Episode 6 - Paid In Full

The Narrator:
Hello, hello dear listener! And welcome back to tales beneath the surface. You will no doubt be happy to hear that from this point on it’s just you and me… together at last!

I find my own company of a higher quality than the general riffraff and rapscallions that haunted this project, holding me back. Yes, I’ve always thought there’s nothing like a soliloquy after all. Particularly coming from these lips and this hmm probing silver tongue of mine. slow and thoughtful and a little distant Sometimes I look into the mirror and I wonder who is staring back. change of energy I think Narcissus was given a bad wrap, when you look good you look good! Silly chap staring at his own beautiful face until he starved, he really must have been quite the looker! Well, if it was me I would have brought nibbles! ha

Now then, ladies and some of the more…mmmm… experimental gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve all been dying to fall back in..well I’m not sure you’ll be happy you did, heartbreak can be so punishing, particularly on London’s calloused streets…

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Last Call

SFX: PHONE RINGING

A phone was ringing upstairs. It sat on a wooden table with three sweeping legs on top of a knotted kazak rug in the middle of the room. A stain was spreading beneath it, dark and tacky. The gummed feet of the table marked the angles of a pyramid pointing at the wall.
The phone’s cord trailed across the floor spooling from its plastic base, ending in a break halfway to the plug socket, its copper wire snarled in metal knots bare on the carpet. The plug socket was empty yet the phone rang on.

SFX: SLOW HEAVY FOOTSTEPS GETTING LOUDER

Floating through the corridor beyond the room’s empty doorway came the sound of creaking wood and heavy steps. They were deliberate. Considered. Weary. The trilling phone was not a starting gun. He was coming. He knew it would ring again if this call was missed.

Footsteps hit the landing, a silhouette looming in the door. It ducked under the lintel and resolved into a man stepping through the opening. Even in the room he had to hold his head stooped down to stop it brushing against the popcorn plastered ceiling. He crossed over to the phone with a single thudding step and picked up the handset between his thumb and index finger holding it to the side of his face in between his ear and mouth. The phone crackled as he picked it up.

Caller:
It’s happened again

Sasha:
…..what….how?

The man said, disbelief curdling to dull anger in his voice

Sasha:
you said it was the last o–

Caller:
We can’t go into that now, all that matters is there’s one person on your list, then you’re free

Sasha:
…..where?

Caller:
You’ll find them down by the Trocadero once the sun goes down, best be careful now, don’t want anyone to see you pick them out. Do the deed off the streets - they’ve got minders

Sasha:
….you talk as if this was my first hunt

Caller:
Word to the wise is all, this one’s old

Sasha:
..save the best till last the man laughed

Caller:
The crew have left a picture in the usual place, if you need anything else you’re on your own, I’d wish you luck but I know you don’t believe in it. Be seeing you Sasha

SFX: Click of a phone hanging up

Sasha:
Best hope not, svolotsch’ prick the man spat.

There was a splat as a drop of dark liquid fell on his shaved head. Sasha swiped a fast hand across his scalp and looked down in disgust at the filth smeared there.

Sasha:
Ach, almost forgot about you

He said to himself then left the room returning with a sloshing petrol can. He poured it all over the phone, table and rug, leading a trail out the doorway.

Sasha:
And now you burn

SFX: Creature’s gurgling and cursing, Sasha sloshing petrol around

He said, his eyes meeting those of the creature pinned to the ceiling with railway ties. Its black eyes glared murder as it strained to free itself, spraying ichor across the floor. The man lit a match and tossed it to the ground. Flames erupted as he vaulted the bannister and landed at the bottom of the staircase. Even though he’d bound its muzzle with wire he felt he could hear a high pitched keening as he left the house before the roof caught fire.

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SFX: Shop door opening, tinkling of a bell

The bell of the small hardware shop clattered as he stalked in. He ignored the shopkeeper’s greeting and swiftly moved to the back of the store to rummage through the jumbled goods. This place looked innocuous enough from the outside, one of those ramshackle spots no one seemed to use that sold a bit of everything. Deep’s was hidden in plain sight, its yellowing shop front display unchanged since the early 80s, leaving most who passed thinking it was abandoned or at least wouldn’t have what they needed.

Once inside, the aversion continued. The shelves were packed with mismatched goods, their labels long faded. The faint scent of mildew mixed with the sharp tang of leaking chemicals, creating an odour that lingered in the air like the shop itself wanted you to leave.

Deep:
And a good evening to you Sir! It wouldn’t hurt if you showed even the slightest bit of courtesy, you know? So rude! said the diminutive Sikh man behind the counter, wagging his finger in chastisement.

Sasha:
I am not in the mood Deep He said solemnly.

Deep:
Mood, Mood he says! When have you ever been in anything resembling a good mood?

The shopkeeper could see him rummaging at the back of his shop, picking up tools and weighing them in his hand, scrutinizing labels of different chemicals and sniffing others. He ran his hand beneath the dusty frame of an old, sun-faded advertisement for a lubricant company that had gone out of business years back, slipping the package free. He opened it and looked at a black and white photograph of a familiar face.

SFX: these lines happen in the background of the narration

Deep:
Oh nice, nice, why don’t you just turn the place upside down. It’s not like I’ve spent the last 40 years of my life building this place from nothing
Hello! Are you listening? Of course, you’re not, nobody does.
You can feel free just to ignore me if you like, not that I’m important or anything.

Sasha:
BLYAT! he said through gritted teeth

He picked up several items and moved back to the front of the store, placing an armful of clutter on the surviving counter. He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a Manila envelope full of cash and began to count out notes. All this here and tallow candles, salt, iron nails, the good ones and…

Deep:
Yes, yes, I know. The shopkeeper turned, glancing over disorganised shelves behind him, removing several small boxes and packets, placing them on the counter.

Deep:
One of these, OK where have I put them, ah there etc

Sasha:
Burn this he said, handing over the crumpled photo

Deep:
Problem? asked Deep

Sasha:
There is always a problem, just as I am always cursed to fix it

SFX: Shop door opening, tinkling of a bell

The door slammed shut as he left, hard enough to knock it out of alignment. It hung ajar like a misaligned jaw, just shy of closing properly. ‘Blyat!’ he swore, as he fumed on the rainy street, then ‘Сука!’ under his breath as he glanced back at the crooked door.

SFX: Heavy rain

He loomed under a bus shelter and lit a cigarette watching the cars drive past in the evening gloom. If he got through tonight, he would never sign a contract again, especially not in his own blood. How was he to know the depth of strangeness things in the world could sink to?

It would be safer to walk to the Trocadero even if it was raining.

Why did it have to be raining? Why did the photo have to be of her?

SFX: Music break

The road swam out of focus as he lost himself in memory’s undertow.

The first time he saw her was an ocean and a continent away twenty years before. He’d been greener than lawn clippings and hadn’t seen the strange and unnerving outside of story books and bad TV shows. She changed all of that.

It started like any other love story - boy meets girl - girl meets boy - they laugh and love and dream of a blissful future. It blossomed fast, he lived for her. There was however, one small wrinkle. The gaze behind her beautiful veridian eyes was ancient and pitiless. They looked out at the world and only saw prey. She was wearing the skin of a human, it made feeding easier and improved the taste - terror was an intoxicating spice. His moment of clarity hit when he came home early unannounced and found her supping the juice from the neck of a headless corpse. Its head was on the floor rolled on its side, the jaw missing and the remaining eye still open, staring at him.

Her head whipped up on a serpentine neck and he saw her mouth was crammed with blood stained teeth out of place on anything but a shark from the fossil record. She smiled when she saw him letting out a laugh that sounded like falling trees and tearing metal.

Ekaterina Petrova:
Well, it would’ve happened sooner or later dorogoy (дорогой), now you see me in my true glory, how do you like it lover boy?

She’d licked her teeth with a tongue like rigging rope. It ripped across them spraying blood across the ceiling then snapped down and pulled a corded nerve from the exposed spine below. She sucked it up like linguine with a wet snapping pop.

SFX: Mocking laughter and the sound of Sasha running down the stairs

He’d run then. Sprinting out the loft and down the stairs, mocking laughter chasing him all the way down. A group was waiting by the entrance. They knew him already. Pulled him in with welcoming arms and comforting words. They’d been here to hunt. That changed when they saw him.

This was how it all started, the first steps on the road to where he was today. The decades since had shown him how thin his knowledge was of what lurked a paper’s breadth below the surface. Most days he wished he could go back to bovine ignorance. Jesus, some days he wished the dream had never ended, that he’d come back home a couple of hours later. Fuck, why’d it have to be her.

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A bus rolled past splashing his legs with brake dust and dirty water. It sloshed into his shoes and the damp cold casing his feet wrenched him back to his body. It was time to move.

He swept along the walk without noticing the distance, one blink and he was in Piccadilly. It was busy tonight, all sorts lurking about. If you had the eyes to see then twisted shit was happening all around. Shadowed doorways were filled with soul drinkers who supped a tender week or two from the desperate and hungry for the price of a single meal. Their embraces went on too long, the drinker coming away full of life and colour, the drained left blue and wrung out sitting down and breathing out a day or two in multi coloured gasps. He had bigger prey tonight. One name left then…then who knows..he was free.

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SFX: Lift Musak

He knew where she would be. They had built the 770 room hotel inside the Trocadero several years back. A key feature was the lack of windows, its rooms were lit with a clever use of artificial light. The official line was that it made efficient use of the space without defacing the facade of the Grade II listed building. Of course, having a labyrinthine, windowless residence in central London appealed to a certain kind of clientele that abhorred the sun. Some of the rooms were not advertised, they were reserved for these special customers. He had noticed the symbols concealed cleverly in the wallpaper designs as he entered, a warning for the initiated, but a goad for him - they just drove him forward.

SFX: Arrival ding and lift door opening

He slumped out of the lift, and looked down the corridor to see four men standing guard at a set of double doors, this was definitely the right floor. These men were not hotel security, their stance screamed ex-military and the sharply cut suits and earpieces suggested a pricier grade of guard. He hadn’t expected this. They were hired help not ensorceled, likely unaware who they protected, still, it mattered little.

Guard:
How did you get onto this level?

one asked, stepping out of formation towards him. Sasha stayed quiet, wearing a confused vacant look as he walked over to them, gaining speed. He watched their hands stray to their pistols, anxious to draw them, what choice did he have?

SFX: Sound of a brief fight, gunshots, guards choking, bones crunching, Sasha panting over metal

His fingers briefly traced over the pair of bullet holes in his chest as he sighed deeply and put his boot through the double doors.

SFX: Door kicked in

SFX: Heavy breathing

There was a mountain of flesh standing before him, a figure a full foot taller and wider than him. Thick rolls of fat and muscle shifted under an ill-fitting suit as its mouth full of tombstone teeth smiled broadly.

Ogre:
You are not welcome here!

It said slowly, its voice threat and thunder.

In response Sasha removed a small plastic box from his jacket, cracked the lid, and threw it at its barrel chest.

SFX: Tinkling sound of screws on the floor

The lumbering oaf stood there, looking down, as its eyes widened.

Sasha:
That is a spectacle repair kit with 500 screws of different sizes

He said as the box clattered open, its silvery contents skittering across the marble floor.

Ogre:
Why… why would you do such a thing!

It moaned helplessly, scrabbling around the floor and grasping at the tiny screws with its meaty fingers. Creatures like this had habits, and those habits could be leveraged. This would keep it busy while he dealt with the real problem.

SFX: Footsteps then doors opening and closing

She sat behind a fine mahogany desk…that stance..her elegance..no, no! Its false allure.

He wrapped a thin silver chain around the door handles to prevent entry and uttered a single word “Запечатай!” (Zapechatay!)

SFX: Magical flourish - wind /flame

SFX:She has an effect on her voice to show that she is using some kind of enchantment

Ekaterina Petrova:
Did you ever wonder why I kept you alive, Dorogoy? Why I did not pursue you that night in Minsk?

He paused briefly and shook her honeyed words from his mind, and took two heavy steps forward.

Sasha:
Your words will not stop me!

He pushed on, drawing the nail gun from his coat, his other hand remaining firmly in his pocket.

Ekaterina Petrova:
Sweet Sasha, what have you become? You are closer to us than you want to admit.

Sasha:
I. Am. Nothing. Like. You!

Ekaterina Petrova:
Of course you are nothing like me, how could you possibly be, but you have changed enough to not be one of them, you’re no longer quite… human.

Sasha:
SHUT UP!

His limbs seized, his feet entangled in her words, each step was pain. He felt the rough texture in his hand as it shot from his pocket and crystals of rock salt tumbled through the air and hissed as they collided with its form.

SFX: Sizzling hiss

With its concentration broken, he surged forward, slamming into it hard and pinning it to the desk.

SFX: Sound of a struggle

He was easily twice its size, but it was old, sly and strong. Its body began to deform, limbs extending, claws and fangs extruded from gums and nail beds. Its lashing tongue whipped out and the barbed surface lacerated his face. His salt-covered hand hissed as it grappled with one of its wrists.

SFX: Ka-chunk of nailgun, screech

One of its forearms was pinned, two iron nails piercing through to the desk below as thick black liquid began to leak from the holes.

Ekaterina Petrova:
No, no

It’s screamed, writhing desperately trying to free its arm

SFX: Ka-chunk of nailgun, screech

He put a nail through its other hand and poured a bottle of white spirit over its form.

Ekaterina Petrova:
She was real. They stole her from you

It pleaded in a panic. He paused, momentarily stunned by the revelation.

Ekaterina Petrova:
I replaced her, and now you will never know where she is!

It screeched as its taloned feet lashed out and clawed at his body, cutting deep, his hand reached down to his midsection to stop his innards from spilling free.

SFX: Slop of his insides falling out. Ka-chunk of nailgun, screech

You will never find her, unless you let me live! cut off

SFX: Ka-chunk of nailgun, screech

Its foul tongue now pinned with iron, muffled its wretched voice. He stumbled, the nail gun dropping to the floor, and fell to one knee, his vision swimming. He looked down at his wounds, his hands trying to hold in his exposed intestines. His fingers fumbled inside his jacket, his tools and trinkets scattering across the floor, and retrieved a tallow candle etched with strange runes and rammed it in the creature’s open gullet. Then he lit it.

And… now… we… burn

SFX: Sound of a lighter then fire

News Reporter:
I’m here in London Piccadilly outside the historic Trocadero where an explosion has collapsed part of the building. Firefighters on the scene think it was a gas leak in one of the kitchens that caused the blaze. So far no survivors have been rescued from the rubble. But the majority of the staff and guests in the rest of the building managed to escape. This is a grim day for London.

Wait…they’ve found someone! There’s a survivor under the rubble, they’re pulling them free as I speak, oh, oh no, he’s in a bad way, there’s blood everywhere, there’s an ambulance on site and paramedics are loading him in, I’m sure I speak for all of us in praying that at least one person walks free from this tragedy…

SFX: Sound of sirens fading out

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The Narrator:
Well, well, I’m glad they could pull someone out…I wonder if he made it…seemed like he was real enough at least, and a big strapping fellow too! Ha. What am I talking about, goodness me, caught me wool gathering again! Wait, ha, how odd I have never used that turn of phrase before! It seems my mind has wandered off on a trip to an unknown destination, freed from its petty constraints, down unknown streets and into the dark. There’ll be plenty of those in the weeks to come and I’m oh so glad you’ll be there, by my side. We’ll wander down them, arm in arm, my voice lighting the way. Don’t worry about getting lost though, there are plenty of paths we can cut because, after all, reality writes itself.