Friday 29 November 2013

A nightingale sang ....




London seemed busier and more hectic than ever. The rain fell in fits and starts making the headlights blur in the early evening darkness. Artificial lights had replaced the gloom of daylight bringing a brighter feel to the grey city.
People jostled and harried for position on the pavement like Olympic race walkers at the starting pistol, but the race wasn’t for gold and glory but for home and the warmth and safety of their own private castles. The roads were near gridlocked, traffic was bumper to bumper, moving occasionally but mostly idling, pumping out toxic fumes for the race walkers to ingest. A helicopter buzzed overhead giving a traffic report to a local radio station, while a siren wailed in the near distance in the vain hope that it could beat the traffic.
This was Piccadilly Circus. In the mind’s eye of a child it conjured up an image of magic and wonderment; a circus! in the centre of London! How many children have fallen into that trap? The London of childhood was a mystical, magical world of streets paved with gold, the bells of St Clements and birdsong in Berkeley Square. But the only gold you were likely to see were a thousand cigarette butts strewn at entrances to offices, you’d be lucky to hear the bells over the building works and as for nightgales in Berkeley square well none sang when I went there, they may have coughed and spluttered, their lungs ruined by the pollution, if indeed any still existed.

There was no warning, lights didn’t gradually go out one by one, it was sudden and total. Everything, from the neon lights to traffic signals to the small transistor radio playing Capital FM in the barber’s shop all died all at once, like someone had clicked their fingers and blown the fuse.  Of course the lights from the cars, buses, vans and trucks still lit the streets, but across the centre of London life froze. Hair was left half cut, tattoos uninked, meals part cooked and beers half poured. People emerged onto the already crowded streets to see what was going on but no answers were to be found there.  Deep beneath the ground passengers used mobile phones to provided emergency lighting on dark, hot, airless trains while they waited for further announcements that never came.

Far from creating a party atmosphere like the blackout in New York, the London version caused anger, frustration and resentment. People impatiently wanted to get home and this wasn’t helping.  As time went by rumours spread like wildfire. The one that seemed to have the least truth but gather the most momentum was that this was the work of Islamic terrorists. ‘They’ve taken out a sub-station’ someone said with absolutely certainty.
‘And now they’re coming with machine guns.’ Suspicion spread, the threat could come from anywhere, anyone. People eyed their neighbours with mistrust; moving away from the different towards the safety of similarity. Fault lines formed, normal everyday people creating angry hostile mobs, ready to defend themselves from the enemy within.

Then, more gradually than they went off, the lights began to reappear, an abandoned hair clipper buzzed in a deserted barber’s shop, the transistor radio crackled into life, drivers told their scared passengers that they were waiting for clearance to continue while huge neon signs began to illuminate the night sky again and a million lights from a million abandoned offices floodlit the battlefield of London’s streets.

With the return of the light came the return of rational thinking. People looked embarrassed, ashamed, shocked at what had nearly happened.
People crossed the no man’s land with nervous smiles hoping the uneasy truce would last and build into a more comfortable peace. The rain got heavier and those Londoners making their way home hoped that it would wash away their shame. 

Wednesday 27 November 2013

Will they or Won't they?




The meeting was so boring, Georgie was going out of her mind. The room was overlit, overfull and overheated and smelt of bad breath, cheap perfume and BO. She was sitting in an emergency meeting listening to Mark and Pierre drone on about the new laws about fraud, bribery and corruption, while the rest of the room fought to keep their eyelids open.
‘Anything suspicious, report it to your line manager or the compliance officer.’
The room was crowded. Who were all these people? There were people in here she’d never seen before.
Georgie yawned openly and swung back on her chair like she used to do in school when Mr Edwards was boring her to sleep. She smiled at the thought. Edwards was cute but a terrible teacher. All the girls fancied him and he blushed anytime they spoke to him. Boy, they’d got through some double-entendres that year.

Georgie rocked forward and then back again.
She looked around the room, no one was paying attention, some people looked like they were examining their own private parts - no doubt sending a text or updating their Facebook status on their not so well disguised smart phones, some were pinching themselves to stop themselves drifting off while others had given up the ghost; their heavy heads nodding gently in the stale air. Surely it’d finish soon, surely.

Georgie rocked again forward and then back but this time she rocked too far. She could feel herself losing control. She was going to crash down backwards onto her head. It would certainly liven the meeting up but would put her in back Mark and Pierre’s bad books.

Just as she thought all hope was lost, she felt an arm go around her and an equilibrium regained. The arm eased her gently back to safety. She looked around to see who her saviour had been. It was one of the unknowns, but why was he unknown? He was delicious.
‘Thank you’ she mouthed. He smiled. God he was cute.

For the rest of the meeting Georgie stayed on terra firma but her mind was now on the man with the chocolate eyes sitting just slightly behind her to her right. Chocolate eyes and a smile like silk. Who was he? What department did he work in? Why on earth hadn’t she noticed him before? She felt his eyes on her neck, but was she just imagining that?

The meeting dragged on and on more scenarios to consider, more potential opportunities for corruption. Were they teaching their staff to avoid it or look for opportunities? Thankfully when Pierre asked if there were any questions there was silence, so they were free to go.

Georgie turned to her right, ‘thank you’ she said, ‘my name’s Georgie. Can I buy you a coffee.’
Chocolate eyes smiled, ‘I’m Luca and yes why not.’
They chatted over the latte, he was witty as well as gorgeous and that accent was as Italian and delicious as the coffee she was drinking. Was he her perfect man? She got the feeling that he liked her as much as she liked him. There was only one problem with this perfect little scenario. The gold bands that sat on the ring fingers of their two left hands. 

A Modern Day Cinderella Parts 6 and 7, the end?



This is part 6 and 7 of the story for the other parts click on the numbers 1 2 3 4 5



I apologise for the lack of consistancy in the pronunciation of Temur's name. 

As soon as Selim left, Belinda put on her bikini and headed for the pool. She had to move fast, she only had two days. She jumped into the cold water and splashed around for a while before climbing out and making a show of drying herself off, rubbing every part of her body with the towel. She knew Temur would be watching her from somewhere. She lay in the hot sun for the best part of an with her bra strap unclasped but was disappointed that she wasn’t joined by Selim’s special advisor. She sauntered back to her room, it was time for Plan B. She called Temur and asked him to bring her some food.
She let the bikini fall to the floor in the middle of the room and put on her dressing gown.  When Temur saw the swimsuit, he’d know she was naked under the towelling robe. Surely he wouldn’t be able to resist.
But it was not Temur who brought the food. A middle-aged woman came in with a tray, instinctively picking up the bikini and hanging it up on her way out. Temur was obviously avoiding her, maybe with the cat being away he was making sure the mice weren’t even in the least bit tempted to play. How could she get him to come to her?

She lay on the bed thinking, for the plan to work she had to get to Temur, but she couldn’t do that if he was playing hard to get. What would certainly get Temur to come? Fear! She phoned him again.
‘Temur are you, are you avoiding me?’
‘No, I’m busy I have things to do.’
‘Selim said you’d look after me, keep me company. I’m bored.’ Belinda was using her spoilt little girl’s voice.
‘I need to finish something.’
‘I don’t think Selim would be happy if he knew you were ignoring me.’
‘I’ll be there in 30 minutes.’
Belinda put the phone down and smiled. Men, she thought to herself, all as stupid as each other.

Belinda opened a bottle of champagne and took a few sips while waiting for her prey. Temur arrived in exactly 30 minutes. He looked nervous, unsure, vulnerable. Belinda was going to eat him alive and he wouldn’t even know it.
‘So what can I do for you?’ He said with a tremble in his voice.
‘Just sit with me, drink with me, talk to me.’
Belinda was still dressed in the towelling robe but the belt was loose and she made sure there were glimpses of skin at every move.
They chatted for a while about nothing before Belinda began her planned conversation.
‘I like it here,’ she said. ‘I really like your boss, he’s so sweet isn’t he?’ Belinda’s face was the epitome of innocence. ‘And then having you and Salik here too, what I lucky girl I am being surrounded by three such wonderful gentlemen. She lightly stroked Temur’s face and smiled. Temur blushed, sweat appeared on his forehead, his breath quickened just a little.
‘But,’ Belinda bit her bottom lip and hesitated. She looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. ‘But I am worried about my little brother. He’ll be worried about me, he doesn’t know where I am, or what’s happened. I just wish…’ she let her voice trail off and her eyes glaze with tears. She sniffed and took a mouthful of fizz, pulling one knee up over her chin, the material of the gown falling off it exposing her long bare legs.
‘Do you want to call him.’ Temur had his phone stretched out towards her.
‘Can I? What about Selim?’
‘Our little secret.’ Temur blushed again.
Belinda took the phone and tapped in Vinny’s special number. She then confidently headed to the bathroom and locked the door, leaving Temur looking slightly worried.
She was in there for about 5 minutes before coming out completely naked.
‘Another little secret’ she said as she danced around in front of him before placing a small kiss on his cheek and putting the phone into his hand. ‘Now go’ she said ‘before the other staff get suspicious.’
Temur tore himself away from the naked beauty of Belinda and made himself scarce. He was playing a dangerous game but that body, that smile, those eyes all made it worth it.

‘Why are those two with us?’ Belinda asked. She knew the answer and actually was pleased that they were, but she had to keep up the act. ‘Not the most romantic is it?’
They were in one of the nicest hotel rooms Belinda had ever seen. It was wealthy but not over the top, nothing ostentatious, nothing tacky, just Parisian class.
‘Well, I have some business to take care of so one of those two can take care of you, make sure you spend my money wisely.’ Selim smiled and winked. Belinda knew it was to make sure she didn’t escape, but she was willing to play along with his game. She planted a little kiss on his cheek that promised oh so much.
 ‘In fact,’ Selim said, ‘I need an hour or two this afternoon, so why don’t you take Serik shopping and Temur and I can stay here to work.’
That was wrong, she needed Temur to go shopping with her not Serik.
Belinda bit her lip.
‘What’s wrong?’ Selim asked.
‘It’s um … nothing.’
‘C’mon tell me.’
‘it’s just, I don’t like Serik, the way he looks at me. It’s …it’s creepy, I think he wants me.’
‘Really?’ Selim looked genuinely surprised. ‘Well okay, you take Temur then.’
Belinda smiled; Selim had said the magic words. He picked up the phone and summoned the two goons into the room.
‘Change of plan gents, Temur you’re going with Belinda, Serik, you’re staying here with me.’
Belinda thought she could trace the slightest blush on Temur’s face but he was controlling his emotions pretty well. She smiled and went over to him linking arms and skipping out of the room. Hiding in broad daylight.

In the lift down to the ground floor she smiled at Temur.
‘Underwear’ she said ‘ Lingerie. You are going to help me choose.’
Temur blushed properly now.
‘In fact let’s pretend you’re my husband, it could be fun.’ Temur was bright red.
‘Our little secret. But first can I use your phone?’
Temur meekly handed the phone to Belinda who shot off a text message at speed before passing it back and linking arms with Temur again.
In the shop Belinda’s demeanour changed a little. She was still flirtatious with Temur but was now teasing him. ‘You shouldn’t look at me like that’ she chastised him. ‘What would Selim say if he could see those eyes?’ She asked when she knew the shop assistants were in earshot.
‘We don’t need to worry about Selim,’ Temur said growing in confidence.
Bingo thought Belinda. 
‘Don’t touch’ she said loudly more for the rest of the shop than for Temur.  She smiled at Temur with wicked eyes full of Belinda promise. 


When they got back to the hotel the police were everywhere. The concierge nodded towards them and before they could ask what was going on they were intercepted by a policeman and taken to a private room.  As the police explained what had happened Belinda broke down.
‘My Selim, no please no, tell me he’s alive.’ the policewoman shook her head and Belinda wailed. She was so convincing she even began to believe it herself. Meanwhile Temur was bemused. He’d just been told that his boss and lifelong friend had been shot dead at point blank range but this woman who had been forced into marrying Selim was acting like she’d lost her childhood sweetheart.
Just then there was a knock on the door, another policewoman entered and the two coppers spoke in fast French. Two uniformed officers then came in and took an increasingly confused Temur away.

The original policewoman turned back to her, ‘Have a little while to rest but then we will need to question you. Okay?’
Belinda nodded and sobbed and wiped a way a tear.
The questioning was typical, do you know who would want to do this to your husband? Did he have any enemies? Belinda played the innocent, heartbroken wife. Then the question got round to her relationship with Temur.
‘Relationship? What relationship? He was just my bodyguard.’
‘Do you think he thought it was more than that?’
‘No! Well he’s quite flirtatious, I think he likes me.’ Belinda said innocently.
‘Do you think he would kill his boss?’
‘No, how could he? He was with me?’
‘We found a phone next to the bodies.  We think the killer dropped it. It had one call and a message that came from Temur’s phone.’
‘No? Temur? he wouldn’t do that. No.’ She wiped her nose with a tissue. ‘Oh!’ she looked like she’d just remembered something.
‘What is it?’
‘In the shop, earlier. He said we don’t need to worry about Selim, he must’ve meant...’
Belinda broke into tears again. ‘Poor Selim, betrayed by his own best friend.’ 

Tuesday 26 November 2013

Toothbrushes

Choose your own ending. See the end for details.


Alert: Maggie's Milkman is just £1.99 from Amazon and Smashwords, find out more here
Tanya looked at the cup in the bathroom and let the synapses fire in her brain.
2 toothbrushes, 2 toothbrushes, why the fuck were there 2 toothbrushes? Callum lived alone, there was only ever one toothbrush in that mug, another toothbrush could only mean one thing. Actually, if Tanya had given it further thought, then another toothbrush could mean a range of things but the one thing that had entered her head set up the barricades and was not letting any other thoughts in. Callum had another woman.
She sat in the armchair waiting for the rat to come back. He'd let her in and then run to the shops to buy wine. Make yourself at home he'd said to her, make yourself at home, obviously she wasn't the only one he'd said that too recently, the pig.
She heard the key in the lock and readied herself.
She crossed her arms and put her don't fuck with me face on.
'It's getting cold out there. ' Callum called from the kitchen as he lit the hob under the chilli he'd prepared earlier. Glad we've got this chil...'
His words petered out as he came into the room and saw the look on Tanya's face.
'Hey, what's up with you?'
'Callum,' Tanya's voice matched her face. 'How do you explain this?' She unfolded her arms and produced the offending article.
Callum was seconds away from replying, it's a toothbrush appearing from an armpit, but he read the look in her eye and stopped himself just in time.
'Why the fuck have you got two toothbrushes in the bathroom?'
Callum smiled
'Come here you softy.’ he went to cuddle Tanya but she pushed him away, hard.
'My dentist suggested having two brushes, a hard one for the morning and a gentle one for the evening. He said it helps the gums or something.
Tanya was rocked, she'd been expecting him to struggle for an answer, fumble for words, admit his guilt with hesitancy, that he answered immediately confused her.
'What?' Was all she managed to say.
Callum repeated his answer and then went to cuddle her again. This time she allowed him.
'God I was sure you...'
'Ssssh' Callum pulled her closer, 'I'd have thought the same.'
They hugged for a while before Callum spoke.
'Hey, let's eat this chilli before it burns.'
They ate in near silence but as soon as they'd finished Tanya took Callum's hand and led him through to the bedroom. Make up sex.

Ending 1
The next morning, after Tanya had gone, Callum noticed that she'd left her toothbrush there, there were now three in the mug. He opened the cupboard under the sink and dropped her toothbrush into the other mug with the other two. 

Ending 2
The next morning Callum smiled when he saw Tanya had forgotten her toothbrush. He shrugged, you know what he thought, it looks quite good next to mine.

Which ending do you prefer? Let me know in the comments, 


Alert Maggie's Milkman is just £1.99 from Amazon and Smashwords, find out more here

Monday 25 November 2013

Extraordinary Rendition Part 1

This is the unedited first chapter of my new ebook. You can now buy the ebook on Smashwords, Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com  just £1.99 / $2.99.
Daniel knew every crack of his bedroom ceiling by heart. He’d stare at it night after night waiting for the blessed relief of sleep which seldom came easy. He’d tried everything, giving up caffeine, eating earlier in the evening, cutting down on alcohol, drinking too much alcohol, but sleep still eluded him. He felt he was a carefree soul during the day but as soon as he turned out the light, his brain would start to examine all the problems he faced; his taxes, his bills, his lack of work, his relationship with women. Even when there was nothing to worry about, his brain would delve into the archive and find a particularly embarrassing moment, - like when he called his teacher mum - to replay in Technicolor on his eyelids making him cringe with embarrassment all over again.  But tonight was different; tonight was one of the rare times he slept as if all was well with the world. He’d only been in bed a few minutes when he was enveloped by a delicious drowsiness. His brain emptied, his body seemed to float as he fell into a deep sleep. Now, his light snoring could be mistaken for cat-like purring; contentment personified.

He wasn’t sure what woke him up: the sudden breeze; the banging; the shouting or the bright, bright light that burnt into his retina, but Daniel’s sleepy paradise had come to the abruptest of endings. He sat up in bed wondering if it was just a dream, wondering what the hell was going on. His room was full - full of men, full of noise, full of activity, full of guns! Guns pointing directly at his near naked form. He put his hands on his head as if all the cop shows he’d watched had instinctively programmed him to respond in that way. His eyes were adjusting to the light and to being awake. He could now see the uniforms, not ones he recognised but he could see the insignia of the Czech Police. His brain buzzed, it was all too surreal, yet all too real. He could feel his heart pumping in his chest. He blinked to clear more sleep out of his eyes. He wanted to speak but his brain could not conjure words and even if it had, his mouth was probably too dry to talk. Three men had their guns trained on him; three men who looked like human wasps with their grotesque helmets and masks. They stood stock-still, arms tensed and muscles bulging. Their weapons were poised, ready to pounce, like a cat preparing for the right moment to attack its prey. Daniel could see a vein bulging in the neck of one of the men. Meanwhile, others wasp-like figures were looting the room. His phone, his computer, his iPad, his receipts, his wallet, everything was being put into evidence bags, tagged and taken away.

Through the mayhem he thought he could hear footsteps. It sounded like lady’s high-heel shoes on his parquet floor. For a second he thought of the sound of high-heels, one of his favourite sounds, the sound of sex, the sound of beauty. He felt the mildest of shudders down his back. Could he really be thinking about sex at a moment like this? But then in the doorway was not a sex siren but a young man. A young man in police uniform and polished police boots. He wore a look of hatred and contempt that Daniel guessed had wilted many a hardened criminal. Daniel watched the officer observe him, never blinking, assessing the situation. He looked like a typical Czech policeman; all brawn and no brains. If he wasn’t wearing the uniform of the Czech police, you could easily imagine him wearing a neo-Nazi outfit.  
‘Daniel Velsh?’ The officer spoke with a thick Czech accent. Daniel was used to having the W in his name pronounced as a V. He managed to nod slightly, his hands still on his head.
‘Stand up, turn around and face the wall.’ The officer spat out the words, as if disgusted that English words could ever be in his pure Czech mouth. Daniel hesitated for a second, but then followed the orders he was given. His body tensed as he was sure the officer would give the orders and Daniel would feel the burning steel of high calibre bullets ripping his flesh apart. But it was hands that touched him not metal, rough hands, unfriendly hands, rubber gloved hands. He’d been patted down at airports before but that felt like foreplay compared to this brutal examination. He had no idea why he was being patted down he was naked except his underwear. But then he felt his boxers being pulled down and his cheeks being spread and he realised; this was the full body search and no mistake. His eyes filled with tears, was it the pain, the humiliation or the confusion?
‘Get dressed.’ The office rolled the r in dressed. Daniel pulled his boxers back up but the officer nodded his head towards the jeans and t-shirt discarded at the end of the bed making it clearer what he meant. The three guns were still trained on Daniel, reminding him that he should not do anything stupid. Again Daniel meekly did as he was told. He pulled the clothes on slowly, careful not to make sudden movements. As soon as he had his jeans and t-shirt on he felt the same hands grab his wrists and yank them behind his back. He expected to feel the metal of handcuffs but it felt like plastic on his skin. Then most frighteningly of all a hood was pulled over his head and a drawstring pulled around his neck.
‘Valk!’ the voice said, again the W sound became a V. Daniel walked in the direction he was pushed. He felt the warm floor of his under floor heating of the bathroom, then the wood of his hallway before the tiles outside his flat . Despite being blinded by the hood, he could hear the eyes of his neighbours on him, opening doors just an inch to see what all the fuss was about. He was bundled down the stairs by his captors, his feet missing steps but his body being kept upright by the strength of the policemen holding his arms. He felt the cold night air as he was taken out into the street and then thrown into the back of what he guessed was a police van. He heard the door slam and then silence.

Silence!
Total silence, no voices, no engine, no banging. His head throbbed. His mind raced. The first thought he’d had was what time was it? He had no idea. He’d had no time to look at his phone to check. He’d been so fast asleep that the idea of time was jumbled. Sometimes a sleep like that could seem like hours but actually be just a few minutes. He wished he’d bought a proper alarm clock; an illuminated one. Why hadn’t he bought one of those? He cursed himself for being so stupid. He then thought he was cold, he was only wearing a t-shirt and it was the middle of the night, in the middle of March. Why hadn’t he put a jumper on? Was he a fool? And no socks; what would his mother say?  He shook his head trying to clear his mind.  He wondered why such trivial things were going through his brain when he’d just been taken from his bed in the middle of the night at gunpoint by some strange division of the Czech police.

He felt the van shudder but the only sound he could hear was his own breathing. He felt like he was moving but he could hear no engine so he couldn’t be sure. His eyes were open but it was pitch black inside the hood. He could feel the plastic cuffs digging into his wrists. He tried to make himself believe this was just a dream but he couldn’t. This was all too real. The smell of the bag, the sweat on his brow and the pain in his backside assured him he wasn’t dreaming. He sniffed hard and tried to concentrate. He tried to play the scene through his mind again - the noise, the guns, the men. It must be a case of mistaken identity - they had the wrong man. But then again they had used his name. Surely there can’t be two Daniel Welshes in Prague. They’d known who they were looking for but their quarry didn’t know why. He was sure he was moving now, but he still couldn’t hear the engine. It felt like a turbulent plane ride but he knew this was no plane, how could they land a plane in his street? He dragged himself up and sat with his back on the cold side of the van. His brain ran through reasons he could be in the van. He guessed it must be porn. He was a bit of an addict, sometimes he visited sites he probably shouldn’t - a bit of S+M but nothing illegal, nothing underage. But they had bagged up his computer so it could be that. Had he stumbled across an illicit site? Had there been a pop up that there shouldn’t have been? He wracked his brains and tried to think. His antivirus had flagged up a few ‘attacks’ recently. Could that be it? Had some paedo ring attacked his computer? Surely armed police would be a bit much for that. How about downloads? He downloaded music like a trooper and he’d downloaded a movie or two illegally recently but again the midnight raid and the bag over his head might be considered a little over the top for some casual file sharing. No, it must be a case of mistaken identity. Maybe there was a Daniel Walsh in Prague. Dan’s surname was often misspelt. Maybe Mr Walsh was lying in his bed now oblivious to the drama unfolding in his near namesake’s life. Daniel tried to relax. It was easier said than done but he knew panicking would not do him any good. He was as sure as he could be that this was some kind of mistake and once they had realised that, he would soon be released, apologised to and maybe even compensated. His eyes lit up for a second at the thought of the money. But then his mind went haywire. What if it wasn’t a mistake? Or what if they didn’t discover it was a mistake? Innocent men and women were imprisoned all the time, sometimes for years and years, sometimes just because the police were too embarrassed to admit their mistakes. Now here he was, cuffed and hooded in the back of a silent van for no good reasons and to make matters worse he was in a foreign country and his captors spoke a foreign language. He had no phone, no way of contacting his parents or his friends who were presumably fast asleep without a care in the world; the bastards. He was getting hotter; the air in the shroud was moist with sweat and breath. He felt his brain split in two. One side raging against the absurdity of it all, terrified about what was happening. The other trying to calm down, accept the fate, letting events take their natural course. The rational side was losing the battle not least because there was nothing rational about this crazy situation.

The panic was all around Daniel now, he felt like he was drowning, gasping for air as the panic pulled him under. Just as he was about to succumb to the waters he felt the van shudder and he realised that they had stopped. He managed to control his breathing. He lay silently for a while wondering what next then he jumped as the van door opened and a blast of cold air hit him.  
‘Lie down!’ It was the same voice as before, still spitting the English with a sense of contempt. Daniel struggled to get himself onto the floor of the van.
‘Na bricho!’ came the voice again. Daniel recognised the words and realised the officer wanted him to lie on his belly. He flipped over The floor was uncomfortable, without being able to use his arms he couldn’t stop his body weight pushing down on his balls, the pain shot up his body as he wriggled to try to ease the pressure. He heard the man get into the van with him. He braced himself again, sure that he would now be shot or at the very least kicked. Part of him just wanted that one bullet to the head - get it over with! Would he even notice the pain? How long do the pain receptors work before the bullet smashes the skull and destroys the brain? He heard voices and realised there were now two people in the van with him. He strained to understand the Czech but they were speaking too fast. The conversation was earnest, almost an argument but not quite. Daniel felt something placed next to his head. He almost smiled to himself at the absurdity of the situation. There he was, trussed up like a captured lion in the back of a police van; it was just insane. The men stopped talking. He realised, as he heard a zipper, that the thing close to his head was a bag, one of the men opened it and took something out.
‘Lie still!’ It was a different voice; kinder, almost apologetic.

Then Daniel felt a sharp stab in right buttock. He recognised the feeling of a needle and felt the warm syrup being squeezed into his cheek. He tensed as the man removed the needle but then felt his body relax. A delicious drowsiness enveloped him and his body seemed to float as he fell into a deep sleep.

Want to read more? You can now buy the ebook on Smashwords and Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com  just £1.99 / $2.99.

Please note above is the edited but not finally edited version - below is the original short story that appeared on this blog on 25/11/2013.








Sleeping never came easy for Daniel, he knew every crack of his bedroom ceiling by heart. He’d stare at it night after night waiting for the blessed relief of sleep. He’d tried everything, giving up caffeine, eating earlier in the evening, cutting down on alcohol, drinking too much alcohol, but sleep still eluded him. He felt he was a carefree soul during the day but as soon as he turned out the light, his brain would start to examine all the problems he faced; his taxes, his bills, his lack of work, his relationship with women. Even when there was nothing to worry about his brain would delve into the archive and find a particularly embarrassing moment, - like when he called his teacher mum - to replay in technicolour on his eyelids making him cringe with embarrassment all over again.  But tonight was different; tonight was one of the rare times he slept as if all was well with the world. He’d only been in bed a few minutes when he was enveloped by a delicious drowsiness. His brain emptied, his body seemed to float as he fell into a deep sleep. Now, his light snoring could be mistaken for cat-like purring; contentment personified.

He wasn’t sure what woke him up, the sudden breeze, the banging, the shouting or the bright, bright light that burnt a blur into his retina, but Daniel’s sleepy paradise had come to the abruptest of endings. He sat up in bed wondering if it was just a dream, wondering what the hell was going on. His room was full, full of men, full of noise, full of activity; full of guns! Guns pointing directly at his near naked form. He put his hands on his head as if all the cop shows he’d watched had instinctively programmed him to respond in that way. His eyes were adjusting to the light and to being awake. He could now see the uniforms, not ones he recognised but he could see the insignia of the Czech Police. His brain buzzed, it was all too surreal, yet all too real. He could feel his heart pumping in his chest, he blinked to clear more sleep out of his eyes. He wanted to speak but his brain could not conjure words and even if it had, his mouth was probably too dry to talk. Three men had their guns trained on him, three men who looked like human wasps with their grotesque helmets and masks. They stood stock-still, arms tensed and muscles bulging. Their weapons were poised, ready to pounce, like a cat preparing for the right moment to attack its prey. Daniel could see a vein bulging in one of the men’s neck. Meanwhile others wasp-like figures were looting the room. His phone, his computer, his iPad, his receipts, his wallet, everything was being put into evidence bags, tagged and taken away.

Through the mayhem he thought he could hear footsteps, it sounded like lady’s high-heel shoes on his parquet floor. For a second he thought of the sound of high-heels, one of his favourite sounds, the sound of sex, the sound of beauty. He felt the mildest of shudders down his back. Could he really be thinking about sex at a moment like this? But then in the doorway was not a sex siren but a young man. A young man in police uniform and polished police boots. with a look of hatred and contempt that Daniel guessed had wilted many a hardened criminal. Daniel watched the officer observe him, never blinking, assessing the situation. He looked like a typical Czech policeman; all brawn and no brains. If he wasn’t wearing the uniform of the Czech police, you could easily imagine him wearing neo-Nazi get up.  
‘Daniel Velsh?’ The officer spoke with a thick Czech accent. Daniel was used to having the W in his name pronounced as a V. Daniel managed to nod slightly, his arms still on his head.
‘Stand up, turn around and face the wall.’ The office spat the words, as if disgusted that English words could ever be in his pure Czech mouth. Daniel hesitated for a second, but then followed the orders he'd been given. His body tensed as he was sure the officer would give the orders and Daniel would feel the burning steel of high calibre bullets ripping his flesh apart. But it was hands that touched him not metal, rough hands, unfriendly hands, rubber gloved hands. He’d been patted down at airports before but that felt like foreplay compared to this brutal examination. He had no idea why he was being patted down as he was naked except his underwear. But then he felt his boxers being pulled down and his cheeks being spread and he realised; this was the full body search and no mistake. His eyes filled with tears, was it the pain, the humiliation or the confusion?
‘Get dressed.’ The office rolled the r in dressed. Daniel pulled his shorts back up but the officer nodded his head to the jeans and t-shirt discarded at the end of the bed making it clearer what he meant. The three guns were still trained on Daniel, reminding him that he should not do anything stupid. Again Daniel meekly did as he was told. He pulled the clothes on slowly, careful not to make sudden movements. As soon as he had his jeans and t-shirt on he felt the same hands grab his wrists and yank them behind his back. He expected to feel the metal of handcuffs but it felt like plastic on his skin. Then most frighteningly of all a hood was pulled over his head and a drawstring pulled around his neck.
‘Valk!’ the voice said, again the W sound became a V. Daniel walked in the direction he was pushed. He felt the warm floor of his under floor heating of the bathroom, then the wood of his hallway before the tiles outside his flat. Despite being blinded by the hood, he could hear the eyes of his neighbours on him, opening doors just an inch to see what all the fuss was about. He was bundled down the stairs by his captors, his feet missing steps but his body being kept upright by the strength of the policemen holding his arms. He felt the cold night air as he was taken out into the street and then thrown into the back of what he guessed was a police van. He heard the door slam and then silence.

Silence!
Total silence, no voices, no engine, no banging. His head throbbed. His mind raced. The first thought he’d had was what time was it? He had no idea. He’d had no time to look at this phone to check; he’d been so fast asleep, that the idea of time was jumbled. Sometimes a sleep like that could seem like hours but just be a few minutes. He wished he’d bought a proper alarm clock; an illuminated one, why hadn’t he bought one of those? He cursed himself for being so stupid. He then thought he was cold, he was only wearing a t-shirt and it was the middle of the night, in the middle of March. Why hadn’t he put a jumper on? Was he a fool? And no socks, what would his mother say?  He shook his head trying to clear his mind.  He wondered why such trivial things were going through his brain when he’d just been taken from his bed in the middle of the night at gunpoint by some strange division of the Czech police?

He felt the van shudder but the only sound he could hear was his own breathing. He felt like he was moving but he could hear no engine so he couldn’t be sure. His eyes were open but it was pitch black inside the hood. He could feel the plastic digging into his wrists. He tried to make himself believe this was just a dream but he couldn’t, this was all too real. The smell of the bag, the sweat on his brow and the pain in his backside assured him he wasn’t dreaming. He sniffed hard and tried to concentrate. He tried to play the scene through his mind again, the noise, the guns, the men. It must be mistaken identity, they had the wrong man. But then again they had used his name. Surely there can’t be two Daniel Welshes in Prague. They’d known who they were looking for, but their quarry didn’t know why. He was sure he was moving now, but he still couldn’t hear the engine. It felt like a turbulent plane ride. He dragged himself up and sat with his back on the cold side of the van. His brain ran through reasons he could be in the van. He guessed it must be porn. He was a bit of an addict, sometimes he visited sites he probably shouldn’t, a bit of s and m but nothing illegal, nothing underage. But they had bagged up his computer so it could be that. Had he stumbled across an illicit site, had there been a pop up that there shouldn’t have been? He wracked his brains and tried to think. His antivirus had flagged up a few ‘attacks’ recently. Could that be it? Had some paedo ring attacked his computer? Surely armed police would be a bit much for that. How about downloads? He downloaded music like a trooper and he’d downloaded a movie or two illegally recently but again the midnight raid and the bag over his head might be considered a little over the top for some casual file sharing. No, it must be a case of mistaken identity. Maybe there was a Daniel Walsh in Prague. His surname was often misspelt. Maybe Mr Walsh was lying in his bed now oblivious to the drama unfolding in his namesake’s life. Daniel tried to relax. It was easier said than done but he knew panicking would not do him any good. He was as sure as he could be that this was some kind of mistake and once they had realised that it was he would soon be released, apologised to and maybe even compensated, his eyes lit up for a second at the thought of the money. But then his mind went haywire. What if it wasn’t a mistake? Or what if they didn’t discover it was a mistake? Innocent men and women were imprisoned all the time, sometimes for years and years, sometimes just because the police were too embarrassed to admit their mistakes. Now, here he was cuffed and hooded in the back of a silent van for no good reasons and to make matters worse he was in a foreign country and his captors spoke in a foreign language. He had no phone, no way of contacting his parents or his friends who were presumably fast asleep without a care in the world; the bastards. He could a feel panic attack coming. They say for a panic attack you should breath into a bag but  he already was and that wasn’t helping. He was getting hotter, the air in the shroud, moist with sweat and breath. He felt his brain split in two. One side raging against the absurdity of it all, terrified of what was happening. The other trying to calm down, accept the fate, letting events take their natural course. The rational side was losing the battle not least because there was nothing rational about this crazy situation.

The panic was all around Daniel now, he felt like he was drowning, gasping for air as the panic pulled him under. Just as he was about to succumb to the waters he felt the van shudder and he realised that they had stopped. He managed to control his breathing. Then he jumped as the van door opened and he felt a blast of cold air hit him.  
‘Lie down!’ It was the same voice as before, still spitting the English with a sense of contempt. Daniel struggled to get himself onto the floor of the van.
‘Na bricho!’ came the voice again. Daniel recognised the words and realised the officer wanted him to lie on his belly. He flopped over. The floor was uncomfortable, without being able to use his arms he couldn’t stop his body weight pushing down on his balls. He heard the man get into the van with him. He again braced himself, sure that he would now be shot or at the very least kicked. Part of him just wanted that one bullet to the head, get it over with! Would he even notice the pain? How long do the pain receptors work before the bullet smashes the skull and destroys the brain? He heard voices and realised there were now two people in the van with him. He strained to understand the Czech but they were speaking too fast. The conversation was earnest. He felt something placed next to his head. He almost smiled to himself at the absurdity of the situation. There he was trussed up like a captured lion in the back of a police van, it was just insane. The men stopped talking, he realised, as he heard a zipper, that the thing close to his head was a bag, one of the men opened it and took something out.
‘Lie still!’ It was a different voice; kinder, almost apologetic.
Then Daniel felt a sharp stab in right buttock. He recognised the needle of a syringe and felt the warm syrup being squeezed into his cheek. He tensed as the man removed the needle but then felt his body relax. A delicious drowsiness enveloped him and his body seemed to float as he fell into a deep sleep. 

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