Approaching the Blackmore’s home for the second time filled Nathan with an air of excitement. Delving into an over-laden satchel he produced a small hammer. Breathing in the evening air he stood momentarily unmoving, listening for anything untoward. Thankfully it had not rained but the cold was almost palpable, a natural deterrent to those citizens who enjoyed an evening stroll. The wind swept down from the north keeping the local populace indoors huddled by their cosy firesides. The weather was no hindrance to Black, in fact he found the gale’s howling invigorating, an added bonus. The would-be assassin was overjoyed to see the street once more in a state of desertion. The rear door was constructed with a series of small glass panes roughly eight inches square. He covered one of them with masking tape. Giving the panel a sharp blow he smashed through the window. There was little or no noise but he listened intently for a sign that his efforts had been detected. For five excruciating minutes he waited but the area remained as silent as the grave. Satisfied that he would not be disturbed, he set about clearing the shattered edges from the frame. With deliberation he probed his hand through the vacant orifice feeling for the key. Deftly he slid his hand toward the lock, smiling as his fingers came into contact with the implement. Turning the key proved a little difficult as he had no experience of working in reverse but eventually he managed to complete the task. The temperature was only slightly higher than the outside but it felt considerably warmer out of the icy north wind. A boyish grin parted his lips as he stood with his back to the door. He had done it, he was in the murderer’s home. He waited for a few minutes pumped up by the adulation of his success. ‘In my next life I am coming back as a burglar, it’s bloody easy,’ he quipped. With relish, he set about cleaning up the mess at the foot of the door. Black was leaving nothing to chance, making certain that there was no evidence of the illegal entry. Unsure as to the exact time of Clara’s return, Nathan had prepared for a long wait. Feeling peckish the Englishman moved to the kitchen table where he feasted upon a snack which he removed from the satchel. The consumption of cold meals had been deemed prudent thereby eliminating the possibility of his prey, he had started thinking of the family as prey, being alerted by cooking smells. ‘The cow wont know what has hit her,’ he remarked callously, as he awaited to fulfil his destiny. The hours ticked torturously by with no sign of the family’s return but Black remained patient. He slept fitfully, unable to settle, afraid that they may surprise him thereby eluding their fate.
Clara was exhausted and more than a little afraid. Taking her pal’s advice she had journeyed to London. She had toyed with the idea of going alone but cowardliness decreed that she relent. The children’s familiar sounds would help her face the upcoming ordeal more easily. With trepidation she checked into the hotel. The receptionist informed her that they were expected and dinner was already booked for herself and the children. They were shown to their rooms, where they showered before seeking out the dining room. Unsure of what was expected of her she decided to eat quickly before retiring to her room to await developments. Fortunately she did not have long to wait as her nerves were in tatters. The phone rang minutes after she entered the room. ‘I hope that the accommodation is to your liking Mrs. B. Are the wee ones happy with the room we got for them ? Can you hear me Mrs. B.?’ enquired the familiar Belfast brogue.
‘Yes, yes I can hear you, sorry.What is it you want from us? Who are you?’
‘All in good time love but first you can help by answering a few of my questions, okay. ‘Firstly are the children out of earshot.’
‘Yes I told them to go to bed early as we are going to the tower of London tomorrow,’ she answered nervously.
‘That’s great, now myself and a colleague will visit you in your room later. There’s no need to be scared, we only want to help you with this bit of trouble that you are in. We are friends of George, understand?’
‘Please tell me what to do. I don’t know about any of this.’
‘Now now Clara easy girl, I want you to calm yourself and don’t be upsettin the kids. Make sure they are next door when we come. Put the T.V. on for them. As I was sayin before, we need a bit of privacy to discuss the problem. It’s not really for the ears of innocents. We’ll be with you at eleven o’clock. Put you in the picture so to speak.’ Warming to the consoling voice Clara agreed to the meeting,’ she was anxious to get things back into perspective. She was still apprehensive but knew that she had no choice if she was ever to get to the bottom of recent events. As expected the children protested about being locked up together so early but Clara lied that she was very tired and needed a good night’s sleep, if she was to be at her best in the morning. After some bribery and diplomacy they finally agreed, television in bed was a good compromise. A visit to the tower of London was the only incentive required to make them settle. At precisely eleven there was a knock on the door. It was hardly discernible and if she had not been expecting it she may well have missed it. Nervously she drew the door toward her but was unprepared for size of the visitor. Standing before her was what could only be described as a giant.
Carter Fairchilds was six foot seven inches in his stocking feet with a frame to match. A wicked grin distorted the contours of a face that boasted a square jaw. He was a formidable character and one that she was unprepared to find standing in her doorway at such a late hour. ‘Thank-you for accepting our invitation Mrs. Blackmore.’ Unbelievably the smooth voice that she had conversed with earlier belonged to the hulk now towering over her. ‘Smith is the name,’ John Smith,’ he volunteered, proffering a hand whilst smirking at the obvious lie. Clara took his hand amazed at the gentleness in the huge man’s grip. ‘And may I introduce my colleague, Mr. Brown,’ another lie but this time it was accompanied by a slight grimace. We have no wish to alarm you or insult your intelligence with such obvious fictitious names but I assure you that they are necessary in the interest of security. You do understand?’ he said, allowing the smaller man to enter the room before closing the door behind him. Clara nodded but was completely unprepared for what happened next. In an instant Fairchilds was upon her lifting her high into the air as if she were a doll. ‘What would you know about security bitch?’ he snarled, hurling her onto the bed. ‘Tell us about George,’ he snapped, as he drew back a meaty fist. Clara attempted to scream but it came out as a squeak because a huge hand had clamped tightly over her mouth. Effortlessly she was raised high into the air once more. ‘If you try to make a sound those brats next door will be flying home unaccompanied,’ he snarled, gesturing toward the adjacent room.
‘Put her down you fuckin ape,’ ordered Clements. He was standing behind the giant with a nine-millimetre handgun pressed into his temple. Very carefully a confused Clara Blackmore was grudgingly lowered to the floor.
‘That’s very good Mr. Smith, now ye can plant yer fat arse in yon chair whilst I have a word with the lady. Without another word her assailant did as he was ordered all the time glaring at his smaller companion, who merely shrugged before inviting Clara to be seated. Happy to put distance between herself and the ogre she quickly complied. ‘Thank-you Mrs. Blackmore. Firstly let me begin by apologising for my colleagues bad manners, his treatment of ye is inexcusable. Secondly I must apologise for my bad language, alas it is the only form of communication that he responds te. He has been burdened with an atrociously bad temper and an inherent distrust for the whole of mankind. In a case like this it is difficult te know where te begin. Anyway here goes, what do ye know about yer husband George’s activities? Apart from the obvious that is.’
‘Are you asking me, do I know anything about the trouble he’s in?’
‘No what size are his fuckin Y. fronts,’ barked Fairchilds.
‘Shut it you,’ said Billy calmly. ‘Yes Clara, what do ye know about the raid?’
‘Nothing, I had no idea that he was involved in anything until you people contacted me.”
‘How did ye know that the money came from us?’
‘Clara ye just said that we contacted ye. It therefore stands te reason that we are the people who sent the tickets, since we are here talkin to ye but ye implied that ye knew where the money had come from before-hand.’
‘Oh is that what you are getting at? That’s easy,’ smiled Clara, relieved that she understood at least what was being asked of her and even more so that she knew the answer. ‘My friend Sadie, her husband’s in the Kesh doing life. Well, when the tickets arrived I was scared. I had no idea what it was all about so I thought of her. We went to school together you see.’ It all came spilling out as if a dam of information had burst in her head. ‘Sadie told me that George was probably in the UDA or something because they contacted her when her man was lifted. She said that this was probably the same, that you people look after your own,’ she spat. Having regained her composure the woman was angry at being treated like some kind of spy. ‘Jesus if he is a member, is this the thanks he gets for throwing away his life? He has not even been released from hospital yet and you people are threatening his family behind his back. Fucking loyalists, what about a bit of loyalty for us?’ she cried, the tears trickling from her weary eyes. ‘I don’t know a fucking thing except that I shall have to raise those poor children without a father.’
‘I am really sorry about all this Clara but we have te find out whether George was betrayed or not. Just a couple more questions and we will leave ye be, okay. Did he ever mention about the organisation te ye or to anyone else in yer presence?’
‘Why don’t you believe me. He said that he hated the idea of all the senseless killing, the fucking liar. What is he in? Ach it doesn’t matter, the bastard has been lying to me for years. Well hasn’t he?’ she was sobbing now, uncontrollably. Clements crossed the room and took her into his arms managing to calm her slightly.
‘I’m sorry that we bothered ye Clara. Ye have enough on yer plate without havin te deal with the likes of us. Now enjoy the rest of yer stay in England and don’t worry about the hotel bill, it is taken care of. Someone will be in contact with ye in a few days te help ye sort out finances and the like. Yer mate was right by the way, we do look after our own. Oh while I remember, when Sadie asks ye what went on here. Tell that ye were just givin ye a wee break to help ye cope with the situation. Don’t tell her that we got in contact with ye personally. She’ll know that yer lyin but I guarantee that she’ll accept what ye tell her and leave it at that. Once again let me apologise on behalf of Mr. Smith, he’s not capable of doin it for himself.’
‘Not so fast Mr. Brown,’ said Fairchilds, contemptuously,.
‘Enough you,’ countered Clements. The big man was furious and in two strides was across the floor but equally as quickly Billy had evaded him. He easily evaded his huge adversary and in a blur had him pinned against the wall with the gun barrel making an indent on his cheek..
‘Don’t be an eejit Mr. Smith. The good lady is tired and we have long outstayed our welcome. Ye agree don’t ye,’ he added, banging the others head against the wall to emphasise the point. ‘That’s better, I knew ye would see sense. Now just turn yer head in the right direction and walk through the door, unless of course ye’d like to leave by the windy.’ Fairchilds complied reluctantly. An angry bump was appearing where his head had came into contact with wall.
‘Sorry that ye had te witness that Clara, we won’t be botherin ye again. Oh by the way, be sure and open that bank account.’ With the smaller man’s words left hanging in the air the door closed silently behind them. Clara stood, opened mouthed, blankly staring at the door. Shaking her head, to collect herself, she slowly lowered her body onto the bed. Slightly more composed she sadly accepted that the evening’s events had left her a little wiser but not much. As a matter of fact what had taken place only served to make her more confused. With a wry smile she slid between the sheets,’ What does a housewife want to know of such matters anyway?’ she mumbled. The evening had taken it’s toll, she was physically and mentally drained. Recounting the episode, a vision of Fairchilds rushed to the fore, pulling the covers to her chin she gave an involuntary shiver. ‘Lord help us but if hell really exists, people like him must be the management,’ she whimpered. Her mind was racing, recalling everything, ‘And that other one, he seemed like a nice person but there was nothing nice about the way he battered the big bugger’s head off the wall.’ As her eyes grew heavy she concluded that Mr. Brown was the boss and the monster was just a lackey. ‘God George, how did you ever get yourself mixed up with the likes of those people?’ she murmured, as sleep finally claimed her.
Once outside the room Fairchilds made to speak but Billy held a finger to his lips. ‘Let’s you and me take this outside eh. We don’t want any nosy English person overhearing our conversation. do we Mr. Smith?’ Fairchilds nodded striding toward the lift. Clements followed at a more leisurely pace. Neither man spoke until they were well out of earshot, a couple of hundred yards from the hotel. Clements stopped, gesturing toward a park, which appeared deserted. It was tailor-made for their purpose. Fairchilds was first to begin, ‘You were out of order in there wee man. You jumped to too many conclusions if you ask me. How are you so sure she was telling the truth?’ he snarled. ‘Well now Sherlock, it was obvious she was tellin the truth otherwise she would not have brought her kids along. No mother would deliberately put her wee ones in danger. She had no idea who we were or even why she herself is here. I thought I had it wrong for a minute, when she said she didn’t know her man was in somethin, without me bringin it up. Therefore the natural assumption was that she knew about George bein one of us. Otherwise she would not have mentioned it. Then it all fell into place, she has a friend whose auld man is in the Kesh. So she does what any other woman in her shoes would do, she calls her mate for help. She never tried to hide the fact that her friend was gettin help from us. If she had any idea, of-who we are, she would never have dropped her mate in it by divulgin this information. And did ye see her reaction to the questions? She didn’t have a clue, if she was a tout who was stupid enough to come over here alone, don’t ye think that she would have made up some kind of bullshit story to give us?’
‘Aye that makes sense,’ agreed Fairchilds grudgingly. ‘As for her mate Sadie, I am going to pay her a visit one of these days. I’ll teach the fucking bitch how to keep her trap shut.’
‘Before ye go any further, I’m gonna give ye a piece of advice. If ye so much as contact Sadie
I’ll come for ye and so help me, I’ll fuck ye up so badly that yer own ma wont be able to recognise ye, understand?’
‘You take a lot for granted wee man. I could tear your fucking head off. The only reason that I didn’t do it in there is that I would have had to top the bitch as well and that’s against orders.’
‘Okay I’ll tell ye what bastard features, why don’t ye have a go now. There’s no barbed around it,’ whispered Clements thrusting out his chin.’
‘Aye that would be right, you know that I can’t do anything to you, I’d be signing my own death warrant. Never fear though Billy boy, there will be another time, I’m a patient man.’
As the grandmother clock chimed two, Nathan cursed his luck. ‘Where is the cow,’ he growled. He was becoming anxious that somehow the family had discovered his plans. ‘Do not be so silly,’ he chided himself, ‘If that was the case the police would have arrived and I would be in custody by now. Relax,’ he told himself, ‘Perhaps they decided to stay away for an extended period.’ Still he was angry at the disruption to his plans. Spending two days in an empty house, eating cold food without entertainment had frayed his nerves somewhat. The risk of detection had increased considerably as the woman may have requested a friend to look in on the premises. There was no choice, he was caught in a situation that he had not catered for. If he
was to leave, the Blackmores could return in his absence and if he stayed there was the possibility of detection. There was the certainty that the missing windowpane would disclose the fact that someone had been in the house. With nothing stolen the authorities would question the motive behind the unlawful entry. He thrashed it over in his head and decided, that to remain for another day, was probably his best option. His next problem was how to deal with any unwanted visitors. Killing unconnected people was against what he had set out to do but if the necessity arose he would have to live with it. As was the case with the unfortunate Maurice Scott. Having made up his mind to stay he settled on the sofa this time falling into a deep sleep.
Oblivious to the Black’s presence Sadie came up the driveway, shortly after ten, the following morning. Clara had asked her to purchase a few groceries, which would tide them over until she had time to visit the supermarket. ‘This is a right bloody nuisance,’ she grumbled. She had arranged a visit to town for the purpose of buying shoes for her son. It was the final day of the sales therefore imperative that she go today. ‘I could have done without traipsing over here,’ grumbled Sadie. Black spied her at the last moment, only just managing to conceal himself, before she reached the window. Becoming more agitated, she set the plastic carrier bag on the doorstep as she rummaged in her handbag for the door key. ‘Ach bollocks,’ she screamed. ‘I’ve left the fuckin key on the mantle-piece. Stupid bloody cow, I swear to God my head’s turned we them wee buggers in the mornins. Why could they not, for once, get out of their lazy beds and get ready for school early?’ she mumbled audibly. At the end of her tether, Sadie decided to leave a note in the bag explaining her predicament to Clara, to phone later. Having done so, she stole a brief glance through the window and spotting nothing untoward, headed off back down the driveway. Nathan hissed a sigh of relief, the woman may have been a friend of Clara’s but hardly deserved to die because of it. Allowing time for the woman to leave the vicinity he opened the door just enough to permit the bags passage through. The note read,’Sorry I had to leave the messages outside. I forgot your bloody key. I’ll call you tonight. Sadie. Ps. I hope you had a great time.’ After reading the note he replaced it before setting the bag back on the doorstep in case Sadie should return. With satisfaction he recounted the notes text. ‘I’ll see you tonight,’ he repeated joyfully. ‘So my estimation is correct, today is the day. Sorry Sadie, Clara won’t be taking any calls this evening,’ chuckled Black. Anticipating the evening ahead Nathan calmly settled down to wait. With a sigh of pleasure he resumed reading a thriller. Time passed slowly as the novel did not hold his attention for long. He pondered on his immediate future after he was finished with
the Blackmore’s. Back to London for a few days then off to the slopes I think. Yes that is exactly what the doctor ordered, a bit of fresh air after being cooped up in this rabbit hutch for the past three days. I shall have to be careful, it’s been a while since my last foray in France.
Clara studied the dial on her good, going out watch. A smile played on her face as it engendered a glimpse of happier times. George had been a warm and attentive husband then. The smile remained as she recalled their first Christmas together. The apprehension as he proposed, his fumbling touch as he nervously placed the watch on her wrist. Vivid in her memory was the conversation they had used on that very day. ‘You are supposed to give me a ring silly.’ His reply had been so unexpected. ‘I was hedging me bets,’ he said. ‘If ye refuse, I wont look such an idiot returning a watch. I’ll let ye pick the ring when ye say yes.’ She remembered how she had laughed when he said it. ‘Rudolf Valentino must have been reincarnated on the day that you first saw light,’. The radiant sigh of relief as she kissed him tenderly in assent. The fond memory soon faded as a feeling of foreboding gripped her. What was to become of the family, torn asunder by this political bullshit. Smoothly the taxi glided to a halt in the driveway. She had to awaken the children who had fallen into a deep sleep brought about by the exertions of their last day in England. ‘The poor wee things,’ whispered Clara fondly. ‘Come on kids, home sweet home, up you get. Think we’ll ring for a Chinese eh. Afterwards we can soak in a hot bath, then off to bed. What do you think?’
‘Sounds good,’ was Jason’s reply, as usual he was economical with words.
‘That’s my Jason, brimful of enthusiasm.’ His sister was the complete opposite. The take-away and bath were a great idea but she was less than enthralled with the early bed scenario. Some local boys pop group were performing on television later and there was no way that she was going to miss that, ‘No way Jose`.’
‘We’ll see,’ replied her mother wearily, safe in the knowledge that her daughter would be asleep ten minutes after her bath. Clara made a mental note to tape the concert. After settling with the taxi driver they headed for the house. ‘What’s all them bottles doing there? I left that milkman a note, bloody get. I told him no milk for three days, wait till I get my hands on him. And what’s this?’ She exclaimed, catching sight of the carrier bag. ‘Look it’s a note from Sadie, silly ninny forgot her key. Says she’ll phone later.’ Clara lifted the bag and opened the door, allowing the children to enter before her. There was a scramble as all three headed for the bathroom but they were stopped in their tracks as Nathan intercepted them. Clara was taken aback, the girl screamed receiving an open handed slap for her transgression. The impact left a large white imprint on her face, which immediately began turning red. Her mother rushed scratching at the assailant but was punched to the ground. In an instant he was upon her grasping her hair and trailing her to her feet. A knife with a very large blade was quickly pressed against her neck dangerously close to her jugular, already puncturing the flesh. ‘Now if you kids want your mother to remain alive do not make a sound. Understand?’ In unison the children nodded agreement. ‘Good, you must be Jason. I am pleased to meet you. I knew a young man called Jason a short while ago.’
‘How do you know my name? What do you want mister?’
‘Do not interrupt there’s a good lad. Just do precisely as you are told, okay.’ Afraid for his mother’s safety the boy gave an expansive nod. ‘Excellent, you learn quickly. Now I want you to take some rope from that satchel and tie your mother to the chair.
‘N-no way,’ screamed the boy. He stood in horror as the intruder brought the blade across his mother’s cheek, opening a nasty gash. ‘Do you enjoy watching your mum suffer boy?’ asked Black casually.
‘No mister, sorry mister, please don’t hurt my mammy,’ bubbled Jason, hurrying to do as he was bade. ‘The sooner you realise this is not a game the better. Now gag her and make sure that the binding is tight. Without argument the terrified boy followed orders, flinching as his mother’s blood, stained his trembling fingers. Black examined the youth’s work, ‘Yes very good indeed, your mother is trussed like a Christmas turkey,’ he enthused, making the lad cringe at his own treachery.
‘You have a very beautiful sister Jason and you are a very handsome young man. The pair of you are going to entertain your mother and I.’ As the scene unfolded before her the girl sat whimpering, kneading her hands.
‘This simply wont do, put a gag on her as well. She is spoiling the spectacle.’ Jason seemed routed to the spot, uncomprehending.
‘Shut her up!’ shouted Black, forcing the boy out of his stupor. Hurriedly he knelt to the floor seeking to extract a cover from the bag. As he applied the offensive material to his sister’s pretty face he kept repeating over and over how sorry he was for his actions, all the time searching his mother’s face for encouragement.
‘She looks very appealing now that she has ceased that infernal racket. Help her to remove her clothing. Jason began to protest but the beast brought the weapon to his mother’s horrified face. Understanding her young brother’s predicament the girl quickly started to undress herself.
‘Now you are beginning to get into the swing of things. It is always more sensual to watch a person disrobe, don’t you think Jason? But you must also join in the game after all it takes two to tango. If you’ll pardon the cliché. Strip as well Jason,’ demanded the leering Black.
‘I can’t,’ replied the boy, timidly eyeing his mother.
‘Just fucking do it,’ snarled Nathan. ‘Now look what you have done, you have made me lose my temper. Please do not do that again,’ he continued, brandishing the knife in front of the boy’s face. Realising the futility of further argument Jason slowly began to remove his garments. ‘Very nice,’ gloated the Englishman, brushing his hand across the adolescent’s privates and causing further embarrassment. Glancing sideways at Clara the child drew his hands across to cover his nakedness.
‘Do not be shy Jason, a man should be proud of his possessions. Look at your sister Clara, she has a beautiful body don’t you think?’ Ashamed at the part he had played in his sister’s discomfort the boy defiantly turned his head in the opposite direction. ‘Look at her,’ screamed the intruder. Tearfully the boy reluctantly complied. ‘I want you to be honest with me Jason. You have tried to peek at her haven’t you. Tell the truth, there were times when she was in the bathroom and you stole a glimpse through the keyhole. Embarrassed at being caught, the boy’s face flushed. He was shaking his head slowly but could feel his mother’s accusing eyes burning into him. ‘Come now Jason you are almost a man, I can remember those urges when I was your age. Curiosity is a natural propensity. The evil man’s words were having an hypnotic effect. He did not want to listen to any more but he could not help it. The boy watched fascinated as the strange man stroked his sister down there.
‘You wanted to touch her didn’t you Jason? In a trance the child was nodding agreement to the stranger’s words. He could see how his sister was cowering as the horrible man touched her but he was growing hard.
‘I knew it Jason, you want more than just touching don’t you boy,’ cajoled the man softly. By their own volition his hands wandered to his thing. He had never experienced anything like this. The man was violating his sister but he did not want to stop him.
‘Do it,’ whispered the man tantalisingly. ‘Go on she wants to as much as you Jason.’ Clara was writhing, struggling to free herself. She wanted to destroy this creature from hell. The bindings cut deeply into her wrists but she felt no pain. She must save her little ones from this monster’s grasp before it is too late. His mother’s distress registered with the boy, snapping him out of the madman’s hypnotic control. ‘No, fuck you,’ he spat defiantly, but his resistance was short lived as the knife was thrust close to his sister.
‘Do you want me to do it with this?’ The lad was in turmoil, he looked to his mother for guidance. As tears streamed down her tortured face
she nodded approval. Sadly the boy went to his sister who lay down without a word. Afterwards Black dragged the sobbing girl to her room, ‘Stay there slut, if you make a sound or try to leave I will kill your mother, do you understand?’ The girl gave an almost indiscernible movement of her head, she was in severe shock. Returning to the mother and son he remarked on the boy’s performance. He was enjoying baiting the helpless trio.
‘Did you enjoy it?’ he sniggered, leering at the child. ‘Well you had a good time now it is my turn. Hungrily he snatched fresh rope from the satchel and bound Clara more tightly. Satisfied that the hapless mother could not possibly break free he called for the girl to rejoin them. Ghostlike the young girl re-entered the room averting her eyes, feeling ashamed and degraded she had wound a sheet around her to cover her shame. ‘Ah there you are, the little sow returns.’ A second chair was drawn adjacent to her mother’s and she was similarly bound.
‘Now you can enjoy the finale. The boy was forced to his knees. Knowing what was about to take place Clara tried desperately to break free but it was useless, her bindings were too tight. Nathan Black forced her to watch the violation of her son as well.
‘God what have they done to deserve this? What have I done?’ The words came out as garbled incoherent nonsense. ‘What sort of mother am I,’ she castigated herself. ‘I can’t even pray to for God’s intervention.’ At last it was over. The boy was cast aside like a broken toy. Clara knew that her poor children would never recover from the abomination. ‘In the name of all that is holy, call us home Lord,’ but she knew that her prayers were futile. She thought of her husband, surely his sins were to blame for what had happened. She did not really believe it but in fact she was partially correct. The beast sat opposite, seemingly catching his breath. Finally he spoke, ‘You are wondering why I have came into your home and ruined your life. Well Clara I shall tell you. You deserve that much at least. A snivelling coward calling himself a patriot ended the life of a young man, his name was Jason also. Someone similar to your husband I imagine. I am going to make George Blackmore pay a thousand fold for every act of terrorism that he ever committed. Unfortunately it is you who will feel the pain. The real agony is about to begin and when you husband hears about it he will suffer in torment. He looked deliberately into her eyes whilst pulling the boy’s flaxen hair. Then without compassion drew the blade across Jason’s exposed throat. Clara watched in horror as the life’s blood of her darling son spilled to the floor. His hands were bound behind him so that he lay like a sacrificial lamb as his young life ebbed away. In despair the mother shut her eyes tightly trying to blot out the horror that had invaded her home. Tears were spilling back down her throat threatening to suffocate her, she prayed that they would. All hope was gone, she accepted the fact as she witnessed the death of her son. Strangely she became very still as her demeanour took on a look of serenity. Black gazed into her eyes to perceive a vision of inner contentment. Clara Blackmore was not a churchgoer but the niggling doubts of judgement day were ever present since her childhood and as she observed her son’s last fragile thread of life break, she was certain that they would reunite in paradise. The devil had came to her home but the Lord would have first claim on their souls. For the first time since his decision to seek revenge Nathan was unsure. This was not in the script. How can she be so composed whilst a stranger murdered her brood? In a frenzy of anger he plunged the weapon repeatedly into the little girl and with each thrust he turned to observe the reaction of her mother. In frustration he ripped the gag from her mouth. ‘Why are you not screaming you fucking bitch? Say something, why don’t you, you heartless cunt?’ he yelled, completely out of control.
‘Is that what you want? To watch and gloat at your brave deed this evening. To tell you that I am suffering because of your sick distorted lust for vengeance. I am sorry but I can not accommodate you. For what you have done here tonight I forgive you. These are not the actions of a human but the hand of Satan himself drove you to this. May the lord have mercy on your poor misguided soul. My babies are in heaven now and I shall join them after you have finished what you came here to do. Lord knows that we shall never meet again. Your soul was lost a long time ago. I pity you for ahead of you lies an eternity of torment.’
‘You really believe all that horse shit. People will find out what torture is like when they find what remains of your body. I hope your husband has a good memory because he will have trouble deciphering what you are, never mind whom you are.’ Such were Black’s final words before he commenced dissecting his helpless victim, relishing every wince of pain. Clara refused to cry out, to give the beast the satisfaction that he so obviously desired. Defiance was her only weapon and she determined to use it to the fullest. As she was breathing her last he drove the knife upward into her most private place. ‘That’s you well and truly fucked,’ he cackled.’
Maximum media coverage was what Black was trying to accomplish so with this in mind he had fabricated a sound recording, using the voices of local politicians. Excitedly he dialled the numbers of three well-known local journalists. In each case he played the tape giving the names and addresses of the deceased. The final sentence was directed at terrorists of both persuasions. ‘Thanksgiving is a time to rejoice but remember. HE WHO SOWS THE SEEDS OF EVIL SHALL REAP HIS HARVEST IN HELL.’ The first two reporters rejected the message out of hand as the ravings of a lunatic or some elaborate hoax. Walter Dane of the Belfast Telegraph, on the other hand, took it very seriously indeed. Quickly he prepared for what he hoped would be front-page news. Armed with notebook, cameras and several well-sharpened pencils he rushed to the scene. Dane had been in the business for almost thirty years but nothing had prepared him for the horror that was about to confront him. The front door was ajar so he placed the index finger of his gloved hand on the panel and tentatively pushed. There was a resistance so he exerted more pressure calling out, ‘Hello is anyone home,’ as he did so. Hearing no response to his greeting Dane, showing an intrepid journalistic spirit, forged ahead into the hallway. He looked to the floor to decipher what had hindered his progress and was shocked to see what appeared to be a human hand trapped beneath the door. Fighting fear and repulsion he carried on into the lounge. The room was in total darkness. Tenuously he groped for the light switch gasping a sigh of relief as his finger scratched across the protrusion. Steeling himself for what he was about to discover, he snapped the lever. His eyes took a second to adjust to the brightness but the streetwise reporter was devastated by the carnage. An involuntary yelp escaped from his lips as the full horror sunk in. Ashen faced he surveyed the scene, telling himself that he was a professional. That his prime objective was to record as much as possible in the short time allotted. His first priority was to inform the authorities of his gruesome discovery. Fully aware of the consequences he had no intentions of falling foul of the law. The law in this field being in the very capable hands of Detective Inspector James Keiver, the man who would most likely head up the investigation. The full extent of the butchery had not registered but as he began to take notes, the blood, torn flesh and death’s indescribable stench, finally took their toll. ‘Merciful God,’ he gurgled, rushing out into the freezing, sweet air. The contents of his stomach splattered across the Blackmore’s manicured lawn, leaving his tongue coated with the bitter taste of stale whiskey. Taking barely seconds to recover his composure, the cunning, calculating reporter’s brain took command. He had allowed himself ten minutes to jot down as much as possible before putting the call to the police. Using the skill and guile nurtured through years of journalism he re-entered the house and casting a professional eye over the scene, recorded as much data as humanly possible in the time allotted. A second wave of nausea overtook him but he fought back the urge to retreat. Blotting out the scene of unbelievable inhumanity before him, he continued to describe the slaughter in detail. Carefully he tip-toed around the pieces of human debris being extremely careful not to tread on the blood which was congealing in clots, resembling some grotesque artist’s pallet. Professionalism had taken control. He searched around the room for a suitable point from whence he could photograph the area. It was then that he observed the macabre message for the first time. Painted on the wall in what he suspected was the victim’s blood were the words that he had heard earlier. Remembering the taped message a chill caressed his spine. His hand was shaking as he recorded the message. It read ‘Those Who Sow the Seeds Of Evil Shall Reap The Harvest In Hell’ ‘My God,’ he uttered, ‘What crime could have been committed to bring about such savage retribution.’ In spite of his initial reaction, he was beginning to calculate the rewards such a story would engender. Using the camera as speedily as he could, without the risk of damage to the end product, he shot two rolls of film. Satisfied that he had gleaned as much as was humanly possible from the scene he beat a hasty retreat. With deliberation the reporter dialled the number on his mobile. Dane was a sly old fox who knew the rules. Informing the police before calling the story in was his most prudent course of action. He was aware that by so doing he in no way compromised himself or the publication. He had watched other fresh faced journalists being charged as accessories after the fact or hindering the police with their inquiries for ringing the wrong number initially. Walter Dane was too long in the tooth to let such unprofessional behaviour catch him out. As he awaited the arrival of the investigating team he busied himself secreting the film of the murder scene. In due course they arrived and began to take his statement. He smiled as a young constable asked the question, ‘Why have you taken so long to inform the authorities?’ Looking suitably aggrieved, he told the young man that he had phoned the police as soon as was humanly possible. Why had he not informed them when he first received the call from the murderer? To which he informed the young man that he was a professional journalist and did not want to be made a fool of by some prankster. He felt that it was his civic duty to check on the validity of the information before bothering the police. No he did not touch anything in the building apart from switching on the light. Yes he had taken copious notes, that was, after all, what his employers paid him for. The questions were endless and he regretted waiting for the RUC to arrive before ringing in a brief account of what had taken place. ‘Excuse me constable but I do have a deadline to meet. Can I at least have an hour alone to formulate my account of the tragic affair?’ He was trying to get away before Keiver arrived, he could not believe his luck that the inspector, usually so punctual, was not already on the scene. ‘After all it was I who called you in the first place,’ continued Dane. ‘Someone has to report this crime to the populace and while you detain me another journalist is probably, even as we speak, writing the story of his career. I fail to see how I can be of further assistance to you.’ The constable was beginning to waiver when an all too familiar voice boomed from behind them.
‘You wouldn’t be trying to flee the scene of a crime, would you now Wally?’ The smile quickly faded as he turned to face Detective Inspector James Keiver. ‘Ach there you are Jimmy,’ he greeted the policeman.
‘Why would the bugger ring a three a penny hack like yourself Dane, eh?’
‘Come on now Jimmy, don’t be starting with all the crap. Do you see how many reporters are here already? Christ the last time I saw a hoard like this was at the Royal wedding. Give us a break big man.’
‘Tell you what I’ll do Wally.’ The policeman knew how the acronym annoyed the other. ‘Be a good boy, give me the film and I’ll play the idiot that you think I am. I promise to let you have some of them back when the time is right.’
‘What film Jimmy?’ replied Dane, feigning ignorance. ‘I rushed here as soon as your man hung up. Didn’t have time to tool up with a camera and the like.’
‘Don’t lie to me Wally,’ he drew the name out to annoy the little reporter even more. ‘I’m beginning to reconsider my offer. In fact I may send you down to the station for a day or two. Yes I could hold you on suspicion of murder. Of course we wouldn’t call it that. You know the phrase, after all you have used it often enough. Assisting police, et cetera, et cetera. You could read all the reports from a cell, course you would miss your precious deadline by about forty hours or so,’ he sniggered. ‘Picture the irony Wally, after the press conference tomorrow. All the papers will carry the story, even yours. Of course someone else from your rag will get the credit.’
‘You are one devious bas…’ he started to protest, through gritted teeth.
‘Now now Wally, I hope you are not about to use abusive language. I expect a certain amount of decorum from a professional man such as yourself.’
‘Okay,’ said the little reporter dejectedly. ‘What’s the deal?’
‘Now there’s a fine upstanding citizen. You give me the films, both of them mind and you can leave right away to call in your story. I shall then read it and if it falls within the realms of common decency, you can print it. You’ll be twenty-four hours ahead of the rat pack. Cant say fairer than that.’
‘I suppose I can live with that,’ answered the other gruffly, trying to hide his elation. ‘What are the restrictions?’
‘Usual stuff, no names until the next of kin are informed. No graphic detail of the attack. You can allude to the message without printing the text verbatim. I want to keep that under my hat for a day or two but you will be the first to report it when I’m ready and I I’ll even let you have the picture of the wall.’
‘Promise Jimmy,’ enthused the journalist.
‘Scout’s honour Walter.’ Dane smiled for the first time, pleased at the correct use of his name. ‘It’s a deal Jimmy,’ said the reporter, offering his hand. As the policeman took it he also smiled, enjoying the distraction from his dreadful task. ‘I’ll come with you to the vehicle to fetch the film. We don’t want too many people knowing our business do we?’ Upon arrival at the car Dane handed both spools to Keiver who promptly pocketed them. In record time he had completed the first copy for the inspector’s perusal. ‘Excellent Walter but I expected nothing less. You can run along and print it now. Mind you if I read any deviations, I shall not be best pleased, you follow my drift?’ ‘This reporter was the first to know of the tragedy,’ quoted Keiver. ‘This is going to make you a VIP Walter, congratulations. ‘What appears at first glance to be a biblical quotation was left by the intruder, the meaning of which we have yet to decipher,’ he continued. ‘Very nice, thanks for your co-operation. We don’t want any loonies getting hold of the text, else we’ll have to wade through a thousand bogus bloody confessions. By the way Walter, do you know who those unfortunate people are?’
‘As a matter of fact I don’t. I was going to get the names via the city hall.’
‘Ach you’ll find out soon enough anyway. I’ll save you the bother. Remember last week’s post office raid in the country?’
‘Aye the army gave a good account of themselves for a change.’
‘The survivor, George Blackmore, they were his family.’
‘Jesus, do you think there is a connection.’
‘Buggered if I know Walter. Hope we don’t have some misguided patriotic header on our hands. Anyway I’ll be in touch and remember not a word until Blackmore has been informed. God but he got dealt some hand of cards this week.’
A grim faced newsreader told the nation of the atrocity on television’s breakfast bulletin the following morning. ‘A Belfast family was found brutally murdered at their home on the outskirts of Belfast this morning. Police who described the attack as frenzied and bestial, believe that it may be the work of a deranged individual. Names of the victims who include a son and daughter, as well as the children’s mother, can not be released until the next of kin have been informed.’ Dane sighed with relief as he completed his scrutiny of the morning papers. Not one had carried the story. So far so good, he was still ahead of the game. His would be the name on everyone’s lips after the Telegraph hit’s the streets later today.
The tear streaked face of a bereaved George Blackmore stared blankly through his prison bars. His body was found exactly two hours after his return from identifying his loved ones. Reports indicated that he had stuffed a sock down his own throat blocking the passage of air to his lungs which in turn ended his life.
Nathan Black read the report of the terrorists horrific death in a local newspaper, whilst vacationing in the Swiss ski resort of St. Moritz.