Author's Note: The following chapter in this story is entirely the product of this author's imagination. The views of the characters do not necessarily represent the views of the author or any other person. Be warned that sensitive readers will find some scenes extremely offensive.
*
The beginning of the end for Peter Marquis started in the home of Fidelis Oputa, a young, filthy rich, bachelor con-man who unfortunately was spending a very cold, wet, Valentine's Day and inevitably the rest of eternity at the bottom of an old, unused water cistern several miles away from his posh pad in Manchester City. His place however was far from unoccupied as a rather contented Mel (real name: Shirley Thatcher) relaxed on his soft leather sofa and leafed through a copy of Ovation (a Nigerian high society magazine) with mild disinterest. That was when she first saw a feature on the renegade politician and decided then and there that he would be her next point of call. She would stay in Fidelis' home till she got bored while she made some future plans. Tracking him down would amuse her and so would stalking her prey before she moved in for the kill. My, she thought to herself, she was really beginning to enjoy this.
***
Even though Peter Marquis' eyes were fixed steadfastly on the T.V screen, his mind was somewhere else. The talk show hostess was easy on the eye even though she was middle aged and getting to the heavy side but she still didn't register. This would seem odd since Peter never failed to appraise a fine specimen of the opposite gender but for some reason he didn't notice her. He had a deep sense of foreboding that hung over him like a dark cloud and it wouldn't go away.
He felt that someone or something was coming for him and he didn't know what it was. Did the Nigerian government intend to kidnap him and bring him home for trial like the botched Umaru Dikko kidnap plot that they hatched with the Israeli commandos? Or were his enemies sending hired assassins to kill him? But what worried him the most was that he might not live long enough to tell Caesar why he arranged to have only him sent to him for the mysterious interview. He had something shocking to tell him. Something that would change their lives forever.
His morbid train of thought suddenly derailed as he noticed that his feet were getting cold. He glanced down at his naked feet. They even looked cold. He was slightly puzzled. He took great pains to keep the central heating in perfect condition. Why were his feet and now his hands getting chilled? There must be draft somewhere.
He got up and gratefully stuck his feet into a pair of fur slippers then headed out of the living room. He quickly found the source of the draft: the kitchen window was open. He frowned. Why the hell was it open? He very rarely opened it and when he did it was during the hottest weeks of summer. Cursing to himself he pulled it shut and was about to turn away when a hand shot out from behind his head and covered his nose with a damp cloth. A sharp intake of breath was saturated with the unmistakable smell of chloroform before darkness fell.
Mel stood over the inert body, staring at it with detached curiosity. Then she smiled to herself and tossed the cloth into a bin she spied near the sink. She left the kitchen and strolled into the living room. She gazed at the T.V set for a few seconds then left the room to head for the staircase. She spent a casual ten minutes checking out the house before returning to the kitchen. Peter was still unconscious.
Mel went over to the freezer and opened it. It was practically empty. She wondered in disgust whether it was in the kitchen for cosmetic reasons. Well, she was certainly going to help him fill it.
She picked him up bodily like a sack of potatoes and dropped him in the freezer. She slammed the lid shut and locked it after him. Looking around she noticed that cooking tools were almost none existent so that meant she would have to go out and shop for them. A few people might see her but it wouldn't matter. Not yet anyway. After all they knew the man was a playboy and certainly not prejudiced to a piece of white ass. Well he wasn't going to get her ass or any other in anytime soon.
She rummaged about till she see discovered a packet of corn flakes and some milk. She sat at the kitchen table and conjured herself a quick meal. As she ate she thought up a shopping list: A butcher's knife, a saw, black plastic bags and a bottle of disinfectant. Oh, and a butcher's apron.
***
Caesar slowly surfaced from the vortex of darkness in which he had been engulfed. The first sensation to assail his senses was a pungent abattoir smell, which churned his stomach. What followed was the realization that he had been bound to a chair and gagged. The awareness of his present predicament instantly cleared the red mist that fogged his brain.
Uh-oh, he thought pensively, now he was in real trouble.
He was sitting in the kitchen and the first thing he noticed was that most of the furniture had been pushed back to create more room. He also discovered that he was not alone. Mel stood behind the kitchen table, which had also been cleared, busily arranging some black cellophane bags she had placed on top of it. She was still dressed in her previous attire but had a familiar looking colorful apron over it. Suddenly Caesar remembered what the apron reminded him of: butchers. His fears were confirmed when he spied a wicked set of kitchen knives on a rack nearby. Uh-oh...
Mel noticed he was awake and smiled at him. She actually looked beautiful. However her eyes were as lifeless as two pieces of glass. "Evening, Drearie" She said warmly, "How sweet of you to drop in. I won't be long. Just let me fix these up. I'm sure you're in the mood for some cutting edge entertainment." She giggled. "Let me entertain you" she sang the familiar Robbie Williams song.
God, he thought horrified. She was enjoying herself. He struggled frenziedly.
"Untie me, you Witch!" he wanted to yell at her but all he managed were some incoherent mumbling.
"What's the matter?" asked Mel, "Hungry? Don't Worry. Supper's coming right up." She opened one of the bags and emptied its contents on the table. What he saw nearly made him faint.
A human head lay on the table, its hideously goggling eyes staring blankly at him. He recognized the face even with all its distorted features frozen in death. It was Peter Marquis.
"I'm sorry but it seems your country man just lost his head" she said sweetly.
"I know why you're here", she continued, "That nigger loving bitch talked to you, didn't she? I watched you two from my window."
As she talked she went to the rack and picked out an immense butcher's knife. Caesar's blood ran cold. She went back to the table and raised the knife.
"Watch this" she said smiling happily and winked at him. He shuddered.
Placing the head on a wooden slab, she raised up the butcher's knife and brought it down with tremendous force on top of the skull. There was a loud sickening crack as the skull split open like a pumpkin, blood and white particles of brain matter splashed everywhere. Something cold and wet went splat on the side of his face and slowly trickled down his cheek. He shuddered violently.
Mel flicked out a long, pink tongue and absent-mindedly licked the goo of the blade of the knife like it was tomato ketchup. Caesar thought he was going to retch.
"Care for some?" she asked in a friendly voice, "There's enough for everyone."
She brought a chair up and sat down facing him. She eyed him with mild disinterest.
"Let me tell you a little story, Darling" she started slowly, "Since you are not going anywhere soon then I guess you will be free to listen. I had a sister once who was the sweetest thing in the world. The problem was that she was a nigger lover too. So much so that she married a monkey who came here all the way from Africa. Imagine a pure white girl like my sister marrying an ape? I couldn't have it and I refused to speak to her again. Then guess what happened next. This ape saddles her with a half breed, takes all her hard earned money and goes back to Africa. Janet is heartbroken. Then, unbelievably, she commits suicide... over a bloody golliwog."
There was no hint of emotion in her eyes as she spoke. She might have been talking about the weather. Caesar wanted to extend his heartfelt condolences but the gag was impeding communication.
"So now I am on a crusade to wipe out you black monkeys living on our sacred land and desecrating our women. I'm going to send you all to Hell where you belong."
Caesar had met racists in his time but this one took the cake. He began to struggle again.
"Will you stop wriggling?" she asked annoyed, "Are you not enjoying my company?"
She got up and went to the table. She soon returned with the big butcher's knife. He watched apprehensively as she took the seat again.
"Now that we've exchanged the customary pleasantries I would now like to get to the point." She playfully prodded him in the chest with the narrow end of the blade. He felt a jab of pain in response, "Now decide for me: Castration or circumcision? Oh, you are circumcised already? Then I guess it will have to be Castration then."
