Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix by phill syron-jones Page B

breath from the impact of the fall, even though Samuel had taken the brunt of the damage.
    “Cheers, big fella,” Steel said patting the Russian on the head.
    “What the hell was that? Did you use me as bait, you sick son-of-a-bitch?” She shouted at him, giving vent to her fear and anger.
    “No, no, you don’t have to thank me for saving your life, you’re welcome, it’s fine and I am fine, thanks for asking.”
    She stared hard at him, not knowing whether to shoot him or kiss him.
    Suddenly the exit door exploded and a mass of armed police stormed in. Tooms and Tony almost tripped over the bulk of Boris, who had run into the locked door and knocked himself out. John Steel looked across at the broken body of Samuel.
    “Just in time, aye, fellas,” he said, still winded from the fall, and then collapsed back on to the floor.
     
     

SIXTEEN
     
     
     
     
    In the blackest of nights a figure sat in a small room watching a newsflash. The room’s diminutive size made the TV’s volume seem loud, and flashes of reflected color painted the dirty brick walls. The room was empty apart from an old armchair and twelve TV sets stacked on top of one another, as if to make one large one. In the chair, the figure swiveled the remote in his long bony fingers as though it was a baton.
    The TV report showed the Russians being led away by police and Samuel on a gurney being taken to hospital, and the reporter told of the killing of the millionaire’s wife. In addition, the further information that the latest killing had been carried out using the same modus operandi as that of the serial killer who remained at large.
    The sound of crunching, breaking plastic echoed through the room as the viewer crushed the remote in one hand and tossed it into a pile of other broken zappers that lay in the corner.
    “So, Mr Samuel, you wish to blame me for your sins do you? Naughty, naughty,” he cackled, his voice scraping through the air like nails on a chalkboard. “We shall see, we shall see... Oh I think the doctor has a patient to look upon.” His laughter was low at first, then as it echoed through the building, it escalated into an eerie nightmarish howl.
    Steel made it back to his apartment. The lights were turned off but he preferred it that way, enjoying just the illumination from the city streetlights breaking up the darkness. He hung up his jacket on to the old-style hat and coat stand that stood at the doorway. Then he walked across the large room to be what appeared to be a large oak wall unit and poured himself a whiskey from drinks cabinet part of the unit. He walked up to the window and, raising his left arm as a support, leant upon the glass. Looking down he spied cars and people going on their merry way, happy and contented. Steel smiled and took a sip from the crystal glass in his hand. Next to the window there was a small table with a group of pictures of family members. He reached down and picked up one particular silver-framed photo, which was of a beautiful looking woman in her late twenties; her hair was long and brown, and her blue eyes caught the light and shone like diamonds.
    “Good night, my love.” He kissed the photo then put it back in its special place; he turned his gaze back to the city through the window and sighed. Moving to a large couch, he lay himself down and fell into a restless sleep. As John Steel slept, his nightmares visited him once more: screaming voices that seemed familiar to him but that he could not place; laughter, deep laughter possibly from a big man, then the sound of six gunshots. The laughter, the screams, and the gunshots all blurred into one cacophonous hell. There was a crash, and he woke with a start. A crash? That was a new addition to his nightmares. And then he looked down and found the glass shattered on the wooden floor.
    “Oh great, don’t tell me I will need to sleep with plastic glasses from now on,” he muttered to himself. He stepped over the glass and headed