ࡱ> DFC7 W=bjbjUU cN7|7|W9l4 4* * * * * * * * ~$ * * * * *  * *  * j* * ~ * ~  rr*  qB Brr 0r r  ULTIMATE EXECUTION Breathing a huge sigh of relief, he leant back against the inside of the front door of his house as it closed behind him and he laughed. He had gotten away with it. He had survived. The looks on their faces... He burst into fits of giggles. The canvas bag fell out of his raincoat as he slowly and wearily undid it. He let the coat slump to the floor and then he turned and locked the door, slamming the bolts across and linking up the chain. He felt safe now. The world outside was well and truly disassociated from his hidden little haven in here. He spent half an hour on the toilet. Nervous tension. The small gun clattered onto the floor from the pocket of his trousers and he left it on the lino' where it had fallen. He suddenly felt sick from the day's events. He showered and washed off the grime of the day. The mess of his chosen profession for today. The dried blood. Then he dried himself and put on clean clothes and managed to get some food down his neck. He wasn't proud of what had happened, but he had gotten away with it. He had survived. He laughed. * * * He loitered as unobtrusively as possible in the sodden street on the pavement immediately outside the bank. He glanced every now and then through the large single-piece glass window that separated him from his goal, trying to get as much information as he could before entry. The drizzly rain pattered on his short-cropped hair and dribbled down his back. His teeth chattered, not in cold, but in fear of what might go wrong with his task. Fear of the unknown. But he still had to do it. Staring through the window, he made a note of the camera positions inside the building and selected a likely target for the job he had in mind. Seeing someone stare at him as she passed by him on the pavement, he decided that it had to be now, lest he draw more unwanted attention to his activities. He entered the bank, hand in pocket, clutching the pistol. He hid as much as possible from the security cameras, looking about him casually, plucking up the courage to do what had to be done. Pulling the damp lapels of his grey, stained raincoat over the back of his neck, he hunched his head down and slowly but surely walked to the front of the queue, pushing to one side the tutting little old lady with her blue rinse and roughly elbowing the protesting spotty youth to the floor. He looked across at the pretty young female cashier with her short brunette curls and smirked, blowing cigarette smoke through the communication grille that was set into the thick glass. His hand emerged from his pocket. There was no going back now. He casually raised the revolver up to the cashier's window, pulling back the hammer, pressing the end of the barrel against the dense refracting glass. He smiled inwardly as the cashier gasped at the sight of the black weapon and he grimaced his demands at her through a twisted mouth of hate. She swiftly loaded a canvas bag with money, passing it along the line of tills to her equally surprised colleagues. They filled it up with fives, tens, twenties and fifties, thousands of pounds in total, crisp pieces of linen paper neatly bound together. All the time the revolver was pointed unswervingly at the first assistant. At that kind of range, no one wanted to chance anything, bulletproof glass or not. Apart from the rustling noises of the paper money and the shocked gasps of the bank workers, no sound could be heard. The customers behind him all stayed back, to their credit, not interfering one jot as the tills were emptied and the now bulging bag passed back to the first unlucky cashier, who then opened the window and thrust it out at him. He grabbed it viciously, wrenching the arm of the young woman as he did so, pulling her forward onto the counter and winding her. As she gasped for breath, he laughed maniacally, taking the bag and stashing it into his coat. His eyes flashed in exhilaration. He felt a new surge of energy flash through his body as the thrill of what he had just done hit him full in the face. Without thinking, he stood there in the middle of the bank, basking in the moment, glorying in the crime. It had all taken less than thirty seconds. And then someone screamed. He whirled around, the gun kicked once in his hand and he saw the slender form of the cashier fly back from the counter, her chest erupting in thick red gouts of blood. The window was open; she took the full force of the bullet. Two more crimson flowers of liquid exploded in her body as the gun jumped twice more as his finger reflexively pulled the trigger again and again. He looked in horror as she seemed to fall back in slow motion, he life fluid draining out of her shattered form, her brunette curls a sudden mass of red gunk as the gun kicked again and her skull took the full force of the fourth bullet. The screams from her red lips were silenced almost immediately as her face caved in with the force of the high velocity concussion. He had killed her. * * * He showered again. He felt he just couldn't get clean enough after what had happened. It had been a hell of a day and yet, whilst part of him felt that he wished it had never happened, the rest of him felt exhilarated. He had counted the money again and again and again. Over twenty thousand pounds from one days work. Not bad. Not bad at all. He felt giddy with the scale of it all. He had pulled it off splendidly. He felt pleased with himself. He was sick in the bowl of the sink. Another bout of nerves. He knew what he had done, but he would do it again if he had to. He had some regrets sure, but those wouldn't stop him from doing a similar thing in future. Next time he would be better prepared, better equipped and more determined. This was just a foretaste. More money would soon be coming his way and this he regarded as a mere rehearsal. He laughed to himself on and off for the rest of the night as he watched BBC1. He sat through "Eastenders" and "The Bill" with notes of all denominations strewn around him. His "winnings" for the day. Money he had had to kill for. Not that he cared that much really. Even when the news came on and they announced the crime and the three deaths he just sat there and watched with a dispassionate heart. He didn't overtly care. It was no longer his problem. He didn't have much of a conscience to speak of. * * * After the initial shock of what he had just done had dissipated to a certain degree, he turned towards the door of the bank. He had to escape. He had to get away. People were screaming, there were splatters of the cashier's blood all over the place, all over him and he had to get away before... He ran towards the glass door... ...just as someone else entered. Before he knew what was happening, his reflex had taken over again and the gun was up and pointing at this new enemy. There were two more bullets left in the weapon. Then there was one, then there were none. The gun clicked and clicked as his trigger finger pulled at the little metal lever with no response. He had killed again. For the second time in the space of ten seconds. This time he hadn't even seen whom it was that he had murdered. He didn't even know if it had been a man or a woman... * * * After a night's worth of mind-numbing television, he made the decision that it was time to go to bed. He undressed in his stark bedroom, locking the door as an extra precaution. Wearing nothing but a T-shirt, he clambered into the cool sheets and sat there for over an hour, listening to the radio reports. They were after him big-time, but he didn't care. He had gotten what he wanted and that was all that mattered. No one else was important. His need was all. He had considered fetching the gun to keep by his bedside but he was too comfortable in his cosy bed by now and besides, he was safe here. They wouldn't find him. Not this far away. The robbery had been in another city, half a country away. All part of his masterplan. His escape had been simple. By foot and then by train. Keep it simple and there can be no slip-ups. That was his motto. Even the killings he regarded as minor alterations, adaptations to his plan. He didn't feel sick about the deaths any more. Silly to have gotten in a tiz' about them in the first place. These people had gotten in the way. He had been forced to stop them in the way he had. Only his needs were important to him now. Everyone else was a hindrance. Anyone who got in the way would be eliminated as before. He was already planning further robberies in his disturbed mind. He peeled off his T-shirt and fell into a deep sleep. It wasn't long before the first nightmare came. * * * Running away from...what? He had to think. His mind was a blur. He felt violently ill and he was panting for breath as he hurriedly reloaded his small revolver. In his haste, he dropped some of the bullets on the ground, but he left them where they fell. He simply didn't have time to go back for them. Someone was after him. But who the hell was it? Why couldn't he remember? Why was his mind such a blank? What had happened to him? What had he done? He suddenly remembered as he turned the corner to be faced with a wall of sound. Police sirens filled the air. They were after him. He had killed someone. Two people. He didn't want to be taken. He ran back the way he had come but the sirens were everywhere. He couldn't seem to get away from the noise and his mind was racing with the pressure and anxiety of it all. Someone stepped out in front of him. This time he just let it happen. He had to get away and this new person was preventing him from doing so. The gun was empty in microseconds; all six rounds lay in the smashed body of the man who had stood in his way. It was only as he stepped over the prone, bloody torso that he realised that he had just killed a Policeman. * * * Sweat, hot flushes of fear, the sheer stench of anxiety. He awoke with a start, his mind racing with terror. The darkness seemed to close in around him, oppressing, forbidding. He tried to turn the light on, but it would not work. Accusing faces had harangued him. Shouting voices had screamed at him. He had been in a courtroom. A courtroom full of monsters and demons. Dark and forbidding, the creatures had bellowed at him, made allegations of him. He had been the defendant in this horror court. They had accused him of murder and he had pleaded not guilty, not guilty, NOT GUILTY!!!! He had shouted back at them until he was red in the face but to no avail. The evidence had been overwhelming. He had been found guilty and sentenced to death. Then he had awoken with a terrifying start. A terrible nightmare. He paced about the dark room, trying to convince himself that that was all it had been. A nightmare, a bad dream, an illusion in his mind, a fantasy. He obviously hadn't gotten over the idea of killing three people as much as he had thought. His unconscious mind was still wrestling with the concept and he had brought the dream into being. Guilty conscience. All a dream. Nothing else but a bad nightmare. The light still wouldn't work. None of them would. He tried the door. It wouldn't open. He unlocked it, silly of him to forget that. But the door still would not open for him. He was trapped in the room. Like he was in a cell. What the hell was happening here?!? * * * He had paced around for hours, unable to open the bedroom door, unable to get back to sleep. He had pulled the T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts back on and he had considered leaving the house via the window, but he was on the first floor and it was a long drop. Besides, there were bars on the outside of the window and they only opened a few inches to let a light breeze in during the summer. He was really freaked out there in the dark and it was only when the first rays of sunshine had appeared through the curtains that he had begun to calm down. He saw the normal layout of his bedroom, calming, soothingly ordinary. But he had soon become more scared than ever. Looking out of the window he saw not the normal sight of his hometown stretching before him but the sight of a grey courtyard and tall buildings with many windows. Barred windows. His window seemed to be set in one of those towers. No longer in a house. He was now apparently in a prison. He convinced himself that he must have been dreaming. This was an impossible situation. When he had fallen into his fitful sleep he had been in his house, his bedroom. Now he was supposed to be in a prison tower? Him and his entire bedroom? It was just not possible. It wasn't credible. It had to be a dream. But it wasn't. And he was left there to think over the implications of his situation as the hours ticked away. Seven-o-clock, eight-o-clock. Eight-thirty. A distant bell tower chimed nine-o-clock. And all hell broke loose. The "bedroom" door burst open with a crash and three men entered the room. He was bundled to the floor and two burly men in suits tied leather straps around his hands and legs in suits. A third man read some sort of official sounding order that he could only just make out during the violent but short scuffle. He was dragged out into what should have been the landing but which was now an anteroom leading into a corridor, which led into... ...a gallows. He was going to be hung. This was insane. He had just been taken out of his bedroom for Christ's sake!! A bedroom that for all intents and purposes should still is in his house!! Thoughts went through his mind in nanoseconds. This was insane!! His mind went back to a programme on hanging he had seen once. The sentenced man would lie in his cell at night, blissfully unaware that the gallows were only a few feet away in the next room. This situation reminded him of that. He was in exactly the same situation, but this was stupid!!! The trial. It all came back to him. He was suddenly very, very scared. It had all been for real after all.... People crowded round him, a priest, a prison warder, and a photographer. He struggled in the tight straps but it was to no avail. A black hood was placed over his head and he was manhandled onto a trapdoor as he felt the noose go over his cranium. He heard a shout and then felt a wrenching sensation as he plummeted toward the next level as the trapdoor opened. Then it all went black as his spinal cord was ripped to pieces and he died instantly. The ultimate execution. 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