Unarmed and Extremely Dangerous

A few more thoughts on a new novel project that’s occupying my mind, albeit intermittently. I wrote the first 12,000 words as a First-Person narrative and this continuation is now written in the Third Person. Not so significant as it’s very much a work in progress and there’s no guarantee I’ll follow it to its conclusion. Anyway, here’s a few rough jottings, unread and un-edited.

The Three Graces at his back he faced the turbulent waters of the Mersey and brooded; the vista stretching out in front of him a mere backdrop to the thoughts churning away in his mind. A hurrying commuter jostled his arm and he snapped back to reality in an instant. All these people, walking, strolling, hastening for an appointment, they had no conception of what he was. They knew nothing of his thoughts, his desires, his nature. A carnivore amidst a herd of harmless herbivores, he blended in, seamlessly.

The quest that drove him had stalled. The man he sought was out there. Free. Untouched. Maybe within a few miles of where he stood now. The thought consumed him, drove him on.

In prison, in the early days of his captivity, he’d avoided his fellow inmates. They meant nothing to him. They knew who he was. Who he’d been. Knew he’d been a man to be reckoned with. A few tried to ingratiate themselves, earn his favour. He discouraged them of the notion. Forcibly.

Then there were those who’d sought him out. Attempted to bend him to their will. Remind him of their stature within the prison structure.

He smiled briefly at the memory of a man from Leeds; an armed robber with a reputation for violence that had stood him in good stead within the encircling walls. A man to be reckoned with. He’d built a small empire handling the distribution of tobacco, drugs, mobile phone SIMs, all the usual items that represent currency in a prison. David Marsden was a career criminal and had seen many a potential rival come and go.

Marsden had walked alongside him in the exercise yard. Warned him of the penalties for any attempt to disrupt the status quo. He’d nodded politely, walked on. Marsden, perhaps to reinforce his position, had caught him by the arm as they reached the one area of the yard not within direct sight of either guards or cameras. In the absence of a weapon, he’d fallen back on a familiar tactic, pulling Marsden towards him and encircling the man’s chest within his arms. Standing face to face, eyes locked on those of Marsden, he’d applied pressure and squeezed. Marsden struggled, but the arms that held him were relentless.

When the first rib cracked, Marsden screamed, but the sound was swept away on the wind. The other prisoners gave the area a wide berth as the two men stood toe to toe in a struggle where the outcome was never in doubt. Marsden attempted to break free but the arms crushing the life from his body never slackened. He inflicted some damage on his opponent, but it was of no consequence. Marsden’s lifeless body remained in the corner, shunned by the other prisoners until his absence was noted at the end of the exercise period.

His first kill inside prison and there would be three more before he was assessed as not responsible for his actions by virtue of insanity and moved to a secure unit better able to deal with his imbued violence and refusal to accept authority.

The wind freshened and he moved away, the river now at his back. There were other people to see, other contacts to seek out. He’d been away three years and his former powers had dissipated, but he remained the same man, in essence, as he’d been before the betrayal that had brought him down. He didn’t regard himself as insane. On the contrary, his mind remained as sharp as ever, able to plan and avoid any attempts at recapture.

He wondered what Doctor Evans would say if he knew the thoughts teeming around his brain. Doctor Evans had confessed  himself possessed of a raging curiosity at the nature of his patient’s thought processes while incarcerated in the unit.

He’d always enjoyed the one to one sessions with the doctors. He fascinated them; he could see that. Understandably so, given his violent history and absence of remorse for his actions. The instinctive nature of his response to a given situation, without evident pause for reflection or consequence, had been a particular interest. Doctor Evans, one of the younger doctors and perhaps the most friendly had even suggested this immediate response was a result of some unspecified deprivation in childhood. Blinding the young doctor had been the work of a moment, the loss of sight  and career allowing the stricken doctor ample opportunity to consider the advisability of making suggestions of that nature while sitting, clipboard and pen in hand, within arm’s reach of a man deemed to be both unpredictable and utterly without conscience.

Thomas Riggs, the man he’d contact next wasn’t known to him personally, but had benefited greatly from his downfall. That suggested an obligation and favours should involve repayment at some stage. That time was now. He had no expectation that the information he sought would be freely offered. That wouldn’t be a problem. Riggs would either know the answer to his questions or he wouldn’t. In a few short days, he’d know. One way or the other.

Riggs would talk to him, answer his questions. He didn’t anticipate a problem. Riggs would undoubtedly find the encounter painful and would not survive it, but an answer would be forthcoming. That was not in dispute.