The blow to his skull turned his lights out and the resulting crack of knuckles and squeal of pain told me another was out of the game.
I caught a blow from behind at that point, a hard fist into my left kidney and then a glancing blow on my jaw from a high elbow when I swivelled to face the attacker to my rear. The strike brought the taste of blood to my mouth but far from discouraging me, it was like injecting nitrous oxide into a car’s inlet manifold.
I lunged for him, chasing as he saw the madness in my eyes and tried to get away. He couldn’t back-peddle fast enough and got a hard knee between the legs for his trouble. I shoved him away to make some more space and found myself left facing just Flat Top and Smiler.
Their comrades were either down or had thought better of it and chosen to run.
As it turned out, I was wrong. The ones who were missing had gone to get weapons.
Jane. Perseverance. Friday, December 23rd 1740hrs
The rope finally broke. I heard it snap, but then I was listening for it and had been working on the last few strands for the previous five minutes.
Exhausted, sweating, and with my abs and shoulders threatening to rebel, I slid myself back out from under the bed. Panting, I gave myself a minute to recover, shuffling my bottom around until I was propped against the wall.
One loop of the rope was severed, the two pieces hanging loose and limp. I turned my hands over, inspecting the remaining loops, of which there were many, and shook my arms to see if the rope would begin to unravel.
The loose ends unwound, giving me two feet of free rope on each side, but then they stopped. The rope passed back under the other loops at that point, vanishing up between my palms and then winding around somewhere and I suspected there were other knots hidden inside because no matter what I did, I could not get the loose ends to undo any further.
My anger boiled over abruptly, the need to vent and shout and tear at the ropes too much to keep inside any longer. I thrashed, yanking my hands this way and that in a bid to get them free. They wouldn’t come. All I succeeded in doing was tearing abrasions into the skin of my wrists.
When I calmed myself, sucking in fresh lungfuls of air and forcing myself to think, I could see what I needed to do. It wasn’t one rope I was dealing with. It was several. It appeared to be one around each wrist, which prevented me from slipping them off. They were then linked and drawn tight by a third rope. The one I cut through was one of the ones from a wrist. I couldn’t tell which one, but it hardly mattered. Now that it was loose, I needed to cut through another one. I would either get it right this time and sever the one that held my hands together, or I would get it wrong, waste half an hour, and then get it right the next time.
I knew it was a positive philosophy to go with, but as I crawled back under the bed to find the tiny burr of steel again, I knew I would rather pleasure an entire polar bear rugby team than do this again another two times.
Tempest. Wasting Time. Friday, December 23rd 1741hrs
By the time the police came, I had Harry Hengist off the carpet and sitting in a chair. He was being surprisingly generous about the event. Hilary, on my instruction, had gone back to the car. He’d taken no part in my attack and the last thing I wanted was for him to get into any bother that might impact his Christmas.
‘I’m sure you meant me no harm, Tempest.’ Harry insisted on using my first name though I had not invited him to do so. ‘My bruises will fade.’
Was he saying it like that to make me feel bad? It was working whether he intended it to or not.
First on the scene was a squad car containing two officers I didn’t recognise. They knew me though. I have an iffy relationship with the local police. Habitually, I do what I think is right and never knowingly break any laws (unless I must), but it is not unusual for me to end up in cuffs.
‘Oh. It’s him,’ said the first cop as he exited the car.
Donning his hat, the second officer left the passenger’s seat. ‘This should be good.’
Having informed dispatch that I had a serial killer in custody, it came as no surprise when more flashing lights began to fill the night sky. By the time the first two officers were on Harry’s garden path, two more squad cars were pulling to a halt.
Filling the doorframe as I watched them approach, I knew I was in for a dressing down or a mickey taking. One or the other, but just as I was about to step out to meet them on the path, Harry nudged my arm and came around me.
‘It’s all right officers,’ he expressed, his tone light and jovial. ‘I gave Mr Michaels cause for alarm. That’s why he called you. I’m not really a serial killer though. It’s kind of a funny story, actually.’
The officers didn’t look like they were going to agree with him.
‘You’re the homeowner?’ asked one. Both officers were young white men in their late twenties and filled with the righteousness of youth.
‘I am,’ Harry replied. ‘Harry Hengist at your service.’
I was being side-lined quite deliberately. The two cops were yet to make eye contact with me, no
