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Chapter 5 Erik held two fingers to his right temple as the screech of the kettle bored a hole deep into his skull. He poured himself a cup of tea, Chinese Pu Ehr tea, Skye said it would be good for him, he thought it tasted like crap. Taking two anadin from the cupboard, he brought his recently brewed, strangely orange smelling concoction to the couch, in front of the television. He didn’t switch it on. Silence was painful enough. The sound of his own breath was like a gale. He winced as he n...

Chapter 6 Erik, in convulsions on the floor, lashed out wildly at nothing, twisting and screaming savagely. He breathed in quickly in short, sharp gulps, desperately trying to fill his lungs, unable to do so. Rolling onto his back, he arched upwards, clenching his fists and tensing his muscles. Every inch ached like a thousand cramps, muscles locking and twitching all over. He swung out erratically, making contact with the corner of his bedside table. The pain of this impact didn’t last long ...

This time seventy or so metres from his subject, the same dark haired man sat behind the wheel of a large black jeep. He stoically watched the entrance of a nondescript high-rise, his gaze never wavering, even as the two passengers accompanying him bickered with one another. To his right, in the passenger seat, sat one half of the squabbling double act. The Hardy to the back seat’s Laurel. The lesser of two evils, or two idiocies, as the dark haired surveyor would consider it. This surveyor, ...

Chapter 3 Erik lay in bliss. In a cold dark silence. There he stayed, contented and peaceful; detached from the world, until a cacophony of distressingly loud noises and strobes of flashing light dragged him back into the real world of burning pain and blinding terror from which he had so briefly escaped. The next hour or so for him would be a struggle between the cool peace of the darkness and the fiery, torrid agony of consciousness, each taking him over in turn; a relentless cycle where th...

Chapter 2 A tall, slender man limped slowly and rather reluctantly down a dimly lit corridor. His head was bald. His body was covered in tiny cuts and littered with bruises. His pale blue shirt was stained, from the inside, with dark patches of sticky, congealed blood. Here and there were more substantial wounds. A particularly large patch of blood had soaked his shirt over his left shoulder and a large section of his neck appeared to be composed solely of scar tissue. Most prominently, thoug...