Subject: NEW: Broken Glass 1/1 by Matt Taylor From: I Horsewell Date: Thu, 9 Oct 1997 13:16:02 +0100 Disclaimer: Chris Carter and co. stole the X-Files from me, but I can't prove it... Archive: Please do. Rating: probably R - violence Category: Vignette? Spoilers: none Summary: a strange kind of crime scene... Please note; I did not write this. However,my friend Matt has no e-mail or net access so I am posting it for him. Please e-mail *me* with feedback - I will pass it on to him via snail-mail or something. Cheers. Broken Glass 1/1 by Matt Taylor There's a dripping sound somewhere in the darkened room. Like beer dripping out of a bottle onto the floor. There's a wet smell creeping up the nostrils and embedding itself in the mind. Footsteps. Footsteps on water - no, not water, just damp ground. Splish, splash. The footsteps stop for a second. Breathing - heavy breathing. Then the sound of hands. Fumbling in the dark. Grasping at something. Sound. Crashing sound, deafening the ears. A bottle breaking on a hard surface. Footsteps again. A flick of a switch, and a single light bulb hisses and fizzes as the flies bat gently into it. The light is dim. Must only be 20 Watts left in it. But you can see what you need to of the room. Sitting in the middle, a man tied to a chair. Hands bound behind his back, a foot tied to each of the front chair legs. Arms and chest bound to the back of the chair, and a final cord keeping each of his legs still. He won't be going anywhere soon. In front of him in the floor a broken beer bottle. The label is torn and wet, but it was his favorite brew. He smell the scent in the air. The air was thick... the stench of rotting walls were enough to bring him around. He looks around - his head rolling as if drugged. He can see only as far as the dim light spreads. After that...who knows. Could be walls. Could be nothing. "I'm going to play a game James." The voice comes from somewhere in the darkness - hidden by the shadows. "Jim, James, Jimmy boy... we're gonna have a little fun." James looked up into the darkness. He knew the voice too well. "I'm sorry..." his voice was weak from lack of sleep and food. "Maybe. We'll see." The figure stepped into the light. He was male - mid twenties. Deathly pale. He knelt down to the floor and fingered amongst the broken shards of glass. He carefully picked a shard, 2 centimeters long. He turned it over in his hands, cutting his fingers. The pale blood dripped to the floor where it mixed and mingled with the water. He stood and walked to James - tied to the chair. Carefully and deliberately he pushed the pointed end of the piece of glass into James shoulder. He tried to squirm back, but the rope held him in place. He screamed - piercing screaming. Blood trickled out of the wound, around the glass, and down his arms. "Chrissakes...alexgetitoutofme..." he whimpered. "Why James?" Alex knelt down again. This time picking another slightly smaller, but sharper peice of glass from the floor. "Dontknow..." his speech was mumbled. Alex walked around behind him. He ran the piece down between his shoulder blades, before forcing the glass in. Again James screamed. Less so this time. The blood dripped to the floor, puddling around the legs of the chair. "Wrong answer." Alex picked a few more pieces off of the damp floor. Could get tetanus from one of the cuts. But James had more to worry about than just tetanus. "Again - why?" "It wasn't my fault -" A shard in the chest. No blood though - can't have gone deep enough. Alex pushed it further. A red stream opened up. That was better. "Lie all you want." Alex rolled a few pieces of glass across his knuckles. "I've got a whole bottle to go through." "Josef told me -" He was cut off. Alex turned with a lightning speed, forcing a piece the size of a quarter into James eye. James gurgled pathetically. Screaming so hard that no sound came out. He shook his head frantically trying to get the glass out. "Don't you ever say that he told you. Never." There was rage in Alex voice now. And something uglier... "He..." James choked back the tears that welled in his eyes (as much from pain as from fear). "I thought..." "No. You didn't." Alex was sitting on the floor, pensively toying with a large fragment of the bottle. It was about six centimeters in length with a glinting edge. The husky stench of blood filled his nostrils. He tossed the fragment, catching it. Each time making another tiny little cut into his palm. "I did everything you asked me to." He flicked his wrist, forcing the chunk deep into James' leg. A fountain of red splashed to the floor. James coughed - there was blood in his spit. Always a good sign. "What are you doi..." James head was getting heavy again. "Must have hit an artery. Shame." Alex grinned. He lay on the floor, his face a demon's mask of the grime from the floor of the room, and blood that was splashing on the floor. "You're gonna wish I was never born." He got to his feet, circling James. Like an inquisition, he held his tools - broken glass, clenched in his fist. "Say it." "Say what?" Another piece of glass. Another blood soaked tear. Warm flesh torn. He shuddered. He could feel the skin tear as he moved - breathing in and out. There was a warm, sickly sweet taste in his mouth. "Say it. Admit it." A blade held so close to his face, he was too scared to move. "I..." "Too slow." Another handful of splinters pushed into his lap. A tingling sensation inside him - warm and sticky. And red. Always red... "I'm running out of bottle James." "I...I." "Why can't you just go ahead and say it James?" A faceful of broken bottle. The crystals lacerating his perfect face, and tumbling down his dry throat. He coughed and choked, blood running from his lips. He writhed and twisted in his seat - trying desperately to get out. Wasn't going to happen though. "You...killed...me." "I ki...killed....you." James whispered - his voice was ragged and torn, the stress on his throat making it too much to bear. He whimpered and cried - the pain to much. Always too much. Alex was just standing in front of him now. Bathed in the dirt from the floor. Splashed with his own, and James' blood. Deathly pale. Awfully, deathly pale. He held the last peice of broken botle in his hand. "Wasn't so hard was it?" He held the blade in front of his body and lunged at James. The sharp point punctured his chest, piercing his lung. There was a soft hissing - James looked in mock disbelief at Alex. Standing. Grinning. The room went black before his eyes closed. Maybe he would go to heaven... Alex stod looking at james for a time. The life dripped out of him, and puddled around his feet. There would be a veritable lake soon. He sat on the edge of the table. After a while he became aware of a knocking sound at the door. "Is anyone there? Can you open the door?" A male voice. A pause, and then quiet whispering. A second, female voice speaks. "Open up - FBI." Alex smiled. **** Mulder put all of his weight into the kick. The lock rocked from the blow, and the mouldy wood fell to the floor. It clung to the sticky film that covered the floor. "Jesus..." Mulder pushed the door ajar. In the center of the store room, a figure sat tied to a chair, stripped to the waist. All across his body and face, tiny shards and splinters of glass. Red, flaking blood clung to his arms and body. The flesh was a palid white, the body a husk. "It's James Garner." Mulder turned to Scully. "Lady said she heard screams coming from the store room - Garner was on bail. They picked him up for the murder of his boyfriend..." Mulder looked through his notes. "Alex Campbell." The pair stood for a moment. The room had a dark aroma. Blood and sweat. Mould burning the nostrils. "We better call for some help here. It's not our problem anymore." Scully went to open her phone. Mulder grabbed her on the wrist, and looked at her accusingly. "Not our problem? It's homicide Scully." "Look at the lock Mulder. The keys on the inside. He was locked in from the inside." She gestured around the tiny store room. "No way out Mulder." Mulder opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. Some things were best left alone. He pulled the door closed a little to stop the smell from making him ill. It was of no consequence to him, that by the pale light from the corridor, the floor was clean of glass... THE END Ian Horsewell 8^) University Of Warwick i.j.horsewell@warwick.ac.uk - http://www.warwick.ac.uk/~phuwv --- Living is the only thing in the world worth dying for ---