Deus Ex Machina

+The machine spirit awoke, scarred and bloody angered...+

'It won't come off - his finger's too damned fat. Go and get that tree pruner from out the back.'

The 'it' in question was an unsubtly large diamond set in a simple gold band that was currently straining to encirle the sausage-like right ring finger that was causing all the problems.

The husband sighed in frustration and looked down at his t-shirt. He really should have changed first, but the urge to start was overwhelming.

Behind him, the car watched on.

His wife still stood near the door to the backyard, her hand resting gently on the hood of the 2008 Toyota Yaris, a puzzled expression on her face. The husband sighed again, but more with the patient understanding of someone who has dealt with this particular type of confusion before. With a flick of his hand, he gestured at the unconscious form bound to the garden chair.

The way they'd set it up only allowed a few feet of movement between the car and the shadowy back wall of the garage - but all the better to keep prying eyes away from their little project. The man was bound securely with white nylon rope to one of the four old deck chairs they'd had since they'd first moved in. The man's bulky arms were bound palm down to the wooden arms of the chair.

He switched languages and tried again.

Understanding dawned and the wife walked out into the backyard with a determined gait.

The husband turned his attention back to the slumped unconscious form: a youngish man of European heritage with an abundance of jewelry and hair product. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth.

It'd been easy enough to get the details from the motel where they'd been staying. Other guests had proved sufficiently informative witnesses, telling the husband about the BMW driving visitor that had caused a riot during the night and the staff were the type of fly blown yokel that were easily distracted by questions. It proved a simple task to swipe the guest book while their hunched backs were turned. One call from a public pay phone later, a brief conversation full of empty promises and an arranged meeting at a local cafe with the wife dangled as bait. Rohypnol and coke had sealed the deal.

+The machine spirit bellowed in pain, crying out for vengeance.+

The bound man was still unconscious, and it was getting late. The husband stood up slowly, his knees creaking in pain.

'Wake up'.

The words didn't register. The husband raised his right hand and struck the man across the face. He hadn't hit anyone like that before, but it felt good. The man groaned weakly, and the husband took the oppurtunity to shove an old rag into his mouth. He didn't stop stuffing it in until the man started making choking sounds.

The man shook his head slowly, trying to clear his head. He gazed around slowly with bleary eyes as he struggled to get his bearings. It was clear he had no idea what was happening.

The wife walked back in, holding a large pair of tree pruners that had seen good use. She noted that the man was awake and scowled. Walking over, she handed the tool to her husband and made a petit snorting sound. With economic movement, she spat in the man's face.

The husband pulled her back. She shook his grasp free and she went back to stand by the car, her hand again unconsciously resting protectively on the hood.

The man - more awake now - glared at the wife first in confusion and then in anger as realisation that he knew her hit. His face reddened and he struggled suddenly at the bonds. The man tried to yell for help or curse - the husband wasn't sure which - but the oil soaked rag was doing a good job of sound proofing proceedings and the bindings were strong.

The man's eyes bulged as he realised what the husband was holding. The husband hefted the pruners and gave them a couple of quick practice snaps.

'Serves you right for letting yourself go'.

The husband leaned forward, adjusting for the man's futile struggling, and after a brief moment struck.

+The machine spirit stalked, circling it's prey+

At some point during the creeping dusk, the husband noticed that the headlights of the car were illuminating the pale man in it's baleful beams. He didn't remember turning them on, or his wife either, but he found the light comforting.

It had taken a while to staunch the bleeding, but they'd been able to get what they needed without the man losing consciousness. The husband had taken a moment's rest, stepping back from his work to circle the car in an almost reverant fashion. His finger traced the fresh scars gently as he walked, the white wounds contrasting starkly with the car's industrial grey colouring. The scars started at the front of the bonnet, wound around the driver's side and over boot, back along the passenger side pannels to their origin at the start of the car. Livid scars also marked the front set of tires, and the man frowned as he remembered how the car had limped those last few kilometres home.

He finished his circuit back in front of the man. He held the ring finger up in front of the man's face.

'This must have been expensive', he said, not really wanting an answer.

He disloged the ring from the digit, and threw the latter into a corner of the garage. The man was alert enough to grunt a response, though it trailed quickly off into a low moan of pain. The wife made a derogative comment at the finger, then walked over to stand beside her husband. At some point, she had retrieved a pair of disposable gloves - almost like the type surgeons use. She'd always been the more pragmatic one of the pair.

'So let me go through this again. You..attacked...my car because you thought we'd been staying in the same room that you had the night before.'

This time, he did look at the man for an answer. None was forthcoming, so the husband put a hand slowly on the tree pruner. The man's eyes grew alarmed at this and he nodded frantically.

'Good...and you did this because you thought we'd decided to steal an ear ring that you'd left in the room?' The man shook his head again quickly.

The husband tutted slightly.

'We're better people than that', he said looking up at his wife. She gave a nod.

He grasped the ring firmly between thumb and finger and raised his hand to the man's left shoulder. The man struggled again, but it was no use. The husband pushed the tip of the diamond ring firmly into the fleshy part of the shoulder and started to slowly tear downwards and to the right. The husband's face remained passive as he did so, though his wife had an almost hungry look.The man squealed in pain, blood flecked foam working it's way around the edges of the rag.


The car sat ominously behind them both as he worked.

+The machine spirit struck out+

An angry welt opened up across the man's body and blood started to trickle down his chest. The tip of the diamond was sharp, and the stone bit deep. A muffled yelp of pain and anger leapt raggedly from the man's throat.

'We don't know what happened to your ring. What I do know is that you're a thuggish idiot that made a mistake. We were staying in the room next to you.'

The husband wiped his sweaty brow with a forearm.

He raised his hand again, this time to the man's right shoulder and reversed the stroke. The ring stuck where the two lines intersected, causing the husband to grunt with effort. The man howled again, pulling at the bonds, but the garden chair was made from a heavy hardwood and refused to budge.

Finally the husband stood back, a bloody 'X' facing up at them. It seemed that the distance between the car and the bound man had narrowed. He smiled tightly and wiped his brow again, this time leaving a bloody trail. He handed the ring to the wife. She eagerly stepped forward and started working upon the man's face.

Time passed, and the husband had to roughly shake his wife to gain her attention. The baby had started to cry and it was almost dinner time.

'Time to finish it'.

His wife stood up and arched her back stretching. She'd been at it for a long time, and she was covered in blood from fingertips to her elbows. The man had stopped his pitiful crying some time ago. The wife looked at the man stonily and with a speed that startled the husband lashed out twice in quick succession. Blood gouted from the slashes to the man's neck, and they both had to step back to avoid the most of it. The wife let the ring drop to the pool of red liquid forming on the concrete floor. The parents turned as one and left for the house and their waiting child, turning the garage light off as they went.

+The machine spirit fed+

The darkness of the garage seemed intesified by the piercing beams of the car's headlights. Blood flowed slowly and edged up against the worn tread of the car's front driver's side tyre.

In the morning, the car would be healed, it's form made whole again.

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*sigh* And that was one of a variety of vivid and imaginative scenarios my wife and I described with regards to what we would have done had we caught the guy who keyed our car over the weekend. My wife is scary when she's angry.