Masters of Pretence

Kevin shivered under the tarpaulin. The smell of gasoline was overpowering and he suddenly felt ill. He had never been a good traveller and being stuffed in the back of a rusty pick-up truck under a plastic sheet that reeked of oil and mould didn't help. The sudden jolt of the truck over a speed bump made him wheeze as the metallic floor thumped against his back. He gasped, desperate for some fresh air, but he couldn't risk being seen. Obviously, the men who had stowed him here wanted him to go unnoticed. Why else would they have tied his hands and feet and covered him? A practical joke gone too far? Hardly.
As the truck rounded a sharp corner, Kevin slid along the floor of the truck and hit his nose on something solid. He cursed silently to himself as he felt a hot liquid trickle past his mouth and on to his chin.
"How long have I been here?" he thought, searching for any memory that could explain why he was in the back of this truck and how he got there. The last thing he could remember was two heavily-built men barging into his house, demanding he follow them outside without making a scene. He had gotten as far as the front door before something sharp hit him on the head and everything went black. Now, he touched the bump on his temple where they had struck him. He winced at the pain and his hand recoiled, revealing a faint black stain of dried blood on his fingers.
"What on earth is going on?" he whispered, shivering again. "Mad men..."
His growing nausea forced him to peek out from under the tarpaulin sheet to catch some air. His eyes squinted at the bright city lights shooting by. He became disoriented. With no notion of his whereabouts, he let his head fall back against the floor of the truck, trying to get his bearings. He could hear nothing but the rattle of the truck and the occasional car horn nearby. He took deep gulps of air, trying to settle his stomach.
"Relax, Kev," he whispered to himself, repeating is over and over in the hopes of calming himself. "This is a dream. It has to be. It's all just a dream."
Without warning, the truck screeched to a halt. Kevin was flung to the top of the truck, directly under the window of the cab. He could smell the faint odour of tobacco from inside and heard a low grunt or two from his captors. But, back under the plastic sheet, he could see nothing. His eyes refused to focus, his head spun and his heart thumped with worry. Why had they stopped? He prayed they hadn't reached their destination. He had no chance of escape now.
But the engine stayed on and the body of the truck shook for a brief moment before moving off again. Kevin sighed heavily and counted his blessings, though they were few. He decided to take another look outside. He moved his head from side to side until the tarpaulin fell below his nose. Unlike before, outside was now totally black with no sign of a light anywhere. He also noted that there was less nose, no car horns, or dog barks or siren shrieking. A sudden feeling of dread rose within him like electricity.
"They're heading to the countryside," he gasped. This realization hit him like a kick to the stomach.
Over the past four months, there have been reports of brutal murders on no less than six occasions in the countryside just west of the city, all with no traces of the killer. Kevin had seen each case in the newspaper. The first, a 63-year-old widower from the north of the city. Police treated it has a group of juvenile delinquents out of control over the Hallowe'en season. But the murders kept coming. The second and third involved women in their thirties, one a single mother while the other was a quiet woman who lived with and cared for her disabled grandfather. The story of the murders of these two woman had certainly disgusted Kevin, and though it was nothing he hadn't seen before in the movies, the fact that these murders had taken place so close to his hometown severely unsettled him.
The fourth had been a middle-aged salesman who was murdered in much the same way has the other victims; several stab wounds to the chest, with minor burns on the hands and legs, and a circular wound to the temple, as if someone had struck them hard on the head with a heavy object. And all without any attempt made at a burial. Kevin shuddered at the memory of the artist's impression in the newspaper.
The fifth and sixth had occurred on the same night. A father and his young daughter were murdered on the outskirts of the city merely a month ago. Witnesses reported seeing the same black pick-up truck each time, the cause of death and wounds were also identical.
Kevin let out a sob. Now he was really was going to be sick. These men were insane. Six seemingly unprovoked murders had proved that already and he was about to be the seventh. His mind raced through the memories of the past few months, trying to search for some intelligble reason for his capture. What had he done to deserve this? Despite his efforts, he could think of no reason why he should be here. These past few months had been a blur, he had to admit. Following the death of this wife, he had been seeing a therapist to help him cope with this loss. The anti-depressants had caused him to lose some of his memory of the past months. This worried him more than anything. What could he have done to these men in that time?
Though he felt the overpowering urge to cower under the tarpaulin in the hopes that the truck would never stop, Kevin knew he must escape soon. He wriggled under the sheet until he was out of breath, attempting in vain to loosen the knots around his wrists and ankles. They were tied fast. He lay back, imagining all the James Bond films he had seen and tried to conjure up a plausible means of escape. But has each of these thoughts manifested themselves and were in turn ruled out as impossible, Kevin let out a pitiful sob once more. "I'm going to die tonight," he choked.
At that moment, the truck unexpectadly rumbled over uneven ground and came to a complete stop. Kevin held his breath as he heard the engine shut off and the creak of the cab doors open and shut again. His heart began to pound so hard he was sure he would have a heart attack right on the spot. After all, he was no young man anymore.
The slow shuffle of boots on gravel grew closer as he bit his bottom lip. He followed the sound to the back of the truck where the tailgate opened with a loud scraping noise. The footsteps stopped right behind his head. He tasted blood in his mouth. They could surely hear his heavy breathing, why couldn't they just get it over with?
"Get him out," said one of the men in a coarse voice. As he was grabbed around the waist and hauled out of the truck, still under the tarpaulin, Kevin heard the distinctive whirr and click of a revolver being loaded. His heart beat rapidly and he was almost choking with fear. This was it. He let out a low whimper as he awaited the inevitable blow. He was grabbed around the waist once more, while another pair of hands seized his shoulders and stood him on his feet. But he couldn't stand, his legs shook and collapsed under the weight of his body. He was pulled to his feet again, this time propped up by the man behind him. Another two footsteps in front of him and the tarpaulin was ripped off over his head. As his eyes adjusted, he could see before him a man well over 6 foot tall with broad shoulders and arms as big as his own waist. In his right hand, he clutched the gun, pointed towards Kevin's stomach. Kevin's eyes never strayed from the gun as the man began to speak, his rough, scarred skin matching his voice.
"Remove his bonds," he said, nodding to the smaller man who stood behind Kevin. The man did so but continued to hold him. "Look at you, pathetic. Shivering, bleeding and crying like a baby."
"Not so big now, are we?" laughed the man at Kevin's back. Kevin whimpered with fear, hoping against all odds that the men would take pity on him and release him. The rasping man walked to the truck and picked up a large metal box that had rested near Kevin's head moments ago, all the while keeping the gun pointed. The very box that Kevin must have hit his nose on. He opened it and produced a large kitchen knife stained with dried blood both on the blade and the handle. Kevin whimpered loudly again. The man glanced at him and smirked. Next he took out a large-sized lighter. Kevin remembered the stab wounds and the burns on the victims.
"Recognize these?" said the rasping man, approaching Kevin with the gun and the knife. Kevin was puzzled. He didn't recognize them, why would he? Suddenly, he noticed the man's hand was shaking. He leaned towards Kevin.
"We know what you did," he whispered. Kevin remained still.
"And we know we're next," the other man added.
"I don't know w-what you're talking about," stammered Kevin.
"Oh I think you do," replied the rasping man. "How could you not remember your poor wife?" Kevin froze.
"That's right," said the man at his back. "Getting tense now, huh?"
The rasping man moved ever closer. So close that he was now whispering in Kevin's ear.
"You got your revenge, didn't you?" he said. "You never forgave the worlds for taking your wife in that car crash. Well, we're putting a stop to all this." He pressed the gun to Kevin's stomach.
"To what?" asked Kevin, suddenly calm.
"To you. You killed the salesman who sold your wife that faulty car. You killed that widower who reversed out in front of her by accident." Kevin straightened his back.
"You killed the surgeon who messed up her operation, and his daughter. Get in the way, did she? You even killed the two nurses who covered for him. Both lovely women, you know. One was even a single mother." The man stepped back to look Kevin in the eye.
"And now us. The ambulance drivers. We just didn't drive fast enough, did we? " Kevin narrowed his eyes.
"No," he hissed. "You didn't." In a flash of fury, Kevin sprung forward and grabbed the gun from the stunned man in front, knocking the smaller man behind off his feet. In two swift moves, Kevin shot the large man in the chest and spun on his heel to deal the same blow to the smaller man on the ground. In an instant, it was all over. The two men lay dead on what Kevin now realized was the forest floor. He stood back and looked up to the sky.
"It's done, darling," he whispered. And, after burying the knife, gun and lighter, Kevin climbed back into the truck and sped away into the countryside, leaving the city and all he had done behind him.