"I knew that," Donnie said sulkily.

A few minutes later Donnie stood back and ran through the scenario in his head again. The b.u.m was snoring loudly on the couch whilst the two women stood by nervously. Nothing had really changed, save for the fright of the guy first being dead and then waking up. "Ok, ok," he said as calmly as he could muster. "Let's get this done."

"What do we do now?" Melanie asked in a quiet voice.

"This is where the good doctor here earns her share, isn't that right doc?" Donnie said keeping his tone neutral. The last thing that he wanted was for Melanie and Sara to get into some kind of p.i.s.sing contest over him at the most crucial of times.

He watched as Melanie sat on a kitchen stool and Sara went to work. The pathologist was a meek and timid mouse by nature, but for the first time he saw her as a professional. The woman was all concentration and precision. He would have just started tossing furniture around the room imitating what he thought looked like a struggle. But Sara was carefully tilting and leaning items, pointing fallen pieces in cautious directions. He watched as Sara began bringing various items from the kitchen and other rooms. She would wipe them down before pressing them into the sleeping b.u.m's hands. She took a clean toothbrush from her bag and ran it around the inside of what must have been a horrendously foul mouth.

"Is all that really necessary?" Melanie piped up.

"I don't know about you, but I don't fancy the idea of getting the chair, do you? In my book there is no such thing as too careful. This guy has to be Donnie, so his prints and DNA have to be all over this apartment just in case some nosy detective starts checking in the bathroom. We have to remove all trace of Donnie and replace it with this guy's."

Donnie had spent the day before cleaning the apartment thoroughly and removing all traces of himself. He was annoyed at having his efforts questioned, but he knew that this was not the time to start throwing spanners into the works. For the next hour they wiped every surface clean whilst Melanie followed behind leaving her prints followed by them dragging the unconscious b.u.m around between them to add his as well. Sara was dressed head to toe in full pathology crime scene attire; a plastic suit, hat, and gloves to ensure that no contamination was ever left behind by the investigators.

Next they stripped the b.u.m who barely stirred and Sara checked his vitals again. Melanie trimmed the guy's hair and beard into a manageable state that resembled more of a human being again. They dressed him in a freshly dry-cleaned suit that was one of the two that Donnie owned. Donnie steeled himself as he put on the b.u.m's clothes. The fabric felt crusty and stank to high heaven.

Finally Sara stood back and survived the scene carefully. "Alright then," she said with a heavy sigh. "Who is going to do the business?" She said nodding towards the slumbering b.u.m on the couch.

Melanie's face went pale and Donnie's mouth went dry as the moment finally arrived. He went to the kitchen and took the large knife from the block on the counter top. The weight felt heavy in his hand and his palm was sweating profusely. They had dumped the b.u.m back on the couch and Sara took a syringe from her bag and started to walk towards him.

"What the h.e.l.l's that?" Donnie demanded.

"It's adrenaline," Sara said as she flicked the needle.

"What do we need that for?" Melanie asked.

"I'm kind of curious about that myself," Donnie joined in.

"If you stab him in this state it will show up on the blood splatter. It would be possible for a trained eye to see something wrong in the scene. This guy's heart is pumping so slowly now that the blood wouldn't spray like it should," Sara explained slowly.

"So you're going to wake him up?" Donnie said incredulously.

"We have to," Sara answered in a tone that was starting to irritate Donnie. The situation seemed to be slipping out of his control and into hers. "This is supposed to be a home invasion, two men fighting for their lives, hearts would be pounding with adrenaline."

"Whoa, hold on a minute," Donnie snapped nervously as Sara pressed the needle to the guy's neck. "I'm not ready," he said gripping the knife hard.

"Well you better get ready," Sara said as she pushed the plunger.

Donnie stared in disbelief as the reality of his world came crashing down. The b.u.m exploded into life as the adrenaline hit his bloodstream. He flew off the couch with wild abandon glowing in his fiery eyes. His expression was one of complete and utter confusion and he charged across the room not knowing where he was or where he was going. Donnie had rehea.r.s.ed the moment a million times in his mind but now he stood rooted to the spot in absolute terror. If the b.u.m had had any senses functioning fully then Donnie would have been lost. Instead the man ran full pelt straight into Donnie's outstretched knife hand. The blade plunged effortlessly into the b.u.m's chest and the man sagged like a deflated balloon clutching at Donnie's new disgusting coat. Donnie could only watch as their two gazes locked and he actually saw the b.u.m's life force fade from his once fiery glare.

Donnie watched as the man sank to the floor with only a small gurgle for his final last non-prophetic words. He felt Sara take the knife from him as he stood there in a daze.

"You need to go now," a voice troubled him from out of the darkness. "Donnie? DONNIE!"

He felt the stinging blow of a slap to the face which brought him back to the present. He looked in shock at Melanie who had delivered the slap for the first time instead of being on the other end. "Alright, alright," he mumbled, trying to find his centre. He took a final look down at the body; a man felled by his own hand and left before the image could be indelibly burned into his retinas.

It was two months later and Donnie staggered from the pool towards the bar. His generous middle aged spread had increased exponentially over the last eight weeks. His face was still swollen from the surgeries and a large bandage was still wrapped across his nose.

The hotel was a plush 4 star, but it was draining his resources rather more quickly than he had intended. Sara's life savings were dwindling. The cosmetic surgery had altered his appearance significantly and he now no longer saw his own face in the mirror. The excess weight gain hadn't been planned, but he had to admit that his fuller face and figure only aided the change. The biggest regret that he had was his hair. His once full and l.u.s.trous mane was now replaced with a shaved buzz cut.

"Any calls today?" He asked the barman as he approached.

Alejandro only shook his head. It was becoming a worrying daily occurrence. He had paid the barman to keep checking his messages at reception, but there was still no word from Melanie.

He tried to calm himself. He had followed the newspaper reports and it had all appeared cut and dried as far as the police were letting on at least. Donnie Jacobs had surprised a burglar in the middle of the night and had been killed with a single stab wound. His wife had identified the body, the fingerprints from the police files had been a match, and the autopsy had showed nothing unusual. The cremation service had been a small affair and Donnie Jacobs had been laid to rest. Melanie would be in touch as soon as the insurance money came through and Donnie had an account sat ready and waiting to transfer the money into. Sara was supposed to be keeping a very close and watchful eye on Melanie and she was under strict instructions to notify him if anything went wrong. He had another drink and tried not to worry.

It was three months later and he was out of money, out of time and out of patience. He had heard nothing from his wife/widow. Sara's money had run out and he had little choice left to him. He had tried every number that he could think of for the pair of them and yet he couldn't reach either. He had held out as long as he could, knowing that stepping foot back into his old life was not the wisest decision. For the last few weeks he had traded the 4 star luxury of the hotel for a rundown hostel. He had sold everything that he owned of any kind of value in order to stay just one more day waiting for the call. Eventually he had nothing more than the clothes that he stood in.

He travelled home by stowing and thumbing his way back alongside those desperately seeking a better life and not wanting to go through the correct channels. By the time that he found himself standing outside of his old apartment he was tired, filthy, and angrier than he had ever been in his life.

He couldn't believe that Melanie of all people would have ever found the backbone to stand against his wishes. Something had to have gone wrong. Maybe there was a covert police operation in place just waiting for him to slip up. Maybe Melanie or even Sara had cracked under the pressure and spilled their guts. He thought that he might do a little gut spilling of his own if that was the case.

His old apartment block had been transformed. Gone was the derelict building of broken windows and peeling paintwork. The block had undergone a ma.s.sive facelift and there was still scaffolding in place and work underway.

He had timed his arrival for the darkest part of the night and only one window was still lit by glowing light. He headed around to the rear of the building and found the rickety old fire escape replaced with a gleaming black new one.

He climbed up as quietly and stealthily as he could manage, desperate not to announce his arrival home.

He reached the top and peered carefully in through the window. His old apartment was transformed beyond all recognition. The feminine slashes seemed expert even to his untrained eye. Floral patterns and swirls of lilac made his old rundown home look like another world.

He tried the window and smiled as the pane eased up unlocked. He was easing himself through thinking about how G.o.d had always favoured him when a heavy blow rendered him unconscious.

"Sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Sergeant Dawkins said to his younger colleague outside of the police cell. "They'll fry his a.s.s for sure now."

"I can't believe that he would come back again," Officer Cooper replied. "I mean to the same apartment."

"These junkie sc.u.m have the morals of a sewer rat," Dawkins growled.

"Did you hear the story that he was telling the detectives? About how he was really Donnie Jacobs?"

"Kid, you stay in this job as long as me and you'll get to hear all sorts of bulls.h.i.t. We've canva.s.sed this guy's neighborhood with photos of him and no-one recognizes him at all. Not to mention the fact that his prints and DNA don't match Donnie Jacobs' either," Dawkins said shaking his head.

"So who is he?" Cooper asked as he peered through the cell's small sliding slot.

"He's just another piece of s.h.i.t b.u.m with no face and no name, returning to the same apartment where he killed Donnie Jacobs not more than three months ago. Probably figured that it was an easy mark to come back and finish off the widow."

"It was lucky that her friend saw him creeping in."

"Yeah, good old Doctor Sara," Dawkins said with raised eyebrows and a lecherous grin. "I think that the two women got to be very close friends after Mrs. Jacobs lost her husband."

"You mean that they're..." Cooper asked leaving the question hanging.

"So the rumors go," Dawkins smiled. "I wouldn't have minded taking a run at the widow myself. She's loaded you know after the insurance paid out. She bought out that whole s.h.i.tty old apartment block and is redoing it and that can't be cheap."

Donnie walked to his execution on shaky legs still screaming his innocence. He couldn't be charged with the murder of Donnie Jacobs because he was Donnie Jacobs. No-one had stepped forward to identify him due to the alterations of his appearance and the fact that the computer system was saying that his prints and DNA didn't match those on record as Donnie's.

As they strapped him to the chair he looked out through the large gla.s.s window into the viewing area where the witnesses were gathered. As was common the relatives of the victims were allowed to be present. Donnie looked out to see Melanie standing resplendent in her makeover. Gone was the shriveled up wife that he had once known; in her place stood a woman of maturing beauty. She seemed to have lost as much weight as he had gained. Her hair was styled and colored and her clothing befit a woman of her means.

He continued to scream a volley of abuse through his tears as the chair cranked up and fire blazed through his veins. The last image he saw was Melanie holding hands with Sara before the lightening took him.

tale 5.

"pink bow"

Daniel Lawler pulled his heavy bag up and over his shoulder. The mail sack seemed to weigh more each pa.s.sing year as junk replaced letters in the pantheon of modern communications.

He had walked his mail route for almost 20 years and retirement was growing blissfully ever closer. He was 53 now and set in most ways possible. The job had kept him relatively slim, but his body seemed to ache more and more these days. He was an average looking guy with short auburn hair and a round friendly face. It was a constant disappointment to him that the names and faces from his route had faded over the years. There used to be times when he would stop and talk with familiar folks about the weather and their days. Now the advent of the computerized age left him faceless and nameless as people hid behind their st.u.r.dy doors closed against the world around them.

He rounded the corner for the millionth time under the drizzle of a new day. His route took him through overcrowded neighborhoods where crammed-in houses stood shoulder to shoulder with their brethren. Somehow people who had no intention of interacting with their fellow man managed to live on top of each other with barely a word.

The housing estate was mainly single story abodes with small back gardens separated by flimsy wooden fences. This was the final stretch of Daniel's day and he was eager to get back to the depot and relieve himself of his uniform and head home.

He checked his watch and saw that it was already getting on for 10:00 am. There used to be a time when even with stopping to chat with multiple faces he was still back by 9:45 am at the latest. It was another sign of the impending aging process that spared no man.

He had only a little further to go and pulled his waterproof jacket up higher around his exposed neck. He could feel the onset of a chill settling in with claw like fingers around his throat. He was proud of his sickness attendance record and did not want to spoil it now. His wife, Katy, had long since stopped rolling her eyes at his adherence to a set of internal professional guidelines. It wasn't about what others thought of him, it was what he thought of himself.

He headed up a house's driveway lifting the flap on his mail satchel. The bag was waterproof with a large fold over flap and he plucked the house's elastic band wrapped mail. He could tell that most of it consisted of glossy junk with garish advertising staring up with blank dead eyes.

He slid the bundle through the letterbox and prepared to turn his attention to next door when a small movement caught his eye.

He turned across the open front lawn towards the next house and saw a small dog sitting there. The dog looked like some kind of handbag sized offering. Daniel, contrary to the mailman stereotype, did actually like dogs. He had respect for an animal that stood guard of its master's house during the empty daylight hours. He could see the benefits of a Rottweiler or a Doberman. He could see the love and companionship of a Labrador or a Retriever. What he couldn't understand was the point of these little rat sized animals that insisted on being carried around as if they were too good to walk.

This animal looked to be a kind of Pomeranian. The dog was small, beige colored and fluffy. It had a small pointy black nose and upturned ears. To top off the ridiculous effect it wore a small pink bow around its neck.

"Shoo," Daniel said towards the sitting dog that didn't move. "Go on, get," he tried again, but the dog sat motionless.

He could see from his distance that the dog wasn't wearing a collar, just the pink bow. He started to walk across the lawn when the dog growled. It was a high pitched murmur that should have been more laughable than threatening, but he stopped in his tracks nevertheless. He had been chased on a couple of occasions by dogs before and even a cat once. He had only been bitten once but that hadn't even broken the skin. If a Cujo sized attack dog was bracing him he might have had cause for concern, but this tiny ball of fluff surely offered no threat.

"Good dog," he said sweetly. "Good girl."

He approached the dog slowly, refusing to have his route dictated to him by the tiny dog. Again the dog growled and he stopped. He scratched his head and wondered about what to do. Time was wasting and he had to finish his route, but the last thing he wanted to do was to end up having to answer for booting somebody's handbag dog up in the air. Despite missing its collar the dog looked to be perfectly groomed and the pink bow was clean and sparkling.

He took a couple of steps to the side, meaning to give the dog a wide berth when it stood and matched his movement. It sat again as he stopped, blocking his path.

"Look just p.i.s.s off will you!" He snapped angrily, but the dog didn't move.

His eyes locked with the dog's and he felt held in its gaze. Suddenly it became very important for him not to lose the battle of wills however ridiculous it would seem later. He steeled himself and marched towards it, refusing to deviate. He crossed the twenty feet or so between them quickly, his heavy boots stomping down hard on the ground as he walked, but the dog didn't move.

"For f.u.c.k's sake," he sighed irritably to himself as the dog growled again. "Screw it," he finally sighed to himself and marched back down the first house's pathway and back to the road. He gave it a wide berth but as he came back in line with the dog it stood and patted its way across the lawn matching his movements. He reached the house's path and the dog plumped itself down again on the middle of the path, blocking his way to the front door. He had never missed a door drop in all of his years on the job and he didn't want to start now. But still the little dog's dark eyes bore into his.

All of the houses on this street shared open front lawns all the way along. Daniel decided to start at the furthest house and work his way back. Perhaps the dog might have grown tired of its game and left by then. He started to walk along the road when the dog stood and again walked parallel to him matching his pace. Every time that he stopped by a pathway to a front door, the dog would stop and sit in the middle of the path blocking him. He felt his disbelief grow as the dog seemed to mock him at every turn. Every time he set a st.u.r.dy work boot on a path, the dog would growl. The sight of the tiny ball of fur with a pretty pink bow should have been the least threatening thing that he had ever seen, and yet he couldn't help but feel an increasing knot in his stomach. It wasn't the dog's manner per se, but more the intelligent design behind its dark eyes.

Despite his internal set of rules and standards he found himself checking his bag to see if he could avoid the street altogether. Most of the mail didn't seem to be anything urgent and he figured that it could wait. Eventually he shook his head and gave up. The whole thing was too ridiculous for words and if the dog wanted the street, then she could have it.

"Fine!" He snapped a little too loudly. "Have it your way you d.a.m.ned mutt."

He trudged away with a small amount of concern in his heart. He had never failed his route before and having to circle back around this way was going to make him later than ever.

He crossed the road and headed to the next block over figuring that he would give the dog a wide berth before coming back. With a bit a luck the thing would either go home or be hit by a car, he thought bitterly.

He headed down a narrow back alley. The house's rear gardens were enclosed by varying fences, some wooden, some metallic. He took a sharp left on the shortcut to emerge in front of the properties when he stopped in his tracks. The dog was at the other end of the alleyway. His heart beat a little faster and the first slither of fear touched at the corners.

The dog sat pa.s.sively at the far end, its pink bow resplendent and mocking. Its tiny chest rose and fell gently without effort and its eyes were watchful.

Daniel had had just about enough of this foolishness. He crushed his unease beneath his st.u.r.dy work boots and marched forward with purpose. The dog emitted a low growl again and he quickened his pace. He covered the distance quickly and as he drew closer he could see the ridiculous nature of his concerns. The dog was even smaller up close. It was barely a foot long and stood no more than about ten inches off of the ground. Its face was a ball of fuzziness and its mouth was curled into an almost comical snarl given the size of its teeth.

Daniel lifted his boot in order to scare it away but the thing was quick and nimble, it ducked under his leg and he felt the sharp stab of pain as it bit into his calf.

"Owww!" He yelled more in shock than pain.

He pirouetted around on one leg and he felt the needle like teeth snap again. He staggered backwards and the dog sat down again calmly. He reached down to check his leg and his fingers came away wet with blood from the small puncture wound.

"You b.l.o.o.d.y beast!" He exclaimed not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

The small dog yawned lazily and licked a droplet of blood from its chops.

Daniel started forward again refusing to be intimidated by the small fluffy animal, but the dog was on its feet again in an instant. Unbelievably Daniel found his feet moving backwards away from the dog. He could swear that the animal was grinning at him. He saw in distress that his phone was lying on the floor next to the dog. It must have fallen out of pocket when the animal had bitten him. He took a step towards it and the dog walked forward a couple of paces and sat down on the phone. His chance to call for help was lost.

It continued on for the next hour. Every time that Daniel tried to deliver on a street the dog appeared out of nowhere to block his path. He had worked his route for longer than he could remember and he knew every back alley shortcut in his district. And yet somehow the dog continued to appear out of thin air. He began to see a strange taunting in the animal's eyes as though the dog was having the time of its life. What had begun as a mild annoyance was rapidly escalating into a panic attack. He tried several times to rush the dog, to race past it, to out run it, but the animal seemed to antic.i.p.ate his every turn. All he had to show for his efforts were more small puncture marks on his calves and ankles. His insides were churning with frustration and a growing incredulity.

He was about to head home when he spotted a cop on the corner. He checked the road and found that it was devoid of wildlife and made for the officer.

"Excuse me!" He called and the cop turned.

"Can I help you sir?" The man asked.

"I'm trying to complete my route and there's a vicious dog that's been chasing me," Daniel explained.

"Has it attacked you?"

"Yes several times, it's out of control and it's going to hurt somebody."

"Let me call animal control," the cop said as he reached for his radio.

"Can't you take care of it?" Daniel pleaded.

"It's not really my department sir," the cop replied.

"Oh Jesus!" Daniel exclaimed softly as he spotted the dog round the corner. "There it is," he pointed.

The cop turned his head and his hand reached for his service revolver. His hand stopped mid-motion. "Where? Where?"

"There on the corner," Daniel pointed again.