Listen To My Cry So it begins I felt them approaching before I heard the tentative rap on the front door. Holding my hands against my ears I frantically searched for my ear muffs. Stuffing them over my head and pulling on two thick hats over the top I cautiously stepped down the stairs, crabbing down them sideways in a vain attempt to protect myself from the mental onslaught I knew was on its away and was already beginning to make my head throb. I had heard them clamouring on their approach to my door; who was going to knock, what I�d be like but I had thought I could handle it. Their voices screaming into me so loudly I felt my head pound despite the head-wear. I remembered that it had been a long time since I had had guests. I fought to listen to each one, pick each voice out and assess its owner, drawing in one voice and then blocking the other, shifting on to the next. Listening to their intent, deciding if they were safe. I thought I had done all I could do to stop any intrusion but every now and then it someone made their way here. These people were different as they wanted to speak to me for what I was, not to sell me something or to test me. Most people approaching the house were put off by my rudimentary but legal deterrents. The front entrance wound in from the road with a large mail box dominating it. It was labelled with instructions for the postman and delivery men as to how to leave packages and not to approach the door. Next door to the mail box hung a huge rusty iron gate with heavy spikes mounted on the top. If they dared to stumble through, requiring determination to push it on its rusty hinges, they encountered layers of carefully un-pruned heavy blackberry bushes growing over the path, their thorns protruding clumsily into piles of nettles around which I carefully removed all traces of dock leaves. The path itself is dangerously cracked and overgrown with patches of slippery moss and squelchy mud, even in summer where the dense growth around it sheltered it from the suns drying rays. The surrounding garden is a mass of huge spider-covered trees and prickly shrubs. Half way down the winding path is a large lockable storage cupboard which the food delivery agents and my publishers courier had keys to so even they don�t have to come up to the door. I�m sure they curse me each time they have to tread the path. Beyond that is a disastrously overgrown and treacherous pond with another cracked path looping round to the front door. The door frame itself cracked and worn out bearing no bell or door-knocker. Occasionally school boys dared each other to knock on my door but the lack of bell or knocker and the flickering shadows caused by a (purposefully) mis-wired lamp usually sent them scuttling off in fear. Despite this, this trio had made it all the way to my door. I cursed slightly under my breath, trying to hum to myself to numb the noise down but it kept coming. I opened the door on the chain and stepped back, shielding my ears for a second until the worst died down then I spoke up. �I want one of you officers only. The other two go away and wait � choose a spokesperson and they can come back�. I pushed the door closed and rushed to the kitchen to get away from the noise as it reached another peak, all the while forcing myself to listen to the overtones of the noise to make sure they were who I had taken them to be. I grabbed a glass of water and two paracetemols for the oncoming headache and waited for one of them to return. Five minutes later there was a hesitant tap on the door and I lifted an ear-muff, experimentally. Listening carefully then dropping the muff back over my ear I headed down the corridor and opened the door to a young man. Standing about 6�1� with sparkling brown eyes he seemed to be apologising for his presence with his stance. I glanced at him and opened the door a little more to allow him through. He stepped past me with a rapid glance round the surroundings then stepped into the front room that I was gesturing to. �I know, you expected it to be run-down� I commented glancing round the immaculately designed interior. �You also expected me to be older� I said, risking removing the first of the two hats and gingerly testing the air. �I don�t know what makes a young detective....� he nodded �think that someone like me can find a murderer that your whole force can�t find� I pulled the other hat off, realising he really was alone and his intent was clear and so less likely to explode my mind. His eyes blinked rapidly and his face began to pale. �And no, I don�t think that Jeff owes you a pint for talking to a nutter like me...I�m not that abnormal�. I said removing my ear muffs and fluffing up my hair, waiting for him to stop swallowing air and find his voice. I sat down patiently and waited, hands crossed on my lap, a little nervous that I had totally scared him into not talking. He swallowed hard and regained a little composure. �Um...I guess that answers my question, you aren�t a fake, now let me answer yours.� I looked at him and smiled. �No need,� I said, �I know. I will stop doing it in a minute so don�t worry, but it is hard to stop so bear with me.� I screwed my face up and felt sweat trickle down it as I concentrated. As I opened my eyes I saw the familiar bursts of colour in my vision, they faded and I tested the air, wiping the droplets from my forehead and lip. Silence. No voices. �Now...I�m sorry about that but I do have to check out the authenticity of who is approaching. I can read thoughts that are at the front of people�s minds all the time unless I really focus on blocking but I can only focus for hours rather than forever. If I delve into an individual mind I can see all there is to see like it�s a book and all other voices are blocked but again, this is only for hours rather than forever. That�s why I wear this get-up� I say, gesturing to the pile of hats and ear muffs. �Not beautiful but it serves a purpose. I hear voices as if they were real so it helps, muffles them. It also means that I only heard what you were thinking right then so you needn�t worry if you have any deep dark secret!� He was beginning to regain his composure and he began rummaging in a bag. He looked at me and opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head, smiling. �You probably know most of it already,� he said, gaining momentum with each word. �I am DS Jonathan Garner, heading up the investigation into a multiple killer. You may have read about him in the news...� his sentence trailed off as he remembered the gauntlet he�d run to get in here and imagined a paper-boy trailing through that. I gestured at the plasma telly and digital receiver in the corner of the room. Smiling at that he proceeded to explain that the killer had defied them so far but he was upping the stakes and they needed to stop him as soon as they could. He reached out to his bag and grabbed a large envelope from it �and this is why we need you...we need to stop this man and how you can do it.� He began to flick through photos of bodies on mortuary slabs, each had the same image burnt into the flesh on the centre of the forehead. The symbol showed a pyramid with a swirl in the centre. Not overly sinister until the realisation sunk in that they were burnt into the flesh of a human being. There must have been thirty or so of these victims. DS Garner explained that most were mediums or involved in the occult in some way so they had been exploring cult leaders and religious extremists. This had led to nothing and then last week, things had turned sinister. He reached into his bag again and retrieved another envelope. This one bore marks all over it indicating it was confidential and for authorised persons only. �The murderer upped the stakes a little two weeks ago and has struck every other day since then in this new pattern.� He hesitated for a second, searching my eyes to see if I had picked up what was to come. �The victims are left alive but....� he said pouring the contents of the envelope onto the table �they can�t communicate�. I scanned the photos he�d scattered onto the table. Bright flashed of red caught my attention and it took me a moment to recognise the human form in the centre of each. From the photo wide lidless eyes screamed out to me above lipless mouths, blood crusted round the mouths where the tongues had been removed ad cauterised. Their arms were tied at the wrists as, below that, they had been amputated. The scene behind them smothered in blood and gore. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the bathroom. On my knees I retched over the toilet again and again with my hands clamped firmly to my ears.
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