*          *          *          *          *

 

 

                I don’t know how long I stared at the warm drops of stickiness that covered my immediate area, maybe only a few moments but it seemed eternal. Blood even found its way into my coffee, floating there like some miniature coastal oil slick.

                Chaos encroached everywhere, Diners screaming, shrieking…but I could not hear them.

                Maisie lay awkwardly in the aisle next to my table. Easing myself toward her crumpled body I gently cradled her head. Then I noticed the thick scarlet lake expanding slowly across the floor, with a solitary severed foot jutting out grotesquely from the centre like some macabre volcanic island oozing tiny meandering flows of dark gooey magma.

                Another pitiful soul stumbled towards us, upper body awash with scarlet and mouthing silent expletives into the void.

                Messages of pain and horror suddenly snapped free from my synapses and abruptly caught up with the rest of my broken mass.

                Just what the hell was that bastard pain?

                And who took my foot?

                Feebly I tried to shout but the darkness had finally located me and my soul faded.

 

 

2 Days earlier...

 

                One thing I love in life is my morning cup of coffee. Strong milky full of sugar with a huge side helping of warm golden pancakes, ham, eggs and bacon down at old Maisie’s Diner. Of course it’s not called Maisie’s Diner, Maisie owns it but for some reason she saw fit to call it ‘The Breakfast Club’, but nobody questions that…at least not to her face. Charlie an’ me have been stopping by Maisie’s every workday morning for the last four years on our way to the Timber yard. It started as a l’il hunger pain as we passed by one dreary, wet morning. After partaking in the finest food and conversation we’ve ever had we ain’t never a missed a day with Maisie’s beautiful home cooking since. Basking in the sweet nectar of my coffee one rainy morning I happened to glance out of the steamy windows at all the short, stumpy - I love my man - housewives busily shopping. All the suits hurriedly curtailing by and all the big shot business execs trying to keep dry amidst the raindrops. One hand on their attaché cases and one holding the daily broadsheets atop their heads I mused to myself that they looked a pretty peculiar non-sensical site. 

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

 

                A profound sense of dread swept over me at the thought of a serial killer hanging around here in my town. Out of the blue my memory synapses exploded with Chalrlie’s words from yesterday.

                “The Angel killer will strike here Mikey, he will!” He casually uttered without a hint of emotion.

                My head throbbed it was early but I needed alcohol.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

                Charlie didn’t sleep much either.

                He was far too busy enjoying his time with Sheree…and she was far too busy trying to locate just exactly where it was that she’d been buried.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

 

                Sheriff Montgomery had been Sheriff of Falcon Heights and neighbouring Fern Bridge for many a long year. He was a firm, reliable no nonsense Sheriff and possessed a very short temper, carried one hell of a sarcastic attitude and had a habit of letting his tongue rule his head. Moreover he got the job done, solved crimes and meticulously brought to justice every felon that ever dared to blight his town.

               Slamming down his phone, Montgomery scooped up his hot Mocha and angrily hurled it skywards towards the station entrance narrowly missing Deputy Evans as he entered. Both had earlier returned from a homicide out at Fern Bridge, after first having to give up the scene to the Feds and then unceremoniously wrestling with the buffoons from ANS News live on air.

                “Jesus Christ Boss, ya threw that coffee harder than you pushed that crazy brunette from the News earlier.” Evans said dryly.

                “Shut up you Muppet, ya get the right donuts this time fat boy?”

                “Depends if you gonna eat them or throw them at me!” Evans countered his features slowly broadening to a playful smirk.

                Evans had a certain repertoire and understanding of Montgomery and just about the only soul in town who did not take all of Montgomery’s comments to heart. As with all antagonists and short tempered people the key was to play them, turn it around and be just as bloody-minded as they are but with less venom and more humour.

                “Just give me the Goddamn donuts for Christ’s sake man. We got ourselves a bloody homicide in our jurisdiction, and a serial killer to boot. Yer the smart ass Feds have taken over but it doesn’t mean we can’t talk, can’t help, or do a little detective work of our own. So give me the donuts I can’t work on an empty stomach, and call Sarah tell her you won’t be getting home till late.”

                “Ah hell Boss, Sarah and me were gonna stay home tonight and have a romantic flick evening. I was looking forward to it.”

                “ You romantic! Ya big wet blouse. Only thing you was looking forward to was getting your tackle out, and besides it’s not like it’s a special occasion. It’s only a movie for Christ’s sake, you can watch god damn movies anytime of the week. Now go over there you Muppet, use the PC see what you can find out about our Victim.”

                “Boss come on, how late we talking anyhow?’ His smirk now diminishing to furrows of annoyance.

                “I don’t know, could be midnight, could be tomorrow morning but the sooner you get your ass in gear the sooner you can go lovey-dovey with Sarah. Now git.”

                Montgomery eased into a wry, teasing smile and Evans got the distinct impression that he was enjoying this. Hanging his head he dragged his heels over to the PC and sank heavily into the chair.

                “Ok, ok, so where you want me to start looking?” Evans enquired.

                Typing in his username and password as he spoke from a low slouched position he did not even take the trouble to adjust his chair. It was the demeanour of someone who’d given up the battle way before they’d even set eyes upon the enemy.

                “You’re the genius, where do you think you’d start?” Montgomery shot back.

                Evans slouched further into his chair, initiated a series of clicks on several icons around the screen and several seconds later he was connected to the National FBI Crime lab at Quantico, Virginia. Entering his additional law enforcement verification I.D took him directly to the Police search pages of the FBI crime lab.

                In the search field he typed...

 

 

 

 

Oh my word please forgive me I almost forgot my little snippets of dark wisdom to you all.

 

If for whatever reason you come downstairs in the middle of the night, enter yout sitting room and sleepily flick on the light. Please bear in mind that long gone departed spirits like to sit on your sofa, or your favourite armchair when you're not there. Turning on the light startles them and makes them flee, but sometimes you may just glimpse their troubled souls out of the corner of your eye for one brief, heart stopping moment. Best to give it a moment then before entering wouldn't you say? Or are you feeling brave tonight?

 

 

 

 

 

PROJECT ANGEL

All characters contained in these tales are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.