david ellis bk2 - the screaming

8/20/2019 David Ellis Bk2 - The Screaming

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About the Author

The author lives in an ostensibly carbon zero house with his two

cats amidst orchards of apples and poly-tunnels of strawberries.A 3G mobile network mast stands camouflaged as a tree in an

adjacent field. When he isn’t enjoying the Kentish landscape andtorrential rain, his mind is drawn to strange imaginings about

what lurks beneath the surface of the world around him. This ishis fourth novel.


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Dedication

This book is dedicated to the next Jacob Ngali, who might well

hold the key to the Brave New World


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D avi d G raham

T

H E

S

C R E M I N G


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Copyright © David Graham (2015)

The right of David Graham to be identified as author of this workhas been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of

the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the

publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims

for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the BritishLibrary.

ISBN 978 1 78455 956 4 (Paperback)ISBN 978 1 78455 958 8 (Hardback)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2015)Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

25 Canada SquareCanary Wharf

LondonE14 5LQ

Cover design by Adam Poe

Printed and bound in Great Britain


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Acknowledgments

Paul Nagle graciously allowed me to borrow the lead character

from his novel ‘Bogus Focus’. The Dai Williams in my book isstill the same mixed up but really quite cool guy, although I’ve

fiddled with his powers. A lot. Paul is also an amazing synth manand his music is truly excellent.

The character of Granny Betty owes something to my AuntMaggie who lived in a remote farm house not far from

Pontypridd. I remember the smell of goats, the fug of a coal fireand a wheezy harmonium in the corner. She was something of a

healer, too.Michelle Williams, CEO of the excellent Dark Hollows

Press, kindly looked over an early draft and advised on speech.Writing American dialogue is a dangerous endeavour for any

British author. If it’s anything like the real thing, I have Michelleto thank for that.

‘The Manor’ is borrowed from my first, self -published novel,‘Looks Could Kill’. It was there that I found my enthusiasm for

somewhat sinister characters that exist on the fringes of reality, but still have time to crack a joke or two.

James Bond and The Queen, London 2012 provided me withan intriguing insight into life beyond the red carpet.

Henry Andrews, as ever, was there in the backgroundlistening to my ideas as they went through the lengthy process of

digestion and regurgitation. He’s a real whizz on Sudoku, too.


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Chapter One

The day was gonna be piss-awful. As soon as Brandon P

Marshall woke up, he could tell. For an eighteen-year-oldmale with hormones running rampant, that wasn’t exactlynew, but this time, the forewarning had seemed a whole order

of magnitude different. The headache hadn’t helped either. Ithad centred on his left temple with the combined tenacity of a

thundercloud and a nest of angry bees. Whichever way he

moved, the cloud blackened and the buzzing intensified. Anattempted tug on his morning woody had made the bees

fucking angry. It was also a Monday, which meant boringclasses and jerk teachers who treated him like shit. Even thesunlight hurt. The sound of the Marshall family in the kitchen

rattled him, too.

At times like these, he contemplated revenge for being

brought into the frigging awful world. He’d devised a widerepertoire to choose from, ranging from the teasingly

psychological to the daringly physical. To go downstairs

naked with his woody exposed wasn’t something that could bedone often, but it was worth it for the look on his mom’s face.His dad threatened him with a beating but he’d chickened out

at the last moment. Such a fucking wimp. And Brandon had a bigger dick than his dad anyway. Another favourite included

emptying a box of roaches on the kitchen floor. A plague oflocusts was also on his list but that was a tad too biblical.

Higher up the scale, it got seriously messy and terminal.

To be brutally honest — as opposed to honestly brutal (hah!) —


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he still preferred shock and awe rather than shots and gore.After all, with dead people, there was no turning back.Somewhere towards the top was cyanide gas, but getting

potassium cyanide out of the chem lab would take a lot of planning. And then there was the hazard of crime labs and

toxicology, which would screw his chances once and for all.

But, something about that particular morning made himthink a final solution was required. Perhaps it had to do with

the noise that came from downstairs; Dwayne, Debra andRebekah, all aged one, were doing their best to out-screecheach other, with the occasional random, futile interjection

from his mom. Why the hell had she wanted more kids afterso many years? Then, to add insult to injury, out had popped

three. And three times loud is FUCKING LOUD. Somehow,his dad just sat through it, as if he’d gone deaf overnight. Asusual, he’d be reading the Kansas City Star over his breakfast

cereal and pretending it was The New York Times. He wassuch a fucking jackoff.

Brandon’s cell phone rang with its irritating wake-up call.It wasn’t just your usual cell phone, but a 4G quad core with2x2 MIMO to ensure maximum coverage. He’d bought that

after months as a part-time cook at KFC, during which he’d put on thirty pounds. The phone was said to be ‘state of theart’. Great, he thought, except when he tried saying that out

aloud just then, he heard it as ‘fake of the fart’, which wasn’twhat he meant at all.

Shit, my brain is getting rambled … no, no, scrambled.

What the fuck is going on? Brain humour… tumour… Shit! I’m dying! Nothing to lose, then.

Brandon pulled on a T-shirt and some sweats and crossed

the landing to his parents’ bedroom. His dumb fuck of a fatherhad made it so easy; there were loaded 9mm handguns in both

nightstands. He’d played with them before, when his parents

were out, and that had been fun. Praise the Lord forMissouri’s relaxed gun laws! But first, some music: Nirvana’s

Nevermind would do just fine. He jammed the earphones intight and cranked up the volume. That made the bees real


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angry. Two guns were better than one. He checked that thesafety was on then they went into the pockets of his sweats.He didn’t want to blow his balls off, after all. His woody had

returned, so now he was triple-barrelled and all ready to blow.Fuck, he felt great.

He walked down the stairs barefoot, quiet as a churchmouse, slipped the guns out and flicked the safety off. Thedistorted guitars really wound the bees up. This was the big

one! Yay!

Brandon stood at the foot of the stairs, guns behind his back, and took in the scene. A scene he’d seen 6660 times

before. See, he’d done the math and it was ten times the markof the beast! His mom had her back turned and stood frying

something on the stove. His dad sat hidden behind newsprint,with the back page screaming ‘THE ROYALS RULE!!’Dwayne, Debra and Rebekah were screaming, chucking and

generally agitating. Even Nirvana at a hundred decibelscouldn’t block them out.

Where to aim first? That was the question. An‘embarrassment of riches’, as his faggy English teacher wouldhave put it. His mom turned without warning and dropped the

over easy egg and fatty spatula onto her right foot. The yolkoozed onto the floor. Her gaze lowered to his crotch. It was

pretty damn magnificent, even if he said so himself. She

opened her mouth but didn’t have time to say anything. The

first bullet went straight in her cavernous maw and outthrough the back of her scrawny neck, after it tore its way

through her spinal cord. With the other gun, he fired at exactlywhere one of his dad’s piggy little eyes peered at the last newsitem he’d ever read.

“Capow! Capow! Bye, Mom, bye, Dad, it’s been swellknowing you!”

Dwayne, Debra and Rebekah were breaking through Nirvana’s force field. Do I kill them or don’t I? It’d be soeasy. Three bullets for three noisy little mouths. Bam. Bam.

Bam.


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But Brandon still had a smidgeon of humanity left in him.Dwayne, Debra and Rebekah hadn’t chosen to be born andthey weren’t making such a racket to annoy him deliberately.

And then there was that biblical shit that seemed to be stuck inhis head: ‘the meek shall inherit the earth’. Yeah, like right on,

meek dudes! Brandon removed his earphones. The tripletswere even louder than Nirvana. Strangely, it was music to hisears. The bees still buzzed away, but an ebb and flow ran

through all the noise that was almost soothing. And it madehim hornier than a three-balled tomcat. He placed the guns onthe counter and slipped off his T-shirt and sweats, then stood

bollock naked in the kitchen. It felt so fucking good. Hestepped over his mom’s lifeless body and walked over to

where his dad still sat just about upright, with his right eyesocket all raggedy red. Bullseye … popeye … shuteye … anopen and shut case … Shit, I’m the man!

“Hey, daddy-o, look at me now. Ain’t I a badmotherfucker?”

But his dad just continued to stare into space with his one piggy eye and head all lolled back.

Brandon swept everything off the breakfast table with a

couple of swipes from his hands. Dwayne, Debra andRebekah didn’t like that. Clitter-clatter, skitter-scatter, pitter-

patter, matter, tatter … Oops, I’m doing that again. Not long

then.

He dug out his phone and put it on the countertop, next tothe stove, with the camera set to record widescreen video.

He’d set it to upload automatically to YouTube. This wasgonna be a good one. Fuck, it might even go viral. He gotonto the table and stretched himself out. Dwayne, Debra and

Rebekah sat all lined up down the side like the three wisemonkeys, except they’d see and hear everything. Hell, they’d

be cheering him on, too. He turned and gave a beaming smile

to the camera. The bees surged against the containment of hisskull. So, too, did his woody, and the purple head was some

exotic plant ready to burst into flower.


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But this needed careful planning. He had to time things to perfection. This had to be the spurting of his seed to end allejaculations. He also had to imagine a dick inside his mouth

and it had to be the biggest, baddest cock he could think of.Shit! Where did that idea come from? My mind’s really

playing tricks today. Suddenly, he realised what he had to do.It came like a blinding flash — or as if all the gazillion beeshad plunged in their stingers at the same time. Weirdly, the

triplets had stopped bawling at exactly the same time, but nowtheir efforts were redoubled. So, with one hand on his dickand the other on the trigger, he embarked on his final journey.

Destination: Oblivion, USA, population one.And it felt real good in his mouth. He wrapped his tongue

around the long black shaft, so smooth and cold, so fuckingawesome. He pumped away at his woody; he was so, so close.He glanced sideways at his smartphone, thinking of all those

lucky people who were soon to witness his tribute to themighty, combined power of his dick and the gun.

“Oh, Christ. Here I come!”He shot his seed. Bam. Bam. Bam. A split-second later, he

pulled the trigger.

Bam!

Fuck. That was a … maz … i … n …

***

The Marshalls’ next door neighbours were first on the

scene. The feeding time dawn chorus of the triplets wasn’texactly foreign to them, but being good, God-fearing citizens,they held their tongues and put up with it. This morning’s

cacophony had been different, though. They’d thought therapid succession ‘bam- bam’ must have been a car backfiring,

although if they’d checked they’d have found their neighbourscars still parked on driveways. The single ‘bam’ that followeda few minutes later sounded different and could really mean

only one thing: a gunshot .


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The elderly couple stood outside the Marshalls’ front porch. They’d already called 911. The triplets were cryingtheir heads off. Their distress felt visceral and the pair

shivered despite the warm sun on their necks.

“Elmer, you go round the back and look into the kitchen,”

Nancy Spurgeon said, aged seventy-three and still in herrollers, pink housecoat and slippers. “I’ll try the front.”

Elmer did as he was told and pushed his bulk through the

narrow side gate behind the carport. The wailing got louder.He tried to convince himself there was an alternativeexplanation for the noises they’d heard earlier. As a Vietnam

vet, he did his level best to forget that firearms had ever beeninvented. The kitchen window came up on his left … damn,

the blinds were still down. That was strange in itself, as LornaMarshall always raised them once she’d served breakfast. The

back door loomed up next, but knowing his luck, it would be

locked. His heart thump-thumped away, and it occurred tohim he hadn’t felt so anxious since … well, a long time ago

that he’d tried to put out of his mind. He put his hand on thedoorknob. Shit. What if the gunman is inside waiting andusing the kids as a lure?

A scream came from inside. It wasn’t an infant’s scream.Elmer threw caution and past training to the wind, wrappedhis sweaty hand around the knob, and charged at the door. It

wasn’t locked and his weight propelled him skidding acr oss

the floor … and then he slipped and slid … in a pool of bloodand what had been Brandon P Marshall’s brain. Somehow, he

hauled himself to his feet and stood shakily, trying tocomprehend the scene of carnage that assaulted every sense.The triplets’ howls had turned into a lacerating, high-pitched

keening. Blood and gore was everywhere, apart from whereLorna Marshall’s body lay in front of the stove all crumpled

up. A combination of the smell of burning fat, the metallic

odour of blood and the fetidness of sphincters relaxing,assaulted his nose.

His wife’s normally rosy face shone deathly white and shestood immobilised near the entrance from the hallway.


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Directly ahead, she would have had a side view of BrianMarshall’s good eye, but everything else about his head was

bad and spreading across the floor. To her left, Brandon’s

white flabby body lay stretched out on the kitchen table, withhis right hand still wrapped around his penis. Streaks of semen

spattered all over his abdomen and chest. Brandon’s facewould once have been described as handsome, but there wasno evidence of that now. The grip of a handgun stuck out of

his mouth, but the muzzle seemed to have been forced into thesoft palate.

“Fuck!” Elmer took a big breath in. He could have said

more but that single expletive summed it up. His wife wouldnormally have told him to wash his mouth out with bleach,

but she remained silent. All at once, he became aware of thechirping sound of the smoke detector. That galvanized Nancyinto action.

“Right, Elmer, don’t be standing around like some ninny.There are things to be done before the police get here. You put

the fire out on the stove. I’m gonna take these little’uns intothe next room. And mind where you put your big feet.”

Nancy’s ability to take charge in a crisis was one of the

things that still amazed him. It must have been all her yearsworking as a nurse. Elmer moved gingerly to the sink anddrenched a towel with water. Nancy was in the process of

gathering up the triplets from their highchairs next to the

kitchen table. He stepped over Lorna’s body and turned offthe gas, and then placed the towel carefully over the burning

pan.

“Freeze! Stop right there!” A police officer burst throughthe hallway door with his handgun in firing position. Another

officer followed closely behind, handling his handgun withmarginally less authority. Their macho stance didn’t last long.

Elmer watched as their casual gum chewing transformed into

open-mouthed shock. The second officer ran back the way hehad entered with a hand over his mouth. Elmer suspected it

was to expel a hastily consumed Double Sausage and EggMcMuffin.


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“Shit!” the first police officer said. “What the hellhappened here?” he asked, without appearing to addressanyone in particular. Then he noticed Nancy’s infant

gathering activity. “Sorry, lady, you’ll have to stop whatyou’re doing. You’re disturbing evidence and they’re

witnesses.”

Nancy drew herself up to her full five foot four height,excluding rollers, and looked the young officer full in the face.

“Young fella, I’ll have you know I was charge nurse in theMisericordia Children’s Hospital—” She made the sign of thecross with a spare hand, “— and I know damn well when some

young’uns need my TLC, so I’m gonna take these poor littlemites to the front room and remove them from all this blood

and gore and God knows what else.”

Elmer wanted to applaud her. The police officer just stoodopen mouthed and stepped aside to allow her to pass with the

triplets firmly clasped to her maternal bosom. The other policeofficer returned from outside, looking even greener than the

kitchen’s walls.“Shit, Sarge, I know that guy. He was the ace pitcher in

the Staley Falcons. He dropped out of the team six months

back and put on a ton of weight. Fuck, look at him now.”

Elmer could see the sergeant was wishing he didn’t haveto look at the one-time high school baseball star splayed out

on the kitchen table like a lump of whale blubber. He was

probably also thinking of half-a-dozen jokes that were inmonumentally bad taste and would have offended more than

just his rookie’s upset stomach. But Brandon was definitelyspunked out — there was no doubt about that. He reached forsome kitchen wipes to deal with the blood and whatever else

was on his shoes.

“Hey, what’s that phone doing?” the sergeant asked,

spying the cell phone on its side on the countertop. “Shit. Hewasn’t recording, was he?” He stepped over the pool of bloodand Lorna’s body to inspect the phone, and pulled some latex

gloves on as he went. “Fuck, he was. What a sick fucker.” Hestabbed at the screen to stop it recording. The sergeant’s


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colleague joined him to check out the phone. Elmer steppedover a congealing pool of blood to take a closer look.

“Christ. That’s the 4G quad core Brandon had been

talking about non-stop,” the rookie said. “I bet it’s got somereally cool features.” Amazingly, his enthusiasm for hi-tech

gear had momentarily suspended his disgust.

The sergeant pressed the play icon and the video started playing from the beginning. Initially, all the three of them saw

was the kitchen table and the triplets lined up as if waiting forsomething to happen. And then, suddenly, it did. The gunshotsounded so inconsequential played through the phone’s tiny

speaker, and the kids’ wailing nothing more than a distortedshriek. Then they heard themselves. When the video finished,

a message informed them it had been successfully uploadedand also reminded them: “more than one billion users visitYouTube each month.” Elmer felt his vast stomach sink into

his pants. The sergeant dropped the phone back on thecountertop as if it had shown teeth and was about to bite him.

“Fuck, there goes my promotion,” the sergeant said with a bitter scowl.

“Is there anything that can be done to stop people from

seeing it?” Elmer asked, shaking his head.

“I’ll check it out,” the rookie said. “There’s supposed to be a way of removing material if it’s offensive.”

“Well, it’s certainly that!” Elmer shook his head. “Christ.

How could he have done that? What’s happening to thefucking world? And in front of those kiddies … I mean, fuck

…”

“Anyway, I’ll bag the phone and call for back -up,” thesergeant said, in an attempt to take control of the situation.

“We need to do everything by the book from here on in.Steve, you go with Pops and check to see how the kids are

doing.”Elmer and the rookie left the sergeant to make his call.

They found Nancy in the front room, in full nursing mode,

caring for the toddlers who whimpered softly from time to


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time. Weirdly, there wasn’t a drop of blood or brain spatter onthem. But they were hungry and were zeroing in on Nancy’s

breasts as an alternative to their usual breakfast cereal.

“Elmer, go see whether you can find some jars of babyfood in the kitchen. I’ll need a spoon as well.”

The rookie handed Elmer some gloves as he left to returnto the hellhole of a kitchen. Second time round, the stenchseemed worse than ever. At least the blood had stopped

spreading. The sergeant was busy taking photos, using thecamera from the crime scene kit. Elmer discovered a cupboardfull of baby food just next to the stove and he grabbed a few

jars without checking the labels.

“How are you doing, Pops?” the sergeant asked.

“It’s Lieutenant Colonel Elmer Spurgeon, 9th InfantryDivision, sonny,” Elmer said without even looking at him.

The sergeant’s mouth dropped open. “Sorry, sir,” he said

with a crisp salute. “I’m Sergeant Dale Franklin, by the way.”

“Good to meet you, Sergeant.” Elmer shook hands briskly. “So, where’s the cavalry?”

“On their way, sir, but there’s gridlock around East NinthStreet.” He shrugged the usual apology for the traffic.

“So hell could freeze over before they arrive?”

“Something like that, sir. Do you mind me askingsomething?”

“Fire away, Sergeant.”

“Did you see anything like this when you were serving in Nam?”

“Worse, Sergeant, much worse, although this is still pretty bad.”

“What makes people do something like this?” The

sergeant looked around, and raised his hands — palms up — toshoulder height. “I mean, fuck, he was just a kid.”

“I wish I knew. Perhaps drugs? I don’t know.” Elmersighed. “Youngsters seem to spend all their time with thesenew-fangled things. I mean, they’re always on their cell


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phones, even when they’re on the sidewalk.” He shook hishead. “And then there’s all that pornography. In my days,you’d buy it in a brown paper bag from behind the counter.

Now it’s piped into your home and even discussed inelementary school. I just don’t get it.”

“Where’s the food, Elmer? Stop your dilly-dallying!” Nancy shouted from the other room.

“Sorry, my love, I’ll be right there,” Elmer called out, and

grinned at the sergeant.

“She’s quite something, your missus,” the sergeant said.

“Yup, she’s got more balls than I have,” Elmer said, andnegotiated his way around the remains of his neighbour’s

brain.

***

Roughly ten minutes later, what felt like the entire worlddescended upon the clapboard house that had once been theMarshall family residence. Predictably, social services were

responsible for most of the hustle and bustle, and had a fieldday emoting about what the triplets had been through. In fact,

once Dwayne, Debra and Rebekah had been fed, theyquietened down and seemed happy enough to watch all thetoing and froing. Nancy Spurgeon readily offered to look after

the trio until more permanent foster care could be found. Anexpedited criminal records check confirmed ex-Charge NurseSpurgeon’s suitability and the triplets were moved next door

within the hour. In the meantime, more police officers, paramedics, crime scene investigators and the coroner’sofficers went about their business as methodically as possible

in the small kitchen. The KCTV5 news crew had still toarrive, but with three gunshots chalked up in a respectable

suburb, they wouldn’t be f ar behind.

Dale Franklin escaped at just the right moment. He’d leftrookie Steve behind to learn about crime scene investigation,

but he had given him strict instructions to keep him posted.


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He’d also discovered Brian Marshall had been more than justan upstanding member of the community and had, in fact,worked as a lawyer at City Hall. So, politics would make the

case even messier. With fallout in mind, Dale decided to makea detour from his journey back to KCPD, to see the principal

at Staley High School. It was a school day and Brandon’sabsence would be noticed sooner or later. And, if he didn’tinform the school now, they’d be wondering why the KCTV5

van was parked outside the gates. He needed some background information, too.

Principal Ed Davies had a reputation for running a tight

ship and for taking a personal interest in his students. It was anew school, so he couldn’t afford to take any chances. Bad

publicity wouldn’t go down well with the Board ofGovernors. Ed Davies had also recently announced hisintention to run for city mayor. His PA looked at Dale sternly

when he walked into the outer office. The sign on her deskread ‘Virginia Ironside’, which didn’t augur well for a fruitful

interaction.“May I help you, Officer?” she asked with a raised,

painted eyebrow that would have done Bette Davis proud.

“I very much hope so, Virginia,” Dale answered with awinning smile. He flashed his ID card before her speckled,horn-rimmed glasses. “In fact, I was hoping that Principal

Davies might be free to see me right now.”

The stare she gave him was evidently well honed onthousands of previous visitors. He felt he was right back in

high school and almost shuffled his feet reflexively. He wassure she was counting to ten before responding.

“Well, Officer, that might be difficult,” she said in a

measured voice, “as the principal is currently taking morningannouncements. We are a school, after all.”

“I’ll wait, then,” Dale said, then sat down on a hard chairthat was clearly designed to make students feeluncomfortable. His cell phone ringing broke the equally

uncomfortable silence. Virginia glared. It was Steve.

“Yeah, Steve. How’s it going?”


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“Er, it’s taking time, Sarge.” He sounded uneasy. “It’sgetting crowded here. KCTV5 have just arrived and they’resetting up their gear. CSI are going over the perp’s room. His

laptop’s full of stuff and he didn’t use a password.”

“Any sign of drugs?” Dale asked. He noticed that caused

Virginia to raise her other eyebrow even higher. She looked atad lopsided.

“It all looks clean so far but they’re doing a search,” Steve

said. “How are things at your end?”

“I’ve just stopped by to see the Staley principal. He’s at

morning announcements. His PA is keeping me entertained inthe meantime.” He could have sworn Virginia gave a snort.

“Ah, the lovely Ms Ironside,” Steve said. “Watch out for

her acid tongue. I hear it’s worse than Alien blood.”

Dale laughed and just about avoided catching Virginia’seye. Just then, Principal Davies walked into the office. He

looked taken aback when he saw Dale.

“Sorry, Steve, I need to go. Principal Davies has justarrived. Keep me posted. And don’t say anything to the

press.”

Dale stood up and extended a hand to greet the principal.

He stood at about five foot eleven with blue eyes and probablyin his mid-thirties. Better looking than most school principalshe’d come across. “Sorry for the intrusion, Principal, but I’d

appreciate a minute of your time.”His handshake was brisk and cold. “Is it about the careers

fair later in the month? I thought that’d already been

confirmed. I believe you offered to bring along a K-9 unit aswell.”

“No, sir, it’s not about the careers fair. Can we go into

your office, sir?”

Beads of sweat formed on the principal’s brow. Shit, thisman was anxious. What was he hiding? The principal closedthe door behind them reluctantly, as if he realised he’d beencaught with his hands in the till. And they were shaking, too.

david ellis bk2 - the screaming

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