Tom Sekwasi was not a pleased man.
It wasn?t the almost dying part that bothered him so much; death was practically an old friend. It was the role reversal, being the victim in need of a hero. Having actually had that ?hero? appear and rescue him only made it worse, it made him feel powerless. Emasculated. Pathetic.
Fortunately night was descending on the city, and with it came the promise of relief from the feelings that had settled into the back of his mind. Hastily he packed up his bag, slung it over his shoulder and headed for the door of the Society building, but despite his best efforts at avoiding Marcus, the priest took note of his exit and hailed him.
?Thomas? Where are you going at this hour?? Tom didn?t like the priest calling him by that name, and he did not like the way the priest was always looking at him, as if he was trying to peer into his soul, judging him. Tom rudely shouldered past the robed priest, muttering, ?Out. Alone.? and made his way out the door. Perhaps one day, when the priest had outlived his usefulness he would provide some entertainment as well, but not this night.
Tom made his way through the streets and alleyways of the city, making a point of passing by all the popular social places and playing the part of an average, friendly, handsome fellow out for a night on the town. Normally the pathetic, flirtatious women that frequented this time of night would provide some easy entertainment for him, but tonight he simply used them to blend in. He moved patiently, methodically, from bar to bar, pretending to drink the swill they called ale, laughing and joking, all the while keeping an eye out for his target.
His patience finally paid off. In one of the run down shacks that passed as a bar he observed a fine specimen of a man. Large, muscular, dominating, he was everything Tom was looking for, and at this very moment he was busy pushing a patron out the back door for getting a bit too familiar with one of the barmaids. Casually Tom excused himself from his table, bidding his newest batch of ?friends? a good night and slipped out the back door as well.
Tom kept to the shadows in the back alleyway, watching the scene unfold as the large man, perhaps a bouncer, gave the drunken patron a good beating, finally tossing him to the ground. ?Good.? Tom thought as he slowly approached the bouncer from behind, ?Just stay down.? He drew a blackjack from his bag and took a swing at the back of the bouncers? head, connecting quite soundly. The bouncer let out a grunt of pain and dropped to one knee but surprisingly was not incapacitated. A second quick swing did the job, and Tom was very pleased with the fortitude of his chosen prey. This was exactly what he needed.
The big man was certainly heavy, and it was a huge task to drag the dead weight to the empty building that Tom had chosen beforehand for tonight?s fun. He made no attempt at hiding his handiwork or efforts, again simply blending in, his victim appearing to be just another man who had overdone it in the bars and was being helped home by a friend. No one would even remember their faces.
Finally Tom and his friend reached their destination, a slightly run-down building that appeared to at one time be used as storage but which was largely empty now. Slowly he pushed open the door and dragged the bouncer inside, tossing him unceremoniously to the floor. A bit of rope from his bag served nicely to bind the arms and legs of the bouncer while Tom did his work preparing for the fun they?d have together.
It didn?t take Tom very long to complete his work; he was after all quite well practiced at the task of setting up his little games. A sturdy chair that he had located in the building before hand would serve as his main stage, with a strange contraption strapped to the left armrest. He made his way over to the man lying passed out on the floor and began hoisting him up, cheerfully requesting, ?C?mon friend, up and at ?em!?
Apparently not quite as unconscious as he appeared, the much larger man shot a headbutt right into Tom?s face the moment he was on his feet, and made a desperate attempt to hop to the door with his bound arms and legs while Tom staggered. The desperate effort went without reward, however, as he lost his balance and came crashing to the floor. Tom walked over to his playmate, grinning as he withdrew a small syringe from his bag, quite pleased with the fight in this man. With a mental reminder to himself that he would need to find more of this tranquilizer, he jabbed the needle into the figure thrashing on the floor and patiently waited for him to fall asleep.
The man awoke some time later to find himself tied quite soundly to the chair, save for his right arm which seemed to have a bit of freedom. His left hand was partially inserted into the guillotine-like apparatus on the left arm of the chair, and a wire ran from the apparatus to some sort of device strapped to his chest. A timer was visible on the device, set to a time, but no indication of how long that was. Almost within arm?s reach was Tom, seated on a backwards facing chair, peeling an apple.
?Rise and shine, big fella!? Tom called out, smiling as he peeled the apple, ?Soooo, I?m Tom, what do they call you?? Long moments passed before the man could get his bearings, glancing about the room trying to figure out where he was. Confusion. It was usually the first phase people went through in situations like this, and Tom was quite familiar with it. He repeated his query as to the man?s name, and finally got a response. ?Um, Fred?Frederick?they call me the garbage man.? The reply came in a shaky, unsure voice.
His face still hurt like hell, the nose felt broken, but Tom couldn?t help but smile. Exchanging names made things feel so much more personal, and having the man give what apparently was supposed to be an intimidating title in such a fearful voice only added to the thrill of it all.
Anger. It wasn?t surprising that this came next, given the size and attitude of the man. Once Fred started to take in his surroundings and somewhat understand his situation, he began straining at the ropes binding him, glaring at Tom. ?So what the hell is this? You some kinda freak? Huh?? Completely unaffected by the attempt at a taunt, Tom kept on smiling.
?Let me tell you how this works, Fred.? Tom took a bite of the apple and chewed for a moment. ?The thing on your chest is a bomb! Exciting isn?t it.? He took another bite, watching Fred?s eyes widen, chewing as he let the fact soak in. ?The timer is already ticking, I?ve placed it so you can even see it.? Another bite of the apple filled the following silence. ?So as I was saying, the timer is set. Not going to tell you just how long it is, that?s half of the fun. Fortunately, you have the switch to stop the timer well within arms reach!?
Fred appeared confused at the assertion, and Tom was quick to explain. ?See the thing on the left arm of the chair? All you have to do to stop the timer is press that down! Now don?t get any ideas about just yanking on the wire, that won?t do you any good, you have to actually press the switch down!? Tom finished off the apple with a smile, his words entirely without malice.
Fred peered at the device; it was like a small guillotine with a handle on top that one could apparently press down to trigger the blade. The problem appeared to be that his fingers were right in the path of the blade. ?Hey, man?wha?what?re you talking about? My damn hand?s stuck in this thing!? Beginning to fully realize his position, Fred began sinking into Tom?s favorite stage of the game. Panic. Beads of sweat began forming on Fred?s forehead as he began thrashing about in the chair. ?Hey! Hey, someone! This guy?s a friggin? freak! Someone help!?
Tom savored every moment of it. No drop of sweat evaded his notice, every useless flexing of Fred?s sizable muscles, every call for help, it was all like a great artistic masterpiece to him.
?Clock?s ticking Fred.?
Fred?s breathing began to hasten, knowing he really had no choice in the matter but finding himself unable to go through with it. He looked about frantically, trying to find a flaw in the device, a way out, anything.
?Come on, Fred. What?s the problem??
Fred looked up at Tom and then back down at the apparatus the fingers of his left hand were trapped in, slowly reaching over with his right hand and pressing the blade down until it met the skin. A small trickle of blood oozed out as the blade met the skin and held there, Fred?s shaking hand unable to press any further. ?Damn it, man, just let me out of here!? he yelled as he released the blade, letting it spring back up.
For a few more, painfully long minutes, Fred continued to try to bring himself to press the blade down, his left hand becoming a bloody mess from the small hesitation cuts on the tops of the fingers. The smile never left Tom?s face as he took in the spectacle, this being exactly what he needed to banish the feelings of weakness and doubt.
?Wonder how much time you have left there, Fred??
The little needle on the timer was still moving forward, that much Fred could certainly see. His breathing started to become huge, labored huffs, sweat rolling down his face in rivers, mixing with the tears that began flowing from his eyes.
Finally, with a great roar of frustration and agony, Fred slammed his meaty right hand down on the blade, the sound of the bones snapping filling the room as the blade severed the fingers of his left hand, his roar turning into a shriek, more from the shock of seeing the results than the actual pain.
Tom?s smile widened, finding himself pleasantly surprised with Frederick. He hadn?t been sure if the man would actually go through with it, but the fact that Fred had the guts to do it only heightened Tom?s satisfaction with the situation. He couldn?t have asked for a more incredible specimen for this game.
Fred?s breathing remained labored, coming out in great huffs, blood flowing freely from the stubs that were his left fingers, looking as though he was about to faint. Slowly, wearily, Fred looked down at the timer.
?What the hell, man?!? Fred yelled, his voice cracking into a high-pitched shriek, ?It?s still going! Hey, it?s still going! Let me out of this thing, hey!! Come?come on man, I did what you wanted! Help me out of this thing!!? Fred?s panic was doubly renewed as he flailed about in the chair, his face the absolute picture of terror. This was Tom?s favorite part?when the victim finally realized that help wasn?t coming, that hope was nowhere to be found.?
?Well, Fred?it?s been fun, but it?s time for us to part ways my friend.? Tom rose from his seat, taking a good number of steps back. At that moment, amidst a flurry of pleas and curses from Fred, the device on his chest burst. It wasn?t a large explosion by any means, merely enough to ignite and spread the fuel inside, setting fire to its victim. There was one minor disappointment for Tom as the explosion apparently killed or knocked Fred out before the flames engulfed him, but no matter. The body needed to burn anyway to keep up the appearance of him having hunted a ?vampire?.
Tom whistled a happy tune as he made his way back to the Society building. Cleanup hadn?t taken terribly long, he had simply left the body on the floor, the ropes burnt up in the flames, and the finger-cutter was retrieved easily enough. Much to his pleasure, he didn?t even bump into the priest on his way back in.
Yes, Tom Sekwasi was a pleased man.
