Part 25 (2/2)

'I'm ... I'm afraid so, my dear,' he faltered.

'Why?' I asked, stalling for time.'

'We need the ... need the-'

'For Panjandrum's sake get on with it!' snapped Mrs Pa.s.ser-by, who seemed to be the chief instigator of all this, 'I need my emotional fix!'

'Wait!' I said. 'You're after emotion emotion?

'They call us Sentiment Junkies,' said Mr Townsperson nervously. 'It's not our fault. We are Generics rated between C-7 and D-3; we don't have many emotions of our own but are smart enough to know what we're missing.'

'If you don't kill her, I shall!' mumbled Mr Rustic, tapping my 'husband' on the elbow. He pulled away.

'She has a right to know,' he remarked. 'She is my wife, after all.'

He looked nervously left and right.

'Go on.'

'We started with humorous one-liners that offered a small kick. That kept us going for a few months but soon we wanted more: laughter, joy, happiness in any form we could get it. Thrice-monthly garden fetes, weekly harvest festivals and tombola four times a day were not enough; we wanted ... the hard stuff hard stuff.'

'Grief,' murmured Mrs Pa.s.ser-by, 'grief, sadness, sorrow, loss we wanted it but we wanted it strong strong.

Ever read On Her Majesty's Secret Service On Her Majesty's Secret Service?'

I nodded.

'We wanted that. Our hearts raised by the happiness of a wedding and then dashed by the sudden death of the bride!'

I stared at the slightly crazed Generics. Unable to generate emotions synthetically from within the confines of their happy rural idyll, they had embarked upon a systematic rampage of enforced weddings and funerals to give them the high they desired. I looked at the graves in the churchyard and wondered how many others had suffered this fate.

'We will all be devastated by your death, of course,' whispered Mrs Pa.s.ser-by, 'but we will get over it the slower the better!'

'Wait!' I said. 'I have an idea!'

'We don't want ideas, my love,' said Mr Townsperson, pointing the gun at me again, 'we want emotion emotion.'

'How long will this fix last?' I asked him. 'A day? How sad can you be for someone you barely know?'

They all looked at one another. I was right. The fix they were getting by killing and burying me would last until teatime if they were lucky.

'You have a better idea?'

'I can give you more emotion than you know how to handle,' I told them. 'Feelings so strong you won't know what to do with yourselves.'

'She's lying!' cried Mrs Pa.s.ser-by dispa.s.sionately. 'Kill her now I can't wait any longer! I need the sadness! Give it to me!'

'I'm Jurisfiction,' I told them. 'I can bring more jeopardy and strife into this book than a thousand Blytons could give you in a lifetime!'

'You could?' echoed the townspeople excitedly, lapping up the expectation I was generating.

'Yes and here's how I can prove it. Mrs Pa.s.ser-by?'

'Yes?'

'Mr Townsperson told me earlier he thought you had a fat a.r.s.e.'

'He said what what?' she replied angrily, her face suffused with joy as she fed off the hurt feelings I had generated.

'I most certainly said no such thing!' bl.u.s.tered Mr Townsperson, obviously feeling a big hit himself from the indignation.

'Us too!' yelled the townsfolk excitedly, eager to see what else I had in my bag of goodies.

'Nothing before you untie me!'

They did so with great haste; sorrow and happiness had kept them going for a long time but they had grown bored I was here in the guise of dealer, offering new and different experiences.

I asked for my gun and was handed it, the townspeople watching me expectantly like a dodo waiting for marshmallows.

'For a start,' I said, rubbing my wrists and throwing the wedding ring aside, 'I can't remember who got me pregnant!'

There was a sudden silence.

'Shocking!' said the vicar. 'Outrageous, morally repugnant mmmm!'

'But better than that,' I added, 'if you had killed me you would also have killed my unborn son guilt like that could have lasted for months!'

'Yes!' yelled Mr Rustic. 'Kill her now!'

I pointed the gun at them and they stopped in their tracks 'You'll always regret not having killed me,' I murmured.

The townsfolk went quiet and mused upon this, the feeling of loss coursing through their veins.

'It feels wonderful!' said one of the farmworkers, taking a seat on the gra.s.s to focus his mind more carefully on the strange emotional pot-pourri offered by a missed opportunity of double murder. But I wasn't done yet.

'I'm going to report you to the Council of Genres,' I told them, 'and tell them how you tried to kill me you could be shut down and reduced to text!'

I had them now. They all had their eyes closed and were rocking backwards and forwards, moaning quietly.

'Or perhaps,' I added, beginning to back away, 'I won't.'

I pulled off the wedding dress at the lichgate and looked back, townspeople were laid out on the ground, eyes closed, surfing their inner feelings on a c.o.c.ktail of mixed emotions. They wouldn't be down for days.

I picked up my jacket and TravelBook on the way to the vet's, where the blind Shadow was waiting for me. I had completed the mission, even if I had come a hair's breadth from a sticky end. I could do better, and would, given time. I heard a low, growly voice close at hand.

'What happens to me? Am I reduced to text?'

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