10: John

By the time he got home, John was seething with resentment at that fucking bitch of a drag queen. How dare she make fun of him in front of the whole pub? Who the fuck did she think she was? It wasn't like she was even fucking funny.

He threw off his wet jacket and went into the kitchen. Put the kettle on. Rummaged through the refrigerator, decided against eating any of the items in it, and popped a couple of slices in the toaster instead. Contemplated the rest of the evening.

What he really wanted to do was track down that talentless tranny whore and kick her insolent teeth in... but that wasn't practical. Not tonight, anyway. He'd have to entertain himself some other way.

When the toast popped up, he smeared it with low fat margarine and went into the living room. Flicked on the TV and sat down to munch in front of the late news. It was the usual rubbish: suicide bombers in the Middle East; more tube strikes; missing children; asylum seekers. The social fabric coming apart. Depressing and boring in equal measure. With a click he shut it off.

When he finished eating he brushed the crumbs from his shirt and dumped his plate in the sink. Switched on the kettle again, to make sure it was properly hot, and made himself a nice cuppa. Smoky lapsang souchong. Best drink of the day.

Then he wandered down to the basement.

At John's approach the boy started thrashing against his bonds, screaming frantically but inaudibly behind the duct tape gag. Somehow he'd managed to work one battered leg free and was kicking it around uselessly. John would deal with that later.

He set down his cup on the workbench, and surveyed his tools. Gazed dispassionately at the creature tied to the wall, whose wide, bloodshot eyes were fixed on him in inhuman terror. Took a soothing sip of tea.

To tell the truth, he wasn't sure he could be bothered. The brat wasn't going anywhere; he could wait. But then he remembered Blanche. Blanche du Theydon fucking Bois. He had some anger to work out about that, he realized. Oh yes. Some issues. Under the circumstances, perhaps he could be bothered after all.

He contemplated the matter for a few moments longer, then lifted the soldering iron from its hook and plugged it in.

Then, while he waited for it to heat up, he polished off the rest of his tea.
Posted by matt at November 10, 2004 10:36 PM