1 One

Anderson Island, Washington State,

14th April,

Tonight Benjamin Hansen was going to be murdered and he was aware of it.

That evening at half past four, Benjamin Hansen had come home in his long rubber gum – boots, since he was a part of construction process of a government skyscraper being carried on eastern side of Anderson Island. Soon the place was going to have a skyscraper and within three decades it was going to be new Detroit. But Hansen wouldn't survive to see the day in which it would happen. Hansen had skipped his lunch and later he had wished it would have been better if he had skipped his working hour, where he had been holding long plastic pipe and filling concrete inside steel structures, instead. Anybody would have easily assume he had straight come from roadwork for he had a jackhammer in his hand and white spotted black boots.

Repair it. He was ordered for jackhammer but he was going to be murdered tonight. He is coming home to kill me. I must show some hospitality, he thought.

He'd taken a cab from Eckenstam Johnson Road, had paid complete three dollars to the Afro American cabbie and walked inside his house with his heavy footsteps like his boot was filled with concrete mixture with pebbles. He was offered a drink from an old balding man whom he knew as Rick Tarot after he was seen but Hansen denied the offer. He kept on watching that man of seventies sit on balcony and unfold his Washington Post daily paper. Beside the glass of wine was pile of war magazines from his time.

It was quiet strange, instead of combination of coffee with morning and newspaper; he enjoyed hard drink in evening with newspaper.

PARANORMAL EVENTS DETECTED ALL OVER WASHINGTON.

......… Prank or Fact? ..........

A LOOKOVER AT THE HISTORY OF BERLIN WALL AND GERMANY.

Hansen walked up to the door, climbing the steps with the heavy jackhammer, wondering how come he made it up to there.

"Is your house on fire Mr. Firefighter?"A skinny blond teen (who had been selected for Washington Basketball Under Twenty League but soon was dropped out due to doping rule violation) mocked but the middle aged man just stared at the street lamp in the sky and some pine trees. He looked at the crowded end of street and muttered, "Tomorrow, my body shall pass from here inside a coffin."

He unlocked the door. Hansen stepped in like he always did with ease.

He removed his yellow helmet off his head and let it fall. He knew that after some hours his murderer was coming home. The murderer had called him earlier in the morning and had said he'll be there by 10.

Hansen showered for fifteen minutes to be exact and didn't use his Men's Spice to shave like he always used to do after shower.

Preceding it, he made his way to the kitchen, selected out some cans of beans from the refrigerator and wondered what if the murderer would like to have mutton or pork instead.

Almost at half – past eight, he prepared dinner which consisted of omelet, beans gravy and fresh pork. For the appetizer of murderer and himself he had prepared black coffee.

At nine, the murderer was on his doorsteps and rang the doorbell. Hansen was falling asleep with his head on dining table when the noise awakened him. It was not how he intended to sleep for the last time. There were no dreams and nothing memorable. He missed the smell of his blanket, softness of his pillow and the sensation of stretching his limbs.

Then he went downstairs to unlocked the door.

"Prophet Marcello, I was looking for you. How come you're…err...early?" Hansen questioned his murderer.

"I wanted to gather my friends to kill some disciples. I found them earlier than I had expected, Hansen. You must be cheerful, tomorrow you will gain fortune to miss what shall happen to some of your close people."

Hansen wondered how different had been Prophet's voice on the phone. He was tall, skinny and looked like an albino. He looked more like an Englishman straight came from Victorian era because of a long blazer reaching down to his knees. He had worn a hat but he had brought no weapon.

"You have got no bag with you this time?" Hansen asked in a sudden, "How are you going to take my body after I'm dead?"

"I feel cold." Prophet said instead of responding to him.

Hansen lit the fireplace and somehow arranged two rocking chairs to sit on. Both sat on the rocking chairs, listening to tap created by each other's chair, with coffee mugs in hands. Prophet didn't even take a sip. Instead, he told him he could call him by any name from now.

Nobody talked about dinner.

"Burn the talisman Hansen. I know you'd fixed it some hours ago." Marcello said in his snake like voice.

Little steps by steps, Hansen went towards the fireplace and threw the talisman inside the flames.

"Don't turn Hansen, keep looking at the fireplace…" Marcello snapped, "Tomorrow, my friends are descending. You're only one who knows it. You're the sole mortal being who understands this. We're breaking rules of God and humans are the first to be punished. You're the first one…fortunate."

"I didn't tell anyone about the possible threats." Hansen responded.

Marcello didn't say anything but just kept rocking.

Benjamin heard Marcello get up, by drumming of chair's leg on the floor. Then he heard nothing which he could conclude as footsteps. He soon figured out Marcello using his telephone.

"Benca…" he hissed, "The woman…"

Is Benca next? Hansen presumed lightening quick. Whom is he referring as woman?

"Last time we had landed, many innocents were slain and when we had descended for the first time, one innocent was punished till death to ensure your imaginary faith."

Marcello waited for the reply from other end.

Marcello had pulled down the red plastic receiver. Hansen could hear Web's clear yells from the other end, "You asshole. Fucker maniac!"

Marcello hung up and was about settle down the receiver when Hansen spoke, "If you want to punish or kill me, do it straight away." He no longer was interested in watching his talisman being melted by flames.

Marcello spoke nothing. He thought he had heard sobbing from behind following those words.

Prophet Marcello from paradise was crying behind a human being.

I am Satan…

12TH APRIL,

Some days ago Hansen had been like who he was. In the mid of April's first week, Hansen had been paid with salary from construction in cash which he intended to spend all of it for his addiction – nicotine. The man would normally take up to two packets of cigarettes on day to day basis. In work also he was used to of smoking which the higher authorities had strict sanctions on.

"Don't smoke. The piece of shit can fall in concrete mixture. Next time, if you're caught red handed, you'd be gone!"

But Hansen still had the same job.

Benjamin Hansen would often think what would happen if he spread the concrete on engineer's face and let it dry. The man would look like a statue made as condolence for an honorable person. Addicted of thinking, his cupboard was full of un-prescribed antidepressants.

In leisure, Hansen was either found lighting tip of his cigarette or lighting woods in the fireplace. The man had a peculiar habit which made him need to get warmth all the time his mind was unoccupied (no matter how hot it was outside in summer).

But something was waiting for him that night. The misery was meant for him.

Despite his habit, last couple of days had been a different issue. The fireplace was left untouched. Christmas was, by far, too far from April and neither Hansen had feeling of un-wellness within him. Nor he lacked woods and twigs to light. The habit of his childhood was fading and looked like it was nearing to an end like his enthusiasm to use his thoughts.

But for two nights, he had been hearing sound of tramps within his house for a split of second. The sound would emerge almost at midnight which was sound of someone take long breath and hard tramp on the floor. It was identical to a porter slamming his rucksack or a wrestler slamming his opponent to knock his ass out. Then would be heard a sharp cat like sound for some more seconds. The high pitched voice could only be of kittens or a tom cat, he guessed. Still Hansen couldn't figure out where the hell had the cat made its residence. The hour hand in the clock was about to touch two and Hansen still was trying to keep his eyelids shut (for the love of God Almighty) until he would dream of something he wanted. Lucid dreams were what he had all wanted, for his lifetime, but that night either he wanted to sleep or shut the cat. His lack of sleep made him feel more like an Insomnia patient but this man didn't need any prescribed sleeping pills to get attached in his bed with eyes shut and lucid dreams within his head. REM Matters…Peace matters….sleep matters. All he needed was some gulps of whiskey downstairs in the refrigerator.

The moment he got downstairs, the sound of cat was audible clear and the sound came from the fireplace which had been shut for the couple of days. Now he didn't need any whiskey but the source of sound.

Hansen grabbed the key and then unlocked the door of fireplace with no trouble to see Mr. Puss but what he saw was what made him sigh in disbelief. The sound wasn't of any cat; it never had been, after all. They were agonized shrieks of a blonde ranging age between 9 and 12. She had a short hair, like a model had straight come from a makeover session, but her mouth was covered by a duct tape some ropes fastened her hands and legs.

He couldn't believe what he had just seen.

In anxiety, Hansen made a ridiculous error. He pulled out the duct tape from her mouth instead of untying her hands. She right away launched the piece of cloth inside her mouth. Before watching her breathe, she screamed as loud as she could, "Help me! Help! He is going to kill me. He's kidnapped me! HEEELLLPPPP!"

What the hell are you saying? I just saw you…how can I kidnap you?

She screamed for help twice and for help. In the night time the sound of scream prolonged all around thin air.

The sound could have been heard from half a mile away which could eventually lead to an old man, suffering from Insomnia (who could have fallen asleep without taking doses of sleeping pills) to rise from his bed and wonder what the hell of sound it in fact was.

Someone in the area could have taken it as a wolf howling, hyena laugh or a ch–ild's shout at his/ her best. It would matter to them if the scream had erupted from throat of a male or female. It was only the voice which mattered.

"I didn't kidnap you!" Hansen bellowed but his voice, comparing to the girl's, was just like singing in front of an amplifier and hoping someone behind the amplifier would listen as well as respond to him. The fear made Hansen slip and crash on the glass table which he had purchased from a local furniture shop spending a total of thousand dollars. The scream mixed up with the sound of broken glass. It would make a bystander, a druggist or an awaken man to think a terrible thing was happening in between walls of Hansen's house.

A child rape? A kidnap? Or a murder?

Hansen wasn't in mood of anyone of those. He just wanted her get shut up, which by far was looking impossible from every avenue he had thought with rationality.

The girl hopped out, with her feet tied, but with the hands which were not fastened at all. She could feel her palm had turning numb and she had almost forgotten there are fingers (those also moved) in the tip of palm.

Hansen, however got up, not knowing how many glass pieces had gone inside his back, through the cotton shirt. His thighs also had been cut, like he was flogged, through the Denim shorts he always had believed to be rough and hard to tear.

She didn't bother to look at her feet. Her attempt to run crashed along with her body; face first, on the hard floor. She bled and panicked even more after it. She hopped like a bullfrog with both legs tied up and made her way to the door.

He stumbled to notice there were no more screams in the house. Now she was all focused on the round door knob which required to be moved clockwise. But the easier task couldn't get tougher with numb fingers which wouldn't move. Even she knew her scream wouldn't work as Open Sesame as it had done in story he had read Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.

She either required fingers or shoulder strong enough to dislocate the door off the wooden frame and nails. Alas, none of them belonged to her.

With more misfortune to pile on, Hansen had got both of them fine. He could feel himself fly shoulder first towards back of a girl like he was professional NBA footballer. The next thing he realized was that the shoulder tackle had knocked the hell out of Barbie.

Her breath stopped and eyes rolled backwards. For some ten seconds she stopped breathing. Perhaps he had tacked her as hard as he could. She almost had died.

But most importantly, she was under his control. He made her lie by her chest in an awkward posture, pulled her arms back and tied them with the same rope she had untied (maybe the sweat in her hand had turned the nylon rope slippery as it always does and she had managed to untie).

He turned her and managed to find the duct tape piece which was still sticky and got attached to his finger tips. He hated such situation ever since he had learnt how to repair paper using tapes. But putting tape on someone's mouth was his first time.

After he was done, he gasped and started to wipe sweat off his wrinkled forehead.

The girl was gaining some consciousness and now was moving a bit. What would he answer if someone asked him about the shrieks coming from his home last night?

He couldn't say he was singing or his wife was yelling at him via telephone and he had let the speakers do rest of voice amplification job.

Or what if someone came with the question any second?

Why did she say I kidnapped her? How in the earth she's in my house? This all was scary, strange and most of all, troublesome.

He decided to put her back from where she had come. He dragged her and forced her with full discomfort inside the fireplace, no matter how painful it looked.

After the door of fireplace was shut, Hansen heard sound of people outside his home. He could hear, "Somebody screamed here!"

"What happened here?"

"Edward, what was the noise?"

Hansen felt awful like he never had felt before. What if there came knock on Hansen's door? What if anyone deduced screams and broken table to a story of crime?

Some people were still murmuring outside and Hansen was sitting near the door with his ear attached hard on it. He thought the door had heartbeat of its own. It seemed like his veins had taken enough of blood pumping.

"Let's ask Hansen …sound had come from this area." someone said – maybe he was Joey Tarot, only son of retired army officer Rick Tarot - who had fought with honor in many wars.

"I bet he hasn't noticed such sound after all. He hasn't even lit the bulb. Poor drunkard." a voice came and it didn't matter to him whoever had called him with such underwhelming words. He sneaked through the keyhole and he saw some women in shorts join the conversation with the boys. They must have been some local prostitutes who perhaps had been hired by bunch of teen lads fond of weed and excessive dopamine addiction.

It looked as if he was now out of suspicion range.

While wiping sweat off his wrinkled forehead, leaning on the locked door, one thought haunted more than the potential danger of being caught for an undone crime, "How is she here?"

Like a paranoid, he would look though the keyhole in order to spot any sort of peculiar movement outside his house. Even an hour later he couldn't discover any. Later his mind was filled with an idea that he can never find something utterly outside till she had the mysterious unconscious girl inside his own house. Hansen's pant was wet. It left him wondering if it was sweat or he had pissed in his pants. Last time, it had happened when he was in an elementary school in Tacoma.

He still had black and white photos of himself with his other friends promoting Enhancement of Creativity Campaign when they had joined Oregon University until most of those were expelled by the University for having using weed in the university area.

He stood up and sneaked through the fireplace's keyhole. Bitch was still unconscious. I can kill her right now…she would not yell this time. Do it Hansen. His sight then fell on broken glass which looked almost like a knife, or any other murder weapon.