Murderous by David Hickson (best ereader for comics .txt) 📕

thumb. I couldn’t give him that moment, because I had little doubt that he would lift the thumb when he’d had the time to think it through. As long as he had no time to think, his thumb would stay where it was. “Show it to me,” I shouted again, and this time it was almost a scream. Both Piet and Melissa pulled back in fright.

Roelof’s right arm was in the arm-sling, as if he had sprained it. Within the cloth of the sling, I could see the outline of his hand holding the joystick trigger. Roelof dropped the tablet to the floor where it bounced off the soft carpet, and he reached with his left hand for the Ruger. He pulled it out and pointed it at me. His left hand was not his shooting hand, so it was hardly a threat, but it was gaining him time.

The dead man’s trigger presents many complex problems, and I didn’t have the time to think them through. I wanted badly to squeeze the trigger of the Glock and rid the world of Roelof, but I knew that would kill Hendrik and all around him. And possibly Fat-Boy and the police officers gathered around him too.

“This man’s thumb is on a trigger,” I announced to the room, keeping the volume up high so there would be no refuge for Roelof’s mind. “A trigger that is linked to explosives strapped to your son’s body. Show us the trigger, Roelof.”

“That’s nonsense,” said Roelof, and his tongue flickered over his lips unpleasantly. The Ruger wobbled, and I guessed he wanted to fire another bullet at me, but he realised that my words had changed the situation.

“What’s he talking about, Rudi?” said Piet.

“He’s a criminal,” said Roelof. “He’s a thief, a con man …”, but his voice had a new desperate whine, and his words were like the pleading of a drowning man.

“Please, would somebody tell me what the fuck is going on?” said Piet.

Melissa’s big, blue eyes had been gazing at us in a dizzy way, as if she’d over-juiced herself. But then she did an extraordinary thing. She stepped up to Roelof and reached up a hand to touch his arm. His attention was still on me and the Glock. It flickered, but he didn’t look at her. She stroked his arm and pushed the Ruger gently aside with the other hand, then reached her hand around him as if she was about to embrace him. Instead, her hand made its way into the sling and wrapped itself around his right hand. A long-nailed thumb with glittering nail polish pressed down onto his thumb. Roelof looked down, and he shook his hand as if trying to shake a spider from it. But Melissa’s hand stuck, and her thumb held his in place.

I felt the impulse to squeeze the trigger now. I could drop Roelof with a single shot. But he was heavier than Melissa, and the sudden failure of his muscles would likely rip his hand and the trigger from her grasp, no matter how tightly she was clinging to it. I stayed the impulse, and Roelof looked back up at me with a glow of triumph in his eyes. He knew I couldn’t do it.

“Is it true, Rudi?” said Piet, his voice shaking.

Roelof turned to Piet, and he opened his mouth to say something. He didn’t notice Melissa reaching down between her legs and drawing out the blade she’d been so pleased with that evening on the farm. She flicked it, and Roelof heard the slide and click. He turned back towards her, and Melissa clasped herself against him, trapping the hand with the Ruger, and she pressed the blade into his neck, below the ear and behind the jaw. A small burst of blood spattered over her delicate hand.

“Look at me, Roelof,” she said. “I want to see you die.”

Roelof opened his mouth, and tried to back away, but if there was one thing Melissa was good at, it was draping herself over a man. She sliced downward and to the side, and Roelof made a horrified gasping sound. His head came forward as if that might stop the gushing blood. Melissa dropped the knife and placed a second hand around her first to keep the button depressed. Roelof tried to say something, but no more than a gurgle came out with the blood. His legs sagged, and Melissa helped him down to his knees, keeping both her hands around his trigger hand. When he was kneeling, he looked up at me as if pleading with me to end it all, and for a moment I thought I would. Out of kindness. But there was no need. He subsided onto the plush carpet and his body started to twitch.

“What have you done, girl?” said Piet.

Melissa looked up at him from her kneeling position beside the twitching Roelof.

“What have you done?” repeated Piet, and his voice quavered with the horror of it. He dropped his glass, and it bounced on the soft carpet with a small clatter of ice cubes.

Melissa couldn’t find words for what she had done, but she looked down at her hands clutching Roelof’s hand over the trigger. I went to her side, and helped her peel off first one of her thumbs, then the other, placing my thumb over Roelof’s. I found the latch and carefully slid it over the button. Roelof’s hand dropped to the floor. He was still making gurgling noises and was twitching more violently. He moved his hand as if he was going to try to crawl out of the room, but it found Melissa’s ankle and clutched at it. Melissa sobbed and turned to me. I wrapped my arms around her.

“What the fuck!” said Piet suddenly, and it was a desperate cry. I looked up. Piet was staring at the widescreen television and his mouth was hanging open as if there were more words to come, but he’d run out of breath.

On the screen