Author: Alexander Fawn

From the word go they had always taken it in turns to respond to the baby alarm.

They had bought the latest model. It had the works; two-way audio and a room temperature sensor. It was often the case that when the little one began crying they both woke up and had to think hard before remembering whose turn it was, but it usually got resolved pretty quickly. On this particular night the baby had been silent right through to the middle of the night, when all of a sudden its cries came over the speaker. He came to, realising it was his turn. He began to pull his covers down and swing his legs out when he heard a shushing sound. The baby could be heard murmuring softly as a melodic humming started. He smiled as he recognised it as some kind of lullaby. He rolled back in and pulled the covers up. After a while, everything went quiet again.

He was just drifting back into sleep when he was startled by a hand coming over and giving his shoulder a squeeze.

She whispered, “Thanks honey.”

The key that she had worn on a chain around her neck since childhood was gone.

It wasn’t until she returned from a three day trek along the Gokyo Lakes and Renjo La in Nepal that she found it missing. As mind-blowing as the thought of it was, she would have to return and search for it. She simply had no choice. It was a small, ornate key that was given to her by her widowed mother before she died. It was extremely precious to her, not only because her mother had passed it on to her, but because it unlocked a great treasure. Her father, long before he passed away had bought a collection of gold coins at auction to be passed on to his daughter in the form of an inheritance. These precious coins were placed in a similarly ornate, metal strongbox. This small fortune was held in a bank vault and could only be opened by the lost key.

Needless to say, there had been no trekking, no coins and no strongbox. Her parents were still alive and living in a retirement home.

In truth, there never had been a key, but she would keep looking for it!

He was sitting on a bench in the park listening to the voices in his head.

He could hear them clearly. He was smiling, as though he was joining in to some strange conversation. People out to lunch, walking past, were staring at him, especially when he closed his eyes. He was in another world. The subtle changes in his expression ended with a knowing smile. Without warning he stood abruptly. He pulled the mini earpiece out as he made his way back to the office. That was the end of the story.

He just loved audio books.

It was his second visit to the extrasolar planet to carry out maintenance.

He was hoping that this trip would be more of a break than the last one. That had been drawn out big time by his being given the wrong microchips for the spaceport’s upgrade. It had been a disaster, with him being stuck in limbo for a week on standby, waiting for parts. Although this job was only a two-day stint, he figured he’d have all of the second day to be a tourist. He’d been told that the city had lots to offer with artificial intelligence technology being widely used. As long as he was careful not to enter the slum sector, he’d be all right. Apparently, many of the failed robotic projects had resulted in rogue automatons going AWOL. They now controlled a small shantytown on the edge of the city. This was now an area forbidden to humans.

The first day went well, with no hitches occurring during his carrying out the repairs. The second day was all his. He used the audio guide book to move around the city. He’d had a fascinating day by the time he was due to return to his sleeping quarters. Whereas the guide had been an excellent help during the day, he found that the navigational system was playing up on his return. He knew enough to know that there was some kind of interference concerning the directives he was receiving. It was at the point where he realised that the surroundings were no longer familiar and that he was definitely lost that it happened.

Walking past several large, rundown hangers, he heard a door creak open behind him and before he could turn he felt a blow to the back of his head. He had obviously been out cold because when he came to he found himself strapped to a table and surrounded by several androids all jabbering incoherently to one another. As far as he could tell they were excited. They fell silent and stood aside when the apparent leader approached.

The battered-looking robot picked up a scalpel and giggled.

She stood in the isle of the supermarket, holding a box of cereal.

Her daughter, having recently qualified as a nurse, said she should eat more carbohydrates. She said they were the body’s main source of energy. She idly perused the ingredients. There it was, carbohydrates 28 grams. She used to enjoy these, so she needed to rediscover them. She put them in her trolley.

That night was Bingo Night. She would go with her friend once a week. She never seemed to win anything but she enjoyed the evening. It was quite early in the last game of the evening when she found herself looking at her card that only needed one number. Everything was crossed of, leaving just one to go. This could well be her lucky night. The main prize, a huge hamper of food, sat on the caller’s table. Her friend’s eyebrows shot up when she lifted her card. Just moments later the caller shouted, “Not too late, number twenty eight!”

When she and her friend went up to collect the prize, she was amazed to find a box of cereal laying across the top of all the groceries. It was the very same product that she had bought earlier that day. What a coincidence, she thought. She took this as an omen, a sign that her daughter was right about eating more carbs.

She didn’t notice the numbers.

But, there again, why should she?

In their own ways they were both really fond of going to the movies.

Their local cinema was showing the latest offering from Hollywood. It seemed that everyone was talking about it. It happened to be the kind of film that had all of the things they liked in it, along with several of their favourite stars. He had suggested that they go and see it. He came up with a day and time, saying that he would purchase the tickets online and meet her in the foyer. On the night, they met on time. He bought their favourite snacks and drinks and they went in. They took their seats and waited patiently for the show to begin.

For nearly two hours neither of them gave a moment’s thought to the fact that they had never really liked each other.

He had always liked numbers.

At school he had been good with them, their sequence, and their patterns. He had been able to see patterns were other kids couldn’t. That’s what made using them so special. That’s how he had everything worked out so nicely. Number fifteen was his favourite. It had always been the number that he lived by. Now, as a young man, putting things right in the world, it was his magic sequence for bumping people off. These were simply people that had to go. The homicide detectives couldn’t find anything that linked those he’d sent to their maker. Only he saw the ones that had to go. He was able to spot them straight away, in the street, in shops, buildings, railway stations; anywhere. He came across them everywhere, the ones that had to go. He could tell just by looking at them, across a room, passing in the street, they were not quite right, dodgy, worthless, all walking around using up valuable oxygen.

He knew that his contribution to fixing things up was very small, minimal really. He had despatched a dozen to date with only three to go, all exactly fifteen days apart. He was sure that the cops had worked this much out, the time between, but that common element the despatched all shared, they would never see that. He understood that fifteen was just a drop in the bucket. There were so many people walking around out there that were just wasting space, polluting the gene pool, eating valuable food, making TV commercials; the list just went on. But, he would stop at fifteen. He’d been working on thirteen for a while now. His sequence consisted of first spotting someone who didn’t deserve to be around, spending a couple of weeks observing their habits, routines, their activity patterns, then knock them off on day fifteen.

For him, he was now well versed in the business of dispatching, the making disappear, the rubbing out. Number thirteen was easy, this snotty-nosed kid, so rude to that old lady on the bus. Observation had been a cinch. This would be a careless step out in to traffic. A quick passing. The nasty little sod, death’s too good for him really. But, hey! One does what one can.

Anyway, now comes the worst part, the one drawback to maintaining his sequence… the waiting! He now had to wait three whole days before removing one more blight from the community. There again, on the other hand, if he improve society on day fourteen or sixteen, they wouldn’t see my pattern.

They wouldn’t know it was me!

He slowly came to, looking around at the room and taking in the smell of antiseptic.

It was taking a while for it all to come back to him. He knew he was in hospital. It was something to do with his stomach, or was it his chest? He prodded himself. No pain, nothing at all. Obviously the operation went well, whatever it was, or at least he’d survived it. He was hungry; he knew that! He had a sudden flash of something; something bouncing him around. The ambulance, of course, that was it. The journey in the ambulance with a mask on his face and the siren blaring. Before that, there was the floor, a cold and dirty concrete floor with him lying face down on it. Before that, there was the knife. That’s right, the knife that came out of nowhere; and the fight.

His head fell back. What about the stuff? What happened to that? The largest drug shipment this year, and he was supposed to be guarding it. The Big Cahuna wasn’t going to like it. But, he reflected, somebody cares enough to get me here. Somebody had to call for an ambulance and get me into surgery. He was jarred out of his reverie when a nurse opened the door and looked in. She approached the bed with a smile. Taking his wrist, she stood looking down at her watch. She looked so nice in her clean-starched uniform. She was pretty too. He was trying to think of something saucy to say when he felt the hunger pangs return.

He said, “Any chance of something to eat?”

She shook her head. “Nobody eats here.”

At that moment, there was a noticeable rise in temperature and a distant crackling noise. Suddenly, the bright lighting and the white walls faded away leaving the room dingy, an orange glow flooded the room, with just a couple of small candles burning in the corner. There was a stink of sulphur. He was no longer lying in a comfy bed, but strapped to something hard. Looking back at the nurse, he was shocked to find her a withered, evil looking figure in black. She had two dark wings at her back.

She screamed with laughter. “Get’s ‘em every time!” she said, leering down at him. “He just loves doing this. I must admit I get a kick out of it myself.” Bony fingers tap him on the arm, while great feathered things fluttered behind her.

“It’s OK,” she consoles, “it’s just one of Lucifer’s little jokes.”

The country lane had poor lighting, he was driving carefully.

It was getting late and he was making his way home when the flashing blue light sped past him and pulled up. The driver slowed to a stop behind the police car. He was surprised to find the constabulary patrolling such a minor road at this time of night, but he had nothing to worry about. The driver of the police car seemed to be taking a long time getting out. The man sat waiting. After a while, he began to feel agitated. Finally, a large figure got out and walked back slowly to the man’s vehicle. As the policeman approached, the man wound down his window.

The man in uniform leaned in with a stern expression. “Good evening, sir. I would ask you to turn your ignition off.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Just turn the ignition off, thank you, sir.”

He turned the key. The engine died.

“Thank you, sir.” “Your licence please, sir.”

The man handed him his licence.

The officer took the card and appeared to scratch it several times, then scribbled something in his notebook. He peered in again, and asked, “Is this your licence and ID?”

The man nodded.

The officer handed it back, saying, “The photo appears to be damaged; you’d be wise to get it replaced, sir.” He stepped back, looking around the car. “Is this your vehicle, sir?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Are you sure about that, sir?”

“Yes, of course.”

The policeman sniffed. “Of course, you say.”

The driver was becoming uncomfortable with the way things were going. He asked, “Look, did I do something wrong, officer?”

“Ah! Why would you think that, sir?” More scribbling.

“Just seems A bit unusual, that’s all.”

“Unusual you say.” The officer made another note and walked to the back of the car. Moments later the man heard the tinkling of broken glass.

The policeman returned. “Where you aware that you have a broken light, sir?”

The man stayed quiet for a moment. “No. No I didn’t. I’ll get it fixed. Now, have you finished with me? Can I go now?”

The policeman stood back and straightened. “Right, out of the car, sir.”

“Out of the car, whatever…” the man spluttered.

He was cut short by the policeman’s harsh command. “Get out of the car… sir!”

As the man got out, the sudden blow to his stomach winded him and he crumpled to the ground.

The policeman looked down at the man. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you in, sir.”

The man winced in pain. “Take me in, whatever for?” he said, holding his stomach.

The little notebook came out and the policeman began to read.

“Well, sir, firstly there’s the matter of the rear light. This being the reason for my pulling you over. Then there was your refusal to produce your licence until I insisted. Your damaged licence is hard to read so that a proper identification was not possible. Then, after your initial refusal to get out of the car, you got out and attacked me…”

“Attacked?” the man on the ground croaked.

“Yes, sir, a vicious attack.”

“My stomach! What about that?”

“Self-defence. You lunged at me.” The policeman laughed. “You see, a thing like a broken tail light can lead to consequences, sir.”

Still in pain, the man looked up and asked, “Consequences? What do you mean consequences?”

“Well, sir, for instance you might get pulled over by someone who, as a totally innocent child was bullied at school, who years later joins the police force!”

Mister Fawkes stood watching the inferno and listening to the shouts and screams.

He had an excellent view, but he wasn’t happy. After all, there was a lot of bad politics going on, it was rife in the country. He told himself that this was just another Guy Fawkes Night. He reflected on the fact that the back garden bonfire, with families letting off their own fireworks, was gradually dwindling. Even community celebrations like this were being phased out. Is it civic duty at play, with genuine concerns about health and safety, or is it something else? Do they want us to forget? Maybe these revellers are celebrating the potential emergence of the people against the government!

What was happening beneath the current four centuries ago? Was it simply one faction against another in a deadly mixture of religion and politics? Do the history books give an accurate account of the mood of the people when the plot was discovered? What is really being celebrated down there? What’s really in the minds of those standing around in the flickering light, watching the effigy burn? Do some wish that the gunpowder plot had succeeded? Is there a sense of lawlessness here? Who here is genuinely pleased that the plot failed? With the rolling in of new generations, how many here know that there was a plot?

He could see the heat, but he couldn’t feel it. The cold wind was biting and he retreated from the balcony of his nineteen floor apartment. The city would quieten down in a few hours.

None of his speculation would help him come to terms with the fact that he had never been really comfortable with his family name.