Blood Storm

1

Thud…

Brief pause.

Thud…

Pause.

Thud…

Inside the bedroom of her flat in Fox Street, Viola lay naked on the floor, a gag tied round her mouth. She had been attacked the moment she entered the bedroom and switched on the light. A handkerchief lightly soaked in chloroform had been pressed over her face from behind. Her unseen assailant had carried her half-limp figure to the far side of the bed. She was dumped on the floor, began to regain consciousness. A latex-covered hand had lifted her head, slammed it down – not too hard. The towel gag had been applied to her mouth. She was vaguely aware of something awful happening to her, then the weight lifted off her. She opened her eyes.

A weird figure stood over her. Clad in a surgeon's white gown, white cap, white mask over the face, huge goggles clamped over the eyes. She couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman. Terror gripped her as she saw the gloved hand lift a meat cleaver.

Lifted high, the cleaver descended. Thud… It severed her left arm just below the elbow. She almost fainted, but the pain was so excruciating she stayed conscious. The lower arm slid a few inches free of the elbow.

The cleaver descended again, swiftly and with immense force. It sliced off the right arm below the elbow. So great was the force the blade cut straight through bone and muscle, embedded itself into the floorboard. The wielder of the blade had to wrench it strongly to release it from the wood.

Thud…

The left leg was severed cleanly below the knee. Viola's upper body was now shuddering. Her sharp teeth were tearing at the gag, now only a reflex action.

Thud…

The right leg below the knee was parted from the rest of the body. A lake of blood slithered over the floor. The figure clad in white also wore outsize thick white canvas covers over its normal shoes.

Viola's teeth ripped open the gag. Her mouth opened wide on the verge of a terrible yell.

Time to complete the exercise.

Thud…

The cleaver descended through her neck, separating head from body, just before Viola let out a yell of hell. The blow had severed the carotid arteries. An enormous spurt of blood jetted across the room, splashed all over the frosted-glass window overlooking the street.

The white-clad figure sighed aloud, pulled up a sleeve, checked the time. 11.15 p.m. Time to make the arrangement, then leave quickly.