by Darren Kelland

Created on: October 31, 2009

The killer walked across the room and pulled on the chair. It skittered and bumped as it dragged across the wooden floor. He took his cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. He pulled a cigarette from the packet, put it to his lips and drew the lighter flame to the tip. He inhaled deeply and sent out a blue cloud of smoke.

"So Mr Jones, what can I do for you?" His accent was thick Northern Irish. He squared the cigarette packet up to make it parallel with the table edge.

"You know what I want", replied the man who sat across the table. "Give me my wife back".

"Sorry, Mr Jones. No can do. Y'see, you knew the rules of the game when you got into it and the rules are the rules".

"Please, please, take me instead". The man started to sob.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible Mr Jones. Mr Smith has planned your wife's execution already, and we wouldn't want to disappoint him now, would we?"

"I'll do anything you want, anything". The man was crying now. "You have to help me". The man stood up knocking his chair backwards onto the floor. He grabbed the killer by the shoulders. "Please, please, he begged".

The killer removed his hands from his shoulders. He took a final drag of his cigarette and stubbed it out. "If there's nothing else, Mr Jones, I'll be leaving". With that the killer stood up and walked to the door. Jones chased him across the room. The killer pulled out a handgun from a shoulder holster, hidden by his bulky leather jacket and pointed it at the head of his companion. "Touch me again and I'll blow yer head off. I've killed men for less". Jones slumped to his knees. He was now sobbing uncontrollably. "Goodbye Mr Jones". The killer pulled the door open and left the room.

In the corner of the room there was a television screen on a bracket screwed into the wall. The screen flickered on and Jones was faced with a grainy image of a room just like this one. A single lightbulb hung on a length of cable from the ceiling. The cable was too long and the lightbulb swung slowly backwards and forwards across the screen. In the centre of the room sat Jones' wife. She was tied to a wooden chair and gagged. She had been crying and struggling to get free of her bonds. Another man's face filled the screen. He was bald with crazy eyes and a long jagged scar that ran along his left cheek. He smiled at the camera.

As he backed away, Jones could see that he held a cut-throat razor in his hand. Jones watched as the bald man approached his wife. She was screaming behind her

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