A thief broke into this house…
…but someone worse was already inside…
Purgatory was such a dreary plane, he knew that from his own experience. To enter Hell required guilt, however little. For Heaven, remorse. Since knowing neither he had been marooned for some time in that wasteland between love and hate, pleasure and torture, when young Craven came calling, wounded and thirsty for blood.
The bidding began. Millions of voices clamored to be heard. Deals were offered by Christie, Haigh, Shipman, poor simple Mr West, that impostor Chapman to name a few. But Saucy Jack’s was the most enticing by far.
Of course, what better instrument of revenge than the most notorious killer of all time?
Excerpt from Disturbing Events: Sunglasses After Dark
Keaton was gargling softly now, spluttering foam and blood. Again he convulsed, arching his back, gnarled fingers digging into the bark of the tree. They tore two handfuls from it when he spun on his aggressor.
In spite of himself, of the gun in his own hand, Gary flinched. Keaton seemed taller now, more muscular, his movements assured, powerful as he stepped forward, arms wide, shoulders hunched. Another step and Gary hit him with the butt of the gun, hard, as hard as he could, hard enough to drop any man to the floor, but Keaton’s head only turned with the blow, shedding foam from his lips over his shoulder.
Quickly, Gary readjusted his hold on the gun, his finger threading through the trigger guard while a car engine loitered in Keaton’s throat.
Slowly, Keaton turned back, grinning from ear to ear, his mandible extending as he did, extending way beyond what Gary had thought humanly possible.
excerpt from Disturbing Events
The Cells; he’d spent many a night in them. For Payne they’d often served as a free bed and breakfast to sleep off a bad trip or smother a dark mood. He’d get his head down in peace, eat some pulpy corn flakes in the morning and check out. However, on occasion this featureless box had also proven a personal Hell. No, not a Hell, a Limbo between the worlds of freedom and incarceration and then he’d be screaming at the top of his voice to shatter the monotonous silence, banging his fists against the walls until they bled.
This was one of those times.
It was typically cold in there, discomfort would lead to confessions of course, and that night the custody officers would be taking no pity and providing a blanket like they had sometimes before.
That night no one was coming near him unless they had to.
Excerpt from Disturbing Events
