Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Piecemeal Terror - Pt 4

This is a special post. Please read the images. 

“I mentioned to Detective Argent that the picture had been damaged.”
“In what way?”
“I said, ‘The eye of the wife is gouged out. Here look,’”
Dwyer handed the wedding photograph to Bordeaux as she had done before. It was all coming back. The strange noise upstairs. The scraping of heels on a wooden floor. The throbbing of adrenaline in her ears as the sound had come closer. The terrifying silence that had come after she had rounded that corner.
Her body froze, waiting for it to happen again.

“Francine be reasonable!”
“No! No! No! That’s what happened last time! We split up! And he went missing and now he’s…” Dwyer could no longer hold back the searing tears as panic overwhelmed her. There was something here. It had taken Simon. It had ripped out his eye and thrown his insides across the ground like a savage and it, was, still, here. And Bordeaux wanted to split up?
Her vision swam, her head pounded. Dwyer’s blood was frantically pumping through her heart, quickly tightening her chest, the air in her lungs expelling in heavy gasps. Why had they brought her back here?! She couldn’t do it.
God, Simon, I just can’t do it!
Dwyer felt Harley grip her shoulders tightly, holding her still for a time. Ever so slowly, Dwyer’s vision returned enough to spy Bordeaux over and passed her, eyes narrowing.
“Hey! Hey, look at me! Don’t look at crazy over there look at me,” Harley shook Dwyer, catching her attention. “Would you feel better going with me? We’ll stick to the ground floor. I’ll be right next to you yeah? Hell we can even hold hands if that makes you feel better,”
Dwyer nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes, silently, desperately, taking deep breathes.
“Right then,”

“Where the fuck are you you tramp?!” Bordeaux yelled. Despite her tone, Bordeaux stood very still, watching the upstairs balcony with an icy stare.
“You know I fucking saw you! Come out here and fucking face me you murderous piece of shit!”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Dwyer hissed, grabbing at the Detective’s arm. The last thing Dwyer wanted was to provoke whatever was about, yet Bordeaux was content to do just that!
She threw Dwyer off, stalking towards her, face contorted in fury. Harley collected Dwyer as she stumbled backwards, eyes wide, mouth agape, “Don’t interrupt me Officer Dwyer,” She hissed, “Don’t you ever interrupt me. I happen to know what this bitch is doing and I do not appreciate it. So if you don’t mind, let me handle it!”

In that moment, she was not sure who she was more terrified of. Bordeaux, or very thing she was provoking.

“There’s been another fatal attack near the crime scene of a recent murder. The incident occurred on the road leading to the Wayne’s residence, where Mr John Wayne brutally murder his wife and two children before being taken into custody. The man found was Detective Simon Argent.”
"What...?" Dwyer’s face paled, her world suspended about her as the reporter’s words sliced her apart.
“Reports said that the detective had been heard repeating numbers over and over again before he finally died, alone in hospital. There were no relatives or friends by his side in his final moments as he slowly died in agony,”
“We’re leaving,” Harley said, grabbing both Dwyer and Bordeaux by the arm.
“Don’t go away now. I know you’re listening,”
The three of them abruptly stopped.
For the briefest of moments the only sound about the room was that of radio static.
Finally, His cut through, crisp, clean and dangerous, “Good evening Bordeaux.”
“Hello there,” Bordeaux greeted the radio, calculating and cold, “I was wondering when you would show up,”
“You’ve made me very angry,” the radio retorted, it’s deep, indistinct voice almost lost amongst the static.
“Good. That was my plan.”
“You made her very angry too,”
And there it was. That sound again. That sound of her heel dragging itself towards them. Dwyer was quaking. She could feel Harley’s fingers tighten, painfully, about her wrist, that sound filling the hall, coming closer and closer. 
Bordeaux was nonplussed, “Oh really?"

“Turn around. Do it. Turn around otherwise she’ll get you. Do it! Turn around!”

“Stay where you are. Whatever you do…”


“Close your eyes,”

“Don’t you look.”