Closure

The Blitz

The distant, terrifying hum of an air battle and the thud of bombs echoed over the piercing ring of a siren. The skyline was broken by flood lights that washed over the devastated city below.

The crackles of war up above never died down. On a wooden kitchen table were dozens of photographs of the skinny man murdering Edward Fairway, along with detailed accounts of the crime, a pack of smokes and the Red Eye.

Finn entered the kitchen, cigarette hooked between his lips. He dragged out his pistol and dumped it on the table. Scanning the pictures for a moment, he then stepped over to a retro 1950s fridge and opened the door. Inside, on the top shelf was a warm bottle of 1982 single malt whisky, piles of white envelopes stacked with blood money and a scuffed revolver. Finn grabbed the whisky and left.

JASON FINN, MURDER, 11/11/1926 was scrawled across the living room wall in thick black letters. The macabre graffiti had been there for some time and was worn away and scratched.

Finn was crashed out in a chair, clutching the whisky bottle in one hand and a pistol in the other. Around the dimly lit room were objects not from that time; a VHS player, chunky television set and a laptop. This hole was the nearest thing Finn had to a home. It was his hideaway... his calm before the storms.

Out cold, Finn was having his nightmare. The same one he’d had for the past eleven years...

Rat-a-tat-a-tat!

In a cloud of bloody dust, Jenna crashed to the ground. Her head dropped back, striking the cold surface to reveal her cold, dead eyes. Blood oozed from the gunshot to her skull. As she hit the ground, her hand slammed against the floor and her wedding ring broke loose, clattering onto the icy stone.

Finn’s eyes snapped opened and he lunged forwards, thrusting the pistol towards a shadow in the corner of the room. He almost opened fire. Stood in the corner was a dandy young man that dressed like a wise guy in a flash three piece suit, kipper tie and spats. He carried a metallic brief case and a wicked grin. To Finn he was simply known as ‘Kipper Tie’, a Death Collector. At that moment, he was a little on edge. “Easy Tiger! That’s not a toy!”

Finn sighed and eventually lowered his aim, “You’re late.”

“I’m a busy boy.” Kipper Tie approached Finn and grimaced, “Jesus, Finn – you look like a dead man!” Then the stench hit him. “You smell like one, too!”

“You got my money?”

Smirking, he pulled out a white envelope and tossed it over to Finn. It landed on his lap. Finn put down the gun and flicked through the used notes inside the envelope. Kipper Tie peered out of the saturated window at the war above. “Why do you hide away here, so close to death?”

“It keeps me alive.”

“Any trouble?”

“A few close shaves.”

“Takers?”

Finn lit up a cigarette and got to his feet, “As ever.” Kipper Tie hated Takers; they screwed up his trade, “Bastards!”

“They’re only doing their job.” Finn grabbed the whisky bottle and envelope and headed for the kitchen. Kipper Tie followed. “And we’re only doing ours.”

Finn stalled in the doorway and looked back at him, “Yeah, but what we do is illegal.” He walked into the kitchen, dumped the bottle and envelope down on the table and started to gather together the photographs, as Kipper Tie stepped inside. “You know, after all these years, I still don’t know whose side you’re on.”

Finn glanced at his wedding band, “My own.” He then took one final, remorseful look at the crime scene photographs before stacking and stuffing them into a folder. “Edward Fairway was murdered by his lover.” Finn handed the evidence folder to Kipper Tie. “His wife couldn’t handle the truth that he was screwing another man, so she gave his killer an alibi to save face.”

Kipper Tie smirked, “Excellent, a twist in the tale... That should increase the price.” He put down the metallic brief case, clicked it open and placed the evidence folder inside. A sudden crackle of gunfire outside unnerved him. Finn threw him a look, “You get used to it.”

Finn and Kipper Tie took seats at the table. Kipper Tie slide a tatty Police Folder over to him. He flicked it open and looked down at various black and white crime scene photographs of a burned out car dumped on wasteland and then of a young woman. “Anna Newly, twenty three years old.” Finn lifted up a photograph of Anna dumped face down in woodland, smeared in her own blood. “Murdered April seventh, two thousand and four.”

A hooded man dragged Anna kicking and screaming into the undergrowth and pinned her to the ground by her throat.

“Her body was found in a shallow grave two days later.”

The hooded man plunged a knife into Anna.

“She was stabbed in the eyes, ears and throat.”

Finn looked at Anna’s corpse, then back at Kipper Tie, “Jesus!”

“The plot thickens. Four days later, the body of a young woman was found in the boot of a burned out car on wasteland...”

Finn picked up a photograph of the burned out car.

Police pull the charred remains of an unidentified corpse from the boot of an E Type Jaguar.

“According to Police records, the victim, Bethan Keats, was Anna Newly’s best friend.” Kipper Tie looked at Finn, “Conclusion?”

“She was with Anna Newly on the night of her murder. She could ID the killer.”

“Exactly, but still the police could find no murder weapon, no motives and no suspects. Murder unsolved.”

Kipper Tie took a small device similar in design to a double-edged flick knife out of the brief case - a Blade. Etched on the side of the scuffed metal bar was a date: 7/4/2004; the same ‘date’ Anna Newly was murdered. Blades were makeshift tools that punctured holes in time and hacked tunnels from one point in history to another like a cancer. They were outlawed.

“Go in, witness the murder of Anna Newly, ID the killer and motive and get out.” Kipper Tie placed the Blade down in front of Finn, who picked it up and sneered, “I hate these things – they do damage.”

“They’re a little rough and ready, but they get the job done. You get twenty four hours.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“You said it yourself, Finn – those things do damage. The time-line’s fragile, you get twenty four hours and then I lock the gate.”

Finn wasn’t convinced. Kipper Tie tried to make a threat, “You know the deal... The risks... If you don’t want to take them, then I’ll find someone that will.”

Finn toyed with the Blade and glanced at the crime scene photographs... too risky?

“You came to me, Jason – remember?” He tried to twist his arm. “Do this ID and who knows – the next date might be the same as the one scratched on your arm.” Finn looked at his tattoo, his wedding band and then back at his Death Collector, “You’ve been saying that for years.” Kipper Tie knew he never would, but he said it anyway – “You can always walk away.”

There was a cold silence before Finn bellowed a sigh and grabbed the Blade. Kipper Tie smirked. “Attaboy!”

Under the flicker of flash lights overhead, Finn stepped into the narrow alleyway behind his house and activated the Blade. Two dagger-like spikes flicked out from either side and glowed. Finn faced the city vista and slung the Blade through the air with all his might. Hurtling, the Blade suddenly exploded and tore a hole in the fabric of time. A fierce gust screamed out of the bleak, black void that appeared and dragged Finn off his feet and inside with a blinding flash of light. The severed closed. He was long gone.

Far in the future at Taker HQ, Task Agent March stood in a poorly lit room made up of a wall of video screens littered with dozens of mug-shot photographs of PROFESSIONAL MURDER WITNESSES, some called ONLOOKERS. The names of these men and women, their ages and status – EXTICT/ACTIVE – were listed below their profiles. Those terminated had been marked with a red cross. Twelve ONLOOKERS remained.

March stared at Finn’s mug-shot. Under his profile:

NAME: JASON FINN

AGE: 36

OFFENCE: ONLOOKER/ILLEGAL TIME TRAVELLER

STATUS: ACTIVE

A young male officer entered the chamber and caught March’s attention, “What is it?”

“The time-line has been punctured,”

March sighed and faced the officer, “Where?”

“April 7th, 2004.”

“Locate the exit point, open all unsolved murder cases committed that day and get a team ready.”

“Ma’am.”

March looked back at Finn’s mug-shot with steely eyes. Round two!

Back at Finn’s, Kipper Tie poured a splash of whisky into a dirty glass and knocked it back. Taking out his Feeder and keying in a number, he cusped the device to his ear and waited. The call was answered. “Mr Carver, please.”

Somewhere in time, an eerie auction was underway in a large bidding hall. There was a distinct ‘Prohibition’ feel and look about the hall and its soulless inhabitants. The Auctioneer stood at a lectern before video projected images of crime scene photographs displaying three dead bodies. Bidders competed to win the case to learn the true motive behind the crime and the identity of the killer. “Sixty two thousand - thank you, Madam.”

A stern gent nodded. The Auctioneer acknowledged his bid, “Sixty four thousand to the gentleman in the red tie... Thank you, Sir.” He glanced around the room, “Do I hear sixty six?”

The auction continued as Mr Carver, stood in his office above the hall, watched through a small, stained glass window. He seemed very pleased.

His office had an art deco look about it. The walls were plastered with ‘Death Art’ – framed photographs of murders taking place... of murderers ‘caught in the act’ of killing. An antique telephone sat atop a wooden desk, ringing. Mr Carver stepped over and lifted the receiver to his ear. “Has he gone back?”

Kipper Tie knocked back another whisky before replying, “Yes... But I don’t know how many more times I can bend him before he breaks.”

Mr Carver poured a large scotch and looked up with admiration at a collection of Death Art hung from the wall, “Have faith, young man... Jason Finn won’t give up until he’s solved the murder trapped inside his head. He wants closure, and we’re the only hope he’s got of ever getting it. Keep making him believe in that hope... Believe in that lie.”

He looked again at the Death Art.

Three stark canvases capturing scenes from THE ‘RED ROOM’ MURDER hung above him. On the first, the dead body of Jenna, plastered in blood in a room painted Red. On the next canvas, what looked like a TAKER stood in the doorway, shrouded by shadows. On the final canvas was young Jason Finn, hidden in the darkness in the corner of the room, automatic pistol in hand. Beneath the macabre portraits was a brass plague:

The ‘Red Room’ Murder, 11th November 1926

Under the three canvases, lovingly preserved in a glass display case was the original Police Murder File, Newspaper clippings from 1926, Crime Scene Photographs and the ‘murder’ weapon – an automatic pistol.

Mr Carver returned to his call and smiled, “Jason Finn needs us more than we need him.”