Table of Contents:

Chapter One: He Blinded me with Science

Chapter Two: An Offer you can't Refuse

Chapter Three: Dark Symbols



Chapter Four: Poetic Justice

- - -

Half annoyed and half aggravated, the President once again found himself alone in the dark. "Damn scotch," he cursed while kicking at the large shards of glass on the floor. "Pretty sure I have another one in the cabinet," he declared, almost as if there was someone there to actually hear. As he slowly made his way back toward the stairs to the office, his flashlight began to fade, emitting only a dim intermittent light.

President Ben Dover: "Ahhh, stupid batteries," as he banged the side of the flashlight with the palm of his hand. "This night just keeps getting better and better!"

Somewhat predictably, the banging of the flashlight failed to produce a brighter beam, and as Ben Dover rounded the final corner, he stubbed his toe on a box he was certain wasn't there a few minutes ago. "Damn it," he cried out in pain, while hunching forward with one leg in the air to get his weight off it. And there in the dim flickering light, while waiting for the pain to subside, Ben failed to notice a single sheet of paper fall from the clutches of his left hand. Almost as if set to music, it fluttered and danced silently to the ground, landing safely behind the box that wasn't there.

A few minutes later, Ben stood rifling through his office drawers searching for a fresh set of batteries. Alas his efforts were to no avail. 'Enough of this nonsense,' he thought to himself as he turned to the more rewarding task of finding the last bottle of scotch. "There we go, come to Daddy!" And with that, Ben cracked the lid and took another stiff celebratory swig.

Ben Dover: "Now then, time to get rid of the evidence!"

The collection of paperwork in his left hand was none other than the original composite data sheets, that is, technical documents that proved the SHL pucks had been tampered with. And so his plan was laid bare, as the entirety of his late night activity amounted to an elaborate cover up of his own financial greed. While Dover could have easily shredded the evidence in his office, for some reason he thought it more ironic to destroy the proof in the very same acid bath used to coagulate the natural rubber. That way the incriminating papers would be completely eaten, and there'd be no scraps for anyone to gather.

Standing at the foot of the bath, with his flashlight now completely dead, Ben Dover took one final swig of scotch before kissing the papers goodbye. "In you go my little darlings, and thanks to you I'll be a very wealthy man!" From the instant the papers contacted the acid they began to bubble and burst, quickly disintegrating until nary a trace was left.

Ben Dover: "And now, home sweet home."

Having barely uttered the final syllable, for the second time tonight, there was a sudden loud noise coming from behind.

Ben Dover: "Thomas, is that you again? I thought I told you to go home!"

But this time there was no answer. Only darkness and the sense of an ominous presence. As spine tingling terror suddenly shot up Ben Dover's back, his hand instinctively released, causing the last bottle of scotch to plummet to its shattered fate below. A split second later, the President couldn't move as he trembled in sheer horror at the unseen grasp that held him in its grip. With his lip quivering, he tried with all his might to break free and resist, but his struggles were all in vain.

With enormous bulging eyes, Ben was rapidly lifted off his feet and forced down into the same acid bath that claimed the papers only moments ago. There was no escape, only the agonizing groans and splashes of a dying man until he could splash no more.

- - - - - - -

To be continued...

Quote: 724 Words