“Who do these people think they are?” All sense of reason seemed to have left his body, leaving only a inflamed, burning feeling of injustice inside him, that had been flickering for the last few years. He got up hastily, knocking his chair to the tiled floor, causing a sudden crash as it hit. He left it, not even acknowledging that it was there. He left his flat, not knowing where his was going, but hoping that when he got there he would know. He found himself at the door of the vet’s. His fists were tightly clenched, and there was a faint scrapping sound as his teeth ground together. The door was unlocked and, without even knocking, he pushed it open. He could hear, only slightly, the sound of things hitting together, like metal on plastic. He knew he shouldn’t be in there, but there was a part of him that didn’t care, and this part seemed to be dominating him at the present. He turned into a small, white room, no bigger than three public toilets joined together. He was immediately faced by a young woman, her blond unwashed hair tied messily back in a ponytail. Her face look tired and older than it should, his presence startled her and she looked at him with confusion.
“You live in the flat above don’t you, Mr Weir, isn’t it?” She looked at him annoyed by his intrusion, and waiting for his reply.
“That’s right, Bitch, not that you care about anyone else but yourself.” He spoke sharply, and his tone shocked her.
“Who the hell do you think you are, coming in here talking to me like that?” She was a lot harder than she had expected herself to be. This case was really taking it out off her, and she was somehow not willing to get bossed or shouted at by him as well. His eyes narrowed slightly, and a small bit of spittle dribbled from his mouth as he shouted.
“Shut the hell, up you rich bitch! You think it’s easy for guy like me to make a living? Not everyone has a rich daddy to look after them. I’ve worked damn hard all my life and I’m not gonna let some snooty ‘ princess’ take that from me.”
Her hand immediately drew across his cheek, and she shouted some meaningless insult at him. His rough hand felt the hot sting of his cheek; a pinkish mark was visible for all to see. His hand moved slowly down his face, reforming its tightly- fisted shape. She slowly backed away; fear grew in her eyes. She looked toward the small door that had remained open, but knew there was no way past him. His fists lunged towards her and struck the side of her face with such a blow that she fell backwards. The operating table, in the middle of the room, obstructed her fall and her head collided with the corner with force. She lay on the floor, her head bleeding heavily from the open wound, her eyes shut; she looked dead. There was a shear moment of terror as Joe realised what he had just done. He felt as though he should check, to make she was dead, but he couldn’t move. He looked down at his fist, still tightly clenched. A surge of power passed through him, indescribable power, over what he had just done.
“ewwwwww” A slight noise, like trapped air, came from her lungs, and her hand slowly moved towards her injured head. Joe felt betrayed, as though she had tricked him into thinking she was dead, and then to awaken like some sort of joke. He felt his feet moving towards her. He could see her eyes blinking, but not quite able to open ‘Better they don’t open’ he thought to himself. He kicked her, only softly at first, but hard enough for her to give out a weak cry. The power he was feeling was like no other, he had dreamt of this power, but never imagined it would come to him like this. He had the control over her, and he liked it, ‘this must be what Roy Thomson feels like when he brings you into his office to fire you. I bet he feels the power when you plead for another chance’ This image that he conjured up in his mind intrigued him, he had the power over her life. He found himself kicking her again, this time harder so that she turned slightly over. Her body seemed to clench up, as though she was trying to protect the attacked area. There was another kick, followed by a lower cry, and another. He kicked her in the head, and saw the blood soak into his canvas trainers as he moved it away. The sight of this only made him feel more powerful; he had the ability to make her bleed. He kicked her again and again, until the desperate cries stopped. His foot halted in mid air, then slowly lowered as he kicked her head over to see his artwork. It was a mess, hardly recognisable from all the blood. It was over, and the power he possessed was somehow drained from him, leaving Joe only with the guilt of what he had done. He crouched down over her and moved his worn hands to her neck; there was no pulse. His hands started to shake as they were coated with her blood, and as he looked down at the inert body he started to cry.
His rationale side seemed to kick in, and he knew that he would have to hide the body. This girl was supposed to appear in court soon and would be missed. If he went to the police he would get life, there was no way this was an accident, and by the time he would get out he would be about 60, with no home and no job to support him. He washed the blood from his hands. He knew that they would get dirty again soon, but it made him feel better doing this. If he buried the body, then someone would find it, and he couldn’t risk that.
He remembered reading somewhere that pigs were the only animals that would eat the bones. He wasn’t sure if this was true, but it seemed to make sense in all the confusion. Of course a pig couldn’t eat a whole body and so, to his disgust, he would have to chop her up. He didn’t think that here was the best place, too much that a scientist could find. He didn’t have a car, he had never needed one as he lived about 20 minutes from the office and stayed in at the weekends. There were many empty flats in the building that he could hide her in for a few days, but he would have to get her out of here without anyone seeing. He left the surgery as it was, but took her keys that were on the reception desk, and locked the doors as he left.
At about 2am he ventured out of his flat and went down to the surgery. He held the keys tightly in his hands, so they did not jangle. The door unlocked easily and he walked in, slightly holding his breath as he remembered what was awaiting him in the next room. She was still there, exactly the same as he had left her earlier that morning. He took her arms and carried her out. He used the fireman’s carry, but he always imagined he would be using it to save people’s lives, not hide their deaths. He was as quiet as he could be, but had no problems getting the body into a deserted, and unlocked flat. The next day was Sunday, and he would not be able to buy a lock for this door, but he would get one first thing Monday.
He went back to the surgery and started to clean up the mess. He made sure that he was wearing gloves to hide the fact that he had ever been there. It took him 3 hours to clean it thoroughly; he was determined not to leave a spec of blood or a scrap of hair for the forensic scientists to find. He put all his clothes in a bin bag, which he would burn down by the allotments the next day. Before he slept he took another shower, it was the fourth one that day, but no matter how hard he tried he could still feel her blood on him.
Joe was surprised at how well he slept; he was expecting to be tossing and turning all night, re living the moment again and again. The guilt he had felt yesterday seemed to have vanished, all he could think about was how exciting it was going be to try and get rid of the body without getting caught. He had somehow convinced himself that she was a ‘worthless bitch’, and that he had done the world a favour by killing her. His usual routine was not changed in anyway and he acted as though nothing had happened, but worse, like he had wanted it to happen…. Although his daily routine was unchanged, he seemed to complete everything more rapidly than usual, possibly because he had other things to do today and wanted to get started. He finished his bowl of cornflakes and, without moving the bowl from the table, left his flat and headed towards the small, undisturbed surgery.
Re entering this place didn’t seem to affect him as much as he may have liked; in his heart he knew it was wrong, but the thought of that power, that control, pushed him on, like a drug. He knew his way around now. He knew where the operating room was, and that was where he needed to go. He had not bothered with gloves, but was careful not to leave his fingerprints on any of the surfaces. There was a tray on the ice white surface. Joe moved towards it, cautiously, but not afraid. He scanned the tray for any equipment that would help with the task ahead. There were a few scalpels of different sizes, and scissors, along with other tools that Joe did not require. He picked up a few, making sure he didn’t cut himself on the sharp blades. He hadn’t used any tools up until now; he had done all of it only using his hands and his feet; the thought of using anything else intrigued him.
Back in the spare flat, the body of the vet still lay there, undisturbed since he had left her there the night before. He looked at his handy work, but unable to look at those dim, empty eyes, that seemed to look at him as though she was still there in some way, watching to see what he would do next. He dismissed this thought, and started to dissect her into small pieces. The skin cut more easily than he had expected, and he was shocked at how deep his initial cut had gone.
It took him about two hours to complete the entire job and, at the sight of it all, he couldn’t help but be sick. He lay on the floor in the bathroom, his head half down the toilet, sobbing. He hated this part, the afterwards, when all the madness that possessed him seemed to have been flushed down that toilet, and he was left with guilt. He just lay there, unable to move, scared of what he would find when he entered the room. His hand shook beneath him as he tried to pull himself up onto his feet. He looked into the cracked mirror that was nailed into the wall. His eyes were blood shot, and his face was as pale as milk. He took a few deep breaths then slowly moved into the next room, where he was confronted with the remains. He took out the heavy-duty rubbish bag, which he had stuffed into his coat pocket before he left his flat. Working at an incredible speed, he crammed all the ‘bits’ into this bag, and then washed his hands thoroughly, desperately trying to get the blood off. He carried the bag in his right hand and left the flat, thinking that he would never return.
The local pig farm was only a few miles a way. It was a run-down place owned by an old farmer who went by the name of Jeff Storm. He was never there as pigs were quite a self-sufficient animals; he gave them fresh food every day, and that was all. It was still early, and the pigs had only just started to tuck into their ‘French cuisine’. Jeff Storm was listening to the local news on his radio back at his house and he had no intention of returning until the following day. Joe did not wish to go any where near these creatures, but he knew that it was a necessity, and that he would have to grin and bear it. He kicked the pigs’ trough over; it was an old metal thing that made a loud clatter as it hit the muddy floor. The food spilt, but the trough seemed to cover most of it from the pigs. They all edged back, nervous. He tipped the contents of the bag on the floor and quickly moved away. He had no desire to see them eat it at all. His head briefly turned for a second, out of idle curiosity, and for that second he was able to see the pigs eagerly gorging on the ‘mess’, and the evidence.
He tried not to think of what had happened, of what he had done, but those late nights at the office gave him a lot of time to think of such things. The power he had possessed as he struck her, how easy the blade had torn through her skin, and how he had got away with it, without any problems. These thoughts bubbled inside him, on such evenings, like a craving that he found harder and harder to repress.
He woke up, hitting his alarm clock, to silence the penetrating sound which now echoed in his head. He got dressed as usual and walked down to the local shop to buy the paper.
“Hey Joe!!” A distant voice called out, and immediately he turned his head to see who wanted him. A short, tubby man came running across the street, dodging the traffic as he headed towards Joe. When he reached Joe he seemed out of breath, but his breaths where low and shallow.
“It’s been ages since I’ve seen you, you look well.”
Joe gave a weak smile, and remembered why he had always ignored the man’s calls to him before.
“The new place is great; it’s got a garden on the roof!”
Joe somehow managed to produce a smile through his tightly-pressed lips, he had thought that once this man was gone from his building, then he would also vanish from Joe’s existence. He wasn’t sure what to say to him; he was not pleased for him, and had no desire to pretend to be.
“You should see it Joe, It’s a real step up from that dump I used to be in…….I mean, well its alright, Look Joe I’m sorry I didn’t mean to criticize, I’m sure your place is a lot nicer.” He seemed so patronising, as though he knew that it was better, but somehow wanted Joe to feel slightly more important by pretending otherwise.
“It’s all right,” replied Joe, he was not up for an argument about this. He simply wanted to buy a paper from the shops. “It was nice seeing you again.” Joe felt betrayed by what he had just said. He was not pleased to see him, but yet could not bring himself to utter any words of hatred at this man. “I really do have to get on now, but I’m sure we will bump into each other again.” He walked away, not even waiting for a response from the man. He could hear a ‘goodbye’ from behind, but decided to ignore it.
He took his rolled up newspaper back to his flat without even reading it; he had lost his desire to know everything about everyone’s lives. The paper flapped open as he dropped it onto the table. There was an article on the front page that Joe briefly gazed at before he dismissed it. It was about the recent rise of missing people in the area. It mentioned how Claire Thomas, a newly qualified vet had gone missing four months previously and, since then, nine other people had strangely disappeared. They were all different: Vet, schoolgirl, retired man, a youth, who they expected had just run away, a homeless man who was frequently seen in the town, a housewife …. There was another article in the paper, this one was not as exciting as the first, but just as strange. Apparently a Local farmer, who went by the name of Jeff Storm, had said that his pigs seemed to be living on nothing. On several occasions in the last few months he had arrived to give them their breakfast but their trough had been knocked over, with the food trapped underneath, yet the pigs did not seem any hungrier than usual. He could not explain what these pigs were eating, as there were never any remains.
By Matt Brown
