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All he needed now was a clown.
Anthony suddenly slunk to his knees, whimpering. Why had that thought entered his head? A clown was the last thing he needed now. He never, ever wanted to see a clown again for as long as he lived.
“No, no, no…”
Anthony dropped the pepper spray and syringe, covering his face with his hands.
“No, no… please don’t do this to me.”
Anthony snorted, almost choking with the size of the sobs. Why was it happening? Why did it keep happening?
But deep down, he knew the answer to that one.
In short, Anthony was a bastard. He had never cared about anyone but himself. And if the truth be known, neither had any of the DPA team, which was why they made such a good quartet. They were hard and brutal and were able to make split second decisions without emotion when it counted.
Which had done them absolutely no favours in the long run. It certainly hadn’t helped three of them. And it was unlikely to benefit him, either.
The music suddenly stopped, spreading the whole place with a deathly silence.
Oh, God, no. Anthony glanced upwards: left, right, his head spinning like a top. He reached down to the floor, grabbing the syringe and the mace.
He wasn’t sure which he
actually preferred – the silence or the music.
Suddenly, on the other side of the mirror, he heard a movement. It was slight and, if pressed, he would have said it was a footstep.
Anthony stopped breathing, trying desperately to rise to his full height without making a sound. One of his knees clicked, which sounded like a whip cracking. Anthony froze.
He glanced left and right, and up again, hoping to Christ whoever it was had not chosen to come around the other side of the mirror. Maybe they were doing exactly the same as him.
They? Who the hell were they? It could only be Roger Hunter. There was no one else in here. It was him and Roger. So that’s who had to be on the other side.
The music started again.
Somewhere in the night
Turning to the right
Something clicks inside of your head
A taste of mystery
Creeping all in
Shadows of the unknown dread
Superstitious feeling
Superstitious feeling
Anthony crouched back down, too terrified to move. He wanted to stay there forever, no matter how bad the situation, no matter how many mirrors, and no matter how many times he had to put up with that dreadful song. If he could stay here without moving, nothing bad would happen.
Not a chance. Whoever was on the other side of the mirror, moved; and the mirror moved slightly.
It was enough for Anthony. He knew he couldn’t stay there all night, or even the next five minutes. Because whoever was there, sounded like he was coming round.
Anthony made up his mind. It was now or never. No turning back. Time to grow a pair of bollocks.
