Chapter 9 – Death in stages

The nameless man stood in the kitchen; it was the only room he had not yet explored. The house had yielded nothing that would have been of any use for the purposes that he had been instructed. He felt no urgency to his task despite the biting cold of the draft from the doorway.

In the front room, Jackson held Angelina close and felt the warmth of holding her and wished only that these moments would go on forever or somehow come to involve a bedroom.

Angelina looked out at the room and wondered what she was doing. The wind was whistling in the old fireplace and it made the room feel all the colder. It had seemed such a grand idea just a few hours ago; and now instead of breaking into the local lab complex to look for a story she could sell to newspapers - she was laying in a damp room of an empty house being held by an almost complete stranger.

Jackson was sweet, she had decided, but he smoked too much.

Angelina was cold despite the warm coats she had round her and she was now starting to feel rather uncomfortable.

The nameless man had completed his fruitless search of the kitchen. He looked up and out into the dark yard.

There was wood in the shed where he had slept.

The memories flooded his mind and, for a moment, he was paralysed with the rush of fear and cold and weeping.

“Do whatever you must. Feel no pain. Complete the task,” said a voice from his past.

The nameless man straightened up and opened the kitchen door. He matched out to the shed and pulled open the door. Wood was pilled up on each side of the door and in the valley between were his blankets and used cigarette cartons.

He folded carefully the blankets as if they were delicate and then placed seven large logs and seven handfuls of scrap wood chippings and the old cartons onto the blanket. Then he picked up the bundle and staggered into the house.

As he came into the front room, he said: “Found wood, found blankets.”

“Great we can have a fire.” Said Jackson sitting up slightly and handing a cigarette to Angelina

“There is a chance that the flu will be blocked,” said the nameless man.

“It’ll be fine.” Said Jackson, “it’s just one fire.”

“Lighter, please,” said Angelina.

Jackson handed her the lighter.

The nameless man poured the wood chippings and scrap peaces into the fireplace. Part of him noticed how clean the fireplace was. Another part of him remembered cleaning a fireplace very much like this one. He ran his fingers along the hearth and looked at them. There was very little soot there. He placed three larger logs onto the kindling and then ripped up the cartons and pushed them into the gaps.

He reached for his lighter and found none.

“Lighter.” He said.

Angelina sat up and handed the nameless man the lighter. She through both coats over Jackson, stood up and stretched.

Jackson sat up. He was stiff and he ached. The moment was over. He knew it. He would have to work up another or she might yet slip away from him. Nothing was certain yet, girls have a way of hugging you that gives you ideas but gradually removes all hope, he thought.

A slight flicker of flames was growing in the hearth. Jackson was aware enough to know that if it did not light then there would be no fire. He hoped. It was all he had left.

“You’re a jerk, dent.” Said his memories.

Jackson pulled at his cigarette. “You think it’ll light?” He asked.

“We’ve got a lighter.” Said Angelina.

“The little stuff still has to burn hot enough to get the big bit’s going.” Said Jackson.

“Oh,” said Angelina a little disappointed. She felt foolish and small. What was she doing out her so late with strange men who break into old houses and light fires?

There was a loud crackle from the fireplace. The wind continued to make noises in the fireplace.

I am a journalist now, Angelina told herself, and I need to follow the story.

“What do you want to steal and why?” she asked.

The nameless man looked up at her. He looked to her like she thought a deer caught in headlights might look. He said nothing. His mind was racing and he stared at her and continued to say nothing.

“Tell her then.” Said Jackson.

“Wood is in shed,” he said, “I will be back soon.”

“Take me with you.” Said Angelina.

“Little man, you most do this alone. You must get what I send you to get.” Said the memories of the nameless man, “then you will tell me everything you saw.” They continued.

“No.” said the nameless man. “I will go alone and then I will tell you everything I saw.”

“Ok,” said Angelina meekly. She felt small and afraid but she wanted to finish her story and if possible have a normal dinner date with the man who had been so gallant and lent her his coat and kept her warm after she had been so rude to him.

The nameless mans memories shouted at him: “Go to the place I will tell you about, take what I have told you too. If you cannot get it, take whatever is of value, whatever you can find. You are, after all, a pathetic worm.”

He straightened himself and marched from the room.

“So,” said Jackson, “just the two of us.”

The nameless man felt the shock of cold as the wind hit him. For a moment, he thought about his coat but the memory just slipped away and he matched, unthinking into the darkness.

Anabellus approached the long road. He shook with rage at what he had been told.

If they have destroyed my bride then I shall kill them all, he swore.

A convertible shot past him. Who would be driving up to the labs at this hour, wondered Anabellus.

Paul kept his foot hard on the accelerator most of the way along the road. He only eased off when he saw that his turning would be soon. He shot passed it and had to reverse before tuning into the car park.

“Silly, silly.” He told himself. “But you’ve only had a few drinks… you slipped away ok.” He drove too fast into the car park and bounced the car from the lamppost.

“Damn idiot driver, I had right of way” he screamed pressing his horn.

He left the car with the top down in front of the steps and ran to the building to let himself in. He left the door open and staggered a little as he made his way to his office.

The nameless man stepped from the bushes. He had almost been seen and he was sure the other guy was drunk. This, for some reason, seemed a good thing.

The nameless man looked into the car. There was a sports bag on the back seat. The nameless man picked it up and opened it. Inside were various items of sports-ware and three large bottles of vodka. The nameless man closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Then he too went up the steps and into the lab building.

He found himself in a large badly lit reception hall. Three elevators were at the end of the hall. One was currently being used. He chose the one to its right.

It was warm and private in the elevator and the nameless man felt safe. Memories tried to invade into his reality but they slipped away whenever he tried to focus on them.

The lift doors opened and it seemed that a shadow rushed past the door.

The nameless man stepped out into the well-illuminated corridor. An understanding deep within him that he was thirsty welled up and directed the nameless man toward the kitchen he had seen last time he was here.

Inside was dark but it held cups and free flowing clean water. The nameless man drank his fill. This water was like treasure and such was his relief at being able to drink that the cups could have been gold; he put four in his bag. After failing to find anything to carry water with, he left the kitchen.

He did not look back at the mess he had made.

Paul stood at his desk swaying slightly. The world was moving just a little too fast. He needed a drink, but they were in the car. He pulled open a draw in his desk. Nothing. He dropped it to the floor and opened another. Bingo - a bottle of fine single malt.

Paul took a swig and folded to the floor.

The nameless man heard a crash and moved to investigate.

There was a body on the floor. Who-ever he was he would have the valuable things, thought the nameless man. On the desk was a pile of folders. Perhaps they were important. The nameless man began to load his bag with the folders. Before long, he simply could not shove any more into his bag. That will have to do then, he thought and pushed a folder into his shirt.

There was a sound in the corridor that seemed to come from the lifts.

The nameless man picked up the bag and sagging under its weight he went to investigate.

Anabellus stood and faced the strange, mindless man. He looked into his eyes and saw nothing.

“Who are?” he asked in his best growl.

“I can not remember. It is forbidden.” Said the nameless man without fear.

In a flash Anabellus had the man by his throat. He pushed him against the wall and lifted him up.

“Name!” Anabellus demanded.

“…above all else you must survive. Do the minimum necessary to stay alive, so that you can report back.” His memories told him.

“Name! Tell me or die.” Growled Anabellus.

The nameless man’s memory fogged for a moment. “I am Luke.” He said.

“What role do you have here, Luke?” asked Anabellus.

Luke’s head swam the fiend was choking him slowly. He gasped simply: “none.”

Fools, he was surrounded by fools and worthless foot soldiers. Anabellus howled with rage and threw Luke against the far hall wall. He howled again and thumped the wall as he advanced on the crumpled man.

Anabellus’ fist had struck the fire alarm, however and the building was filled with the ringing of bells.

Anabellus picked up the man and bit him.

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