STORY-Jan BRYN

I could not get Stella out of my mind, nor the fate of her little girl. I constantly rehearsed what had happened that day. In fact, I rehearsed the case as a whole, going into every action, the nook and crannies of life, from the time I received the contract to the moment I plunged the knife into her neck.

The following day I received an email indicating in the usual oblique fashion that a new contract was on its way. Consequently, I walked into town, opening the safe box I used in such eventualities. I was always cautious of course, constantly looking to see whether I was followed, but in truth its unlikely that the authorities knew of my existance let alone my occupation. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to be careful.

I opened the safety box and withdrew the white envelope it contained. I immediately locked the box again. I sought a nearby coffee shop, one I didn't normally use, and opened the envelope, taking out its contents. Sipping my over-expensive coffee, I slowly went through each page. My next victim differed little from previous ones, middle-aged, male, rich, powerful and anonymous. The price on this one was 20 grand. Enough, I thought, for the holiday Julie craved.

"Not enough." A small voice said from behind me.

Startled, I quickly turned around finding myself staring down at a small girl who possessed the most knowing eyes I have ever seen on a 4 year old.

"My mother was worth more than that."

Looking at her pale face, I had a sudden if uncertain recognition.

"Do I know you little girl, and where is your mother?"

"Where you left her."

"What?" I replied noticing that people were now watching me oddly.

"In our flat. On the kitchen floor."

"Sorry?" My face was now as pale as hers.

"No one visited us. She is still there, decomposing."

I wondered how a child of her age could possibly know such a term, or understand it.

"I am too. In the bedroom. I couldn't get out. I couldn't find food or anything to drink."

"Who are you, little girl?" I now asked, confused and frightened.

"Stella's daughter." She responded quickly. "You killed us."

I made a rumbling noise, involuntarily expressing my horror.

"You alright, mate?"

A man a few tables away from me asked, looking concerned.

"Something wrong?" He continued.

"No," I replied, finishing my coffee and rushing out into the street.

I turned, searching the vicinity, but there was no more sign of her.

"Money in bank?"

"Yeah. Went in this morning. No probs."

I strolled into the living room, crashing down in front of the TV.

"When you're ready, love. A coffee would be nice." I said.

As I watched the news an image of Stella, my recent victim, flashed through my mind. As I struggled with the vision of her beautiful smile as she opened the door, letting me in, Julie appeared alongside my armchair a mug of coffee in her hand.

"Penny for your thoughts." She said as I took the mug from her.

"Nothing much. Just tired I guess." I replied.

She placed a hand on my forehead and began caressing away the worry lines gathered there. I smiled up at her.

"Better?" She asked.

I nodded.

"Hon, the money'll help pay the morgage and Timothy's term in school, but we need much more if we are to get a decent holiday this year."

I nodded again-in agreement.

She put her arms around my neck.

"And, hon, I want to go somewhere really nice Somewhere really exotic."

She kissed my forehead.

"I want you to surprise me."

She let go and returned slowly to the kitchen.

"Dinners ready!" She called.

STORY-A killer, his family life and the wrong killing. JAN BRYN

What was it about her death? Why did I feel so guilty killing some one who really seemed no different to my other victims? She'd been no prettier, probably no more moral or saintly, no more, or less, intelligent. I stared down at her body feeling devastated by my action. I dropped the knife to the floor, scrutinising the blood flowing along its edge. After a while, I dropped to my haunches and fixed my eyes on her slim, inert form, her dress riding up her thigh, her lifeless blue eyes, the jagged wound in her side.

The cries of her small child locked in the bedroom brought me to my senses. Again and again that plaintive voice sounded:

"Mummy, mummy."

I picked up the knife and put it back in my bag. I stood up and walked out.




"How've you been, hon?" Julie asked as I came in through the kitchen door.

"Fine." I replied.

"How did work go."

"Really good. No probs."  

She kissed me on the cheek.

"Dinner's ready in five minutes. Waiting on the beef."

I nodded. It was good to come home nowadays. The house was warm, children tugged up in bed, dinner in the oven.

"Was she another squealer, or did she die quickly?"

"Made little noise." I replied. "Purred a bit that's all."

mohammed

Throughout Mohammed's religious career, he appears to have been invisible to all outside commentators. He is not mentioned until some time after his supposed death. In fact, very little of the early events in the Koran, like the Gospels, is historically verifiable. There is no evidence for slaughter of the innocents, and of course none for the visit of the Magi. A very curious matter indeed, with Zoroastrian priests bringing ritualistic gifts to another god. There is no contemporary evidence for Medina and Mecca as bustling urban sites, nor any for Mohammed.