Special Circumstances - 10. The Killer

My phone alarm went off at six. I was full of energy and put on Mr. Turner’s loaned clothes eagerly. They were too big and looked ridiculous but worked well as I went out into the cold mid-March morning for my morning run. I was happy to perform the rest of my exercise routine in my room, although the wooden floor was uncomfortable and squeaky. The noises coming from my room alarmed Mr Turner who came to check on me when I was doing single-arm push-ups.

After a shower, putting on the newly bought underwear, I realised I’d forgotten to buy some socks. While I was miffed, I had to wear the only pair I had. Feeling uncomfortable, I put the uniform back on and went for some breakfast. First, though, I checked the alarm system’s control panel. The log showed no incidents or changes.

At breakfast, the Turners were more chatty than yesterday evening. Probably they were morning people. After breakfast, I sent some more messages to Mike who would still be asleep and waited at the bottom of the main stairs for Mr. Morris-Walker to wake up and be ready to talk to me.

A short while later, he came down the stairs. “Good morning, Jamie. Vigilant as ever, I see. Carry on, Carry on.”

What an arrogant asshole. I followed him to his dining room. “We need to talk about the plan for today, Minister.”

“Oh, well," he mumbled as he sat down at big table. “It is Saturday morning. I will be at the constituency offices from ten till twelve. Then, there will be a local party leadership meeting. For the afternoon, we will come back here. In the evening, there will be a fundraiser dinner for local dignitaries. In all of these, I must ask you to be very much in the background.”

“Of course, Minister. Can you please give me the exact location of the evening event, sir? I’ll need to make myself familiar with the grounds.” Of course, I’d been given that information, but I wanted to be sure it was correct.

He sighed, took out his phone and sent me an event invite.

“Thank you, Minister.” I then left him alone.

I brought the car to the main entrance and used the time to check on the event location and the weather which looked to turn rather bad tonight. Winter seemed to be back with a vengeance. Morris-Walker came out of the house and got into the car.

“Frightfully cold this morning.”

“It seems to be getting worse, Minister. They’ve given a warning for Severe Weather tonight. There will be a snow storm right on top of us.”

“Oh, dear," he said in that annoying tone, “This vehicle is not the worst one available. Also, I remember you went to a rather expensive driving course, Jamie. I am sure you will weather it fine.”

He let out a mixture of a sigh and a chuckle. Maybe he found himself particularly witty.

I started driving. “Yes, Minister.” Asshole.

“Young man, I think you have seen too much of the TV series ‘Yes, Minister’.”

So, my tone had come across. I was happy.

I briefly looked at him through the rearview mirror. “What gave you that impression, Minister?”

“Your tone has something of Sir Humphrey, Jamie.”

“Perish the thought, Minister," I quoted.

“Maggie was a big fan of the series, you know?”

“Yes, Minister.” He was talking about Maggie Fucking Thatcher?

“She wrote a short scene she had the actors play.”

“Really, Minister?”

“Yes, it was quite funny, actually.”

“I take your word for it, Minister.”

“Less of Sir Humphrey, Jamie. If you please.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Jamie!”

“Okay, Rupert. I get it!”

I glared at him through the rearview mirror. He glared back at me but stayed silent.

We drove to the constituency office. At least, there was a parking space for the MP’s car, so we avoided the issue of walking from the car park. For the office hours, I stayed in the background as requested, to be more precise, in the minuscule staff kitchen, mostly messaging with Mike.

While Mike was enjoying a response shift duty, I was condemned to sit here in a Conservative Party local headquarters, the last place I’d ever thought I’d find myself in. Mike found it funny.

For the local party leadership meeting, a row of old men in suits invaded the office which was turned into a meeting room. This time, Morris-Walker wanted me to be present in the corner behind him.

“Just stand there and look nicely grim as always," he had said.

It was news to me I was looking grim. I assumed my requested presence was simply to show how important he now was, getting an armed police escort. Inwardly smiling, I did as requested and looked as grim as I could from under my bangs. What the discussion was about, I couldn’t tell. It was boring and so core conservative that if I’d properly listened, I would’ve probably been angry. Then suddenly, the minister dropped my name.

“Well, gentlemen. We should ask my Protection Officer Jamie here," he said and turned to me as did all the other local rich bastards.

Luckily, police policies provided me with a perfect answer to a question I didn't know. “I’m sorry, Minister. While on duty, I represent the state, and I’m not allowed to make any political statements.”

“What a shame.” He turned back to his cronies. “His unique working class perspective would have been quite refreshing to entertain.”

I sighed inwardly. Did the guy really not know how insulting he was?

The rest of the meeting was uneventful, as was the drive back to his mansion. Morris-Walker took the whole afternoon practicing a speech probably filled with jokes which only worked for the upper crust whereas I was updating Inspector Boswell about the minister’s plans and verified the event location. Like me, he was concerned about the weather. After that, I tried to get a couple of hours of sleep before the evening event.

Morris-Walker had taken his time to change. When he finally came down the main staircase, I had to admit he looked like a proper statesman. His wavy brown hair and evening dress were used to full effect. Not that I’d ever tell him, his ego was already big enough.

I stepped into his way. “Minister, the current weather conditions are bad. It’s snowing already, and it’s predicted to be much worse. My command and I recommend cancelling.”

“Jamie, this is important. It is a donor dinner. I have to be there. These people decide upon a politician’s future.”

“I was under the impression that would be the voters, Minister.”

“Don’t be naive, Jamie. Voters can only choose between the candidates the parties present. The people I meet tonight, decide on what the party will do.”

“But don’t you have your position already, Minister?”

“Only a careless politician neglects his base, Jamie.”

“Yes, Minister.” As I fell in behind him, I rolled my eyes.

We walked to the car, and I drove through the gathering snow towards the countryside inn where the event was being held. Driving was uncomfortable, but not dangerous. I got the minister to the inn with fifteen minutes to spare.

“You see, Jamie," he said while climbing out, “No problems.”

“I’m concerned about driving back, Minister.”

“Nonsense. You can now have a nice cup of tea while I attend my guests.”

The event location was an old post way station inn located on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere. I was a U-shaped building, the car park was situated in the old courtyard. The middle-aged proprietor of the inn welcomed the minister and ignored me, exactly as it was supposed to be.

We were led to the main dining room which had been prepared for this private event. Three couples of advanced age were already waiting for Morris-Walker to arrive. He greeted them like old friends and chatted, exactly as expected from a politician. Only one further couple arrived, and it was quickly decided to gather all guests and the minister around one big table.

I hadn’t thought this company was able of making quick decisions let alone doing anything about it.

I was given a cup of tea which I quickly emptied. I hovered in the background and tried to be as invisible as possible. I checked the rest of the premises trying to memorize the layout. Apart from the guests and the proprietor who was serving, there were only the chef and a teenager in the kitchen. All other potential guests and staff had been sensible and stayed at home.

Walking around, I was bored by the time the event participants were fed their second of four courses. I grew more and more concerned whenever I looked out of the window. There were now easily 10 centimeters of snow and more was coming.

I tried getting the minister’s attention, moving into his line of sight and nodding outwards. A quick shake of his head, and they were served their next course. After they’d finished their third course, I had enough. I approached the table.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies and gentlemen. Minister, the weather is deteriorating. I must ask you to consider leaving now, or we’ll be stranded here.”

He was annoyed, I could see it. Nevertheless, Morris-Walker sounded very friendly. “Thank you, Jamie.”

While I hadn’t any effect on him, most of the other guests heeded my words and took their leave. I wished them good luck. One couple, however, stuck to Morris-Walker like glue. The proprietor who was annoyed about most of the guests having left, served the last course to the three.

Again, I went around and checked the premises and the weather. There was now easily double as much snow as before, and the storm was in full swing. We were stuck.

While the minister and the last sponsor couple were still chatting, I updated Control about being stuck here due to the snowstorm, but supplies and shelter were not issues. I called Mike to update him as well and to wish him a good night. I wished I was snowed in with him instead of with Britain’s most obnoxious politician.

The proprietor finally had to acknowledge my existence and talk to me when I brazenly blocked his way into the main dining room. Upon my absolute insistence, he finally checked the weather conditions for himself.

“You’re right," he admitted grudgingly, “We’re stuck. Damn. I’d hoped for it all to go smoothly.”

“Do you have accommodation for everyone?”

“Of course. I’m more concerned about power.”

What an idiot. “Well, show me the rooms, please. I’ll choose the minister’s room.”

We went upstairs. I chose two rooms which had a connecting door and selected the more exposed one to be mine. I asked the proprietor to assign the other guests rooms as far away as possible, because I wanted to be able to hear the floor boards creaking. He didn't like my comment, but as owner of an 18th century building, he knew what I meant.

While the proprietor and the kitchen staff were preparing the rooms with additional blankets, candles and lighting fires, I went to the three patrons.

“My lady, sirs, we’re now stuck here due to the weather. The inn staff are preparing rooms.”

“Oh Terence," the woman chided her husband, “I did tell you to heed the young man’s advice, did I not?” Why did they all have to be so hoity-toity?

“Well, Deidre, see it as an adventure," her husband said. “Shall we have a whisky, Minister?”

“Oh, why not? Jamie, could you bring us some whiskey, please?”

Was he now making me his servant? I was about to say something inappropriate when I saw pleading in his gaze. Remembering what he told me about the importance of this evening, I said, “I’ll see whether they’ll serve a man in uniform, Minister.” At least I got them all to laugh.

I went to the bar and looked at the neatly arranged bottles. Having no idea about whiskey culture or alcohol in general, I used my phone to look it up. Having learned single malt was considered better and age was considered better, I took the oldest single malt bottle I could see. Having also found a picture with whiskey glasses, I was also able to choose three appropriate glasses. I put the glasses and the bottle on a tray and walked carefully back to the table.

“It turns out they wouldn’t serve a man in uniform, so I had to get the whole bottle. Please help yourselves.”

“Thank you, Jamie.”

I went upstairs to check on the state of the rooms and to tell the proprietor about the bottle I’d taken.

He wasn't happy. “Oh man, what have you done? You never give them a bottle! Only individual glasses. They’ll now sit there for hours, and we’ll have to stay up along with them.”

The man was correct. The three were sitting at the table for another two hours during which he had to man the bar, and I had to sit or walk around the main dining room. Then suddenly, the lights cut out.

“A moment, please," the proprietor said. “That’s quite normal in these circumstances.”

He started lighting candles. I took out my torch so the guests didn't sit completely in the dark in the meanwhile. I focused to enhance my sight. It was then when I saw the outline of a huge man standing outside the patio door.

“Minister," I shouted and readied my machine pistol. “Everybody out! Now!”

Morris-Walker, slightly drunk, took a moment to understand. He first looked at me, then into the direction I stared. Of course, he couldn’t see what I was able to see, but in that moment, the huge man came through the patio door, sending splinters and glass flying in all directions.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing you freak?” The proprietor shouted and ran to stop the huge man from entering.

“No!” I exclaimed but the proprietor now stood in front of the intruder who grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up, like it happened to me so many months ago.

I didn’t know which of the three guests was screaming. However, I was able to discern the sound of the proprietor being flung against the wall. Hitting it hard, he collapsed into a heap in front of the wall. The huge, naked man oriented himself.

“Minister, run! Kitchen! To the right!” I shouted and took aim.

There was movement from the guests’ table, so I assumed they got to their senses and ran.

I fired a burst. The bullets clearly hit him in his chest. The problem was they didn't penetrate. The bullets just fell to the ground in front of him! However, I’d gotten his attention. When he started towards me, I fired another burst. At least, he stopped for a second or two.

I took a moment to focus. Feeling my muscles bursting with energy, I ran up to the assailant and swiped him off his feet. Seeing him fall, I ran out of the room to join up with the minister and his guests and released control over the energy flow.

“Move!” I shouted in my best command voice.

They ran into the kitchen at a speed I hadn’t thought possible for the elderly couple. Fear is an effective stimulus! I closed the heavy kitchen door and pushed a small cupboard in front of it.

“That won’t keep him for long. You two! Into the pantry! You’ll be safe there. Don’t get out till the police tell you to, regardless of what you might hear! Move!”

Shocked, I assume by the situation but also by my tone, they ran into the storage room. I locked the door.

“They’re dealt with, Minister. Are you ready?”

From outside, we heard screams.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Here, take my torch and hide in that corner. I’ll draw his attention, then you can touch him from behind. After that, you run upstairs. Clear?”

“But Jamie. I would need some time.”

“You said you need to touch him! And you’re telling me now you need time? You gotta be kidding me!”

The attacker hit the door and tried to push it open.

I shoved Morris-Walker to the corner. “We don’t have time. Just do as I said!”

I took the machine pistol off and put it on a counter. I drew the extensible baton as it’d helped the last time, took a stance, and focused. Like in a film, the entity in the form of a man slowly pushed the cupboard and the door into the kitchen. To avoid being cornered, I had to move to the left. As soon as he was visible from my new vantage point, I started hitting him.

By rights, I should’ve broken all bones in his right hand and arm, my mind still refusing to think of him as anything else but a man. Despite my hits, he ignored me completely. He turned to his left to face Rupert Morris-Walker and grabbed him with both hands. I hit the man hard on the head, many, many times while he lifted Morris-Walker by the throat. The guy’s head should’ve been pulp by now!

This wasn't working, and he’d strangle the minister soon. I looked around and saw an array of kitchen knives. It couldn’t get any worse, so I took one and rammed it in the man’s back. That got his attention. He screeched in an unearthly voice, but didn’t release his grip.

Seeing Morris-Walker, I knew I was running out of time.

I jumped up to the guy, putting my legs around his chest and pulling his head back with my weight, exposing his throat. Like so often seen in a movie or a game, I slit his throat from left to right.

Suddenly, there was lots of light, and I was thrown backwards, hitting a stove and sliding to the ground. Pots and pants were falling to the ground around me. It was a pandemonium of noise. I lost my concentration, and the room turned dark.

In the following silence, my head cleared, although slowly. “Minister?”

“Still here, Jamie” he croaked.

The torch was laying on the ground, but by now my natural sight had adjusted to the light available. There was much less chaos than I’d expected and no carnage. No fleshy parts, no blood splatter, only kitchen utensils lay scattered around. It was as if the man had never existed. I got up and walked over to Morris-Walker.

I held out a hand. “Are you injured?”

“No. Just a sore throat," he explained as I pulled him up. He looked at me. “Thank you, Jamie.”

I nodded and turned away. The thanks seemed genuine and must’ve cost him. We walked to the bar area. The chef and his assistant were lying on the ground. They must’ve challenged the intruder and been knocked out. I went to check on them.

“Unconscious, but alive," I reported and began to put them into recovery position. “Can you check on the owner?”

He stood and looked at me.

“You don’t know how to check for vital signs?” I asked in disbelief.

“Oh, Jamie, that is not my forte. All this physical stuff.”

After I’d dealt with the two men, I walked to the main dining room. The minister followed suit.

“Can you pick up the bullets there and the cases there, please?” I pointed at a scatter of them and handed him the torch. “There should be ten of each all in all.”

He looked at me puzzled.

“Inquiry, Minister? Bullet proof man disappeared without a trace, you in a fight again…?” Did he listen to me at all?

He got the point and began collecting the spent bullets from the dining room floor.

I enhanced my vision again. I confirmed the proprietor was still out cold. Because of the broken patio door, the temperature was dropping quickly. I dragged the unconscious man leaving him in the recovery position near the bar next to the chef and the teenager. I also took his keys.

I went behind the bar. With shaking hands, I took a shot glass and a bottle of vodka. Morris-Walker then joined me, lighting me up with the torch.

“What are you doing, Jamie?”

My hands visibly shook when I held the filled shot glass up. “I’ve just killed a man.”

“Jamie, it was a ghost, not a man," he said soothingly.

“Pretty much felt like a man to me when I slit his throat.” I downed the shot and had to cough. “Bah!”

“We are British, Jamie," he said, “Stiff upper lip! That’s how we do it.”

I looked at him and started snickering. “Are you for real?”

He was about to reply when I said, “Don’t. Just don’t. Please.”

After a big sigh, I felt the calming effect of the shot. “We need to get our story straight, Minister. Did you get all the bullets and cases?”

He nodded, and I took a bowl from under the counter and put it on the bar counter. He put the bullets and cases in one by one. There were twenty items.

I picked up a bullet. “Look, they’re just flat. It’s unbelievable! We mustn’t let anybody see this. It would raise far too many questions. This is impossible.” I put the bullet remnant back into the bowl. “I need the ammo replaced. You said you can fix that. If not, I’ll be in serious trouble.”

“Yes, I will fix that," he said confidently.

“The guys from the inn are all injured and were knocked out. Your sponsors are elderly and in shock. I think we can make them all believe they’ve never heard me firing the bursts. Nobody saw me fire. So, if you get the ammo, that won’t be a problem, right?”

“I concur.”

“The assailant came in, we have witnesses. We know he was huge and probably naked and he knocked three people out. We’ll have several statements for that, but how do we explain his disappearance?”

I’d asked the question more to myself. Therefore, I was surprised when Morris-Walker suddenly said, “I have an idea, Jamie. Give me those.”

“What? My handcuffs?”

“Yes, we can say you apprehended him and locked him in the cellar. Because your primary objective is to protect me, as you do not fail to point out repeatedly, you were unable to stay with him, because there could have been more assailants. He escaped during the night.”

I considered this option. “Yes, that could work, Minister. Nobody saw the end of the fight. We just need to agree on a story we can both provide. The closer to the truth the better. He grabbed you, and I was able to free you. Having him on the ground, I was able to handcuff him. You don’t know how I got him on the ground, I’ll think of something. Then we discussed what to do with him, and you suggested the cellar. I got him there and locked him up. When I later went to check on him, he was gone.”

I put my handcuffs into the bowl with the bullets and cases.

“Jolly good!”

“Minister! I hope you know we’re committing a crime here. We’re conspiring to pervert the course of justice. If this gets out, we’ll both get the sack.”

“It will be fine, Jamie!”

“Damn," I exclaimed, “We need to find this place’s CCTV!”

I hurried to the manager’s office which I opened with the proprietor's keys. Good that I’d snooped around the premises earlier. The minister was right behind me, and I found a cheap system which was off due to the power cut. They obviously didn't have much crime here. That made things considerably easier because the encounter wasn’t recorded.

“That takes care of that. Next, the cellar, Minister. We need to find a place which could’ve held him.”

“And why should I need to go into the cellar?”

“So you can truthfully say you’ve been down there and not so truthfully say I locked our assailant up down there.”

“Oh, yes. Lead on.”

We went downstairs into the cellar. We found a room which could’ve been used as an improvised cell, and it did have a major flaw in the form of a cellar window. It couldn’t have gone any better. I smashed the window with the baton. We then locked the thick wooden door from the outside.

“That should take care of that part of the story," I said.

We went back upstairs where I checked on the three unconscious inn staff.

“I think it’s time to let your sponsors out, Minister.”

“My sponsors? Oh, you mean Lady and Lord Paisly.”

I laughed. “I should’ve known when I ordered them around. I would’ve enjoyed it even more.”

“Jamie! I am appalled," Morris-Walker said. I couldn’t determine whether he meant it sarcastically or not.

“Sorry, Minister. Let’s go.”

We walked into the kitchen. Morris-Walker had the torch. I first picked up my machine pistol before I opened the pantry door. We found the distraught couple in a corner.

“It’s all clear. You can come out.”

“Where is he?” Lady Paisly asked.

“Under lock and key, Deidre," Morris-Walker replied, “Jamie here has arrested him and put him away. It was quite an effort, but our police are occasionally useful.”

The couple came out, and we led them to the inn’s office. Morris-Walker was switched on enough to not shine the light in the direction of the bar or the three unconscious inn staff.

While he settled them in, I walked back to the bar. To my pleasure, I realised the minister had somehow taken care of the bowl because it was gone from the counter. I lit some candles and brought some to the office so I could get my torch back from the minister.

The three inn staff came around one by one eventually. I helped each of them to get upstairs to their rooms and into bed. The chef and his assistant were bruised. The proprietor most likely had a serious concussion. Apart from taking it easy, there wasn't much which could be done right now.

Each of them wanted to discuss the huge man who had attacked them, and I was able to placate their fears. I described the events as I wanted them to be described, thus clouding their own impressions.

Influencing a witness was a strict no-no for a police officer, but I did it nonetheless, and it seemed to work. None of them mentioned any gunfire. The plan had been set into motion.

Luckily, the inn staff had earlier lit fires in the guest rooms. I went through all the rooms and refueled the fires. Morris-Walker was able to get Lady and Lord Paisly to retire in their assigned room. I heard him promise I would be a vigilant guard. He came back downstairs to the bar.

“What are you doing, Jamie?” the minister asked.

“I’m making cold chocolate, Minister. Would you like any?”

“I am pleased to see you also have domestic qualities.”

“I assume that’s a yes, then. I doubt my boyfriend would agree with you.” I poured him a cup.

He tasted and said, “The best cold chocolate I have ever had.”

I let the comment slip and put six cups onto a tray. Morris-Walker looked at me. I felt his gaze and looked up from my pouring. He whispered, “It worked, Jamie.”

I was at a loss. “What worked, Minister?”

“While it held me, I was able to read the entity. I now know who sends them and why.” He looked at me with a seriousness I hadn’t seen in him before. “We have a problem.”

“How do we have a problem?” I tried stretching the ‘we’, but I doubt I did.

“All this is to distract me from the fact that a maniac tries to perform a ritual.”

“A ritual?” I asked noncommittally. What bullshit was this?

“I need to think about it, Jamie," he said and then went upstairs to his assigned room.

I climbed the old stairs much more slowly carrying the tray. His Lordship and his wife took the two mugs gladly. The inn staff were more concerned with me rummaging behind their bar, but accepted their mugs nonetheless.

I realised I hadn’t reported the incident. I went downstairs to do so. I updated Control over radio and gave a detailed report to the Superintendent on duty via phone. He agreed with the improvised arrest situation and promised to send backup as soon as possible. I had lied.

Finally, I climbed the top of the stairs, sat down, and drank my cold chocolate. Leaning against the wall, I was thinking. I knew it wasn't a man, but I’d committed the ultimate deed. It had felt so real. How the knife cut, the resistance to the blade, how I’d held his head back. I think he was trying to say something, but it might be a figment of my imagination. Yes, I knew it wasn't human, but somehow it didn't change anything. I had killed.

Lying and killing. What for? To keep a secret? To protect Morris-Walker?

I believed I’d been awake all night on top of those stairs. My thoughts were circling around the events of the last evening while I tried to make sense of ethics and duty. Maybe I’d slept, I wasn't able to tell. Suddenly, my phone alarm went off, and the new day loomed.