The man had decided that he did in fact want to live but by the time the laughing men in suits with sharp, shining blades had him cornered it already seemed far too late. He didn't want to die, not like this anyway yet he knew even if he offered the men a million pounds, there still would be no mercy. As he lay, curled up in a ball at the dead end of the alley, he wept. Wept because he knew there was to be no happy ending, no happy ever after. This was reality, not a fucking fairytale. And as for miracles, he didn't count on one of them either because this was reality, not a chapter from the fucking bible. God wouldn't save him. (Couldn't. Wouldn't.) He made his own decisions and He must have decided He wanted this man in heaven or hell because He showed no sign of saving this man.
So the man cried and he prayed. No- didn't pray, hoped for a miracle or a happy ending or what fucking ever, as long as he survived. He had gotten so far, had shown such a strong will for survival. It seemed that his friend didn't. They had split up when the first group of laughing men chased them. Three followed his friend, the other two followed the man who now seemed to have given up all hope. He could climb the gate he lay against but a) the hunters were slowly approaching him anyway and would grab him before he made it over and b) he was tired of running. And now they had him. Four of them. All wielding knifes. But worst of all, laughing and grinning.
"If yer gonna kill me at least make it quick!", said the man, still curled in the sphere-like position.
The grins widdened and the laughter grew louder.
Jesus Christ, are they fucking insane?
That he admitted was a dumb question. It was obvious that these men were insane. It was very rare that murderers looked as if they were obsessed, as if in some sort of trance. These men did. Because a moment later they all took a step forward...all at the same time. They raised their blades, still grinning. The man closed his eyes and let a final tear stroll down his left cheek.
Then there was a scream and the man thought he was dead. But it wasn't his, suprisingly. And strangely he heard the noise of a vaccum cleaner.
Not a vaccum cleaner you twat! That's a fucking...
He opened his eyes and found the four men being slaughtered before him by a man with what was now, a bloodsoaked chainsaw. He felt like throwing up just there on the spot as a hand landed beside him. But he couldn't. Wouldn't. So instead he screamed and it felt like a lifetime before he finally stopped.
The man woke up screaming.
Just a dream, he thought. No, a fucking nightmare, that's what it was! But where the hell am I?
That was a good question. This wasn't his house. The ripped and smelly bed wasn't his. And his room had a window and this room didn't. He closed his eyes and opened them until he could see. And this room definetly wasn't his. Where was his wardrobe? His computer? His drawers? His bookshelf? Where the fuck was all this? Then he saw the walls and he knew this wasn't his house or his bedroom. The walls were red. (Blood?, he thought) And strangely, these walls were made of steel. He didn't dare touch them though. He didn't want to find that the red was in fact blood. Hell, he didn't want to do a fucking thing.
"Yer in a container", a mans voice said suddenly. "This is ma home."
Yeah, and who the hell are you exactly? The man was sitting at the edge of the bed he lay on. The man sat up too.
"Shit", said the man. "Your the guy with the chainsaw from ma dream!"
"A dream? I fucking wish! A fucking nightmare more like!"
Not a fairytale, the man remembered. "S-So...who are you exactly?"
"That important to you?"
"Well if this ain't a fucking dream, ah think I'd like to know who saved me."
"Why's it important? You don't know me and I don't know you." (The man however was not so sure.)
Then, once the man lit a cigarette he saw the mask on his face.
That why you don't wanna tell me? What's this guy got to hide?
And as if he'd read his mind, he said,"Ah ain't hidin' anythin' from ye by the way. I just wear this mask to.....blend in. Cigarette?"
The man said he didn't smoke. His rescuer told him that no one does these days. The man wondered how he'd got here and where he was exactly. The docks? Disneyland? The fucking moon maybe?
The man seemed to read his mind again. "Yer on a container ship hence the reason we're inna fucking container anyway. Why? They're here, that's why an' ah wanna find out what the fuck your doin' here in the first place. Any other questions or can we go now?"
Such an impatient guy. Should I tell him?
"You wanna know why I'm here? I'll tell you if you like." The man nodded his head. "Well, me an' ma mate were seperated.....by this guy who took me, him and his wife hostage. He wanted ma mates wife, Trisha, and Jack let him have her.....in-in exchange fir me. We trusted the guy wouldn't d anything to us an' left.....and suddenly, out of fucking nowhere these laughing men in suits chased us an' we split up. And now here I am, you saved me. Thanks."
"And what happened to yer friend?"
"I wish I knew, mate, I wish I-"
"I am not yer fuckin' mate, alright? I ain't a fuckin' nice guy, I'm a bad guy. Not very nice."
Yeah, and I just happened to witness your fucking bad side when you slaughtered those men, didn't I? Or was that you acting normal?
"If you say so. You got a name? I'm Tom. Tommy Anderson."
Nice name. Suits you actually cause that's what you are. A fucking butcher, you sick bastard.
But this was the only friend Tommy Anderson had at the moment and he looked like he could be a hand if they were to encounter those men again.
"So, Tom, is it worth lookin' for this mate of yours?"
"Have you seen him?"
"Couple of the grinners were carryin' a body. Mighta been yer friends. Couldn't tell if he was dead or not. So, you up to it?"
The man thought about this. His friend had spared him and it would be reasonable if he did the same. Yet, he had this strange feeling of fear. His friend could already be dead and this sonovabitch who'd saved him could, he supposed, be one of them. "Ol' Tommy Anderson" felt like running but couldn't. Wouldn't.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock and bzzzz! Time to make your decision Tom old boy!
"Yeah, ah think it is worth lookin' fir him."
Butch grabbed something from beside the bed. An axe. He threw it at him. Tom caught it.
"Might need it." Under that mask Tommy Anderson knew he must be grinning.He grabbed his blood drenched chainsaw and got up.
Tommy Anderson nodded his head. "Ah'm ready."
And if I find my friend fucking dead, some bastard's gonna pay.
Outside the container door, the grinning men were waiting.
It wasn't a door Butch and Tommy Anderson stepped out of. There was a whole in the wall beside the bed which had obviously been cut by Butch's chainsaw. So that the grinning men wouldn't find him, he'd put a poster on the container covering the hole. But he must have ripped it when he carried Tommy Anderson into it because the grinning men were waiting for them. They didn't know it at first because they couldn't see them. For the moment they were no where to be seen and this suprised Tommy Anderson because he himself expected to encounter a few of them. And they did. Once The Butcher began fixing the poster back into shape the grinning men jumped from the top of the container and right on his back. They didn't go for Tommy Anderson strangely and for a moment Tom considered giving himself to them. Why? He didn't do a thing to stop them from killing Butch. He was somehow rooted to the spot and wanted to stay like that. He watched as the first knife entered Butch's belly. He watched as Butch fought back with the chainsaw. He watched (or stared even) as he cried to Tom for help. But Tommy Anderson couldn't hear him. He was terrified and even knew what was happening but none of it seemed real. (Not a fairytale, he reminded himself.)
Shit Tom, what the hell are you doing? Nothing, that's what! They're killing him! Help the poor bastard!
But he couldn't. Wouldn't. Then he felt something warm splash over his face. Blood obviously. It was on his clothes, on his shoes, on his fucking hands.
It's your fault! That's why you got the fucking blood on your hands! Your fucking fault! Now aren't you going to avenge his death?
Tommy Anderson wasn't quite sure that he could. What was it he thought the containers walls had looked like? Blood. Yeah, well they're certainly red with blood now!
So Tommy Anderson was the spectator. He watched with a horrible fascination as the killers lifted their blades and brought them back down again. Over and over again. He watched as he held the axe in his hand.
Use it!, part of him screamed. Use it before it's too late!
But he couldn't. Wouldn't. And suddenly the laughter stopped. Butch's remains were still. He was dead. The grinning men were on their feet, staring at Tommy Anderson like some bastard had them under his or her command. "Ol' Tommy Anderson's" grip on the axe tightened. He knew what he had to do but didn't know if he coud do it. (Couldn't. Wouldn't.) Yet he did. There were three of them, one injured from Butch's bloody chainsaw which he noticed was still spinning on the floor. He waited patiently. And suddenly there was a loud howl from one of the killers as the chainsaw attempted to cut through his ankle. It made it through the bone and the man collapsed, his blood making a small puddle. Tommy Anderson screamed as he attacked one of the other men. He dug the axe into the first one's chest twice and let him bleed to death if he wasn't dead already. The other charged at him and he swung the axe around, cutting off his head. He was crying as the axe came down again and again and again on each of the three men's bodies. They still had that grin by the time they were dead.
Once it was over the blood drenched Tommy Anderson let curiousty get the better of him and took off Butch's now red mask. He screamed out into the dark night and later wept silently because this man was none other than Jack.
"Fabulous", Tom mumbled o himself as he began to walk away. "I'm alone."
He wasn't. He was unaware of the two men that were following him, between the containers. As many times he looked over his shoulder he didn't notice their shining white grins in the darkness. "Ol' Tommy Anderson" didn't notice a goddamned thing. His mind was too focused on the men he had just killed. (Slaughtered more like, he thought.) And on Jack.
I let you die buddy. I fucking watched and didn't do a thing to help! After all you've done for me. Picking me over your fucking wife. And I let you down. May God fucking forgive me. May God fucking save my ass! This is heavy shit we got ourselves in, heavy shit.
Tommy Anderson cut another corner. Where the fuck's the exit?, he asked himself. He wish he knew. It occured to him that he'd never make it out. Not alive anyway.
Think! Where's safe, where's safe, where's-
Suddenly he heard a voice and some laughter (which he noticed didn't sound like the laughter of the mad men that were chasing him). He cut two more corners, a right and a left. The voices were getting louder. A right, followed by another and another. Left. Right. Ri- Tommy Anderson came to a halt. He was facing down the barrel of a gun.
"Out of the frying pan and into the fire", said James, smiling. "Isn't that right?"
"James. What a pleasant suprise."
"Ha! So sarcastic Tom, so sarcastic. You haven't changed a bit since High School."
"Yeah, an' you've changed a lot James", said Tommy Anderson. "Since when did the little shit of a geek turn into the fucking Godfather?"
This obviously angered James otherwise he wouldn't have smacked the gun across his face. Tommy Anderson's nose was burst and bleeding badly but he still laughed, bent over on the ground. James Murdoch kicked his face and this time Tommy Anderson didn't laugh.
"I didn't intend on killing you, you know. But you seem to have changed my mind."
"That so? Well go on! See if I care!" James Murdoch cocked the 9mm pistol. "Because ah don't think you have the guts."
"Really now?" He put the cold gun to Tom's head. "Would you like to bet on that?"
Yeah, I would actually. Tommy Anderson grinned as his grip on the axe tightened.
"What's so funny?", James demanded. Tommy Anderson laughed. "What's so fucking funny?"
"You made one fucking big mistake James!" He instantly got to his feet, the axe raised above his head. "You forgot to disarm me!", he screamed.
He went for his gut first so he'd fall back in pain. Then Tommy Anderson got rid of James's hands. And then his feet. Then his fucking legs. He did all this slowly. He laughed as he did so and as Jack watched him nearby, he thought he really was insane.
"Was that as good for you as it was for me James?", Tommy Anderson asked, not expecting an answer. He laughed a little. "Of course I don't expect an answer. You're clearly in no state to give me one!" He exploded with laughter and Jack cried.
He's flipped his fucking lid!, he thought. Dear God, he's gone and lost his fucking mind! And then he saw something that got him staring in amazement. Somehow James Murdoch was still alive. He could see his head slowly look up. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God, he's alive!
"A-A-A-A-Am I n-n-not?", he managed. Tommy Anderson didn't hear him over the loud, insane laughter.
Jack watched James as he attempted to crawl with half his body towards Tom. What the fuck is that idiot trying to accomplish? He was getting closer and Jack saw in horror what he meant to do. Oh dear God, he's going to bite his fucking ankles off!
"Tom!", he screamed. "Look out!"
"Who the h-agggh!" His words had turned into a scream. James Murdoch had dug his teeth in deep. Blood oozed out of "Ol' Tommy Anderson's" right ankle. He lashed out at James with his foot and screamed again. James Murdoch began to squirm on his back as Tommy Anderson raised the axe high into the air.
"No more!", he cried. "No more! No mooooore!"
"Sorry James but it's the only way to go now." The axe came down with a might swoosh on James's neck. The head skidded across the ground and landed at Jack's feet. Jack stared in horror and shock. James was staring at him. Those big blue eyes were actually staring at him. He felt like throwing up all over the head but couldn't. Wouldn't.
What a way to go, he thought. Not very nice.
Suddenly a blood soaked hand touched his shoulder. He didn't even notice that Tommy Anderson had approached him.
"Hey Jack. Thought ye were dead."
"D-D-Do ah look dead to you?"
"Dunno. Are you?"
"No Tom, I ain't. What the hell have ye done?" (He noticed that the sanity was slowly beginning to crawl back into his best friend.)
"Ah know. Messy ain't it? Still, thought he'd killed you." Tears began to slide down his cheeks. "But he didn't." Suddenly he wrapped his arms around Jack and hugged him. "But you're alive!", he cried. "Ma fuckin' mate's alive!"
Jack pushed him off him. "You are not ma mate. Ah don't know who you are", he said coldly.
"W-W-W-What? Jack....mate.....I am Tom."
"No you aren't. Ma mate was a good man an' wouldn't dream of commitin' murder. You are not ma mate", he said again. Now the tears were slowly building up in his eyes. "Ah don't know who you are!", he cried. "What have ye done to Tommy Anderson?" His eyes were turning red with tears.
"I am Tommy Anderon. I-"
"No yer not!", Jack cried, in interrupting. "You are nothin' like ma best mate! You-You're a fuckin' monster!" Now Jack definetly burst into tears and this time his words could hardly be made out. "Why did ye have to change tonight? Why did ye have to change into some-some monster?"
"I-I didn't change", Tom said with his head down. "I ain't a monster Jack."
"Stop lying!", screamed Jack. "Stop pretendin' to be him!" Suddenly he lashed out at him with his right fist and Tommy Anderson fell. Jack ran as fast as he could, weeping. Tommy Anderson begged for him to come back, also crying. Yet he didn't come back. (Couldn't. Wouldn't.) And Tommy Anderson didn't chase him. (Couldn't. Wouldn't.) The grinning men that had been following him showed themselves.
"Go ahead. Ah ain't gonna stop ye", said "Ol' Tommy Anderson" with his head down. "You guys are just like me. You were born crazy, weren't ye?" No response. Tommy Anderson sighed. "Get on with it."
They did so. They raised the knives and brought them back down. Again and again. Betrayal was a horrible thing. A terrible thing. Tommy Anderson got the worst of it.