Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law Read Online Free Page A

Matt recognised it: his toolbox.
    It had been in his bedroom for a while now. Helen had wanted some bookshelves putting up. It was a job he was continually putting off. Up until now, his avoidance of the toolbox had become a standing joke. Helen had taken to leaving it by the side of the bed in the belief that if he kept stubbing his toes on it, he would just get the shelves up, to save crippling himself every morning. Now, however, it couldn’t be further from amusing; it looked dark and sinister in the half-light, casting long shadows across the floor that nearly touched his feet.
    The intruder gently laid the box down on the floor in front of him, and he felt an icy cold hand clutching at his bowels. A bead of sweat released itself from the back of his neck and snaked its way down between his shoulder blades and into the crevice of his buttocks.
    The intruder sensed his rising panic and started to move slower and more deliberately.
    Looking sideways at Matt, the intruder stooped down and reached around inside the toolbox. Matt’s eyes were glued to the figure, as he watched a gloved hand reached into the toolbox and pulled out an electric drill. A muffled squeal escaped Matt.
    Eyes never moving from the drill, Matt began struggling with his bindings, causing the chair to sway.
    “In a minute I shall untie you, and you will have five minutes to escape.”
    Matt suddenly felt a brief moment of relief; he knew that within thirty seconds of being released he could be out of his apartment and back in the safety of his car.
    “Do you understand?”
    Matt nodded.
    “However,” the voice continued.
    “Perhaps I should mention that when—or should I say if —you make your escape, you’ll be doing so with holes through both your ankles.”
    On cue, the drill screamed into life.
    That was when Matt passed out.
    Going through to the kitchen the intruder filled a glass with water and taking it back to the lounge threw the water in Matts face.
    Coughing and spluttering Matt awoke. There was soft music playing in the background. Then reality crashed down on him as a familiar voice reached him from across the room
    “Ok, Matt, I can see you’ll need a little help, so I have generously decided to administer you a little anaesthetic to stop you passing out from the pain.”
    Matt wasn’t sure what worried him more, the content of the statement, or the jovial, conversational tone that had been used.
    All of a sudden, the intruder was upon him. Matt barely had chance to react, and the needle pushed easily through the flesh and found its mark. As the plunger was deployed, he felt the sickly, cold feeling of the condemned man.
    The intruder headed back to the toolbox to collect the necessary instrument, and Matt started to feel a little light-headed. By the time he had returned, Matt had convinced himself that he wouldn’t feel a thing, but as the drill sparked into life and made its way toward his right ankle, all he could think was that he’d never play rugby again. He briefly wondered if he’d live to see his unborn child—the child that had been the catalyst for his impromptu proposal.
    As the drill ripped straight through the skin and hit the bone, he felt pain so acute he threw up. The gag prevented the vomit leaving the confines of his mouth, and he swallowed it back down. He willed himself to pass out. But the anaesthetic and adrenaline coursing through his veins was making it impossible for his body to switch off.
    After what seemed like a lifetime of pain had been administered, the drill finally fell silent. Taking a penknife the intruder approached Matt once more and cut through the binds of his hands and what remained of the ones around his ankles. Somewhere in the back of his mind Matt was aware that the grinding had stopped, and he forced himself to look down. He instantly regretted the decision. Flesh and blood made up most of the floor space around him, and white flecks of bone shone within the blood. The