Chapter 2: 242 and Jerome Hall (2)
The body of Jerome Hall opened his eyes as and it shot around, twirling in its sockets at a rapid pace. The men in black had long since disappeared after stabbing Jerome and breaking the neck of Joseph Brock.
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The body on the ground suddenly spasmed centered from the heart. The eyes flickered but the body moved no further.
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The chest shot up again and there was a cough as the man came to. He coughed again and then rolled around and spat out a globule bloody phlegm out.
"Damn…" he said in a hoarse voice. "That was a kicker."
"That actually worked," said the now awake Jerome, cackling. "I can't believe it."
He then looked down itself and noticed the bloody shirt with holes in it and his eyes narrowed.
"The poor sod was stabbed to death," said Jerome. "Well not a bad way to go compared to how I went."
He shivered as he still thought of that drill coming down into his head and he felt a sudden headache. He rolled onto his knees and vomited, blood and whatever food Jerome had eaten coming out in a stream.
"Gah…dammit," he said wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
He looked to his right to see the body of Joseph Brock.
"They really like to kill," he said in a shiver.
"Eckhard Naumann respond," he said.
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"What's this poor sap's name and history?"
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"A cop," said Jerome/242 with a small smile but he quickly lost it. "Can you figure out what happened to my mother?"
<<242, your mother has indeed committed suicide according to police records>>
He gritted his teeth, so they really did kill her. He had expected this but his mother was never a threat, she had Alzheimer's, left alone she probably would have died anyway. He had taken care of her every needs when he still had his freedom but before he left he had her admitted at a care home. It seemed they still got to her in the end. Whoever was at the tail end of this, he would make them regret every being born. His life was destroyed so systematically in a cold and calculative manner. He would not forget this, nor would he forgive this.
"Eckhard, where is my mother's body being kept?" he asked.
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"What…like hell I'll let that happen," he snarled but then he stopped himself.
What on earth could he do with this body, he was not right now legally related to her. Stealing it was an option…maybe. He had the credentials to just walk in and walk out with the body but the people that framed, they might be paying attention. If he did this he might just be delivering himself into the jaws of monster. He paced the graveyard around the dead body of the dead police informant until he finally stopped.
"Wait…why was I, I mean the original owner of this body killed?" he asked. "Why was this informant killed?"
He waited a few seconds for any response from the artificial intelligence coursing through him but there was not so much a peep.
"Eckhard respond," he said. "Do I need to wary of any enemies to this person, will there be any other attacks.
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"No answers," groaned Jerome. "Also stop calling me 242, call me this body's original name…Jerome or Mr. Hall, or something like that."
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"Right…I feel very calm Eckhard, very calm," said Jerome pausing his pacing. "I should be more stressed, I was lobotomized, switched bodies with a cop that was stabbed to death and there is a police informant with a broken neck right next to me."
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He frowned, "You're manipulating me, my emotions…you can do that?"
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"You will do no such thing," he said quietly. "Turn me back to normal."
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"You obey me Eckhard now release whatever restraints you've placed on me," said Jerome an heavily authoritative voice.
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"I…dammit," Jerome swore. "A machine inside me to control my emotions, why not."
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"That's the first time you spoke so much…is that like a preset explanation?" asked Jerome.
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He looked at the dead body of the informant once again, his agitations and fears suppressed, he had indeed begun thinking calmly. He noticed a piece nearby, the constable's firearm most likely though he could not tell. He moved over to quickly pick up the gun and then proceeded to tuck it into the holster near his back. He frowned wondering what he should do about this dead man's body. Was it really alright just leaving him behind in this cemetery. He looked around as a cold wind blew over and though he did not shiver, it did create a dark feeling. Leave the body behind, that was his final decision after some thought. What on earth would he do with this man's body anyhow. He could attempt to burn it but there was a possibility that he would draw attention to himself, despite this area of Viewbridge being a desolate place at this time and burning it would leave marks as well. Better to leave the body untouched by him. This body would no doubt be found tomorrow by some unlucky chap. He sighed as he swiftly exited the cemetery leaving no room for extra thought.
"Where's Jerome's vehicle?" he asked.
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"What…?" Jerome froze at that, no car, the man was a cop and that person had no car, even he had a car and he used to a casual journalist.
"How did he get here, did he walk…where does he live?" Jerome asked.
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"That's nowhere near here," said Jerome scratching his head. "Did he actually walk here?"
There was no answer however from Eckhard, something he expected. Public transport was something that could've been used, maybe the good constable arrived here by bus. He could just imagine it, a police officer on duty sitting on a bus full of people with a gun in tow.
"Why does this man not have a car?" he grumbled. "Where the hell am I supposed to find a bus at this hour anyhow."
The crescent moon showed clearly in the cloudless sky, he had no doubt that the time was somewhere close to midnight, there would be no buses running, especially not from Viewbridge, so far out of Trade City East.
"Damn, I might have to run to this man's home," he said. "Calculate a route Eckhard."
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"So short," he said. "I'm running Eckhard."
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"I've become Superman," he said with a chuckle which then turned into a frown. "I'm not human am I…at this point."
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"At this point Eckhard, that's not something I care too deeply about," said Jerome as his eyes hardened. "They took whatever I had…I don't want it back, I just want them."
He stopped and waited, expecting an answer from Eckhard, however none came which also suited him just fine. He cracked his neck as a route appeared in front of his eyes on the road, a line only he could see. No human could see imaginary lines in front of him, at least no human he had ever heard of or seen. He grit his teeth as he stepped back and bolted forward, his muscles pumping beyond their normal capacity as he raced down the road at the speed of a car. The wind whipped across his face as he relaxed himself for the first time in several weeks allowing thoughts to run across his brain. As he ran his thoughts drifted to that of his mother, a woman, he had promised himself and any who would care, that he would take care of her for the rest of her life. He had let her down now, she was dead, she was dying but she was taken ahead of her time. Those cruel bastards, whoever they were had destroyed his life so thoroughly. He had nothing, no remnants, no pieces he could pick of his life, nothing that would make sense. This however was a new life, Jerome Elliot Hall was dead and he had taken over. He didn't think it would work when Eckhard first told him he plan but it had. He had been looking for ways to kill himself in that prison to escape and restart his life, try to find out where he had went wrong but killing himself was harder than it sounded in Light Bay Supermax but luckily they had done the deed for him. When he had first met the boy that referred to himself as Dr. Eckhard Ingrid Naumann, he was a little more than annoyed but the boy was a genius without peer and it was thanks to the boy that he got a second chance, a chance he would use to unravel the conspiracy that had him locked away to rot. He peeled down the road vaulting over a barrier on the road and slipping effortlessly past the cars that came his way. He would feel sorry for the men or women he was to take revenge on, his strength, his speed, everything was on another level. He had no doubt he could blast a human being apart with a punch.
***
Bishop's Bar, West Wing, Trade City East
There sat a man wearing a monocle next to a grand piano as another walked in wearing a large trench coat. The man with monocle paused as he looked at the man and then he frowned.
"Hello, my name is-," he started but the man in the monocle held up his hand.
"Stop, I do not need to know your name," said the man whilst the man in the trench coat frowned. "What are you here for, state your business?"
"I had hired your services to dispose of a certain individual and his accomplice," said the man with a forced smile.
The man in the monocle raised an eyebrow, "I do not speak of such business personally."
"Yes…but this is important," the man in the trench coat said cutting in, his face set in a panicked smile.
"However important it might be…" started the man in the monocle as he pressed singular keys on the grand piano, creating a solitary atmosphere of music. "I do not speak of such business."
"You can't do that," the man pleaded. "I paid money for this."
"We never asked for your business, you gave it to us," the man in monocle looked down at the other one with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Now you will get out of this bar, we're closed."
"You took my god damn money!" roared the man, suddenly attempting to climb onto the stage but a hand shot out and swiftly grabbed him by the throat.
The man in monocle sneered as his right hand pressed into the man's windpipe, forcing his breath to a stop.
"Gentlemen!" the man in the monocle called out.
Suddenly the side door opened and five ferocious looking men in black suits walked out.
"Show this person the door out," said the man in the monocle smiling lightly, the malevolence hidden behind it however was not ordinary. "If he comes back in, show him the door to the afterlife."
"Wait!" screamed the man as he was dragged out forcefully by the five huge men. "It's my money…I just need to know if he's dead!!"
The man in the monocle however paid no more attention to him as he turned back to his grand piano and the men that held showed no more grace as they forcefully dragged him out and tossed him to the roadside. The five men in black walked back in and stood behind the man in the monocle as he turned around.
"You have done it?" he asked.
"Yes sir," one of them replied, his voice deep and gravelly from under use.
"Good, no troubles I expect," he said.
"No sir, two dead," said another of them in the black suit. "One dead constable and one dead informant."
"The requirements of the job?" asked the man in the monocle.
"Done as stated."
"Good, I will have the money transferred to each of you," he said and he proceeded to turn back to his piano as the men in black suits all shuffled off.
Another two lives claimed, he would have to go to confession soon, very soon. He had killed the last priest that threatened to break the seal of the confessional, he could only hope that this confession was less eventful. A holy man's blood was a great deal to him and he would never kill someone himself, that was why he had people that handled such requests. He coldly glanced towards the door, reminded of the man that had come in to find out about his contract. There was a set amount of rules any customer had to follow for his help and this man had disregarded that. If it was any other day the man would be dead and his body left to the crows but today he was in a good mood, it was a particularly good day for him. He let out a sharp smile as his fingers danced across keys on the grand piano creating a thick and drowning melody, one that would create a choking atmosphere had there been anyone left in the bar.