The Mutilation Machination (2 page)

“Well, that's it. We need to tell someone.” He racked his brain,
trying to think. Then he recalled reading an interview with the man who
discovered the algae. Perhaps he could help?

Morgan switched on his computer and performed a trace for Sheridan.
He wasn’t hard to find.

“Come on, we’re going on a trip,” Morgan said.

Morgan parked outside the large wrought iron gates and pressed a
button on the intercom affixed to a post at the entrance.

“Yes,” a voice replied after a minute.

"Mr Sheridan, please, I need to speak to you."

"About what?"

"It's about the escorts. There's a problem with them."

"Well what are you telling me for? Tell the company that makes
them."

"But sir, one of them is pregnant."

"Look, I don't like being woken up with stupid pranks. Now if
you don’t piss off I’m going to call security."

Morgan wanted to argue further, but he knew it would be pointless.
"The arrogant sod wouldn't even listen to me," he mumbled before
lighting a cigarette. “Pompous git." He blew a cloud of smoke from between
pursed lips and glanced in the rear view mirror. "Right you two, follow
me."

Sheridan jerked awake. His body felt sluggish, and when he
tried to stretch, he found he couldn't move. He turned his head, stunned to see
an escort lying beside him. Turning to the other side, he saw another escort on
his other side, this one a man. Both of them were coupled up to the socket in
the wall.

He raised his head and stared in shock at the blanket of taut
flesh stretched across him like a sheet.

"I’m sorry about this, but I need to speak to you."

Sheridan traced the speaker who was seated in a chair across
the room.

"What the hell do you want?" Sheridan barked.

"I thought you might like to see the problem for yourself.
That’s Michelle. The other one’s Karl."

Sheridan's temples pounded like taut drum skins. "What are
you blithering about? Let me go immediately."

"Like I tried to tell you earlier, there's a problem.
Michelle's pregnant. It has something to do with the semen that's spilt onto
the algae."

Sheridan gritted his teeth. This was ridiculous. They
couldn't hold him against his will. And how had the escorts managed to spread
their skin across him like that? And what was the idiot going on about? Escorts
couldn't get pregnant.

The man opposite settled back in his chair and clasped his hands
below his chin. "I know you don't believe me, but we won't have to wait
very long now. Michelle's already informed me that the birth’s imminent."

"Just let me go. I'll have you arrested for this you blasted
fool."

"Michelle, code C, release vaginal tube."

At Morgan's command, Michelle parted her legs and the tube slid
out onto the bed, followed by a blanket of green algae that undulated and
twitched. After a moment, the algae started to move. It slid up Sheridan's
leg and along his chest until it reached his chin.

Sheridan screamed. What the hell was going on? Was it a
nightmare?

The algae felt cold and slimy against his skin, and before he
could react, it slithered up his nostrils and into his mouth and down his
throat.

Morgan watched speechless from the chair. He had not expected that
to happen. Now he was in trouble.

As he watched Sheridan gag, he noticed the man's eyes
turn from brown to jade.

He jumped up and ran across the room. "Michelle, Karl,
separate goddamn it. Quick."

The escorts retracted their skin back onto themselves and then
moved aside.

Before Morgan reached him, Sheridan swung his legs off
the bed and stood up.

Morgan stopped and stared. He noticed a slight green tinge to Sheridan's
flesh – the man didn't look very well. He didn't look very well at all.

"Oh my god, Mr Sheridan I'm so sorry. I never expected
that."

Sheridan didn't seem to hear him. He wandered around the
room, coating whatever he touched with a dull green residue like a grotesque
Midas touch.

Morgan backed away. Talk about being green fingered. He remembered
something Michelle had said, something about the algae wanting to spread. And
then Sheridan touched him.

Sweet Music

“So what’s wrong this time? I can soon find someone to replace
you.” Dan Summer leaned across the desk, arms folded across the top.

Christian Vane looked at his manager and scowled. “You’ll never
find anyone as good as me, and you know it.”

Dan snorted. “You think just because you’ve made a bit of money
that you can rest on your laurels. Well, I’m here to give you a wake up call,
sonny boy. People come and go in this business all the time. If you don’t
perform, what use are you?”

“No one can create compositions better than me, and you damn well
know it.”

Dan tilted back his head and stared at the ceiling. The cords in
his neck flexed as he clenched his jaw. A moment later, he lowered his gaze and
looked back at Vane. “You young people think you know everything. Well you’re
wrong. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be where you are now. You owe me,
Christian.” Spittle flew from his lips.

“I can’t perform to order. You 
know
 that, Dan. I
have to wait for the muse to inspire me.”

Dan pointed a slender finger at Christian. “Well she’d better be
fucking inspiring you now. There’s a few thousand people out there waiting to
see you perform live. Do you know how much they’ve paid? More important, do you
know how much we could lose?”

“I’m not in it for the money.” Christian’s focus fell upon the
pitch in Dan’s voice. He had never noticed the quality of it before.

“Well pardon me if I piss on your parade, but without the money,
how could you afford to live like you do? You could forget about the Ferrari,
the villa in Spain, the penthouse inNew York. So don’t tell me it’s not
about the fucking money, you arrogant sod. I want you to get off your arse, go
out there, and give them what they want. Now!”

Christian took a deep breath. “Shouting isn’t going to make the
muse appear.”

“Fuck the muse. I want you to go out there and perform. People
aren’t interested in whether you’ve been inspired by the muse or the bloody
Archbishop of Canterbury, but if you don’t perform, then that’s it. I’ve had it
with you artistic shits. You’re all so fucking vain.” His face flushed red,
bringing out a cobweb of veins across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
“You’re not even that good.”

Christian closed his eyes. He remembered how his teachers all said
he had an excellent ear for music, how he could identify perfect pitch. That’s
how he heard something beneath the gruffness in Dan’s voice, something musical.

But he really didn’t need this right now. How could he be expected
to get in the mood with someone shouting at him? He needed people around him
who encouraged, not badgered. Managers were two a penny. Virtuosos, now they
were rare. They had a talent. And that’s what he was. A goddamn virtuoso.

Christian jumped to his feet; Dan stumbled back in surprise.

“Well, I, ah ... I suppose the muse has arrived has she?” Dan
mumbled.

“Not yet, but she’s coming.” Christian smiled. “I can feel her.”

Dan shook his head. “Whatever. Now get out there and play before
we have a riot.”

A knock at the door interrupted them and a large, muscled young
man entered. He fidgeted from one foot to the other. “Mr Vane, there’s been a
problem.”

Dan threw his arms in the air and shook his head. “Give me bloody
strength. What now?”

The man bowed his head. “It’s the alto. He’s, erm, dead.”

“Jesus, Mary, mother of God,” Dan bellowed. “That’s all we need.”

Christian looked across at Dan and smiled. “It’s not a problem. I
know how keen you are for the show to go on. Well, it’s time to put your money
where your mouth is, or rather other people’s money.” He nodded to the man who
had entered the room. “If you would be so kind as to restrain Mr Summer.”

Dan backed away, hands held up to ward them off. “You can’t. Not
me,” he wailed.

Christian smiled. “Oh, I think I can. As you said, if you don’t
perform, what use are you.”

The curtain drew back, revealing a stage illuminated by red
spotlights. Bound figures sat in chairs or lay on raised podiums in the centre
of the stage. As Christian walked onto the stage, the crowd cheered and roared.

He bowed and smiled. The adulation always lifted him up, making
him feel ten feet tall. He approached the bound figures and looked them over.
If their appearance was any indication, some wouldn’t last the show.

Dan bucked and wrestled against the bindings that attached him to
one of the chairs. He stared wide eyed at Christian, sweat coated his face.

“You can’t do this to me.” he screamed. “What the fuck do you
think you’re doing?”

“I would have thought it’s obvious.”

Christian surveyed the array of sharp implements laid out on the
table beside Dan before selecting a long, spiked tube. He tested the sharpness
of the point against his thumb.

“You can’t be serious,” Dan said, swallowing.

“We were short an alto, and only a hack artist would perform
without an alto – and as I told you, I’m a virtuoso. Now it’s time to strike
the band. The audience is waiting, and I have a concert to perform.”

Using the implements at hand, Christian coerced a range of screams
from his captive orchestra. The excruciating pain inflicted upon them stretched
their vocal cords to the limit, creating sounds otherwise thought impossible –
sounds that combined to form sweet music.

His trained ear allowed him to know when the screams reached a
pleasing musical pitch, and he moderated his torture to sustain the note.

As the finale approached, he skewered Dan’s thighs with long
spikes, prodding and gouging to play his human instrument, counter pointing it
with a woman’s shrill tones as he sliced her bare thighs with a blood smeared
blade. His manager’s screams varied in pitch and volume until his voice reached
a perfect alto and then petered out.

“Looks like my muse arrived in the nick of time,” Christian
whispered in Dan’s ear before he slumped forwards, his wide eyes closing.

Applause filled the silence, and Christian Vane bowed triumphantly
before walking off stage to a standing ovation.

Not So Different

The blare of a horn startled Daniel Gerard from his slumber. He
opened his eyes, unsure where he was – then it all came back as quick as the
road along which he hurtled at the wheel of his Mitsubishi L200 truck. His
heart turned to a block of ice, pumping cold blood through his veins. The car
horn sounded dangerously close, and a quick glance in the rear view mirror
revealed a vehicle that flashed its lights to indicate an imminent collision.
Daniel grimaced. His truck had already strayed across the road, and he quickly
turned the wheel, steering back into the nearside lane.

Daniel let out a huge sigh; felt devoid of strength. Up ahead, a
sign indicated a rest area, and he signalled and pulled over.

That was just too damn close. He covered his mouth with his hand
and yawned, then lowered the window to let some fresh air in, but smelt only
pungent exhaust fumes.

According to the dashboard clock, it was seven o’clock. He
should have been home by now, but a problem at work and a traffic jam a few
miles back conspired against him. He glanced in the rear view mirror, saw blue
eyes ringed black and his curly hair looking more wayward than usual.

The passenger door suddenly opened and a cold draft of air filled
the vehicle, followed by the musty smell of an unwashed body.

“Good of you to stop,” a middle-aged man said as he threw a
rucksack into the back and clambered into the passenger seat. “I’ve been trying
to get a lift for hours.”

Daniel stared at the man, surprised. “I … erm.” He took a breath
to compose himself. “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve made a mistake. I stopped to
take a rest, not to pick you up.”

“Well, now that I’m in.” He shrugged and took a packet of
cigarettes from the breast pocket of his dirty green army jacket. “You don’t
mind if I smoke.” It sounded more like an order than a question.

“Yes, I bloody do. Now get out.”

The man turned and glared at Daniel, cigarette drooping from the
corner of his mouth. His pinched features gave the impression of a weasel, a
facet accentuated by his brown ponytail, and for the first time, Daniel felt a
moment of panic.

Despite Daniel’s request, the man lit the cigarette.

“Look, I said I didn’t want you smoking. Now get out of my car.”

“It’s not technically a car,” the man said.

“I won’t tell you again.”

“This is a truck – makes you feel like a right stud I bet.”

Realising the man wasn’t going to leave, Daniel leaned across and
opened the passenger door, his head almost in the man’s lap. Despite trying not
to breathe, the smell of body odour was powerful enough to taste.

“And how much do you charge for a blowjob?” the man asked as
Daniel sat back up.

“Just get out.” He turned to retrieve the man’s backpack, but the
man grabbed his arm and jabbed the cigarette on the inside of his wrist. The
glowing tip sizzled against his flesh and he let out a little scream and yanked
his hand away.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said as he rubbed the afflicted
area. The air smelled faintly of burned flesh and singed hair.

The man sucked on his cigarette, exhaled and said, “That’s my
property. You don’t touch it. Understand? Now drive.”

Daniel shook his head. “You’re crazy. Just get out of my truck.”

“I won’t tell you again, drive.”

“The hell I will. Now I’m asking – no, I’m telling you to get
out.”

The man flicked ash over the dashboard. He grinned laconically.
“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that, but if you want to keep them, I’d
suggest you drive.”

Daniel tried to swallow through his constricted throat. He turned
the ignition off and opened the driver’s door to step out. “Well, you can sit
there all day. I’m not driving anywhere.”

He swung his legs out, but the man grabbed his arm again. “I’ve
got a date with destiny, and I don’t want to be late.”

“You can’t order me around, now get your filthy hand off me and
get out.”

The man squeezed harder and Daniel flinched. He bit his lip
against the pain and reached across to prise the man’s fingers apart, but his
grip was too strong.

“If you don’t let go, then I’m going to punch you. Now let go.”

The man laughed; reached into a jacket pocket. “I warned you,” he
said.

Daniel watched as the man pulled out a short, sharp blade. He
gulped and his heart did a crazy little dance. This was unbelievable.

“Now just shut the door, start the truck and drive.”

Realising it would be foolish – perhaps even fatal – to say no,
Daniel did as he was asked. The man pulled his own door shut and Daniel turned
the ignition key, bringing the engine to life with a rumble.

“I’m supposed to be home already. My wife will be worried.” Daniel
despised the small tremor in his voice.

“Change of plan.”

Daniel heart pounded at his chest like a boxer’s fist. This was
crazy. He looked at the knife, turned the headlights on, indicated to pull out,
and eased onto the road.

The man put his feet on the dashboard. “So what’s your name?” he
asked.

“What the hell should I tell you for?”

“Because if we’re going to spend time together, I need to know
what to call you.”

Daniel frowned. “We aren’t spending time together. You tell me
where you’re going and I drop you off. And that’s it.”

The man waved the knife like a conductor. “Just tell me your
goddamn name.”

Daniel shivered. The man scared him more than he would like to
admit.

“Daniel. My name’s Daniel.”

The man nodded. “You can call me Soul. That’s not my real name,
but when someone knows your real name—” he turned and stared at Daniel with an
intensity he found unnerving, “—they have power over you.”

Daniel felt claustrophobic, could hardly breathe.

“So Daniel, tell me about your wife.”

Daniel shook his head. He had already given too much away by
telling him his name.

“That wasn’t a question. It was more of an order, you understand?”

Daniel tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Swallowed to wet
his throat. “There’s nothing to tell. We’ve been together eight years, married
for six of them.”

Soul nodded. “She got a sweet pussy? She like me to taste it?” He
grinned.

Bile rose in Daniel’s throat. Just the thought of this man looking
at his wife made his skin crawl.

“Look, just tell me where you want to go and I’ll drop you off.”

Soul cocked his head. “Now, now Daniel. Who’s in charge here?” He
waved the knife. “I ask the questions, and you answer. Okay. Now this wife,
what’s her name?”

Daniel bit his lip; had to think fast. “Julie.”

“Nice, now like I said, would she let me taste her pussy?”

“No, she damn well wouldn’t.”

“That’s a pity. I could do with a bit of pussy about now. How
about we ask her, you know, let her tell me that herself.” Soul prodded the
knife into Daniel’s ribs. “I asked you a question.”

“She’s not at home.”

“Now ain’t that strange, considering only moments ago you told me
as she was waiting for you, would be all worried about where you were.”

“I’m meant to call her when I get home. She’s at her sisters.”

“She’s got a sister. Hot damn, I bet you’ve thought about taking
the two of them together – now don’t lie to me, I can see it in your eyes you
dirty dog. How’s about we call on them instead of phoning. Wouldn’t that be a
surprise? Hell, we could have a foursome.”

Daniel knew he’d added fuel to Soul’s lecherous thoughts. “She
lives miles away.”

“Well it’s not as if we’re not mobile. Just think, you could be
banging the wife’s sister while the wife watches. How hot is that?”

“I don’t like my sister-in-law in that way.” Unlike his wife, his
sister-in-law possessed the scruples of a sewer rat; he was certain she had
somehow gotten her father to change his will before he died so she inherited
everything.

“What’s her name, the sister in law?”

“Emily.”

“Pretty name. But I don’t believe a word of it …”

Daniel flinched.

“…What man hasn’t imagined boning his wife’s sister?”

 “You’re sick”

“This ain’t about me. Now how about we head right on over to
Emily’s house.”

“I told you, she lives miles away.”

“Then you’d better drive fast.”

The lights of a roadside café appeared up ahead, a comical bright
red neon picture of a chef propped on the roof.

“If I’m driving a long way, I’ll need to use the toilet,” Daniel
said.

He felt Soul staring at him, but kept his gaze on the road ahead.

“You wouldn’t want to be trying something, now would you?” Soul
asked mockingly.

“I just need the toilet.”

“Okay, but listen very carefully. You try anything, and I’ll gut
you. Then I’ll track down your wife and use the blade of my knife as a dildo.
Can you imagine what this blade would do to her insides? Man, she would bleed.”
His voice rose an octave as though he were getting off on the thought.

“I won’t do anything. You have my word.” Daniel found it easy to
lie; had to make Soul believe he could be trusted.

He indicated and pulled off the dual carriageway into the car
park. He stopped alongside a BMW and switched the engine off.

Light from the neon sign bled across the tarmac in front of the
building. Daniel opened his door and started to slide out when Soul grabbed his
arm.

“Remember what I said.” He waved the knife in the air to add
substance to his warning.

 Daniel gulped and nodded.

Soul loosened his grip as he shuffled across the seat to step out
behind Daniel.

Daniel started walking, each step difficult, Soul an anchor at his
side.

Tall trees bordered part of the car par. Beyond the building, he
saw nothing but inky blackness. Through the window of the café, he noticed
people sat around tables; all oblivious to the threat he was about to bring
into their midst.

The door opened smoothly and without ceremony. Daniel stepped
inside. The aroma of food and coffee rushed into his nostrils like water to a
drowning man. His mouth salivated and his stomach rumbled.

The café wasn’t large, and although people occupied five of the
eight tables, it didn’t seem packed. Yellow Formica seemed to be the decoration
of choice, with splashes of red thrown into the mix.

Daniel couldn’t help noticing the trays of cutlery by the till, of
which the knives seemed to shine brightest.

On the far side of the café were two doors for the toilets. No one
in the café seemed to take much notice of him – he didn’t know whether that was
a good thing or not. Soul trailed like a shadow.

The toilet contained two cubicles and two urinals and smelled of
disinfectant.

He faced the first urinal and stood, cock in hand. He felt Soul
staring at him; became self-conscious, which delayed the act of going for a
piss until Soul prodded him with the knife, providing the incentive for his
bladder to empty itself whether it wanted to or not.

Once finished, he washed his hands and stepped back out into the
restaurant. “Mind if I get something to eat and drink?” Daniel asked.

Soul grinned. “Sure, get me a coffee too. Black. No sugar.”

Daniel nodded and walked to the counter, selected a Danish pastry
and poured both coffees from the machine before paying the bored looking
teenage girl at the till. If she thought anything of his companion, she didn’t
mention it, didn’t even look at him as she passed him his change before
returning to picking her fingernails.

Daniel carried the coffees and pastry across to the corner table
and sat with his back to the wall, secretly hoping to make eye contact with one
of the other customers and in some way relay the state of his danger by facial
expression alone.

Soul sat opposite, his gangly frame obscuring some of Daniel’s
view.

Daniel sipped at his coffee and bit a chunk from his sugar coated
pastry. Although both should have tasted good, the present situation left a
bitter taste in his mouth that the food and beverage couldn’t disguise.

“You’d like to fuck that slut at the till, wouldn’t you?” Soul said.
“That’s why you sat there, so you could stare at her titties when she leans
forward.”

Daniel denied the accusation, but he couldn’t help stealing a
glance across at the girl, at the creamy swell of bosom above the top of her
dress.

“What man wouldn’t?” Soul continued. “She’s hot. I bet she could
suck the lid off a tin.”

Daniel glared at Soul. “You need help.”

Soul laughed. “How would you feel if I were to slice some of these
nice people? You know, cut them up into little, itty bitty pieces.”