The Prometheus Effect (2 page)

“
What is your name?”

The suited man's request was an odd one. Jimmy immediately tensed up, there was only one reason for this sinister question and that was some kind of subsequent complaint. A black cab licence was not easy to come by, the knowledge required to effectively drive the streets of London was a skill acquired over many years. Dutifully, the reticent driver answered.

“
James Stock. What's yours?” Jimmy answered with caution and a hint of sarcasm.

“
Why do you need to know?” He continued, curious as to why he was being interrogated.

“
No reason. Pull over here. I will walk the rest of the way.”

It was an unexpected reply but Jimmy had tired of this well-to-do character anyway.
Good riddance
he thought as he dived over to the kerb.

“
Eight pound.” Jimmy called out in a classic cockney twang and turned back to see the suited man filing through his wallet which was bulging with large brown notes.

“
I don't have the change, keep the rest.”

The suited man whipped out a large brown fifty pound note and stuffed it into his drivers grateful palm. Jimmy did not even have chance to say thank you for the generous donation as the suited man had already slammed the door and had shuffled off down the Embankment. Staring in amazement at his good fortune, he ran his fingers over the large fragrant note which wreaked of expensive cologne.

“
Oh yes! Take-away tonight!” He muttered to himself in glee. In the excitement, he had almost forgotten his apprehension of the previous moments. It did not linger in the drivers mind why his passenger had asked for his name, surely he must have been satisfied to have left such an extraordinary tip?

As he pulled out into the traffic once more, a few spots of rain fell upon his windscreen followed by a more formidable deluge which caused Jimmy to engage his wipers on full speed.

“
Ha! Bet you wish you hadn’t of gotten out and walked now eh? You stuck up twat? Jimmy bellowed with a broad smile as he passed his passenger who was pacing along using a sodden broad sheeted newspaper as an umbrella.

Jimmy Stock's day was generally a long one. Stretching regulations to the limit, he worked all the hours he could. James Stock was a solitary man. He was not married although he had been a number of years ago. It was an unsuccessful relationship; his wife's personality had changed greatly in the seven years that they were together. A formerly devoted and loving partner ended their marriage with an affair with a close friend. It was a bitter episode that disenchanted Jimmy to the point that he never pursued another relationship.

Jimmy Stock was forty two, he was a popular face amongst his fellow cabby's who knew him as a talkative and kind hearted individual but not the brightest spark. Jimmy's colleagues knew that they could share a joke with him and sometimes about him without fear of reprisal. If asked about 'Stocky', they would no doubt mention his deep passion for West Ham United football club, classic racing cars and his penchant for a cooked full English breakfast. They would also describe him as a short man with a paunch, a mouthful of yellowed teeth with some missing and a mop of grey brown hair which often looked unruly, particularly early in the morning as if it had not been tended to since he had arose from his bed.

There was nothing extraordinary about Jimmy Stock. Try to find him in a Google search or on a social networking site and you would be hard pressed to find a trace of him. He had no desire to be anything greater than he was, he was not a failed novelist, a wannabe pop star or a rejected soccer youth, he was one of the few who were satisfied with who they had become and did not pander for anything more. The only thing that concerned Jimmy at the end of the day would be what time the betting shop closed, and what was on the television that evening.

At the end of the day, Jimmy had stopped by the 'Tasty House' Chinese fast food shop on the way home. His usual order of Sweet and Sour Hong Kong style was inevitable. The proprietors knew him by name and always gave him a free bag of prawn crackers. Jimmy lived on fast food, his kitchen at home was almost surplus to requirements. Mugs of tea and coffee were usually the only products of the dilapidated kitchen in the Victorian style terraced house, deep in the suburbs of Ealing.

The house was large and mostly unused, a smaller flat or bedsit would have served Jimmy's requirements but it was a left over from his earlier married years. Many of his wife’s possessions still remained, forgotten in the hurried escape, dusty and undisturbed.

Jimmy sat down in front of the television in a large, old brown leather chair. The chair sat directly in front of the screen barely three feet away. It was surrounded with empty drinks cartons, mouldy mugs and sweet papers. Remote control in one hand and a fork in the other, Jimmy surfed the channels offered by the satellite stream in the hope of some light entertainment to accompany his mound of orange, iridescent food.

The brown, floral and threadbare carpet bore the brunt of drinks carelessly spilt over the years or food which had slid from the plate as tiredness set in. Jimmy could barely keep his eyes open as the chipped porcelain plate slowly made its way from his tired grasp, down to his knees before finally plummeting to the floor. Jimmy was too tired to notice as the toll of driving in heavy rain drained him of his consciousness. It was rare that Jimmy ever made it up the steep stairs to his cold and stark bedroom. The brown leather chair seemed to offer the same levels of comfort.

CHAPTER TWO

A significant amount of time had elapsed before Jimmy realised that he was conscious. An oppressive nausea emanated from his midriff, there was a foul taste of bile in his mouth and an aching from the nape of his neck. It signified that this was more than just a dream. A swirling darkness enveloped him, he was not sure if his eyes were open or if they were tightly shut, so tight in fact that his optic nerves were being stimulated as to create perplexing and kaleidoscopic patterns in his mind.

Jimmy was aware that he
was
aware, but barely. Like leaving a vivid dream, he could not tell with any certainty that he was fully conscious. He moaned with discomfort, he could feel his body attempt to writhe around but there was something restraining him, something inexorable but physically soft. The darkness ensued as Jimmy became aware of more physical pain, this time from his testes which throbbed furiously causing his lower belly to ache as if someone were trying to blow up a balloon inside it. It was a pain that could not be eased with movement, he struggled to turn upon his side and curl his body into the foetal position but something held him down and prone. Jimmy called out yet he could not hear his own voice. What was this that dulled his senses one minute then fired them off in the most excruciating way the next?

There was some light ahead, finally an answer to this riddle. The ambience of his surroundings appeared in a blurred vision. He could see only in shadows in the beginning, he craned his neck to look down the length of his dark silhouetted body and then, as the effort of his actions took their toll and increased his pains, he rested his head back down on the hard surface. There were four distinct lights directly above him. He could clearly see their pattern and their luminescence, yet they seem to shed no light upon his dark form.

The pain from his testes increased, this time to the point of absolute torture. Jimmy wriggled with all his might to be free of his bonds but any struggle was met with yet more agony. The suffering was intolerable. Never before had he been subjected to such pain. He had formerly suffered a compound fracture to his lower leg in a bicycle crash as a child; it did not compare to his current agony. He screamed with all his power for some aid to halt the onslaught but again, his cries were silent.

The pain eventually began to subside and he could feel the rivers of tears flow down the side of his face and into his ears. Jimmy suddenly felt a profound tiredness, one only comparable to the effect of intra-venous anaesthesia and seconds later, a blissful numbing sensation coursed through his veins and oblivion was near.

Jimmy was awake again. His body trembled uncontrollably. This time, the light was blinding, so much that even with his eyes tightly closed, it pained him. He could see only the rich redness of blood through his translucent eyelids as he felt something creeping up his inner thigh, irritating and fear inducing. Like a giant metallic spider stalking its prey, its needle like legs stabbed and scratched the soft smooth flesh of his leg and Jimmy suddenly felt a terrifying panic as he realised that his groin was the next to be examined by this horrifying device.

With blind panic, Jimmy bravely opened his eyes to the searing intensity of the light and stretched his neck to see what was about to attack his most sensitive area. He did not have time to see what it was that took hold of his glands before a needle sharp agony erupted deep into the gristly depth of his manhood. Jimmy once again cried out but with little success. Blood flowed from his mouth, he had bitten his tongue in the savage invasion. It was then and only then that the intensity of the light seemed to fade and for the first time, the prisoner could begin to see his torturers in their corporeal form.

Jimmy could make out three dark, human-like figures silhouetted against the bright walls of a small, square room. Like a crude animation, details were scant and although he could see blurred outlines through his watery eyes, he could not identify the individuals in terms of their sex, ethnicity or age. They were just shapes, distorted and warped.

Jimmy's head was spinning and focussing on any one point was frustratingly difficult. During this brief hiatus in the seemingly mysterious and motiveless torture, Jimmy tried hard to collect himself and regain his senses. Calling out once more seemed fruitless, his cries went ignored but at least he could now hear the muffled tonality of his own voice. There was a smell, an overpowering muskiness, fragrant in its design more than pungent. It increased in intensity as the nearest of the figures neared. Jimmy blinked hard and fast in an attempt to wash the salty tears from his eyes, his arms still held in place by some unknown force. His heart racing as the approaching figure signified the onset of more excruciating pain, there was a terrifying and clarifying moment when the true nature of his captors was revealed and when it was, even the most stout hearted of men would have broken down into a desperate confusion.

Two large ovular and hollow black eyes scanned Jimmy's naked and feeble form, a large bulbous and pulsating cranium hosted the vacuous orbits in which the shallow and soulless eyes sat. The figures skin was pallid and pitted, grey and hairless and with every passing second, Jimmy realised that he knew what these creatures were and a cold shiver ran through his spine. At first he considered that it was some kind of illusion, a practical joke, but there is no illusion that can replicate pain. Even the most torrid of nightmares could not conjure the intolerable level of agony he had just experienced. Jimmy's mouth fell open and his eyes widened as the silent being hovered over him, looking him up and down. The creature raised its spindly hand to Jimmy's face which was etched with horror, and proceeded to pull it back and forth, side to side as if examining every minute detail. Its fingers were cold and lifeless, yet their touch felt as if they were scorching the skin upon Jimmy's face and he once again let out a prolonged scream. This was no longer a cry for aid nor for the hope of communication, it was a release of sheer terror. As Jimmy made raw his throat with a gargled roar, it served only to entice closer scrutiny from his grey, alien-like captor.

Jimmy was aware that this scene had been revealed before. He had heard the fantastic accounts of individuals who had claimed abduction, he had scoffed at the veracity with which they claimed their story true, he had reeled at their testimonies and their accounts of torture and sexual molestation. Now it appeared very real and despite remaining in a semi conscious state and his senses either dulled or stimulated to their fullest extent, Jimmy could only hypothesise that it was all true. There was no other explanation. This kind of experience could only confirm that alien beings were not a fallacy, they were as real as the shocking spikes of pain which coursed through his convulsing form.

There was another brief period of respite from the pain. Jimmy watched the 'Greys' as they moved silently about each other, never a word spoken nor any hint of communication offered. Jimmy's visual acuity was still poor but with forethought despite the terror of his experience, he began to mentally note things in order to recount at a later time if ever he were to escape this hellish event. Again he tried to speak. He attempted to communicate with his captors. He could not have remembered what he said, his brain overloaded with stimuli had malfunctioned and any utterances were pure gibberish.

As the minutes seemed to pass, Jimmy wondered what was next. His mind raced, he struggled to recall other accounts of abduction and winced as he remembered one such story where the aliens pierced their hostages eyes with long needle like proboscis.
No, not the eyes!
He thought. Anything seemed possible in this nightmare reality. He longed to plead for some kind of mercy but he did not know how to. He longed to escape the invisible bonds that so capably held his limbs in place but did not know where to begin. As the darkness once again fell and the profound aching of his body faded, Jimmy conjured one last thought of utter relief as it appeared that sleep was on its way. He did not care how long it would consume his mind, at that point, he did not care if it was eternal.