Bang by Charles Kennedy Scott Read Free Book Online

couldn’t close her eyes. She put her hands over
her eyes but she looked through her fingers. ‘Next the collateral ligaments,’
said the man, with enthusiasm. ‘This is fun. It wasn’t just a job to me, you
know, cutting people up, it was my hobby too. Never thought I’d get to have a
go on me though. What a treat. Like a knife through butter, look at that.
Marvellous. I do so love a good sharp saw.’
    ‘Please stop,’ said Delilah.
    ‘My name is Jeremy,’ said the fat man. ‘Pleased to
meet you.’ And held out a hand, and then, and with a crack, he was gone.
    Delilah dropped a third of a metre or so, as did every
prisoner, and was jerked to a halt. The whole rig was interconnected. For every
jumper or faller, every remaining prisoner descended. Delilah calculated that
if all the prisoners fell, the rig would reach the ground, where without her
own weight locking the hook down, she’d be able to unfasten her bed, cradle,
and rush for the Exit door, on whose handle hung a cardboard sign
proclaiming, Back in five mins . But as she contemplated this impossible
conundrum, the turbines started up. And they churned the air, and they churned
the light. And you couldn’t get to sleep. Not in a place like this. But this
was the System and in the System sleep was not advised, not recommended. Sleep
was, by and large, a mistake. And for the ninety-eight other prisoners to fall
to the ground? It just wasn’t going to happen. Not in the System. The System offered
the hope. But that was all. Then the System took the hope away. This Delilah
was coming to learn. This was the System.

 
     
    3
– A Murder
     
     
    ‘You were witness to a murder,’ said Officer JJ
Jeffrey in his pith sun helmet to protect him from the dripping ceiling.
Delilah guessed they were under the juddering Shower Unit, and that it leaked,
and that she was therefore now on Floor 102. Which was bad news. She was fixed
to a post in the centre of the dripping room, Wet Room 102. A drip dripped on
her head every ten seconds. It was sending her crazy. You decided you wouldn’t
go mad, she thought, and this was what they did, they decided you would. She
glanced about and demanded, angrily, ‘A murder?’
    ‘That’s right, prisoner, a murder, damn you. A man is
dead. What do you have to say about that? He cannot talk, he’s a goner. He
tried to talk, of course, they always do, just before he passed away, but was
unable to speak because his teeth had grown hairs. Extraordinary. The coroner
was flabbergasted – never seen anything like it. He’s been sent away for
experiments. The prisoner, that is, not the coroner. What do you have to say
for yourself? You were his friend, the prisoner’s, not the coroner’s. Am I
making myself clear? You were “in” with the prisoner, weren’t you? So, what are
you hiding? The two of you fell out and you killed him. It’s happened before.
You did him in. Admit it. You bumped him off.’
    ‘He did it himself,’ said Delilah. ‘You’re not laying
this one on me.’ Drip Drip.
    ‘Can you prove this? You are the only one that saw
anything.’
    ‘There were others. Many others.’ Drip drip.
    ‘No, they were all asleep. Fast asleep. Dreaming deep
dreams, I shouldn’t wonder, in the luxury of Dormitory 100. I often walk by
Dormitory 100 and pop my head round the door and look up thinking how pleasant
a catnap or forty winks I might have in those amusing little hammocks. It puts
me in mind of apple orchards, pear trees – oh imagine if such places still
existed. But I don’t go in. Do you know why? Because such extremes of comfort
would lull me into so deep a sleep that I might not wake for hours, and then
where would I be? Remiss in my duties to the Authority. An officer asleep! I
resist the temptation. But it is no surprise that the other prisoners were out
cold. Lucky them. Air-conditioning and everything. Now then, tell me how you
murdered the fat man. No, stop, don’t do that, tell me why. Then how.