a little bit baggy. And the trousers stayed up. She tugged the waistband to be sure. She slipped the trainers on her feet and, once again, found them to be a perfect fit.

The dude had really small feet.

Heather sat down, scooped up the old clothes and tied her laces, and then stood up.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Kieran turned around and, once again, he smiled. “Looking good. Covers up a little more then I hoped, but that’s only a guy’s opinion.”

Heather smiled. “Bloody pervert…But thanks.”

Kieran walked towards Heather. He took the old clothes from her and disappeared into the kitchen again. She stood up, finding that the clothes were much more comfortable and warmer than what she’d been wearing up to now. However, she was still uncomfortably aware that she had no bra or panties.

“Hey, Kieran, did that chef happen to be a cross dresser?” she called out to Kieran. “I could do with some underwear.”

Kieran emerged from the kitchen, laughing. “Unfortunately not. Are the clothes comfortable?”

“Yep, they fit nicely. Nice to know I am not exposing myself at every odd angle.”

“Yeah, shame, that.” Kieran smiled.

“Enough of that. Now, what will we do about sleeping arrangements? You said the larder is cramped?”

“That was a lie, I was hoping you would stay here so I could catch an eyeful – just kidding. The last joke, I promise. No, the larder isn’t that small. To be honest I just didn’t want you out of my sight. I might have a girl in there, you see—”

Heather shot him a tense look.

“Joke. Can you imagine a bald chick? Yuck! I apologise now if you have a friend who has cancer or something – that was inappropriate. There is plenty of room. We don’t have to snuggle down together if you don’t want to. There is enough room for both of us to spread out.”

Heather smiled. “Are you nervous about spending the night in a room with
moi
? You don’t need to be, I mean look at me. Besides, you shouldn’t be getting ideas. I already told you, this isn’t the time or the place for getting romantic ideas. We're two people in the wrong place at the wrong time, got it?”

“Yes, boss. I’ll show you the larder. This way.”

Kieran walked over to the hidden door and stepped through. Heather followed. Despite being tired, she didn’t anticipate getting any sleep tonight.

***

The man seated at a desk observing everything couldn’t have scripted it better himself. The two subjects in his game had met. The only thing missing was the love story that might transpire. He didn’t expect this to happen, for it was clear that his female subject was not interested in a sexual relationship, which disappointed him a little. He imagined losing viewer points for that.
But never fear,
he consoled himself,
in this environment under duress and stress anything can break someone’s resolve.

He sipped his merlot and smiled.

He tapped a few keys and the inside of the larder appeared on his screen. From his view the room was a bit askew. His subjects were negotiating their place on the floor. The male subject had made a makeshift bed out of flour sacks and some blankets. He was indicating that the female could have the bed, and he was sitting on the floor next to a shelving unit to prove his point. Out of camera shot, the observer imagined him removing some blankets from the lower portion of the shelf and making up a second bed on the floor. The female subject climbed onto the makeshift bed, pulled her knees up to her chest and got comfortable. The male subject lay down and gazed at the ceiling.

After a few moments, the woman rolled over and faced the wall.

The room was still. The male subject closed his eyes.

The man who was watching everything took out his Blackberry and typed a text message into it. Within seconds it was sent.

He smiled again.

“The time is approaching, Heather…”

NINETEEN

Rupert opened his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy, weighted. He blinked several times before he could keep them open. He took in his surroundings. The lounge drifted into focus. He recognised his leather armchair, his coffee table, his rug, his bookshelf.

He didn’t recognise the naked man standing in front of him.

Naked was the correct word in more than one sense. The guy wore nothing. No clothes. And he was hairless. He had no eyebrows, no chest hair and no pubic hair. His bald head shone brightly below the ceiling light, and his arms bulged, looking like condoms filled with walnuts. His erect penis was engorged. Rupert tried to avoid looking at it. On the dining table beside this intruder there was a duffel bag, and Rupert saw the handle of a baseball bat poking out of it. The bald man held a gleaming machete in one hand. He was shaking his arms, flexing the muscles. Veins bulged under his skin. His eyes were fixed on Rupert.

Sweat was running down Rupert’s forehead.

He needed to get away.

He then realised he couldn’t move his arms.

Rupert looked down in horror. His arms were tied behind one of his dining chairs, a chair he currently sat on. Rough rope, similar to the kind he had encountered on the bridge, bound his arms behind him. He tried moving his legs and realised they were bound too. For the first time he noticed he was wearing a pair of white briefs and nothing else. He knew he hadn’t been wearing these earlier. Had the naked man dressed him?

He was immobile on the chair, at the whim of a nude madman who had a bag full of weapons. A man sporting an erection. He felt a scream building up in his lungs. Rupert tried not to look the man in the eyes.

“I wouldn’t scream if I were you,” said the stranger in front of him. “Well, you can if you want, but no one will hear you. I just prefer a silent environment. Screaming will piss me off and trust me, you don’t want that.”

Rupert finally looked the man in the eyes, and had the feeling that there was no return from this. Having made eye contact with the strange man, he swallowed his scream, choosing to let his breath out slowly instead. He didn’t think he had any tears left in him today. But the situation could change.

“Why...Why are you here?”

The man stood silent. He continued to gaze at Rupert, not moving, not shifting. Eventually he walked across to the bag and placed the machete inside it. He turned back to face Rupert and smiled. The smile was grotesque. There were no white teeth in his mouth. His tongue looked as if it had been sliced in two, perhaps as an attempt at ‘intentional body art’. He licked his lips. The man’s tongue looked truly repulsive.

Rupert repeated his question. He expected no answer. “Why are you here?”

The man smirked. His tongue shot out, again, suggestive of a snake: of a viper circling its prey. “I’m here because I was asked by God. He has bestowed upon me a quest to end your pitiful life.”

Rupert gulped. The sweat running down his forehead was stinging his eyes.

“I’m yanking your chain,” the man continued. “God didn’t send me. That’s the problem with you religious types. You always expect God to come down and save your arse. Like he's going to bring the rapture and reveal himself for the sake of one person in seven billion. Well I’m sorry to ruin that illusion but God isn’t going to save you from anything that happens today. He’ll be lucky to be able to identify you at the pearly gates, if indeed you make it to heaven.”

“What’s going to happen here? You can’t just come into people’s homes and start hurting them. It’s illegal, you’re a criminal. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone saw you arrive and called the police.”

The man laughed. It was an evil laugh, in every way, tinged as it was with hatred and possibly years of torment and trauma. Rupert felt the goosebumps standing up on his arms and legs.

Suddenly the man was beside Rupert. He breezed across the room with no sound and held a small blade under Rupert’s chin. The smile had gone from his face. It was replaced by a sneer, his rotten discoloured teeth bared, the lips pulled back above his gums. His left hand held Rupert’s skull in a vice-like grip. The blade felt cool against Rupert’s sweat-covered skin. The Reverend’s field of vision only allowed him to see the man’s right eye, as he was so close. The eye appeared to be a pool of darkness, the pupil dilated.

“You think I’m a fucking moron?” the hairless man said. “You think I would drive over here with my dick swinging to and fro for all to see, and then walk into a house with a bag of fuckin’ weapons? You think I blasted a fuckin’ air horn the whole time? You think I stood around outside naked and waiting? Well, you would be right.”

Rupert nodded slowly. He was aware of the blade’s proximity to his jugular vein. More sweat was dripping off him now. He swallowed, unsure whether speaking was a good idea.

“You have time to get away. It’s not too late. I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can just leave and escape. No one needs to know.” Rupert stammered.

“That won’t be necessary. You see, the reason I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if anyone saw me or not is this: you aren’t at home. Well, theoretically you are. But this isn’t your actual home, it’s a carbon copy. You don’t have neighbours here. There are no police. You don’t have shit. You have a fake house, and me. I guess you drew the short straw.”

The man released his grip on Rupert and turned away. Rupert coughed, inadvertently catching a glimpse of the man’s jiggling buttocks as he walked back to his duffel bag. The intruder picked up the baseball bat, practiced a few vicious swings with it, and then placed it back in the bag. Rupert thought it looked like some sadistic pantomime.

“What do you mean, this isn’t my house? I know my house when I see it.”

“So you didn’t think that the tunnel outside was the big giveaway that this isn’t your fucking house? Come on! You don’t live beside an abyss of spikes, you live in Pentonfield Avenue in Surrey. You live alone. It’s pathetic.”

Rupert realised his mouth was open in awe. How did this man know all this information about him? How could he possibly know that? He had never seen this man before in his life, yet here he was, spilling secrets about Rupert that only he and a few close friends knew.

“How in God’s name do you know that about me?”

The man laughed again. “Trust me, I know a lot about you, Rupert Shaw. I know you avoid your mother’s phone calls. I know you cry yourself to sleep some nights. I know you worked for a corrupt clergyman. I know you jack off over old Playboy magazines. I'm sure that’s a sin by the way. Want me to go on?”

“How?”

“Let’s just say we have a mutual acquaintance who has a lot of spare time and a lot of money. And after this, I'll have loads of money too.”

The man dug into the duffel bag and produced a bowling bag. It was made of red leather and was big enough to hold an XL bowling ball. He placed it on the floor beside him. Seconds later he pulled out a hammer and a screwdriver. Taking infinite care, he placed them on the table. Rupert realised that this man took pride in his art, whatever his art was. Rupert looked on in morbid fascination and fear. The man completed assembling his array of tools by finding a blowtorch. He lit up the flame and then turned it off, placing it on the table. Then he turned to Rupert.

The immobile victim looked back at him, a wave of fear washing over him, making him nauseous. Imprisoned as he was, he couldn’t move, but doubted if he’d have been able to even if he wasn’t tied up. In fact, Rupert was afraid that he’d have slid off the chair if he hadn’t been held there by ropes. For the first time, he was grateful for the restraining bonds. They enabled him to remain upright and conscious - to plan an attack.

“Who hired you? I will double whatever he paid you!”

The man turned to him and laughed. “I doubt it. I'm getting a hundred grand to put your sorry arse in the ground. You got that kind of cash? An ex-Reverend like you? I don’t fucking think so. Even if you are rich enough to pay me, I'm a man of my word. I've been paid. I'll do the job. Simple as that. Now, stop talking. I have to prepare.”

Rupert tested the ropes on his wrists. Out of sight behind him, it was tricky to gauge their situation, the knots, the position. They were tight, had no flexibility, no give. He couldn’t get out of this. He was trapped. Closing his eyes, Rupert knew he didn’t have a choice. He would have to concentrate like never before. It had been a few years since he had done what he was about to do, but being in this situation left him no choice. He lowered his chin.

For the first time in two years, ex-Reverend Rupert Shaw had to do something he never thought he would again.

He prayed.

***

The man had business to attend to. His wager and his erection would have to wait. He’d left his ‘Choice’ in the capable hands of the best sadist that money could buy. He remembered reading the brochure about the guy. It said he kept himself alarmingly calm in the face of his adversary.

There was also something about him coming back from some war, having seen all the guys in his unit mutilated. He'd single-handedly killed the enemy. The experience had altered him irrevocably. The best torture and killing skills known to man were something this guy practised for fun. A killer, trained by the government. Not a bad investment by any means.

This character was willing to do anything for the right price. You paid a set fee and then additional for extra benefits. The basic fee was fifty grand. Then twenty grand for a bag of weapons. Ten grand for having him do the business in the nude. Then the final twenty grand for a nice cherry on the cake. He couldn’t wait to see that part. But first, the work had to be taken care of.

A man writhed on the floor before him. He knew him as Alpha. This man had lived in excess his whole life.

He had an excellent manicure. Past tense, in fact, for he no longer had his little finger. The small stump that had been this appendage now sat halfway across the room. Alpha’s hair had been pristine. Not anymore. It had been ripped out in clumps mere moments beforehand. The guy wore a dark suit. A decent suit, expensive. The observer was a bit of a connoisseur of suits and he estimated it had cost Alpha at least ten grand. A lot of money.

It mattered for naught now. Alpha’s face was a crimson mess. His nose was broken, his lip split and his eye swollen shut. The suit was spattered with viscera and blood. A stream of gore still oozed from his broken nose. Alpha’s torturer looked him in the eyes.

“My name is Charlie. No, that isn’t my real name,” he muttered. “I've been tasked with punishing you. It's been agreed by both Delta and Bravo that I was the right man for the job. Think yourself lucky this was not a team effort.”

Charlie took a breath and let it out. He picked up a sledgehammer and placed it against the wall beside him. Alpha shuffled uncomfortably on the ground.

“You made a mistake by calling your Extraction Team. You know they don’t work for anyone but The Company. The second you called them, we had the call recorded and downloaded. Hell, we translated it into seven languages before you even hung up your fucking phone. The Extraction Team did the right thing by bringing you here. The Company pays their wages. You think they would have turned their backs on The Company? They wouldn’t have lasted two days. They aren’t that fucking stupid. Unlike you.”

Alpha said nothing. A resigned look crept over his face.

“You tried to run. You know that is beyond the rules of The Game. You have to play and win, and if you lose, you get punished. Shame really, they probably would have roughed you up a bit. Maybe raped your wife and left her breathing. Or taken several of your cars. Or your trust fund. But no, you ran. So unfortunately, you get the worst punishment. Your fault though, you picked a fucking Chink. Of all the Choices on offer, you picked a guy who can’t even say ‘egg fried rice’ properly. He was your plan in this night of wonders? We get to be part of a game of gods and you don’t even pick a strong candidate. And a fucking Parker Pen? Are you kidding me?”

Charlie turned back to his monitor. After a few seconds, he tapped his keyboard. The screen changed. He then turned back.

“What have you got to say for yourself?”

The man on the floor just breathed. Pink snot spooled from his blood-congealing nostrils. He didn’t fight. He couldn’t get up. His knees were shattered: they had met the business end of the sledgehammer. It was the first thing Charlie had done to him after shaking his hand. Just moving sent pain coursing through his veins .

“Fuck you. I will fucking kill you. Do you know who I am?” The injured man spat at his torturer. The sputum hit his lapel before running down the suit and hitting his shoe. There had been a tooth in the liquid. It rolled off Charlie’s shoe onto the ground.

Charlie smiled. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sputum from his lapel. He then tossed it at the man lying on the floor. “No, I don’t know who you are! You're insignificant. The shit on my shoes has more relevance in this world than you do…If I wasn’t so fucking busy, I would take my time with you. I would fucking enjoy it too…but rules is rules. They are there to be obeyed. And I fucking hate cheaters. Anyway, I have more important things to do.”

Charlie rubbed his hands together and leant in close. The coppery smell of blood assaulted his nostrils. He smiled at Alpha. Alpha looked a mess, but underneath that, he could tell that Alpha was scared. Fearing for his life. He had the ultimate power: that of taking someone’s life.