Authonomy – Friday Flash Fiction [FFF]

Post: FFF – October 18, 2013

Theme / Genre: Acquisitions

Include: –

Words: 906

Done Deal

Pain slowly filters through the darkness, as I feel myself
drifting into consciousness. Stabbing
pains, burning pains. I’m wondering what
has happened to me, where I am. My eyes
open and I realise this is not our bedroom, or the spare room, or one of the
children’s rooms; I don’t recognise it at all.

‘Ah, we have life again,’ an unfamiliar throaty voice says
from somewhere. ‘Welcome.’

The room is dimly lit and shabby. What am I being welcomed to. I rise to face the voice, sudden shooting
pains radiate from my chest, in a way that I imagine electrical shocks would
come from a taser gun. The pain is
excruciating. It takes all my strength,
and a grimacing face, to sit upright and confront the silhouetted figure standing
across the room in front of the window.
The blanket irritates my bare skin, as it slides down my body it catches
on something, on my body.

‘Welcome, Mick, or do you prefer Mike?’

‘Mick’s fine,’ I can’t place his guttural voice, despite it
being vaguely familiar. ‘And you are?’

‘Bub,’ he says, the shadows withholding any facial nuances. ‘Bub will do for now.’

Looking down, I see a CD sized patch of freshly scarred dark
red skin on the left side of my chest.
Burnt flesh arouses my sense of smell.

‘How do you feel?’

‘Apart from sheer agony of this thing,’ I look up, ‘I’ve
felt better.’

‘The pain will ease, eventually,’ the voice scratches at my mind;
I’m still at a loss. ‘It was … necessary
surgery, let’s say.’

There is no sound, the voice, the voice is in my head,
that’s the familiarity. Now I
understand. It’s the voice from before,
my friend, my muse, it’s still in my head, only now it has a form, male, taller
than me maybe. I nervously move my hand
to the circular gash and watch as it makes contact, nerve endings are on high
alert.

‘Am I dead?’ I ask the figure.

‘Reborn. You’re
lucky, I saved you.’

‘Was I shot?’

‘Not exactly,’ his voice does not change from its gruff
slowness.

There’s a pattern in redness, a burn mark, a logo in the …
branding.

‘I’ve been branded.’

‘Very observant, Mick.’

Numbers, a nine, another nine, and another.

‘You’re police.’

A chesty coughing now fills my head; it’s in the room too, turning
into an even louder rasping laugh, in full surround sound. Papers ruffle on a nearby table, curtains
ripple with the resounding notes.

‘No. No,’ he amuses. ‘Not quite.’

Something scuttles under my blanket. My head grows lighter. Dizzy and nauseous, I’m aware there is
something under the threadbare blanket. Throwing
it back, and swinging my feet from under it, I watch a number of cockroaches
scuttle back under the remaining cover and realise I am naked, exposing myself
to the shadowed stranger.

‘Woah,’ I did not expect to see that.

‘Ahh, you noticed,’ the unpleasant tones are back in my
skull. ‘Let’s say it comes with the
territory.’

‘But, it’s never been … I’ve never had … my wife said I
satisfied her with what I had.’

‘And look where that got you, Mick.’

‘It’s twice the size.’

‘You’ll need it.’

‘For what.’

‘For the Job?’

‘Job? What job?’

‘Your mine now, Mick.
You work for me and you need to be fit for purpose.’

‘What do you mean?
You don’t own me,’ I shake the cockroaches from the blanket and although
it’s grimy and frayed I have no choice but to wrap it around me, as I climb of
the bed. To my surprise the floor is
warm. ‘Who are you? And, where are we?’

‘Mick, my friend Mick,’ the figure moves from the shadows
and reveals are dark skinned, scarred and aged face contrasting with a deep red
suit. ‘Do you not remember? You wife.
She left you, took the kids who hated you too. Your violence and depression, I’d say, was to
blame wouldn’t you, and those voices.
You had already lost your job, written off your car whilst ten times
over the limit, let’s face it, Mick. You
were a mess, a liability,’ he’s now face to face with me, I feel his
surprisingly sweet breath on my forehead, he is taller. ‘But, silver cloud and all that, Mick, I
stepped in, plucked you from an inevitable drunken death in front of that
train. You should be thanking me.’

Memories return, he’s correct, but how could he know all
this.

‘What do you want of me?’

‘You’re now signed up to live a life of purgatory as a demon
of Satan, until such times as … well until I tell you that you’re not.’

‘What. Is this some
kind of joke? To hell with that, I’m not
… ouch!’ He’s grabbed my balls and is squeezing them. ‘Get the fu_’

‘YOU, don’t get to tell ME, what to do, rule one,’ he let’s
go, I back away in yet more pain.

‘You signed the acquisition last night any way, I have your
blood on it,’ this Satan or whatever he thinks he is turns back to the window.

‘What acquisition?
You nuts.’

‘Rule two, Mick, insubordination,’ he turns and before I know
what hits me I’m falling to the ground hitting the wall as some sort of energy
force throws me. ‘On the table: The
Acquisition of your Soul. Your signature
and mine, in blood. Mick and
Beelzeebub.’