Garden Rubbish Part 3

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Garden Rubbish Part 3 Empty Garden Rubbish Part 3

Post by Graham on Mon May 28, 2018 3:35 pm

Words 546

He hears more doors banging and then a guttural voice. All he catches is ‘Fuck, McKay’ and it isn’t a watch-with-mother voice. Eventually there is silence and he doesn’t know how long he has been sitting there but his leg is beginning to cramp. Cautiously he eases it out. His knee joint makes a noise like a pistol shot. Shit, he thinks and holds his breath tight in his chest till it hurts. He is just about to gasp when the door opens slowly, and he hear McKay’s voice.

‘Michael, you can come out now. He’s gone.’

Hands move the floor cleaner and then lift him gently to his feet. He has trouble unfurling his body and leans on McKay.

‘Come on,’ the voice says, ‘let’s get you back to bed.’

He lets himself be guided out along the corridor and into the room, listening to the story. He isn’t sure if he is hearing it or seeing it in documentary fashion, a hand-held camera playing back in his consciousness. He sees McKay’s sister in tears then the camera jerks round and her boyfriend grabs her hair and pulls her head back, his blank expression at odds with the knife he holds at her throat. The scene shifts, and McKay is punched in the abdomen, the shaved head of the boyfriend leaning in to him and telling him what will happen to his sister if he doesn’t do what he is told.

‘I’m sorry, Michael I didn’t have a choice,’ McKay’s voice has taken on a rasping sound and he is gripping Michael’s bicep tightly. ‘You realise, I don’t have a choice.’

McKay is slightly ahead of him as he pushes the door of the room and pulls him roughly forward. Michael looks up in surprise and sees the back of McKay’s head. For a second he thinks McKay’s face shouldn’t be there then logic kicks in and he remembers everyone has at least two faces. They are in the room now and McKay turns to face him. His head revolves slowly, and horror seeps up Michaels frame trickling into his genitals and then enveloping his belly in cold chilling fear as the shaved head and bored features of his killer rotate towards him. He flails his arm to fend off the shot that must come but his arm is made of paper and the bullet explodes his brain into a deep blackness through which he sinks until the floor accepts him and silence washes over him.
‘Mr Timms, Michael, can you hear me? Ah there you are. What were you thinking of trying to get to the toilet on your own?’

He sees the face of the nurse and relief washes over him.

‘We’re surprised you got that far to be honest. You are on quite strong pain killers and a sedative. They can be mildly hallucinogenic. Anyway, DC McKay has been waiting to talk to you.’

She turns to the detective with a smile,

‘I’ll leave you to him.’

McKay is back to his affable self and wants him to look at some mug shots.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, those eyes, there’s nothing in them.’

‘That’s a shame,’ he says removing a syringe from his pocket and carefully feeding it into the drip.


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