text: Daniel Scott Suddenly it became a man 
   
   
   Chapter One: Snakes and bladders 
     
   Beside the rabbit hole, sprung, battered-hot, the snakes cold deliberate form was no more and in stillness its forked tongue loosed, admitting death stubbornly as it once did life. 
   I looked into the earthy hole from where I stood several paces away from the sweating concrete road drenched in the heat of the day and wondering if there was still a rabbit somewhere inside when his encroaching footsteps behind me vocalised confidently. 
     
     
   ‘Let me tell you about radical change, its gone, you accept society to find an identity, but find no identity that can survive without breathing in its smoke.’ 
     
   I looked inwardly for an opinion acceptable to Tom, found nothing and quickly agreed ‘That sounds about right.’ 
   He didn’t like it one glance back at his horrible eyes told me so and i suddenly felt the urge to fill the awkward silence. 
   ‘How’s the engine now?’ I asked but he answered nothing. 
   I turned to Tom abruptly, he turned away dismissively, paused a minute and stared at the sky then strolled back to my cars open bonnet. 
     
   I didn’t want to upset him, I have always been more patient than interested in what my friends told me and accepting of talkative strangers I’d later forget or quote. Then there was Tom, when he had something to say I listened and remembered because he was different, and terrifying. 
   By chance he’d passed me broken down on the causeway, later returning with jump leads to help me get back on my way. 
   It seemed like kindness at the time. 
   ‘Okay she’s ready’ Tom announced as he shut the bonnet. 
   It was time to go, my attention briefly came back to the dead snake, the hole then swiftly returned to the road ahead with hope for the rabbit crystallised. Though it was later shattered as we passed the animals fluffy body a short while after, stretched violently atop the concrete road. 
     
   We first met inside a hospital sometime in June Tom insisted, I was the most mobile patient of the long stay ward. 
   I remember feeling almost completely fine after spending more than a week propped up on white linen sheets by bleached white polyester pillows, awaiting the head physician and his coveted final verdict. 
     
   Already in bad stead due to a spilt bed pan the Nurses contempt for me grew in the heat of the days that followed like a bacteria that multiplied into hate. 
   It wasn’t long before they were changing my sheets aggressively and whenever I was in earshot passing biting comments to each other about how abusers of the system ought to be punished. 
   “It’s not a Hotel” 
   “My husband says loafers should be strung up and beaten” 
   “Did you know they’re shot in the army that’s how wrong it is you know?” 
   “Huh, the shame of it laid out on a much needed bed, not a thing wrong, in the nude, shame on them.” 
     
     
   There was a morning when Fred; the oldest man I’ve ever seen two beds across offered me his cereal, as was the Thursday routine. 
   I stood at his bedside as he went on about the war and I went on eating and nodding at the crucial moments in his story. 
   “It was the Great British Air Force!” 
   “There were thousands of them!” 
   And so on, when I heard a great gasp let out behind me, I span around with my mouth still full only to see three Nurses at the entrance to the ward looking absolutely mortified, so much so that a passing Doctor stopped what he was doing took up his stethoscope and hurriedly doubled back. 
     
   During nights if I was spotted out of bed returning from or going to the toilet I received a repetitive and deliberately vexing inquisition. 
   My favourite Nurse Ester made it her personal mission to watch me at night, whenever even so much as one of my toes touched that cold floor she’d have at me with a bed pan. 
   I’d then lie wondering why it was so important that I should be in bed. 
   Beginning to suppose she assumed I had intentions to meddle with the other patients at night which were incapacitated, feverishly sick or both and being innocent I made a habit of staring back indignantly. 
     
   That’s when it happened. 
     
   A hot stuffy day had curdled into hot stuffy night leaving the entire ward hot and devoid of real air. Every breath in felt like the last one let out. I couldn’t sleep when I noticed a murmuring, a low desperate cry stifled by the thick air, falling short, reaching no one but me. 
   Compelled by the cries I slid out of bed and followed the sound to an isolated bed with closed curtains, I walked straight in. 
   ‘Are you okay?’ 
   He wasn’t okay, he was neck deep in plaster ‘Struck by a car’ I thought as I recalled a goby Nurses laborious rant about dangerous roads, road rage and domestic violence. 
   Submerged in grief the young mans bruised eyes opened slowly and looked through me, I looked back sympathetically at all pipes going in and out of his nose and mouth then next to the machines I noticed a window. 
   His battered eyes darted to the window with mine and remained there until moved toward it. 
   ‘Want this open?’ I asked rhetorically, of course he did, the poor fool was being boiled in his shell. 
   My fingers took firm purchase at the bottom of the windows frame, it was painted shut but the paint was cracked and rotten, clearly decades old. My first mediocre attempt was enough to send it flying open letting in a great gust of fresh, nutritious air. 
   The expression on his face changed, he looked pleasant and I walked away assured the good deed was administered in time. I hopped into bed, lulled by the gift of cool air, I slept like a hero. 
   The next morning I woke to a squall of frantic nurses rushing from bed to bed, temperatures had skyrocketed and the old man two beds across was dead. 
   That day I was removed to another ward, where the stormy head physician finally came at a fast pace to deal with me. 
   I knew the verdict before he got through the door. 
     
   Two and a half years later here he was, out of his shell and returning a favour, he said his name was Tomas Baker.    
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Two: Appreciation 
     
   Our journey together along the concrete road was meant to meet its end when I signalled into a lane that led to the car park of the hotel I reserved a room in. 
   When Tom saw it he slowed up behind me, I rolled down the window and waited for him to pass by but instead he stopped, got out of his car and walked over to my window.        
   I wasn’t sure what he was going to say. 
   ‘Tom, thank you, what can I say? You’ve been a big help.’ 
   He leaned in ‘Join me for a drink’. What could I say? 
     
   Tom bought me a beer and for himself a still water with ice from the hotel bar, we picked a quiet spot to sit down of which there were many, it wasn’t a busy place, more a relaxing corner of the world with hard seats and tired furnishings. 
   I raised my glass and Tom did likewise but unlike me he didn’t drink from it, he just sat there holding it steadily, lowered it again and started asking me questions. 
   He was very interested in my career; I told him all about my movie roles and that I wanted bigger ones. I didn’t realise until after half an hour when I felt it was time to say our goodbyes, that in this whole time I had learned nothing about him, so took a moment to look him over. 
   Thick black beard and matching moustache no lips, a crooked peaked cap that appeared to have been worn over night cupped his head I could see his brown eyes clearly. I kept noticing how horrible they were while we spoke, slightly off set and sunk into his face. 
   The bar was almost vacant, except for a few slow mechanical drinkers like Tom. 
   ‘That’s enough’ I thought, my appreciation was conveyed and I felt it was time to go. 
   ‘Listen Tom it’s been-‘ 
   He interrupted me suddenly with his hand, abruptly producing a crammed leather wallet. 
   ‘This is the family.’ he boasted. 
   He looked young in the picture, a short boyish adolescent with strong shoulders, proud smile. ‘What happened to you?’ I thought. 
   His drivers licence was the same, he was a little older though but the same proud smile, he must have been about nineteen when it was taken; he’d clearly gained height and girth with age, kept the shoulders, lost the looks. 
   Tom noticed my interest and offered me the wallet. I held it for a moment re-examining the family portrait. 
   ‘Still see them?’ I asked. 
   ‘Yes.’ He lowered the glass again ‘There are nights when I try to sleep. I shut my eyes and all I see are their faces.’ 
   He looked at me with expectation in the midst of his shaded eyes. 
   I grimaced ‘Did something happen to them?’ 
   He answered nothing. 
   Then from under his hats crooked peak a deep frown sank down into his face, his brow furrowed taut and creased tightly into an expression comparable to hate. 
   ‘Sounds about right’ I knew instantly they were the words I used earlier being spewed back at me. 
   The mood had changed. 
   He sat hunched, croaked and hissed inaudibly into his full glass, tipped it back against his dark facial hair and started to swallow it down with a kind of drowning desperation. The excess spilled out the sides of his mouth and dripped down his beard onto the table. I looked away with tempered disgust, recoiling from each of his loud breathy gulps. 
   His emptied glass came back down with a gentle thud and he offered out his hand ‘Shake it’ he said with a smile, the frown had vanished. 
   My hand automatically reached into his grip, I felt it close tight like an iron trap without teeth. 
   ‘I still feel like I owe you.’ He confessed, but it sounded like a question. 
   ‘Don’t feel that way. We’re even’ 
   ‘No were not’ his grip was getting tighter. 
   ‘Well thank you for what you did. I don’t know what I’d of-’ 
   ‘Thank you is enough’ he interrupted. 
   ‘Okay you’re right, Tom it’s been’ 
   He interrupted me again, louder and tighter. 
   ‘Thank you, is enough’ 
   ‘Thank you.’ The moment I said the words the handshake relented. 
   With blood freely racing back into my fingers I gave Tom a meek nod of respect mingled with relief as he got up and left the bar through the main doors. 
   When I was sure he was gone, I wiped my face with my other hand and relaxed into the chair puzzled as to what went wrong. 
   Suddenly a thought came into my head that cheered me up the rest of the evening 
   ‘If that mad display was Tom saying thank you and returning a favour, what happens when he’s got something to be vengeful about?’ I retired to my reserved room in the hotel with a smile and laughed to myself to sleep, wondering which poor Nurse closed that old window I opened. I hoped it was Ester. 
     
   Benjamin Stanes long time friend and agent drummed feverishly at my hotel door, I didn’t realise it was him but thought it was the neighbours beds backboard thumping the wall again until I heard them shouting the noise down. 
   I shot up to answer it ‘Ben it’s five thirty in the morning’ 
   ‘Yes and do you know what today is?’ 
   ‘Too early’ 
   ‘It’s the screening of Jacky Mendisa, you cameo for the upcoming sequel why aren’t you aware? This is your life I’m talking about, you don’t get anywhere without being seen lets go.’ 
   We arrived early to take our middle lying seats to avoid any hassle, the journalists and magazine people had theirs, the stars including Jenna Phillip’s who was dripping ear to ankle with so much gold that no one so much as lay hand on her for the fear she’d ‘Buckaroo’, she sat luxuriously at the front. 
   The film played, Benjamin clapped hard and loud, Jenna cried as if she was watching herself for the first time, I thought it was boring, and for my six hours work on the film I didn’t even get a decent mug shot and they dubbed my voice with Barry White’s audio double. 
   Everyone spilled out of the viewing room into a lounge where refreshments were being served. 
   I made an effort shake hands with anyone who’d shake hands and was slowly passed from hand to hand into a corner next to a plant and an empty sofa. 
   I was about to give up and get very drunk when Benjamin came over with some good news at last. 
   ‘Kyle Lesley wants to screen test you!’ 
   ‘You’re kidding, is it a movie?’ 
   ‘Yes it’s a movie, he said he really liked your voice and wants to screen test you for the lead in his new movie, “An October Lightning Storm” ’ 
   ‘I really do hope you realise that that wasn’t my voice?’ 
   ‘He doesn’t, look this is your shot, take it.' 
   
   
   
   Chapter Three: Aftershock 
     
   I felt like a film star. 
   The set had an air of freshness to it I imagined it could easily sell for a high mark if it were showcased to the public. 
   Everything was clean and minimal, except for the bath and a jumble of toiletry props and empty bottles that sat on a small table awaiting the director’s selection. I walked over to the bath excitedly ‘I’m supposed to die in here’ I noticed a curve in the base that promised to hurt my back. 
   I climbed into the bath trying to figure out how to lie comfortably dead, while still disguising that I’m not actually naked when Kyle Lesley walked in with parade of camera men and actors in tow. 
   I knew it was him, the words expensive and benefactor oozed from his attire and his reputation according to the media encapsulated them. 
   ‘Here he is’ he announced with authority ‘lets get started’ though his nervous shifting eyes and defensive expression belied it. 
   The director jogged over to me and crouched at my side as I lay startled in the bath and started urgently reading aloud from a collection of loose notes. 
   ‘The bath scene, okay cameras here, here and here are watching you there, there and over there keep your back off them. Boom is on you but speak up I need annunciation, don’t shout the levels won’t balance. You’ll face one edge up slowly to where you are now, slowly turn to two, that’s the sad lean really earn it. You’re sad, you’re sad you hear the door then break to three, you see your brother he’s jealous he hates you, you hate that but you really love him though. Wait, you see the gun then say the line. Remember you see the gun before delivering it “Shoot me, we both know I deserve that bullet, but if you do it, you’ll always just be my… little brother” okay first take in ten’ 
     
     
   The last part stood out, ten minutes wasn’t very long. 
   ‘The first take is in ten minutes?’ 
   ‘Yes make sure you’re solid and remember to see the gun first’ 
   ‘The gun first, okay but ten minutes isn’t-’ 
   ‘Yes of course improvisation that’s fine I’ll be back’ 
   Leaving me in limbo he jogged over to Jean Parson another member of the cast stood with a lighting operator close to the set toilet. They then closely spoke together while nodding at the same notes that were read to me, I soon realised we were competing for the role and I wasn’t happy. 
     
   Jean was small time, he had an attitude face and arrogance to the point of stupidity; he rubbed everyone up the wrong way, especially my agent Ben, in fact I didn’t know anyone who liked him. 
   Ben had told me stories about when he used to be his agent, at that time he didn’t know Jean was prone to wild and vocal nightmares and one night he woke up hearing one, Jean was shouting “Get off me!” naturally thinking he was in trouble rushed up to his room to help. 
   He found Jean crying in the dark tangled in a bed sheet shouting and punching the air. 
   The lights go on and there’s no one but Jean, short of breath, looking dazed, stinking and covered in his own filth. 
   Ben asks “What happened here?” 
   Seeing that no one was around and nothing was taken Jean went on in a backward attempt to save face to try and convince Ben that actually he had been in a super natural fight with a ghost. 
     
   Jean Parson was a clown and there he stood giving me looks from the side of his face as the director fed him my lines and not ashamed of him self either, though that shouldn’t of surprised me. 
   In the last B film he had anything to do with which was to all intents and purposes about a neurotic cat getting into fights, he did the voice of a dog. And not the main dog either. 
   I on the other hand was an Actor trying to build a reputation worth noticing, that made me very susceptible to shame and I knew full well that there’d be far too much to bear losing out to the likes of him. 
   Ben had really stuck his neck out for me this time the pressure was on to get it right. 
   Ten minutes wasn’t long. 
   Kyle Lesley watched my performance through the lens of camera three. 
   ‘Shoot me’ I said. 
   ‘No, no louder’ demanded Kyle. 
   ‘Shoot me!’ I shouted 
   ‘The levels’ the director moaned 
   ‘Shoot me!’ I cried 
   ‘No what are you doing? Use your voice’ Kyle advised painfully 
   My throat went dry, Parson smiled like a villain, I filled my lungs and ‘Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me!’ bayed like rabid donkey. 
   Kyle pulled away from the cameras eye piece horrified, then signalled the director who came jogging swiftly over to usher me out of the bath. 
   ‘Let’s go, let’s go’ he told me waving his clipboard as if fanning away a bad smell. 
   ‘Sorry, I don’t know what happened. Can I give it another go?’ 
   He wasn’t interested and seemed to have been nodding along the whole time I spoke like a tacky car ornament waiting for me to stop talking and to spew out his own lines. 
   ‘No we’ve got a lot to get through, out now let’s go’ 
   ‘Listen honestly that wasn’t me at my best’ 
   ‘No we’ve got a lot to get through, let’s go’ 
   ‘You’ve said that already I’m asking for another chance’ 
   ‘I heard now, get, out’ 
    His malicious tone provoked me 
   ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ 
   ‘Stand up, and, get, out’ 
   I stood up. 
   Suddenly the new bath scene had every ones attention, to the extent that Kyle himself felt the urge to intervene. He called out to me. 
   ‘Thank you good man I have everything I need from you, would you mind joining rest of the cast off set now? Good man.’ 
   I was as professional about it as I could be; which wasn’t very much at all. After giving the director the finger and exiting the bath with a stumble I glared at Jean who tended to an itch on a part of his face that required him to turn it away. 
   The locking catch of the stage exits closed door sounded a click with me on the other side before anyone dared to start laughing. 
   I can guess who was the first. 
     
   The journey back to the hotel was agonising, my train of thought traversed a looping torrent of infuriating words, menacing images and faces all of them pleased at my bitter rejection and Jean Parson’s triumph. 
   After neglecting every road sign that whizzed by at an even twenty miles above the forty limit, until I met the turning for the Kipper Hotel at which I stayed. 
   A stray cat lost a life as I came screeching into the car park and to an abrupt halt, at that moment I half noticed something out of place. 
   The loose seat belt button had no belt to release when I pressed it in “that’s how you get yourself killed” I thought though I didn’t dwell on it for long the consuming ambition for an alcoholic resolution was still hurrying me. 
   Wallet and keys in hand I flew out of the door with rhythmic pace, confirmed my crooked placement possessed more than its allotted parking space, smirked ‘So what’ and marched toward the main doors with single mindedness, but someone had been watching me the entire time, steps from where I stood and paying close attention. 
   As bad things were for me at that moment, I never reached my room, the bar or even the hotel that night. 
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Four: Hammering it home 
     
   Ambushed! Three sudden men burst out from the unseen dark borders of my vision and seized me fiercely by the arms. 
   Held captive and swirling down to the ground I heard sirens, saw their uniforms and yielded my unnoticed struggle with regret and great surprise, I was being arrested. 
   Memories of the speed limit stammered my cries of injustice, as did my tires rubber trail left on the ground as I was carted into the Police marked van I had undoubtedly screeched passed. 
     
   Inside the Police station the conditioning cell walls condoned my every discomfort; the dark high ceiling supported a closed circuit camera at one of its corners, it sat inside protective casing positioned above a small metal toilet. The toilet was cold, sensor operated and devoid of any water, on its left side a hand a sanitizer was affixed, I had no intention of using either. 
   The bed come chair in the middle of the room was bolted to the floor, against one of the dull magnolia walls with two thin woollen blankets folded on top of it. Both blankets were made of itchy industrial quality synthetic material; they matched the colour of the black floor and the texture of loft insulation. 
     
   I was already over two hours trapped on all sides with nothing to eat or drink, I couldn’t sit or stand without feeling nauseous for lack of substance. Anticipation followed boredom followed mental turmoil that manifested over time into a physical pain in my lower back. The aching pain increased the longer I waited, the longer I was patient, and the more I listened for some sign of life and heard nothing. 
   Another hour hungry with an aching back bored away and then another and another in the same painful fashion, the constant dim light adding a painful headache to my list of torments. 
   ‘What’s going on?’ 
   I banged my open palms against the steel door. 
   ‘What is going on? Someone speak to me’ 
   Loud and strong my voice carried powerfully the way I knew Kyle Lesley wanted, I don’t know where it came from but I was pleased as seconds later there came footsteps toward my cell, keys rattled into the lock and at last the door opened. There was a man on the other side dressed in a dark suit and tie next to the officer with the keys and the handcuffs that awaited me. 
     
   They led me into a bright room with a large mirror set into the wall, one table two chairs a camera and a tape recorder, after I sat down I was freed from the handcuffs, the suited man sat facing me at the table. 
   ‘Am I in trouble? I don’t understand what’s happening.’ 
   He held up his hand for silence while ejecting a tape from the machine and putting it back in and pressing record. He read out a short statement for the benefit of the recording then addressed me. 
   ‘You were picked up at Kipper hotel. Who were you travelling with?’ 
   ‘That’s right I’m staying there, I’m not travelling with anyone’ 
   ‘Where were you last night?’ 
   ‘I was at the hotel’ 
   ‘Alone?’ 
   ‘Yes’ 
   ‘That’s not my information’ 
   ‘I’m sorry yes I was with some one, I went to the bar for a few drinks before bed with someone I met on the way to the Hotel’ 
   ‘Right, did he have a name?’ 
   ‘Tom Baker, I don’t really know him’ 
   He looked away from me to mirror and made a hand gesture. 
   ‘You don’t know really know him, did you two have drinks?’ 
   ‘Yes, I’m sorry I thought this was about my speeding?’ 
   ‘What happened to Mr. Baker after you had drinks?’ 
   ‘He left I went to my room I was tired, what’s this about?’ 
   ‘You tell me, we all want to know, you have a reputation now we’ll get the whole story in your confession, when you’re put away you’ll be famous.’ 
   ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about or Tom if that’s what you’re thinking, I’m an Actor’ 
   ‘Not Tomas then?’ 
   ‘I was broke down on the roadside, he drove up and helped me we talked and we had a few beers after that’s it?’ 
   ‘The motive was his kindness toward you?’ 
   ‘Motive I don’t know what you mean? Where is he? I’m sure he was staying somewhere near the hotel, if you bring him in here he’ll explain everything honestly’ 
   ‘Sadly we can’t do that, he’s dead’ 
   ‘He’s dead?’ 
   ‘Yes he died from his injuries’ 
   ‘Injuries, what happened?’ 
   ‘Bludgeoned, lots of blood, no prints, well there were no prints until you decided in the aftermath - which we’re all grateful for - to prize out his wallet and drivers licence. Why did you do that?’   
   ‘No the only time I touched Tom’s wallet was when he showed me pictures of his family! I’m shocked he’s dead it’s terrible, I’ve got nothing to do with it, I wouldn’t dare raise my voice to that man he was twice my size, I don’t understand why you think I’d attack him?’ 
   ‘A man twice your size? 
   He made another hand gesture at the mirror and an officer came in with a group of files and handed them to him, he opened the first on the table in front of me and began peeling out horrific photographs of a bloody scene. 
   First a hammer stained thickly with dark blood, then one of a ruined man bloody and dead, the top of his head concaved as if it were as pliable as a rubber dolls pressed in by thumbs. It was hard to look. 
   ‘What is that? Why are you showing me this?’ 
   Mortified I tore my eyes away from the gruesome images, swallowing back the bile that had crept into my mouth involuntarily. 
   By the time I recovered the next picture came, I looked at it for a moment the young man pictured was eerily familiar. 
   ‘I can see you do recognise him.’ 
   Slowly I realised exactly who I was looking at, the boy with the proud smile it was Tomas Baker young, about twenty years old now, more pictures came but strangely none of which did he look any older. 
   ‘Tom went missing on Friday, this is most recent photograph’ 
   He showed me the last picture Tom draping his arm over the shoulder of a pretty girl. 
   One look and the reality of the situation dawned on me all the images meshed into one another like a jigsaw melting together in a mental forest fire. Tom was dead, he was a boy not a man, he was a generous helpful boy a cheerful soul but I never met him, I held his wallet, I saw his family and I shook the hand of the man that killed him.   
   ‘Tom was five foot eight, nineteen years old, which means he was shorter than you, everyone who met him said he was a pleasant boy but not you, you murdered him.’ 
   The battery of questions continued, I answered them all reiterating and spewing detail, explaining why’s and where’s and when’s, adamantly fighting for my innocence. 
   It went on and on, the suited man was referred to as Detective by the other officials that came in and out of the interrogation room, all of which gave him a great deal of reverence and I endured. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Five: Anticipation 
     
     
   Gradually the nature of the man I was suspected of being was revealed through the long list of his victims. They clearly knew a lot about his movements but nothing about his appearance as I in no way physically resembled Tom Baker’s killer. 
   He left the room part way through a loaded question about my preference to travel for work when an officer called him out. After a short time he came back in and continued his interrogation focusing on my background and my career. 
   I felt the ordeal coming to a close when he after stepping out of the room brought me back a cup of coffee, I hated coffee but thirst had already knighted the sickly sweet, and crowned any drink that could quench it a godsend. 
   The detective’s change of heart felt false and his expression cunning. 
   He stopped the tape. 
   ‘Times up’ 
   I was escorted out to the main desk and released as spontaneously as I was taken in, Benjamin was waiting for me, it turned out he’d been fighting my corner on the outside since he found out I had been arrested. 
   He rejoiced when he saw me emerging lethargically from the Police station, he grabbed me by the arms like a father. 
   ‘Let’s get out of here are you unwell, what’s wrong with your back, were you beaten?’ 
   ‘Where have you been?’ 
   ‘Looking for you, I couldn’t find you at the Hotel, the Police were impounding your car, you didn’t have a phone and the police wouldn’t speak to me what do you expect?’ 
   ‘Well it’s good to see you.’ 
   ‘What did you do?’ 
   ‘Remember Tom that Mr. Helpful I told you about? He was murdered’ 
   ‘No?’ 
   ‘Yes, tell you everything later, got anything to eat?’ 
   ‘I have a bit of sandwich in the car are you hungry?’ 
   ‘Sounds great, lead the way’ 
   It was late and cold and I didn’t have my jacket since I’d left it in my hotel room, I didn’t expect to be walking anywhere. 
   ‘I’ll take you to my house after cook you some toast’ 
   ‘Fine, thanks Ben, so the police wouldn’t speak to you, how did you find out where I was?’ 
   ‘Yes, I was about to leave but you’re friend at the hotel told me what happened’ 
   ‘What, which friend?’ 
   ‘He told me all about it he said he saw the Police taking you and knew which station was closest, he was right’ 
   ‘Ben I asked you which friend?’ 
   ‘I don’t remember his name, what’s the matter with you?’ 
   ‘Ben it’s important what did he look like?’ 
   ‘Why is it important? If you want to thank him he’s in the car’ 
   ‘He’s in the car, your car? Ben I need you to think carefully, did he say his name was Tom?’ 
   ‘No, definitely not I’d remember that’ 
   ‘Did he have a beard?’ 
   ‘What did they do to you in there? You sound like a paranoid no he hasn’t got a beard, what are you planning to do kiss him or shake his hand?’ 
   We walked another thirty seconds to the car each step arduous and heavy like those of a ladder leading up to a high wire or a diving board set over shallow water. 
   Ben popped his door open jumped straight in and started searching the compartments like a ferret for the sandwich he promised. 
   Outside I gazed in at my mysterious friend slouched in the back through the window and condensation hoping not to alert him. 
   ‘It’s open’ 
   Ben opened my door for me confused by my hesitation. 
   I leaned in gingerly but the view gave nothing away, he was asleep with his face turned onto his palm. 
   I couldn’t make out his face completely, he wore thick spectacles, had neatly combed brown hair not black, and just like Ben said didn’t have a beard. 
   He held vague resemblance of someone I met at the Jacky Mendisa Screening and though I couldn’t accept it completely I was satisfied that he wasn’t that Tom Baker I met and finally took a seat in the car. 
   Ben stared at me with an improving smile and a crust of bread wrapped clumsily in cellophane, he glanced into the back at the sleeping passenger, looked back at me, then the road shook his head with a sigh and turned his keys in the ignition. 
   The mild vibration of the engine played with my seat and hummed delightfully into my sore back, I relaxed into its jiggling motion. 
   He opened my window slightly with a button on the dashboard and nodded up at me for approval. 
   I gave it. 
   The chilling air hit my face while hunger squeezed my stomach, at graceful miles an hour with the wind in my face the distant view of an open restaurant was glowing like a beacon in the distance while I contemplated the value of my freedom.   
   ‘Think they do toast there?’ I jested. 
   Ben half smiled at me noticing my mood had changed 
   ‘I heard the audition went well’ 
   ‘Don’t go on about it Ben… It did for Jean’ 
   He was smiling, trying to play my failure down by teasing me, it was typical of course for Ben not to know when to stop and typically he meant well, but even knowing that didn’t make it any less annoying. 
   ‘For Jean you say? Okay yes that’s right he got the role. I was shocked he’s not even good, I spoke with Kyle he said you looked like an angry dog.’ 
   ‘What does that mean?’ 
   ‘I know I laughed he’s a funny man.’ 
   ‘You’re a good agent, laughing at me while I’m having a rough time’ 
   ‘I’m just saying Jean got that part, it’s okay there are other roles’ 
   ‘So what’ I exclaimed 
   ‘I’ll tell you, I should never have offered you that role as Duke’ 
   ‘Do you think this is helping?’ 
   ‘Listen, he dies eight scenes in and’ 
   Ben’s concentration switched to his careful driving, we had arrived at the restaurant; after parking he turned and continued. 
   ‘I asked Kyle about you, why you didn’t get it etcetera, one word “Gregory” Gregory is Duke’s jealous brother the killer and a leading role with good screen time, that’s what I was coming to tell you before all of this.’ 
   He switched off the engine with style waiting for my reaction 
   ‘Ben I can’t believe it, that’s-’ 
   ‘A leading role and you get to shoot Jean Parson’ 
   ‘If only I could.’ I said laughing ‘Ben I feel-’ 
   ‘I know you feel great, so do I you’re going to actually pay me for a change, come on wake him up you owe us.’ 
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Six: Connections 
     
     
   That news signalled the change, a professional existence that ended another of cameos as non-characters. 
   A change everybody will see, who doesn’t love a villain? 
   Benjamin got out energetically taken by the mood 
   ‘I’ll get the tables I know a man on the inside wink-wink, sit tight ok we’re getting premier seating’ 
   He slammed his door while I still stunned by the news sat in awe of my new fortune. 
     
   As I waved Ben away into the restaurant the cars ceiling light had temporarily activated, it shone into the back and brightly onto the sleeping stranger. 
   I turned out of my seat to get a good look at him and watched as he began stirring from sleep. 
   After casually sitting up with puzzlement he checked both wrists for a watch, found it cursed at it quietly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his thick coat, a second later he adjusted his thick glasses and looked at me 
   ‘Ben?’ 
   I angled my face further into the light then he noticed me. 
   ‘Yes, of course. Hello again, apologies in advance I’ve been known to drool’ 
   ‘That’s fine it’s not my car, also I think it’s me who should be apologising for all this trouble, clearly I’ve kept from your bed to say the least. Ben’s inside getting us seats we’re at a restaurant’ 
   He nodded his head yawning and zipped down his big coat. 
   ‘Forget about it. That’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks, must be the weather and this car, it smells good.’ 
   He sat forward staring at me expectantly, as if to say “It’s me?” 
   ‘Hey friend this is embarrassing I’m sorry I don’t quite remember your name.’ 
   ‘You don’t like Jean Parson do you?’ he smiled 
   ‘I overheard you two talking on the way here, congratulations on the lead.’ 
   ‘Excuse me I didn’t know you know him and thank you a little luck‘ 
    He cut in. 
   ‘Yes and luckily I was at the hotel when you were taken in. They were saying you killed a man I almost thought you did’ 
   ‘No it was a big mist-‘ 
   ‘Mistake I know, when Ben turned up all was revealed, I still thought what if, but he cleared the smoke obscuring you and here you are freedom.’ 
   The interrupting drone of his patter was beginning to irritate me on top of that I was ravenous, the smell of food was in the air calling out to me, potatoes, chicken, curry, stuffed peppers with cheese. 
   He sat up and reached around in his coats inside pocket, I hardly recognised his face but his voice sounded familiar. 
   ‘Yes you’ve done me a great favour and if you’re hungry I’d like to repay you’ 
   ‘Don’t you thank people who help you?’ 
   As calmly as I could I decided to reiterate my grateful offer but found myself waiting for him to finish speaking again. 
   ‘Don’t worry I know all about you, you’re decent I just thought, but it’s okay.’ 
   ‘Well if you listen to me, I’m saying thank you right now and I’d like to buy you dinner Mr.?’ 
   ‘That’s very kind but no, I’ve intruded enough ’ 
   ‘No It’s fine were here and it’s it the least I can do honestly’ 
   ‘No you don’t understand at all. Thank you is enough.’ 
   He offered out his unoccupied hand as he continued to root in his pocket. 
   ‘Shake it’ 
   The sound of those words were ingrained into my psyche, I hesitated without thinking cradling one hand in the other and I didn’t know why. 
   I heard myself thinking ‘It’s still feels bruised. It’s the one he squeezed…Who squeezed?’ 
   The displeasure of my hesitation had rotted away his former kind expression and with the bizarre nostalgia of my childhood trepidation when sitting on, what was my Fathers lap at Christmas, I recalled the stunning revelation that followed and with it in mind looked once more at the stranger inside of the car. 
   The obvious deception was inescapable now; I suddenly knew why his voice was so familiar, why I couldn’t remember his name or face. 
   Too late I saw passed his purposefully thick glasses and met the snake brown sunken, offset eyes that glared through mine at the roadside and in the hotel bar and with every sinking moment they emerged from the depths of his stony face like a cobra from a basket. 
     
   I twisted back for the door but one of his quick thick fingered hands wrapped itself around my neck and clenched tightly and snapped me back into my seat with strength. 
   ‘What do you want?’ I cried. 
   He answered nothing. 
   Using his firm grip he levered himself closer me, his voice had changed now, it slithered through the air like a snake on sand, lisping into my ear. 
   ‘Thank me.’ 
   ‘I’m sorry. Thank you’ 
   ‘Is that all?’ 
   ‘Thank you very much I’m grateful for everything you’ve done’ 
   ‘You asked me a question at the bar didn’t you? 
   About my family? 
   ‘I didn’t mean to insult you in any way, I am truly sorry, I don’t know what happened and I shouldn’t’ 
     
   ‘Be quiet and listen. I used live in a house, it was as small as this car, I cooked in it, ate in it, I kept it clean. I knew someone who had a friend who fed her soup, even when she didn’t want it. A day came when she got very sick, do you know what he did? He stopped feeding her. She died and he buried her in my house. I could smell her rotting, first it was sweet like hot pork, it smelt like her skin was sizzling. Then another smell came it was thick, stifling, swallow or breathe that rancid odour filled my mouth.’ 
     
   His anger flared his shivering face came so hard against mine his teeth squashed my ear, then a gush of words and spittle with rage seethed out. 
   ‘That’s what happened! That’s “Something” you nosey pig you murderer!’ 
   Incredibly his anger relented, vanishing into a bizarre serenity. 
   The car light dimmed. 
   ‘I meant what I said before about congratulating you.’ 
   ‘You did? I mean thank you’’ 
   ‘You’re welcome’ 
   His grip had loosened after he spoke as he seemed to contemplate something, perhaps feelings of remorse. 
   Seizing the moment carefully, timidly I asked him 
   ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ 
   ‘Bored, dumb, vengeful, insane, I know I’m none of those things, but anyone who could describe me and what I have done to get here would use at least two of those words. I have killed, that is true. You saw the pictures. Whatever it is you recognised about me, I think after this, you’ll tell it to the police.’ 
   It sounded like a question. 
   ‘I won’t, I won’t say anything to anyone’ 
   He was still calm but like the one before a storm. 
   ‘When you say that I want to believe you. I heard you’re a good actor.’ 
   ‘This isn’t an act, I won’t, I don’t want to’ 
   There was a long silent pause. 
   The fear I felt in that moment was worst than the first, the level of tension in me from terrible suspense had peaked. 
   Sounds approached from behind us and materialised with lights, another car was reversing into the restaurants small car park one space behind, the sounds of it grew increasingly in the backdrop, 
   gravel underneath tires, the handbrake, the engine put to sleep and finally the door. 
   Desperation consumed me and I began considering a frantic bash of the horn to warn the hungry diner to my danger. I glanced into the rear view mirror, saw the maniac looking down, then at the horn on the stirring wheel. 
   Suddenly his voice croaked. 
   ‘Don’t look at it’ 
   My eyes entered the mirror a second time and I saw his other hand, it was revealed from out of his coat, elevating a steely hammer. 
   Without thought I blurted it out 
   ‘Please don’t do it!’ 
   ‘Shut up, and shut your eyes too.’ 
   I thought about my father again and all the promises I’ll never keep, then I closed them. 
   I heard a drawing of breath, one loud hiss in, he held it a moment then quietly, almost to himself he said 
   ‘I still feel like I owe you.’ 
   Trembling now, my muscles sighed out any fight they had in them, it had liquefied like boiling fat and emptied down into my bloating bladder. 
   At that moment I tried to convince myself I wouldn’t feel it, that death was painless. 
   However the contradicting images of poor Tom’s concaved skull dramatically resurfaced, crushing the naive idea with clarity. 
   There was nothing left to do but to beg. 
   ‘Don’t do it, please I won’t say anything!’ 
   With anger he puffed out the air he had drawn in and with temper warned 
   ‘I don’t know how much more I have in me to help you like this. Think about that boy Tom and Enjoy this brief intermission!’ 
   His grip released me with a shove, I jerked forward my head cradled in my own hands anticipating incredible pain. 
     
   A time passed with my eyes shut, braced for a blow but it never came. 
   Nothing happened. 
   Ben opened his door. 
   ‘I booked the table lets go. Where’s your friend?’ 
   I opened my eyes, he was gone. The back door was opened I didn’t even hear it. 
   ‘He’s gone’ I said. 
   Ben’s hand came down and rested on my shoulder ‘Are you okay?’ 
   A warmth on my legs ran cool then wet, from the waist down w was soaked with urine, as I gaped down at myself pain shot up the back of my neck, the dull ache in my back returned, my stomach moaned, I covered my face with my hands and in that shallow pit of darkness cried. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Seven: Invisible 
     
   A week later…  
   Dark sea clouds were watching me through the windows of the new house I rented, looming with their lightning amassed. 
   The weather had changed. 
   Since I moved in I’ve been falling to sleep by the window sat on a leather armchair I had revealed from under a white linen sheet in the living room, then painstakingly took up to the bedroom and having the crocodile dream. 
   Although the massive unobstructed view of the field, the main road and the long drive leading down to this place gave me comfort, the sight of the wet ground, wind battered bushes, trees and rain wet tarmac left a dire chill inside me. 
   It was a big Edwardian house with lots of room, fully furnished and lived in. It belonged to a family who owned a number of properties in the area and abroad. They let this little number out seasonally and from the window I could tell why. 
   A high view like this one on a clear night would be astounding. 
   The crocodile dream was born the night I spent in Ben’s spare room, after my brush with death, grew in obscurity and persistence and followed me here. 
   Benjamin’s sympathy ran its course when I arrived here at my new lodgings but the dreams continued, they were dreadful, confusing dreams but not nightmares exactly. 
   They all start when I answer a knock at the bedroom door in the dream. 
   As I’m opening it the crocodile tries to rush in snapping its savage jaws but I close it on its head in time to stop its wriggling body from getting in. 
   A short fight later with the door wedged on its wild head the croc realises its stuck and starts talking, trying to convince me that it had calmed down, that it was a joke and that I should let it in before “it’s too late”. 
   The dreams varied slightly but every one I had had that crocodile in it, I didn’t know what the relevance was. 
   What confused me more was that I never dreamt of the man who claimed to be Tomas Baker. No nightmares, no momentary flash backs. I couldn’t for the life of me remember anything about how he looked, except that he had horrible eyes. I spent hours in the day, days at a time trying to visualise him but nothing ever came and what frustrated and provoked me was that I knew I could, deep down in the pit of my stomach I was sure I recognised him from somewhere else beside the roadside bar and Ben’s car but where? 
   All the people I had met over the years in plays and interviews and nights out clouded any semblance of an idea I might have with jumbled and threatening memories and abstract images, no sounds just noises, yellow teeth and blurred faces. 
     
   I told Benjamin what happened that night in his car under strict warning. 
   Knowing the maniac had stalked me using elaborate disguises and that he now knew more about me than I’d ever of told him disturbed me, in so much that the incident became a matter of secrecy between us, even the name Tom Baker was taboo outside of our confidence. 
   We decided not to contact the police with our new information about the case they were working on even though I was clearly still a suspect in it. 
   An odd man had taken to reading magazines outside Ben’s place while I was there, nothing wrong with that of course.   
   Ben as usual suspected nothing of the man but both agreed to let police do their job, there was no sense in risking the safety of our brains to help them. 
   We were sure they’d catch him soon enough, until then it pleased me on one level that I was being followed as I could never again be sure that that monster wasn’t cleverly hidden among those who surrounded me, listening in wait with his hammer the moment I chanced to break my promise. 
   Then it’d be the photos in my wallet being ogled at by the next hapless passer-by who kindly befriends him, having no clue he’s about to be spouting gratitude to no end face down in a ditch somewhere getting his head smacked in and wearing a trouser load of his own facieses. 
     
   Needless to say after that night at the police station and restaurant car park I cancelled my reservation at the hotel and relocated. 
   In doing so I came away incurring a horrific cancellation bill and another by the same hefty standard for the door to my room the police smashed off its hinges. 
   Incredibly those two bits of paper were enough to temporarily poison the relief I felt; after reading the grand total I had to be reminded of how fortunate I was to be alive. 
   Ben adamantly stated at the time “Better this price than the other” and I agreed because it wasn’t hard to imagine. 
   I won Ben over to the nature of the man he met, a maniac who masqueraded as his victims wasn’t hard at first in fact it was easy. 
   Although after finding me the house I now occupied which wasn’t far from the movie set he seemed to stop sharing or understanding my fear. 
   The out of town movie set I had to drive to each morning hid within the confines of private land owned by private people offering privacy, the first day there provided manic distraction from my woes and unyielding pressure from the start. 
   Action. 
   They shot every scene I featured in four times, two of the takes at same angles the rest captured creative background subversion from the scripted word. 
   Through the course of the day the cast murmured recent deaths linked with my leaked arrest, had caused a media frenzy and in a cynical and suggestive way placed responsibility for the recent increased financial interest in the films publicity rights generated on it. 
   I heard two ask each other if it was right to make money that way. 
   No one who didn’t need to or want to know about my arrest spoke a word to me. suddenly all I could think about was Tom and his killer while a voice inside insisted I was being watched. 
   After Ben moved me in close by he told me I’d stay there till the films finality, then took leave to support his other not so neurotic but just as needy clients, like Reece.C.Brook; a snooker hall old boy, a veteran player of the game and twice professional champion of the sport. 
   He had clients all over the county, actors, sports personalities and a certain beautiful musician, called Lorna Robin. 
     
   The instant I saw Lorna Robin I fell forever in love. 
   Years ago the residents of a huge house were hosting a wine and cheese party, it was in a rich and reputable area full of dukes and lords. 
   The cheese some nibbled, some scoffed, eyes open, eyes shut, some wiggled their fingers close to their heads like antenna to detect emergent flavours, they were all probably very smart people but they looked absolutely stupid. 
   Others with the fine whites and reds announced their fascination, confounded by the beauty of the art in the room. 
   I didn’t know anyone except the man who brought me there Benjamin Stanes, who was getting drunk and causing me to almost chase him as he kept wondering off for more wine. 
   ‘Ben relax on the wine okay? I get the feeling the next time you go back to that table men are going to carry you out by the arms.’ 
   Ben winked, and put his hand on my shoulder as he always did when he’d had one too many. 
   ‘There is someone you to have to meet, follow me’ 
   Ben led me out of the main room and along a hall to a set of thick wooden double doors. He pulled one open wide enough to fit comfortably through and the sound of music flooded out into the hall. 
   ‘Ben is this really okay? It sounds like they’re practicing’ 
   Ben’s expression changed suddenly euphoric, carried off by the music that resonated in the room he danced into it, a little annoyed I gingerly followed him in. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter eight: Love 
     
     
   Then I saw her, she was sitting on the lap of the neat, short skirted and very impressionable Katrina Harris, playing a violin and laughing at Ben. 
   She looked like she weighed nothing, overwhelmed by Lorna’s stunning beauty my lips gave up words that drummed in my heart with emotion spilling over, they should have been inaudible but the music had stopped. 
   ‘You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen’ 
   Then Katrina with an all pleasing infectious smile, devastated me 
   ‘Why thank you, how kind. Lorna did you hear him? He said I was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen’ 
   In an ideal world I would have corrected her there and then but instead agonisingly let the moment pass. 
   ‘Benjamin is this snake charmer your friend?’ 
   ‘I am, pleased to meet you Miss?’ 
   ‘Robin, and this is Miss Harris’ 
   We all spoke with each other a while in the room away from everyone else sharing drinks and laughter but I couldn’t enjoy it the way they were, I was too full of anxiety and want for Lorna’s magnificent attention. 
   Before I knew it Ben was leading me out to talk with someone else, it was torture to leave. The whole night I kept bothering him to go back to them, I even went as far as to infer that Katrina was flirting with him in hope he fancied her, even though she had blatantly kept at me the entire time, putting her hands on me and sitting close with her half naked legs against mine. 
   All I wanted was Lorna, Ben was oblivious to it and he had her ear the whole time. It began to annoy me how easily he made her laugh with his stupidity and that I was unable to speak a word for what the sight and sound of her did to me.   
     
   On the night of that cheese party Ben offered to drive me home after labouring back to his car like newborn calf. 
   I decided no and shut him into a taxi and I drove myself, and crashed. 
   The accident left me with server whiplash, which is the reason why I was in hospital more than two years ago, making a friend of the hammer wielding maniac that now stalked me. 
   Although on that night after the crash I didn’t go to the hospital, I went back to the party. 
   I took a taxi for most of the way and walked the rest, I didn’t want it to seem too deliberate, but after seeing Lorna, I had to see her again. 
   The door was open as the last guests were leaving, one  as he passed saw the red bruising on my face took me for a whiskey man and gave me a cheerful nod. 
   The door was open it was rude, but I just walked in. 
   The place was already being cleaned by hired professionals all vacuums, brushes, plastic gloves and black bin bags. 
   I wondered through unchallenged to the double doors of room I met her in and waited, listening, finally thinking about what I was going to say. 
   Then I heard a voice, drunk and provokingly familiar, then Lorna’s, it was an argument of some kind. 
   ‘Just leave’ she said. 
   ‘Come on’ I heard him urge 
   ‘I said leave’ 
   ‘What is it?’ 
   It was escalating with hostility in both of them, I felt adrenaline surge into me, charged I wanted to storm in. 
   ‘Ben get the hell out right now’ 
   It couldn’t have been my Ben. 
   ‘I’m not leaving I can’t, I don’t want to’ 
   ‘Ben…’ 
    ‘You’re a beautiful women’ 
   After listening intently, I had to admit to myself that the mans voice was Ben’s but I’d never heard it so out of character. 
   Getting rid of me and coming back here alone must have been his intention from the start. 
   I felt betrayed. 
   ‘Ben my brothers are in the other room, will you please go?’ 
   ‘Yes this was obviously a mistake, I’m drunk. Listen I’ll call you, the shows next week’. 
   She’d put him out finally, and me too without her knowing it, I didn’t want to see Ben, be caught by Lorna or her brother’s on the way out, so made a swift exit. 
   Outside the cold air hit me entering my back,  out of nowhere with heat enough to make my forehead sweat a shooting pain gripped my spine. 
   I got a few streets away walking in crippling agony before falling faint, when Ben found me I was on my knees. 
   ‘What happened?’ 
   ‘Its my back I’m in agony’ 
   ‘Do you need an ambulance?’ 
   ‘It depends do you know C.P.R?’ 
   When the heroic flashing white wagon arrived to rush me to hospital, as they shut me in one door at a time, Ben twisted his face back to Lorna’s house mysteriously, I saw a look wrought on it I’ve never seen since. 
   He visited me in hospital two or three times, we attempted a game of chess using oddments to replace the missing pieces on one occasion, which were blacks King, both Queens, four of whites pawns; we used small balls of screwed up paper for those and blacks rook; whites spare rook turned upside down. When I told him ‘Check’ he said ‘Really? 
   ‘Yes I think so…’ I said 
   ‘But I thought that was the King…’ 
   ‘No the dates the King that’s the Queen’  
   ‘Okay let’s go back’ we moved the pieces back a turn. 
   ‘Was it there?’ 
   ‘Yep, my move’  
   ‘But isn’t that Check?’ 
   ‘Yep… I don’t think I can go’ 
   ‘Just go there’ Ben said 
   ‘I can’t look the knight’ 
   ‘Oh yeah…Checkmate?’ 
   ‘Yeah…Good game’ I said and tipped it back into the games drawer. 
   Our awkward conversation avoided the later events of the party, neither of us wanted to explain why we went back to it. 
   Katrina Harris asked about my condition and sent her warmest wishes. 
   We got talking about her in a general way had a few forced laughs but when I asked about Lorna he admitted very little. 
   I’ll find out more for you next time he promised but that was his last visit.     
     
   Old habits die hard I thought as I ate toast in the kitchen. Ben stayed in touch while he was away but I hadn’t seen him since last Friday though he mentioned he’d drop by in the week. 
     
   Lately the news channels were airing more information about Tomas Baker’s disappearance and possible death followed by a plea from his younger brother for any information. I couldn’t help feeling guilty for not giving up what I knew.  
   I hadn't expected a call at this time but my phone starts ringing, I picked it up and jogged upstairs and sat on the bed to take the call, the bed felt like the best place for me to be on the phone, it endowed my voice with an air of confidence. 
   ‘Hey Ben’ 
   ‘Why are you answering the phone at this time?’ 
   Ben’s familiar voice was good to hear even in the tone of disapproval. 
   ‘Because you’re ringing me at this time?’ 
   ‘No why aren’t you out at the set?’ 
   I skipped work, I was supposed to of been in today and yesterday, it felt okay before Ben knew. 
   ‘Well that’s the thing’ 
   ‘Are you eating again?’ 
   ‘Yes I’m eating’ 
   ‘What are you eating?’ 
   ‘Listen I eat plenty’ 
   ‘Well bloody stop it your character isn’t related to the Michelin man’ 
   ‘Thanks for that’ 
   ‘Seriously why aren’t you out there? I remind you all the time, did you put it on the calendar?’ 
   I didn’t. I forgot. 
   ‘Ben it’s not that I forgot, after what happened I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ I didn’t mean it until after I said it, I thought I was making excuses but it was true.    
   ‘We have to carry on’ ‘Carry on, you mean work? Didn’t you hear me? He knows all about it and he said he’ll be back’ Ben sounded sober, annoyed even. ‘I know he’ll be back but you can’t stop living because of it, we have to carry on with the film it’s your break’ Ben paused for my reply. ‘That’s not encouraging Ben. I know why it is you don’t understand maybe because you weren’t the one sat there about to have his head caved in were you?’ He sounded angry and it made me angry. ‘So shall I call Kyle now, tell him the phantom of the opera has warned you not to perform?’ It was an argument now ‘I almost died’ ‘I almost died to get you the part you have, now what shall I say when he asks where you are? And how long before Jean comes back?’ ‘Jean’s left?’ ‘Yes that’s what I heard, get down there’ ‘What for why?’ ‘I’m your agent not his, stop eating and go to work’ ‘I need time, tell him we need time arrange things’ ‘Time for what, arrange what? Kyle is expecting you tomorrow you can’t turn up and not know what’s happening.’ ‘I know that’ ‘Are you going then?’ ‘Not yet, I can’t’ ‘No?’ ‘I just need time to think can you ask him for a little time. Please?’ ‘No you’re going, be there tomorrow and don’t piss me off, I worked hard for you!’ ‘I know that but’ ‘Look make sure you get down to the set, I’ve ordered you a decent bed and a few cabinets for your clothes and things, the owners don’t want you using theirs.’ ‘Like I would.’ I said with indignantly with the living room arm chair staring back at me. ‘The things will arrive in the morning make sure you sort it, I’m sending two of my other clients up that way, you remember Lorna.’ ‘She’s lodging here?’ ‘Lodging? Her family owns those houses didn’t you know? Look I’ve got to go.’ We exchanged a casual goodbye and hung up. The phone dead down on the bed, caused contemplation within about Benjamin acting more employee than friend. After what I had been through I wasn’t sure why he expected me to have inhuman resolve or was distancing me for what he thought was the best, perhaps for himself and I didn’t blame him. A while passed on the bed, tired again, though I’d already slept through to midday. Ben’s lecture had no affect, I was still in no mood to leave the house, get dressed or do anything except go back to sleep thinking about Lorna. I bowed over the foot of the bed holding my toast, wanting to release it, instead the thought of doing so stirred me up and back to the chair at the window where I sat and finished eating it. There I listened with closed eyes to the sound of the rain against the glass becoming more and more interesting, the heavy clouds were weeping with dark exuberance. The distant demonstrations of their awesome power I heard boomed the distant earth. I imagined the colour of that wet soil electrified in light, burning bright black and blue in the boom, hushed to death beneath a roar of invisible thunder. Sleep came with a dream of rushing water. Brilliant white water that washed away everything but the rocks beneath and its embankment. With a giant leap I dived in and was carried away on my back by the rushing current. Impossible buoyancy took me up from the bottom, then the crocodile splashed in and changed it all. Its scales were slick with oil that churned in the current till finally it was all brown murky sludge sucking me down into the cellar of a rotten house. It stopped its flow inside the cellar, I climbed out onto a set of escalators that appeared before me, there was a thick wooden door at the top.  It opened before me and on the other side was the crocodile floating in a beautiful lake of serene blue water it said ‘Stop telling Ben about us.’ ‘I don’t, what’s your name Crocodile?’ ‘You know’ Gently it submerged and I awoke to another cold afternoon.  Seeing a delivery van was already stopped outside the house made myself decent to answer the door. There was more furniture than I expected, as if the floor walls were the only things in the house the owners were okay with me using. The removal men lumbered through the door with complete cabinets and lots of flat packed items along with my clothes from Ben’s tucked away into several boxes till the big hall was filled, I shut the door and got started. Lorna arrived soon after in the week, by that time I’d moved everything from the hall upstairs. She was staying in one of the opposite houses on the same land that encompassed the one I was in. I saw her from a far from time to time through windows milling about the house and outside, I hadn’t yet found the courage or a good enough excuse to go over and make my self known. Ben didn’t call the rest of that week. 
   
   
   
   Chapter Nine: Murderer 
     
   The move was exhaustive, all of the furniture old and new was in and finally the double bed too. Taking up the Alan keys that I used earlier, I carefully meandered through my jungle of boxed possessions to give the fastenings of the bed a final inspection; but instead, at the last moment decided that it would be better to just sit down, then shortly after that, to collapse back onto the bed and as soon as I did my heavy eyelids closed. Eased away, I felt reality ebb; vanishing into sleep, I saw the beginnings of a dream. 
     
   I swam down a well deep into a dry cavernous labyrinth where I saw a great machine, a hunk of iron tended to by a man clothed in brown oily overalls trailing the same brown oil in the wake of his every movement. He seemed to lose control and the machine began oozing a scarlet puddle of molten matter from beneath and out of the scorching mechanical heat it emerged, a monster with eyes, looking into a mirror suddenly it became a man, it gazed again pleased with itself and I was very afraid. 
     
   Stirring with prevailing restlessness I awoke late into the evening. It was around ten o’clock and with nothing to do but sleep the window view had found me again. The light in Lorna’s room was on again late into the evening. It filled her room and streamed out through the window in one long orange beam that stretched across the muddy walkway, confusing winged insects with cold illumination. 
   I often stirred in bed, changing into different shapes of frustration, eyes shut, awake inside, tonight was no different. 
   I thought about the times I’d seen Lorna, often with pink boots on washed in mud and a loose leaf notepad in her hand, tending to the house, painting a new coat of varnish onto the wooden outer panels with her friends and raking leaves in the front garden. 
   There was character in her face that charmed me it belied the glamorous mess of the clothes she wore and the untidy rose pink make up smeared about her cheeks like Indian war paint, the shade possibly by no coincidence matched the boots. 
   ‘Where are you?’ I said staring out of the bedside window. 
   ‘What if she caught me?’ I thought maybe she’d of thought it romantic that I watched her, then again. 
   Mid thought a strange sound came from downstairs suddenly. 
   I fell silent and waited, then a moment later a whisper hissed out that span me round muted.   
   Alert I stared back into the dark room and listened scrutinizing every sound, analysing shapes, coaxing breath gently in and straining it mutely out. 
   The light from Lorna’s room went out and the tension in me the seemed to dissipate, I sat down letting out a sigh full of relief and bizarre disappointment. 
   Even travelling this many miles away wasn’t enough to free me from the haunting paranoia the maniac instilled. 
     
   As I attended the window suddenly from out of the darkness in the muddy walkway a whisper came again, this time I heard it. 
   A strange voice restrained and menacing “I don’t care I’m doing him.” Suddenly I felt my heart swell beating faster inside my chest and my ears throbbed as a disturbing steady dull thud downstairs became audible. 
     
   Compelled, I took the dreaded step through the threshold of my room out on to the landing, I didn’t stop walking until I reached the top of the winding staircase. Instinctively I stared down into the darkness, petrified of what lurked beneath 
     
   My vision was weak, the only thing I could clearly see was the bottom half of the thick front door. It was open and still swinging languidly on its steel hinges like an insolent child, and as I stared at it angrily it slowly stopped open, as if unashamed of its thick locks inglorious deception. 
     
   There isn’t darkness like that which conceals a predator. 
     
   Unable to see enough of the room I edged down two of the steps without a sound and watched for movement below but saw nothing but the small cabinets and coats hung against the wall. As I my eyes scrutinised the shadows they became focused and fully adjusted, my breathing quietened too, the hallway was perfectly devoid of life but 
   I couldn’t see into the rooms that the hallway led to so decided to take one more step down. 
   As I moved slightly the floor moaned, automatically my ears followed the sound with my eyes. 
   To my horror they snapped not to my feet but to the stairs, the one place I realised my attention had neglected because of the broken front door and the dark the hall. 
   And there I saw it, a black oily figure stooped over, it was a man, he was there, no more than a few metres away, close, low on all fours, motionless at the curved concealing middle of the staircase. 
   He had been watching me looking for him and creeping closer to surprise me, and now he knew I had seen him. 
   I spoke out without thinking ‘I can see you! What do you want?’ 
   He reached for something from behind his lower back 
   ‘You shouldn’t have woken up. Recognise this?’ 
   It was a hammer, the second I saw it I ran for the bedroom, he gushed up after me like living oil, with the hammer stiff in his stride. 
     
   The door I tried to fling shut behind me didn’t lock and he was coming to kill me. If he caught me by his strength alone he could smoother me but worse with a hammer he’d snuff me out with jarring pain, smooth down my head and spread it across the floor boards like human butter. 
   I dashed clumsily madly scrambling past and over loose boxes to get to the window to jump out, I heard him closing in doing the same mad dash but seeking me.    
   I saw the window and sprang over the bed but it was shut and no time to open it. 
   I turned and he was there, falling toward me, his hand fighting back the hammers weight from the last missed swing only a breath from reaching me because of the bed. 
   I couldn’t allow another, I dived on him off the bed he managed to brace himself except the boxes below scupper his bracing step back and he fell onto his back with me on top. 
     
   Constricting his dangerous hammer hand cost me I somehow restrained it as he threw frantic withering punches off his back at my face but I absorbed the punishment. Fear became incredible fury, I strengthened as he seemed to weaken and I fought the fight out of him with fist and elbow bashing him down flat and breathless. 
   He tried he couldn’t get me off him, at last I grabbed the hammer with both hands trying to wrestle and wrench it from his, he scrambled to stop me but being on top I had greater leverage to win it and then keep him below clawing like a desperate animal. 
   I raised the hammer up ‘stop it!’ I cried. 
   The violent clawing reached my face tore into my eye 
   ‘Stop it!’ I cried and threw my head back in hot stinging agony I felt my weight come off him and in panic blindly I swung the hammer down and it struck him hard. 
   Its connection made a haunting noise like dry tree bark breaking away. 
   Our battle ceased suddenly and utterly, he lay flat and still. 
   He wasn’t dead but he wasn’t moving either, but neither he or the hammer was important anymore only my bloody eye as I stumbled away out to the bathroom. 
   I looked in the mirror too angry to cry, just as I thought, it was gone, lost in the blood. 
   When I rang for an ambulance, they asked me if I needed the police I said yes, then I said no. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Ten: Identity crisis 
     
     
   One small water wet towel stemmed the bleeding enough, but for all the pills I swallowed from inside the medicine cabinet, the sickly pain that engulfed my eyeball only spread deeper in behind the socket. 
   Enflamed on the same side my cheek had become puffy and fluid swollen, its brow also and all of it numb except for the heat, it was like fire. 
   Of it all the throbbing headache was the most troubling. 
   It ached as an angry rotten tooth does, burrowed deep frustrating me with an itching pain there was no freedom from. 
   I wanted to so much to sit down, stay relaxed and wait for the ambulance to arrive, I’d already told them the emergency, described my injuries the watery blood was an obvious concern to them. 
   Surely they’d be coming as soon as possible but I couldn’t relax, something didn’t sit right about the fight, the maniac I remembered was much stronger than the one I fought in the bedroom. I knew instantly I shouldn’t have been able to over power him the way I did. 
   I began to doubt my self, did the adrenaline affect my mind? I’d heard about what it can do, desperate mothers bending car doors open to save their children trapped in the wreckage. 
   Thinking back when I took the hammer from him, his hands were smaller than mine or was I imagining that too, maybe the adrenaline made them seem smaller, maybe that’s how it worked to cancel out the fear, but then maybe it changed other things too, like whether he was knocked out or just dead. 
   I had to go back into that bedroom turn on the light and be sure once and for all. 
   With the hammer in hand I walked back in the room still nursing my eye with the other and hit the lights switch on with my elbow. 
   The room was a mess, trampled boxes and clothes soiled by my own blood trail. 
   Brushing a few items aside with my feet I went to the bed where I left him, I needed to know, and make sure he stayed put. 
   Surprise was the first reaction, the man lay there was not who I expected him to be, because he was very young. 
   He was in his twenties and worst of all he had normal eyes there was no way he was the Tom Baker maniac, though I recognised him. 
   His face stood out, the memory jumped into my aching brain. He had been on the news pleading, asking for his brother’s killer to hand himself in, Tom Baker’s brother. 
   The surprise preceded a familiar dread inside me, the kind I used to feel walking into an unlit room on my birthday. 
   The lights were on, the pain, guilt and dread increasing, the blood everywhere mine and his, I thought about how to wake him up, but he was lay exactly where I had left him, paused in the final animation of the struggle, his eyes were open his head was split open and his body looked dead. 
   He was dead. 
   I think I had already realised it the moment I saw him, my adrenaline killed him. 
   What next and why was this happening to me, the only suspect in an ongoing murder investigation? This is out right murder, a jury wouldn’t see it any other way. 
   It was self defence but who’d believe me? 
   Faint blue and red sirens distant outside the window the ambulance was near, probably coming down the long drive as I stood over a dead body. 
   The minute they find out what happened they’d inform the police, I’ll be arrested the second I’m well enough to leave the hospital. 
   That means incarceration; locked a cell like the one at the police station but worse this time it will be full of real criminals, real murders, rapist and evil men. 
   Everyone would know I went down for killing a boy, two boys, brothers and whoever else they pin on me. I’d become a target and the guards wouldn’t help, they’re supposed to protect the inmates but child killers get what they deserve that’s the real motto. 
   Any sentence is the death sentence and I’m innocent this was self defence but who’d believe me that is the most important thing. 
   I am an actor that’s what they’ll say, and their right I am an actor. 
   What if when they pick me up I’m in too much agony to tell them what happened, delirious even. 
   That would give me enough time to figure out what I needed to do next because I was smart enough to know they couldn’t find out what I did, no one can. 
   After the dust settled, there wouldn’t be anyone to remember any of this and if the memory of him remains to haunt in my dreams, I’ll feed the crocodile. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Eleven: Accident and Emergency 
     
   Inside the ambulance, bright light and a clean white inner sanctum, its three man crew attended me with haste. 
   They removed the blood soaked towel carefully poker faces engaged, straight away replaced it with a sterile bandages, I saw gauze come down on my cheek and with enough tape to keep it in place, then I felt the sting of the antiseptic from the cotton swabs after they brushed my wounds and every bump in the road till the doors opened again at the hospital. 
   I transitioned from bed to wheelchair, from wheelchair to driven bed surfing the corridors to the emergency eye clinic with an entourage of doctors, nurses and a surgeon who was very concerned whether or not I’d signed a waver. 
   Of course then I did and her priorities shuffled back again to my well being, she gave her orders and took me into surgery. 
   They wouldn’t put me to sleep, but gave me something intravenous to ease the pain. 
   Staring into the bright light above, images formed and flowed out like bubbles. 
   Friendly faces began to form out of the light, funny voices moaned out of their strange mouths. I forgot what was happening listened more to the loudening voices from memories tainted by my imagination. 
   Father struck us till we saw stars, with the same hands at the picnic he handed out sandwiches and pats on the back. 
   The stars are beautiful, they begat the aspiration of stardom that eluded my brother Aleck who failed at all things academic. 
   When I walked in the footsteps of his failure fathers hands became a pair of remorseless tools that kneaded into me the reproach for both our short comings. 
   Father’s face reminded me of Aleck’s, fierce and loving and he had a heart equal in both qualities, but he saved all of his love for Aleck and alcohol and showed me the ferocity they both proved in him. 
   He loved the drink as much as he loved the fat girl he brought home each night, but truly never nearly as much as he had loved our mother. 
   With two arms I grabbed that fat girl from behind and pulled out her body from her spirit. I ran off with it hoisted up on my shoulders, Aleck was calling me to come back and so was the fat girls spirit but I was having too much fun to stop. I hid behind an empty house with the body and caught my breath. I thought about handing her body back but her spirit was shouting threats so instead I ran off again scaling roof tops to get away. 
   I looked through a window and my school friends were inside talking about how sad the girl was and I shared their remorse for her. 
   I decided to bring her back the quickest way there was, through the woods but as I went I tripped in the undergrowth and the fat girl’s body flew hurled into the air and landed in a muddy swamp. 
   A crocodile burst out of the mud, it was that crocodile 
   I hated and he knew I hated him. In spite of me it started devouring her, I dived in ferociously to save her and wrestled the crocodile but my strength faded as its improved. 
   Finally it prevailed and continued to gobble what was left of the girls body, then its tail emerged from the mud and it was a snake, a black snake with horrible brown off set eyes and when I saw it I was afraid. 
   The instant it bit me I burst into tears crying because I knew its venom was in me and I was going to die. 
   The crocodile swam down into the mud and I was left to face the fat girls spirit who was distraught. 
   I told her with tears that her body was eaten, she cried too but with anger and despair. 
   Waiting to die from the snake bite, I felt comfort, lay down and I saw my father, he said ‘Son I’m proud of you.’ 
     
   I woke up in a hospital bed it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, my eye was wrapped in bandages along with half my head and face. 
   I needed to leave, the nurse at desk caught my eye. 
   ‘I’d like to be discharged please’ 
   ‘Yes that’s fine but you’ll be discharging yourself and that means we take no responsibility from this point on.’ 
   I rushed through the forms signed every dotted line and slid the form back to her bemused nurse. 
   ‘This is for your course of medication hand it in at reception, if you notice any excessive bleeding or bad smells come straight back to A&E with this letter it can be a sign of infection’ 
   ‘Thank you I will’ 
     
   I looked to the exit there were police outside guarding the wards doors, two officers armed and waiting, it had to be for me. 
   They must have investigated the emergency call I made even though I had made it perfectly clear in the call that I only needed an ambulance. 
   It was happening like I thought it would, first I’d be arrested, questioned and if I made one mistake it’d be all over for me. 
   My best chance was to act natural, skulking away to for a fire exit would be the same as a confession to the police, but I couldn’t help looking around for one.   
   ‘Hi there’ 
   His voice came from behind me, when I turned I saw it was the detective from the Tom Baker case who called out to me. 
   He was sat in a chair next to one of the empty beds shielded by a half closed curtain, he was wearing the same suit from last time unlike before it was creased at the knees and his jacket was hung over the back of the chair, clearly he had been waiting for me to wake up and discharge myself. 
   ‘Looking for another way out?’ 
   ‘No, why are you here?’ 
   ‘Okay lets go this way then, join us I’d like to ask you some questions’ 
   ‘Questions about?’ 
   ‘At the police station’ 
   ‘Am I being arrested?’ 
   ‘That’s right’ 
   I walked out with the two escorts and the detective leading from the back, I said nothing till we arrived at the police station. 
   Another session in the bright mirrored room started, this time with a digital camcorder pointed at me recording every heavy breath, expression and sound I made.     
   ‘Steven Baker’ 
   ‘I didn’t know Tomas Baker, why am I going to know him?’ 
   ‘That’s right the brother of Tomas Baker, the young boy who was murdered I thought you’d remember him’ he handed me a recent photo, I tried to hide what I knew, that he was dead in my bedroom. 
   ‘You may recognise him he’s been on Television.’ 
   ‘I don’t watch the news I go to work and I come home, I don’t know him’ 
   ‘Fine Since you don’t, I’m going to enlighten you with the information we have perhaps you can help us solve this mystery. Steven Baker the young man in the photo was reported missing yesterday, and we have a written statement from a reliable witness, stating that the last time he saw him he was breaking into your home, with the intention to attack you. 
   The statement seems to coincide with the date and time you were admitted to hospital and makes some sense of your injuries. My question to you is; what does that mean?’ 
   ‘Nothing because I didn’t mention anything about any boy in my attack’ 
   ‘And I didn’t say anything about him on the news until you did?’ 
   His face changed and so did mine, I’d slipped up and we both knew it but if they knew he was dead, he would have announced it. All the questions he’d asked none of them had been about the attack until now. 
   They didn’t know, it was the only explanation. 
   Then it occurred to me they couldn’t have searched my home without a warrant, and the attack wasn’t reported as an official crime, they didn’t know. 
   ‘I need to speak to my lawyer because you’re harassing me with this, I don’t know anything I’ve told you, if he broke into my house and attacked me he left after.’ 
   ‘Let’s speculate, what could be his motive?’ 
   ‘With all the media maybe he thought I had something to do with his brother being murdered’ 
   ‘After the attack what happened then?’ 
   ‘He must have realised he was wrong and left I don’t know where, I rang for an ambulance that’s all I know’ 
   ‘I believe you one question though. Why didn’t you press charges? Look at you’re face, I’d press charges’ 
   That’s what he wanted and as soon as I did they’d find out everything. 
   ‘I just want to leave’ 
   ‘we’re keeping you in custody for now’ 
   ‘But why?’ 
   Suddenly another suited officer opened the door and leaned into the room. She had a high ponytail, colourfully painted nails and still looked more masculine than both of us, not because of her shoulders, missing neck and bulldog face, but the bad tempered expression that was spread across its great width insisted so. 
   ‘Lance we’ve been contacted by Steven, need you in here’ 
   The detective was clearly in shock, as was I. 
   ‘He did?’ he asked with disbelief. 
   ‘Need you in here’ 
   ‘Fine’ 
   He took one long incriminating look at me and stood, the female officer left with the door open. 
   ‘Okay you’re free to leave; I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m sure we’ll meet again. An officer will drive you home inconsideration of your injuries’ 
     
   For a short time after I left the station I didn’t understand what was going on, that dawned on me later. 
   When police drove me home searched the house and found nothing but my blood. Steven was gone, there was no way he left on his own power, I saw him dead, his head was open there was no confusion in me about the facts. 
   The police left the scene that corroborated my lies, I found the closest seat to me and sat in wait for the maniac to appear but this time I really was, very grateful.  
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   
   Chapter Twelve: Infamy 
     
   That Tuesday was another empty mark on the calendar, another day in anticipation of the maniac, it was he that moved the body and I wanted to believe he did it to save me from incarceration, I wasn’t sure why living under the threat of blackmail and bludgeoning seemed any better to me than prison, but it did. 
   The police response after the arrest was to observe and belie the normality of anything I did. 
   A beacon like invitation to the dogged media already in tow, putting spin on spin, they span everything, inexplicably trying to unify me with the character I played on screen. 
   I’d stayed indoors since returning from the hospital, I was told in so many words that I was lucky to still have an eye and even luckier to have any vision in it when the bandages finally come off. 
   It’d been a week Ben was still away, I told him I was attacked but couldn’t bare to tell him what he had done to me. A career ending wound.   
   The production team kept ringing me, everything that happened with Steven was on the news and insanely I heard my scripted character was being morphed by it. 
   Ben caught wind of it and reassured me it was good news. That he and Kyle already agreed that the murder of Tom Baker and the disappearance of his brother Steven would work only to boost the popularity and future ratings of the movie. 
   I didn’t agree all the hype only put me in danger and continually under the spot light. 
   The walls of the house weren’t thick enough to block out the noises outside, a small group of protesters arguing with the ground keepers, they kept getting louder and evolving tactics to ruin my day. 
   At first it was cursing alone then I heard accusations and possibly bottles smashing against my walls. 
   They were starting up again, I could hear a scattering clatter of glass and angry voices building. 
   There was no way I was leaving the house, I hadn’t been to work for weeks now but I was still on the payroll. 
   In ignorance of the uproar outside I rooted for the televisions remote control and settled into a comfortable position on the bed. Every channel at this time; which was the beginning of any normal evening, aired programs about bargains and celebrities. They bought food, they bought booze, reinforced their image with charity, essentially buying their celebrity. Everything they did was hollow and self important. 
   The only thing I wanted to see was never on, I couldn’t understand it Jacky Mendisa was a new release, not an absolute blockbuster but surely better than half of the cosh they had on the movie channel. 
   The news was my best bet, every few hours it aired a report that featured a short story about me with a picture of my face before it was ruined by that boy. 
     
   My mobile was ringing out its tune suddenly, Ben hadn’t rang me since last week, he’s probably found out I’ve not been to the set since the attack, he’s got to be angry, but I thought it’d still be good to hear from him, being alone wasn’t. 
   ‘Hi Ben’ 
   ‘Hi’ 
   ‘Who is this?’ 
   ‘You know.’ 
   It wasn’t Ben probably a prank caller or an attempt to frame me. 
   ‘Steven Baker?’ 
   ‘That’s good. Did you want to thank me?’ 
   It was the maniac, I sat up instantly 
    ‘Yes’ 
   ‘Thought so, tell me did you enjoy it, did you see his space gas flood out, was it like slow dry burgundy or red resin? Whatever he did to you, you’re taking your shyness too far, I never heard of an actor whose camera shy, go back to work. Next year there will be more deaths that means more films for you because only you can play Gregory’ 
     
   Would this maniac ever have his fill of blood, was he insatiable by violence? His murderous compulsion couldn’t be explained or reasoned out within me, nor could his need to interrupt my life with his but if he wanted me dead I would be by now, something else was happening and I needed to know what. 
   Carefully I asked 
   ‘Why are you doing this?’ 
   I heard his voice soften 
   ‘Come down stairs lets talk, I’m in your kitchen’ 
   The phone went dead. 
   Footsteps echoed off the kitchens tiled floor in the apparent silence. 
   I didn’t know how he got in, but there was no freedom from him anymore, no where to go no one to save me from his will and what he knew and what I knew was inevitable. 
   I’d do what he said or I’d die or go to prison an innocent man blamed for all the evil things he’d done. 
   That much I knew. 
   Solemnly I journeyed to the kitchen where he stood in plain sight. 
   He was huge like I remembered, six foot something and broad, who knew how he was so hard to miss. 
   He showed me his horrible eyes waiting for me so say the words like the psycho he was. 
   ‘Thank you… I have to ask, who are you?’ 
   Finally he answered something. 
   ‘I’m sorry I lied to you when we met it, the truth is I don’t actually know who I am. 
   Two years ago I woke in hospital from a catatonic state with no recollection of who I was or where I was from. 
   Your face was the first I saw, you did that kindness I owe you for. After leaving ahead of me I couldn’t find you but it took more than a year before I gave up and concentrated on putting back together a life for myself, an identity. 
   Then one day you were there in front of me, caught up in crowd inside a film store, signing autographs for a movie.’ 
     
   That was the announcement promo for Jacky Mendisa. I waited until he was completely finished instead of confirming it was clear he had more to tell me.   
     
   ‘After that I followed you for eight months, whoever I was before was good at that, and also at killing. 
   Right now people are mourning Tomas Baker like he’s a saint, but that girl friend of his, she was about to get a dose of what he gave to the last one, except this time I stepped in. 
   I’ve been the paparazzi, a loyal fan, your co-star, Benjamin’s employer and he knew what I had done, but he didn’t know I wanted a chance to repay my debt. 
   He kept me well fed with information about you, updates, times and places you went, what you ate, your health. Call it an obsession, call it whatever you want. 
   In return I put people like Jean Parsons in line for him, he really hated that man. 
   Then he left you with me that night at that restaurant, it’s a bitter pill to swallow but that night he wanted you to die. 
   When I didn’t do it, he made sure your friend Steven found out you were a suspect and moved you out here on your lonesome, think about it, who else could have leaked that information? 
   The Baker family have a history of relentless aggression. 
   There’s something else too, about a women but I don’t owe you that. 
   For that, you have to owe me and I am not a burden, anyone should bare.’ 
     
   At the end of his revelation I didn’t know what was he offering, whether I could refuse or how much truth was in it beside only Ben knowing about the arrest at the Kipper Hotel. 
   The few staff there that night didn’t know who I was because I’d signed in under an alias to avoid stalkers like the that one stood in my kitchen telling me I didn’t know my oldest friend. 
   Ultimately torn, in that moment I had to decide an answer to the question of whether he was lying. 
   The problem was when I did that, another question arose. 
   Why would he be? 
     
     
   
   
   Publication Date: September 10th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-xi58f1a51bd1d25