Yaelle

And a Knife

The movement of the windscreen wipers was hypnotic. All that could be heard was the white noise of the rain battering the car.

He spotted a figure at the side of the road with his thumb out. It was not a good night for hitchhiking. He must have been quite desperate to get where he was going. The doctor signaled and pulled over. ‘Where are you going?’ asked the doctor.

“I’m going to my aunt Jemima’s. That’s north”. The hitchhiker climbed in. He was young and had wild red hair and a thick beard.

‘Awful night, eh?” said the doctor.

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

They drove on in silence for a short while. The BBC radio phone-in blaring out from the car’s speakers filled in for conversation. They listened to the radio and their own thoughts as they moved on.

The doctor tapped the steering wheel nervously. The hitchhiker stared at him in his scrubs and lab coat. His own parka and t-shirt looked scruffy

The radio show carried on as they drove. The hitchhiker shifted in his seat and stared out the windscreen.

‘Is there music we could listen to? It calms me down.’

The doctor said nothing.

Suddenly there was a news bulletin on the radio.

‘We are getting reports that a patient has escaped from a nearby psychiatric institution. The man is said to be psychopathic and has a history of murder.’

The hitchhiker jabbed a finger on the button on the radio panel. Tinny pop music blurted out from the speakers. The doctor stared at his passenger, his question unasked.

‘I hate the news.’ answered the hitchhiker. ‘It’s depressing.

They drove on. The rain pounded on the car.

‘What do you do for a living?’ asked the doctor.

The hitchhiker was quiet for a moment.

‘I’m a writer.’

‘Have you had anything published?’

‘No. I’m an undiscovered artist.’

‘What are you working on?’

‘I’m writing a novel. It’s about a serial killer.’

The doctor didn’t speak. He flicked the radio station back on.

They drove on through the storm down the snaking lanes.

An hour later. The storm still raging. The hitchhiker looked out the window.

 Another news bulletin came over the radio.

‘We’re getting more information on the patient. His name is Simon Hughes. He escaped earlier this evening. He is extremely dangerous and completely unpredictable. He made his escape by changing from his hospital issued uniform into a doctor’s  uniform and pretending to be one of the medical staff. He stole a car and drove off.’

The hitchhiker turned to the doctor.

‘What did you say your name was?’

‘ I never said my name.’

Panicked, the hitchhiker glanced down at the doctor’s feet and noticed something he hadn’t before.

 

A crumpled patient’s robe, and a knife.    

The killer

Year 2200. After a slight egotistical fight between Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un, the survivors of the human race had to go into exile on another planet where Winter only occurs every thousand years, the rate of nuclearity making life impossible anymore on Earth.

This year was the year of the return of Winter. For the first time, people were discovering what snow was like and the beauty of snowflakes falling from the sky.

Matt Anderson,who has been a police investigator for many years, had been hired, with his partner and friend Chloe, to investigate the murder of a young women.

Like every morning, 7.00 a.m, Matt arrived at the office. Everybody was already there, sitting around a table. He took off is jacket and saw a guy that he had never seen before, at the back of the room, sitting in a corner. “ Probably a new trainee, he thought.

Continue reading