The Men of Silence

The Men of Silence: Part 3

"Mr Harper, you are not the usual sort of person who is here to represent a buyer," the old man wheezed, "You are not here for one of my monsters, you are here for me."

"No!" his senses returned to him. "I have brought payment! All I want is one of your monsters in return."

"A clever front perhaps, my darling wife has confirmed it's credibility."

"Your wife? That lady out front?"

"Yes. But let us not get distracted. Let us imagine that you really do have a need for one of my monsters, let us dwell on your confession. You clearly are not pure, but then no man to step in this room ever is. But you are an exception."

"How?" the hands on his shoulders were as cold as the veiled lady's. He had lost all feeling in his shoulders.

"Have you ever taken a life without regret? Have you ever felt any pain in what you've done? Were you ever able to look the child in the eye as you sucked the life from their parents?"

He felt nothing, even as he pictured the hundred of criminals killed in his rampages, the corrupt businessmen and politicians, he felt almost empty, and there was only the smallest part of pride inside him, he had done the world a service by killing those people. Then he remembered the innocents caught in the crossfire, killed by his revolver, or cut by his knife.

"No, I feel nothing."

"You kill those who have done wrong?"

"Yes."

"You think I have done wrong?"

The hands gripped him tighter.

"Yes. You create monsters, they kill who they please."

"Do not question the loyalty of my monsters!" he hissed.

Suddenly the room filled with whispers, it was a sound from hell. He tried to make out what they were saying, and listened to the monster holding him down.

"I see everything, I hear everything, I say nothing, we breath in silence."

He shivered, the voices were chilling, disembodied, echoes from lost spirits.

"Do you hear them Mr Harper? They call out to me! They worship me! They are not mindless, they merely worship a different master than your employers, me."

"They're insane!"

"And you aren't? Mr Harper, the man to call if you want to kill the boogeyman. The man who can reshape the gangs of the city."

The ice cold hands released him.

"Take a look in that mirror and tell me what you see."

Harper stood up, legs shaking, and looked around for the mirror. It lay against the opposite wall, reflecting the moon light back into the room. He hadn't noticed it there until now, it wasn't there when he entered.

"What do you mean?"

"Look."

He did as commanded.

He saw his pale face staring back at him, eyes wild, and lips tight. There was nothing different about his reflection.

"What do you see?" gasped the old man.

"I see a killer, a man who fears nothing."

"Do you know what I see?"

"Tell me."

"My finest creation."