Phil Kurthausen - Sudden Death

After a few seconds she returned it to the drawer. She opened another drawer and took out an extension cord that she used to plug in her hairdryer when the one socket was overloaded with other plugs. Her father had given her it only the week before and mumbled something about his little girl being grown up now.

She stood up and pulled the chair she had been sitting on into the middle of the room. She stood on the chair.

There was a noise from downstairs or maybe closer. She looked around. Her wardrobe door had slipped open revealing the darkness of its interior stuffed with clothes and the old toys that had recently been relegated there. She would have to hurry as soon her father would be calling her to dinner and when she didn’t come he would look for her.

She reached up and slipped the extension cord around the light fitting. She had to push to one side the Paddington Bear lampshade that hung from the fitting but this was easily done. Quickly now, she tied a knot and then looped the plug end into a simple granny knot. She placed the loop around her neck.

There was another noise, a rustling like rats under the floorboards. She ignored it and kicked the chair away.

Alison dropped two feet, her toes lightly brushing against the carpet. She pirouetted like a broken jewellery box ballerina, twisting as the cord spun her around. And as the breath began to leave her for the last time she looked directly into the darkness of the old wardrobe and there she saw, unmistakably, a pair of red bloodshot eyes looking straight back at her.

She span once more and then was gone.

CHAPTER 2

The girl sucked in her bottom lip and looked at Erasmus with as lascivious a glare as he had ever received. She was young, early twenties he would have guessed if he was inclined to give it much thought, which he wasn’t. Her short denim skirt had ridden even higher up her slim thighs than he thought physics would allow, and now she placed a tanned hand under his shirt and on his chest, and then ran it, long manicured nails digging into his skin, slowly down his torso, stopping just above his groin. She paused for a moment and then slipped her fingers underneath his belt

Erasmus groaned, a groan of pleasure but also of despair. He thought of his mobile phone tucked away in his inside jacket pocket. Martha’s number was in there. It wasn’t too late, he could take a step back, look at his behaviour objectively for a second – that’s all it would take. Enough time for him to recognise the old behaviours for what they were, call Martha, and tell her he needed her help. He had done it before and she had never failed to pick up, as he had never failed to pick up when she had called on the diminishing number of occasions when she had succumbed.

His right hand moved towards his jacket and his phone. The girl’s large green-flecked eyes, pupils dilated, flickered and she grabbed his hand and took his fingers between her lips, sucking and biting the nails.

This time his groan was pure lust. All thoughts of calling Martha departed. He was lost. He moved forward and placed his left hand on her buttocks and drew her near to him.

She laughed and then pushed him back against the sink. Slowly she undid the three buttons on her tight electric blue blouse, revealing a black silk bra, and then tossed the blouse on the floor. He grabbed her now and pulled her to him. She kissed him passionately, her tongue exploring his mouth.

Suddenly, there was a burst of static in his ear mic.

‘I’ve lost him.’

Erasmus groaned but this time it was a groan of disappointment. He gently pushed her back.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

‘Work.’

She cocked her head to one side.

‘What is it you do?’

He half smiled and shook his head.

‘You don’t want to know.’

He opened the door of the cubicle and gave her an apologetic salute.

Even against the banging bass of the club and the whoops and cheers of hundreds of drunken and drugged revellers, Erasmus heard the message loud and clear through his earpiece.

‘I can’t find him!’

He began moving quickly towards the exit, pushing people aside gently but firmly so he could carve a path through the heaving, sweating mass of bodies. It was like swimming through flesh.

A bearded man, dressed to Erasmus’s mind like a cross between a thirties miner and a day-tripper, tried to grab him. He slipped under the man’s arm and brought his mouth close to the man’s glistening face.

‘Get out of my way now.’

The man stared back at him with pupils like black plastic buttons. His dopamine grin changed to a cocaine snarl and he pushed Erasmus in the chest. Erasmus glanced up at the suspended gantry that ran around the circumference of the dance floor. He spotted two bouncers, one of whom was scanning the dance floor for incidents just like this.

His earpiece growled static and then another message.

‘He’s on the roof. Get up here now! I think he’s about to do something stupid!’

He had no time to debate the issue with Cocaineman, who had now raised his hands and wiggled his palms in the internationally accepted gesture of ‘come on then’. Erasmus sighed.

‘When will you kids learn to just say no?’

Erasmus pulled his right arm back and balled his fist but it was just a feint. It would make what he actually planned to do easier. Cocaineman obliged and, anticipating a punch to the face, started to sway back. Erasmus dropped to his haunches and swept his right foot around in an arc taking the man’s legs away from under him in one smooth movement. He dashed forward and caught the guy’s head before it hit the floor and lowered him the few inches to the dance floor.

Cocaineman looked stunned and his breathing was laboured.

‘Do us both a favour and stay down,’ said Erasmus.

Erasmus stood up and began to walk quickly towards the exit and the lift that would take him to the top of the building.

‘You need to get up here now. I can’t see him!’ The voice in his earpiece sounded desperate now.

From behind him he heard a scream. Erasmus turned round and saw that Cocaineman hadn’t taken his advice and was back on his feet. Worse, he had pulled out a knife. Erasmus sighed.

People had instinctively moved away from Cocaineman, but not so far that they wouldn’t see the action. The crowd surrounding him were filled with a nervous but visceral bloodthirsty excitement.

The blade was six inches long and, reflecting the light from the strobes, it looked like a whirring, diamond power tool. Cocaineman was grinning, no doubt enjoying the reversal of power that his hyper firing synapses were telling him had just occurred. He was wrong.

There was another scream. Erasmus noticed a tall, pretty, heavily made-up girl run long pearlescent white finger nails over the bare skin of her arm and her red lips part in expectation. Wherever there is a fight there’s always a crowd waiting to watch the blood , thought Erasmus. He looked up and saw the bouncers were on the move heading for the metal stairs down to the dance floor. In a way it was a relief, there was no need for subtlety any more.

Cocaineman swung the knife at him in a lazy arc. Erasmus moved back an inch on his heels and the knife’s path missed him.

‘What did I tell you?’

Cocaineman ignored him and pulled back his arm ready to strike again. He never got the chance.

Erasmus transferred his weight onto his toes and then in one fluid movement pushed forward over his right knee, his right palm slamming hard into Cocaineman’s nose. He held back slightly as he didn’t want the bone fragments and destroyed cartilage that he could feel crunching beneath his palm to travel upwards into the chemical mess of Cocaineman’s brain: Erasmus figured he had enough trouble in there to be going on with.