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A Black Swan event is unprecedented,
impossible to predict and has a huge impact.
Afterwards, it is rationalised by hindsight as if
it should have been anticipated.
Nassim Nicholas Taleb
‘The player who understands the role of the pawn, who really understands it, can master the game of chess,’ the man said. ‘They might be the weakest piece on the board but pawns dictate where and when your opponent can attack. They restrict the mobility of the so-called bigger pieces and they determine where the battle squares will be.’
The woman stared at him in confusion. She’d just woken and was feeling groggy.
And sore.
She twisted her head and searched for the source of her pain. It didn’t take long.
‘What have you done?’ she mumbled.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s old-fashioned catgut so the sutures are a bit agricultural, but they’re supposed to be. It’s not used any more but I needed the “wick effect”. That’s when infection enters the wound through the suture. It will ensure the scar stays livid and crude. A permanent reminder of what has happened.’
He picked up a pair of heavy-duty rib shears.
‘Although not for you, of course.’
The woman thrashed and writhed but it was no use. She was bound tight.
The man admired the exacting lines of the surgical instrument. Turned it so the precision steel caught the light. Saw his face reflected in the larger blade. He looked serious. This wasn’t something he particularly enjoyed.
‘Please,’ the woman begged, fully awake now, ‘let me go. I promise you, I won’t say anything.’
The man walked round and held her left hand. He stroked it affectionately.
‘I’ve had to wait for the anaesthetic to wear off so this is going to hurt, I’m afraid. Believe me when I say I wish it didn’t have to.’
He placed her ring finger between the blades of the rib shears and squeezed the handles together. There was a crunch as the razor-sharp edges sliced through bone and tendon as if they weren’t there.
The woman screamed then passed out. The man stepped away from the spreading pool of blood.
‘Where was I?’ he said to himself. ‘Ah, yes, we were talking about pawns. Beginners think they’re worthless, there to be sacrificed – but that’s because they don’t know when to use them.’
He removed a coil of wire from his pocket. It had toggles at each end. He placed them between the index and middle finger of each hand. In a practised movement he wrapped the wire around the woman’s neck.
‘Because knowing when to sacrifice your pawns is how the game is won.’
He pulled the garrotte taut, grunting as the cruel wire bit into her skin, severing her trachea, crushing her jugular vein and carotid artery. She was dea
d in seconds.
He waited an hour then took the other finger he needed.
He carefully arranged it in a small plastic tub, keeping it separate from the others. He looked at his macabre collection with satisfaction.
It could begin now.
The other pawns were in position.
They just didn’t know it yet …
Chapter 1
Christmas Eve
It was the night before Christmas and all wasn’t well.
It had started like it always did. Someone asking, ‘Are we doing Secret Santa this year?’ and someone else replying, ‘I hope not,’ both making a pact to avoid mentioning it to the office manager, both secretly planning to mention it as soon as possible.
And before anyone could protest, the decision had been made and the office was doing it again. The fifteenth year in a row. Same rules as last year. Five-quid limit. Anonymous gifts. Nothing rude or offensive. Gifts that no one wanted. A total waste of everyone’s time.
At least that’s what Craig Hodgkiss thought. He hated Secret Santa.
He hated Christmas too. The yearly reminder that his life was shit. That, while the colleagues he outwardly sneered at were going home to spend Christmas with their families and loved ones, he’d be spending it on his own.
But he really hated Secret Santa.
