What Will Be?

What will be?

“I still don’t understand why?”, a female voice said.
“No need to”, replied Cook.
He changed to a lower gear and the car slowed without breaking, he was approaching a tight left hand corner. The car negotiated it with ease and emerged on to a straight piece of road, bordered by typical English hedgerows and a few randomly spaced elm trees.
The headlights of a car about 200 yards ahead made him instinctively dip the main beam.
It was night time but clear skies and a near full moon diluted the darkness giving everything a dim ghostly white glow.
A red car was parked on the left hand verge, Cook noticed two figures to its rear, and it seemed as if they were in the middle of an aggressive Latin Dance.
He slowed and pulled to the opposite side of the road, staying on the tarmac 60 feet from the entangled couple. Cook could hear the women screaming muffled obscenities through the open passenger window. The car came to a full stop but he decided not to turn the engine off, then opened the door and stepped out, “is everything all right love?” Cook shouted through cupped hands.
First came a panicked shout “help!” followed by, “he’s trying to kill me!” In a high pitched female voice, then a loud thud, that he assumed was the woman being thrown against the rear of the car.
Cook was small in appearance, he had the look of a man who was either a long term abuser of class A drugs or had been cursed with an ultra fast metabolism combined with poverty and a poor diet. What hair he had, was grey, and shaven close to the scalp, combine that with a gaunt face plus hawkish nose, and you wouldn’t mark him out as any type of would be hero. However without a pause, he walked around the front of his car and headed directly towards the source of the screaming.
The man grappling the young women was squat and muscular, neatly cropped short dark hair with small piggy yellowish eyes, a face that looked as if it had been trampled by more than a few rugby boots. When he spotted the interloper approaching from his right, he swivelled around to face him. Cook could now see the girl, her blonde hair was shoulder length and straight, ruby red lips and deep blue eyes outlined in dark mascara gave her stunning looks, her young body added to her charms, slim yet well proportioned. The Piggy held her right wrist with his left hand, he tossed her backwards, yet she managed to stay on her feet while staggering to a halt, soft earth and high heels proving no handicap.
“Run”, said Cook, in a low, slow growl.
The recently liberated victim started to back up with small steps towards the road. She kept her eyes fixed on the have a go hero.
For a fleeting moment he returned her gaze. “Pity?” Cook snorted mentality,”That’s what I see in your eyes girl, but not what you really feel”.
“This scrawny middle-aged man, with his grubby white t-shirt and stick thin faded jeans, facing off against a young 2nd row bull necked psycho?” He really did know what she was thinking, but didn’t care.
A broad grin revealed Piggy’s golden incisor. Yellow bloodshot eyes narrowed as he reached around his back to produce a large glinting hunting knife.
“Don’t even think about running old man”, he chuckled sadistically, the knife swished up to his opponents eye level, “You’ll just die slowly, with this stuck in a kidney”.
“Old man?”, he spat back.
Cook heard the other car approaching from the right; it swung over towards the girl and skidded slightly on the loose gravel, then came to a halt. She didn’t need to move, the driver had pulled up with his passenger door next to her. The girl didn’t even look at the car let alone make an attempt to get in; her gaze was transfixed on the scraggy hero.
The distraction had given piggy the opportunity to edge closer to Cook; he lunged with the knife towards his left shoulder, not a killing blow, but a disabling one, he didn’t want the fun to end to swiftly ,” no fun in that”, piggy thought.
A loud crack startled a nearby bird and it bolted out of its tree, squawking and flapping madly.
Piggy’s brain probably never even registered his neck snapping in two, the uppercut palm punch was so powerful; it shattered his jaw and caused a shotgun effect of fragmented bone to burst into his lower brain. At the same time it made his stumpy body shoot backwards, but the lethal knife arm was now wrapped at the elbow by Cook’s. He nonchalantly rotated towards the girl, as if without effort, in a single fluid movement he snapped Piggy’s locked elbow, released the lifeless body, which feel in a heap at his feet.
He tilted his head towards the stunned blonde, with a stare that shot a cold chill down her spine.
The driver was making his way out of the car, white knuckles gripping a baseball bat.
The women fumbled for the door handle and screamed at him to get back in the vehicle.
She scrambled inside, both doors slamming shut in unison.
Cook ambled to the centre of the road, arms hanging by his side, zombie eyes focused on the floor in front of him.
He had his back to the approaching car, the driver had gunned the engine, there was perhaps 70 feet between then.
The powerful BMW gobbled them up in seconds, the careering vehicle made contact, but to the occupant’s surprise, the impact made no sound.
Cooks body somersaulted in the correct manner befitting a head on crash, but the only noise came from the shattering windscreen in front of the driver.
The car suddenly swerved out of control, mounted the grass verge and hit a substantial dry brick wall, the engines revs increased violently as the rear wheels left the ground.
Cook had rolled down the cars boot, coming to a standing position behind it. He turned to watch the inevitable crash.
Metal crunched, glass shattered, a few large stones came down from the wall with a clunk.
His mind registered a fleeting admiration for the men who built the wall some 150 years ago. Instead of it collapsing it absorbed all the collision’s force.
The girls view was hazy to say the least, she like the driver hadn’t had the time to put on a safety belt, and that had cost her dearly. She twisted her head sideways; the left eye already starting to close from swelling. The steering wheels air bag was deflating rapidly, a light cloud of white power drifting downwards. It quickly revealed the handle of a large hunting knife protruding from the driver’s chest. He was rapidly scanning between the blade and her, a look of sheer terror mixed with bewilderment, on his face. Red flecked foam flicked from the corners of his mouth on to the dashboard and windscreen, a subliminal reflex was stopping his hands grasping the dear antler handle, they just waved uselessly in front of it. The knife’s blade had missed the heart but nicked the aorta, causing oxygen rich blood to ooze into his lungs. He was drowning slowly; shock had temporarily numbed the pain, unfortunately the natural suppressants were fading rapidly. A sudden intense twinge from his smashed hip and broken ribs made him jerk backwards abruptly. The blade shifted inside, completely severing the vital artery, his head lolled for a moment and then he went limp, chin slapping down on his chest.
Blondie fumbled for the door handle with a shaky blood soaked hand, it clunked open before she could reach it. A man knelt down on one knee besides her. She stared into a handsome emotionless face.
”Who the fucking hell are you?” she gasped with surprise. Then, faster than her mind could register the movement, a cupped hand slid to the back of her slim neck, his right palm simultaneously making contact beneath the chin. Slowly, without effort, he pulled forward at the same time as pushing up. She tried to scream and grab his arm, but halfway through the attempt there was a dull crack and her groping arms went limp; falling to her lap. Warm liquid began to pool around her groin and buttocks. Blondie felt a sharp pain on her forearm like a pinch, and then attempted to look at the handsome man, but only her eyeballs would move. She tried to curse at him, but nothing happened. The realisation she was paralysed struck her like and electric shock.
“Oh Christ”, was the next thought, and then Blondie’s own mental scream tore into her mind.
“Perfect”, Cook said, as if to someone else, he stood up and slammed the door shut.
She was dimly aware of someone, more like a shadow, moving towards the front of the car. Steam was slowly bellowing up from the cars bonnet, the light breeze swirling it from right to left. A male figure ducked down near the passenger wheel. The car shook slightly and then rocked to one side. He stood up, began to stride past her window with purpose. He was tall and muscular with dark cropped hair, a black body suite with delicate gold threads woven through the material, emphasised his athletic physique. The intricate patterns twinkled with pinprick spots of white light. “Why”, she thought? The man stopped and turned his head to look at her, “He could hear me?”, she asked herself.” Please help me”! She thought. He kept his stare on her for a moment longer, then looked away and carried on walking. The smell of smoke hit her nostrils, it was light and she only caught a brief whiff. The next indication that the car was on fire was the feeling of heat on her feet. Her heart raced and eyes widened, the imminent danger registering in her mind.
You’re a sick bastard!, a female voice said.
Cook ignored it and marched over to piggy’s corpse.
With one hand he grasped the front of the cadaver’s coat, and then hoisted it off the ground like a large sack of feathers. He turned and headed for the point where the wrecked car had attempted to run him down. Cook looked behind him and then forward as if judging the distance, lofted the corpse about 12 feet in the air and a good twenty feet in front of him. It came to a rolling halt on the tarmac, blood began to ooze from the mangled skull, body twisted in a grotesque facedown position.
Blondie was in agony, the heat was beginning to blister her young legs, soil covered red high heels began to steam and smoulder. Her psyche squirmed and yelled, trapped within its useless carcass. The smell of barbequing flesh reached her nostrils. An immobile body incapable of escape was pumping adrenaline into her bloodstream, counteracting the natural reflex to pass out, and prolonging the cruel pain. Her mind writhed in agony, tears gushing down soft cheeks, blinded by the intensity of the tortured nerves, a heart drumming like a jack rabbit, threatening to burst her heaving chest wide open. Hell was the makeshift oven of a German car; this would become the last grotesque memory for a young girl. Fate still had a last nasty twist to serve, soon her dress would catch fire and then the pain would intensify by magnitudes.
Something cool touched her forehead, oblivion closed in like a shroud, eternity gathering her to its arms. A powerful thud blew out the windscreen, followed by billowing black smoke and bright orange flames.

Another car’s headlight’s lit the hedge on the far side of the road near the bend. It was working its way up the incline towards the carnage. Cook touched the top of his car and it instantly shimmered like a calm pond in moonlight. Ripples appeared where he had made contact and slowly headed outwards in ever increasing concentric circles, it was like silver liquid washing over the shape of a car, the Green colour of the Fort Cortina was diluting and it physical properties becoming increasingly translucent. Eventually and in total silence the vehicle disappeared, the last thing to blink out of existence its four black tyres. The low drone of the approaching car became louder with every moment, tree’s shadows swept and shrank in the field like ghosts, and then another quick gear change at the corner lowered its engine note, the car emerging slowly from the bend and heading straight at the silent pair. In one large stride, they deftly stepped backwards onto the verge. The blue Morris Minor made a slight swerve towards the crashed car but then the driver must have thought better of the move and pulled over in front of Cook and his companion.
A dark haired woman in her 20’s, clad in a 70’s nurses uniform, emerged from the car. She quickly ran over to piggy’s limp body touching his neck with 2 fingers. With a shake of her head she raced over to the blazing car. With one hand up to her face she dashed from side to side vainly looking for survivors.
A child’s crying came from her Morris, she turned and ran back, leaping into the driver’s seat and closing the door in one smooth move. The car sped off up the country road and soon disappeared from site.
She was a hell of a driver by all accounts, smiled Cook.
His companion was about to say something, but was halted abruptly by Cooks raised palm, “not interested”, he said.
You kill three people and it’s not worth discussing? She replied.
You said it doesn’t change anything anyway, oh and by the way, you killed the two in the car, not me.
I ended their suffering!
And now my mother and brother avoid suffering to, he whispered.
But they don’t or they didn’t! This was just a sort of re-enactment with your personal version of an ending.
For a moment she just stood there, fists clenched, staring at him.
The anger drained from her face and she replied in a soft voice, so what’s the plan Cook. Come back in a couple of decades and see what could have been, maybe go for a pint with your younger brother, do some bonding?
I love you, he said with a big grin.
An opening appeared by them, like an elevator’s doors in the middle of a cinema screen.
As she turned and entered the void Cook playfully slapped her backside, she giggled and stomped up the gang way, arms folded across her chest.
In answer to your question, it made me feel good, that’s all.
She smiled back over her shoulder, fair enough.