spanna
The Fly
Disclaimer: you know what I need to say. This is complete crap, product of an extremely sick mind and no offence is meant to anyone least of all the lovely Dublin quartet that are U2 and their families. None of this is true...yadda yadda yadda.
Thanks again everyone for your continuing feedback!
Chapter Six
October 3rd 2001
8.00 am.
The men come in and take off my bonds and blindfold. They take me into the stable next to mine where there’s a bucket. I relieve myself. Then I am recuffed, my blindfold put on and am thrown into the corner of the stable once more.
Time drags by. Manage to roll onto my back. Huge effort though and it hurts like hell. Lungs are tight, struggle to breathe again normally. It’s night now, I am left to sleep. I can’t, thoughts are all jumbled. Running through my head on top of each other.
I’m going insane already.
Memories merging and distorting.
I am plagued by nightmares when I fall asleep. What’s happening to me. Wake, perspiration running down my forehead. Force myself to go back into my memories, my only comfort for the time being.
Father, my mother, yer both have left me here alone. What do I do?
Grey morning. Turning into a character from a song I know well. A vampire or a victim, depends on who’s around. Memory’s returning then. Thank God.
Hear voices close by.
‘De boss wants to talk to Bono now,’ the Irish accent is just audible, I strain to listen ‘come on, let’s get the feckin arse out.’
‘When’s O Connell leaving Shane?’ the English voice whispers.
‘Soon as the wanker’s dealt with and he’s got de deal yer numbskull,’ Shane says ‘now shut it and get the effin man out.’
I hear the door being kicked open. Welcomed by abusive comments and kicks in the stomach, any lower and the bastards will ruin any chances of prospective fatherhood. Hauled to my feet.
Across cobbled ground. Through a door, up steps and through another one. Pushed into seat.
‘Take his blindfold off, I want to see if he can meet my eyes.’
I recoil from that voice, that harsh, rough voice shot through with venom. The voice that I haven’t heard since 1993 when he’d called me after the bomb. Sneering, hurling abuse at mine and Helena’s relationship, trying to convince me that it was my fault that she was dead.
Blindfold is ripped from my face and I am face to face with Brian O Connell. He seems taller and thinner than ever. A smug smile stretched on his haggard, snake like face. Slick grey hair gelled to his head. But I meet his bloodshot manic eyes which are darting from one side to another.
I look at my surroundings after he lowers his gaze, my head spinning slightly. There’s a bookcase, antique looking desk. And then back at him to meet and look him in the eye.
‘Yes well done men, it’s Bono alright. My how he’s aged since Helena, since you killed her Bono. So yer gonna apologise for killing Helena yer little son of a bitch,’ he says his mouth a thin line of hate ‘after all it was your actions that led to her death yer fucking…’
‘I cared about Helena, she cared about me,’ I react, grief I haven’t felt in years raw as I look at the perpetrator of the crime ‘I never abused her like yer did, yer wife beating loyalist. My conscience is clean and yours is NOT.’
‘Shane!’ O Connell beckons to one of his henchmen and I’m hit in the jaw. Blood filling my mouth, I spit it into a bowl that is thrust under my chin.
‘Haha, but a cad, a cad who devastated girls and continues to do so,’ he sneers ‘ but I want to talk business now. Are U2 going to cough up or am I gonna have to torture and kill the precious Bono?’
‘Depends how much you’re asking,’ I snap.
‘Oh so you are the businessman,’ O Connell’s laugh is high pitched and painful ‘I’ve always had my doubts but yer obviously are. Well here’s the deal Jesus wannabe.’
His face is close to mine, he spits out each word and his halitosis is nauseating.
‘Spill O Connell,’ I retort holding his gaze.
‘Rights from now on to all of U2’s music and merchandise, every royalty from every song. 75% of all the fortune the band’s amassed so far including McGuiness’s percentage.. That’s yer ransom, big enough for Bono’s ego?’
I laugh hollowly.
‘Sure yer gonna get all that!’ I exclaim sarcastically ‘feck me, this is personal revenge on me for Helena. Why does it have to have anything to do with the band? Yer welcome to my fortune.’
‘Aww did yer hear dat boys, isn’t he sweet,’ scoffs O Connell ‘offering us his own hard earned,’ he smacks his fist down on his desk ‘not fucking enough and yer know it Bono. We want control of U2, and the money to prove it. The IRA needs money, the youth are all buying into the fucking myth of love and peace. U2 need their front man. I think we could do a pretty reasonable deal. ’
‘Fuck off!’ I cry angrily ‘yer’ve lost your marbles O Connell as I suspected years ago.’
‘Oh shut this shit up,’ O Connell says wearily and I’m gagged ‘I’m making a phone call.’
‘Hello, yes we have him. Anyone left the house?’
I make incoherent noises against the gag, terrified that they’re watching my house. Grace be careful. He sniggers at me.
‘A hive of activity eh!? Forensics, well none of my threats have any DNA on ‘em so they can prove nothin. And no one has a clue as to where we are. Media on it big time? They are, excellent. A press conference with Grace and U2 in five minutes yer say? Grand. Thanks Alec.’
He slams the phone against its cradle.
‘Get the TV in here Stu,’ he smiles slimily, I am filled with repulsion ‘Shane, the brandy.’
A television set is wheeled in. Brandy is poured and the TV is turned on. It is surreal to see my friend the news presenter Seamus White announce the following:
‘Welcome to this morning’s news. Bono of the rock band U2 was reportedly kidnapped from just outside his home at 7.45 am by the IRA yesterday morning. A massive search is underway, we cross now to our entertainment correspondent Phoebe Devlin outside Bono’s home. Phoebe describe the atmosphere.’
A young woman stands outside my gates. It is deeply frustrating to be sitting here unable to do anything.
‘Hi Seamus, yes this morning Bono of U2 was kidnapped just where I’m standing. The home he shares with girlfriend Grace is being searched thoroughly for more clues as to where he could be. They’ve already traced the threats back to IRA head and Bono’s old enemy Brian O Connell. But if anyone has any clues as to where he might be, they are to call the following.
She reels off a number. I can’t watch this, I struggle and shout against my gag.
‘Shut the fuck up Bono,’ says Brian ‘it’s time for the press conference with your new love, what would Helena say eh? If she knew you were with some Scottish tart.’
I so want to take him out for insulting Grace but as I hear Seamus mention her name on the TV, my attention is turned towards it. I force back tears that threaten to escape as I see her drawn, pinched features, her eyes red. Oh baby, how could it only be yesterday morning since I held yer in my arms, kissed you and left you. I should never have done it, listened to you and stayed like you wanted all along. Don’t look so worried, I’ll see you again.
Thanks again everyone for your continuing feedback!
Chapter Six
October 3rd 2001
8.00 am.
The men come in and take off my bonds and blindfold. They take me into the stable next to mine where there’s a bucket. I relieve myself. Then I am recuffed, my blindfold put on and am thrown into the corner of the stable once more.
Time drags by. Manage to roll onto my back. Huge effort though and it hurts like hell. Lungs are tight, struggle to breathe again normally. It’s night now, I am left to sleep. I can’t, thoughts are all jumbled. Running through my head on top of each other.
I’m going insane already.
Memories merging and distorting.
I am plagued by nightmares when I fall asleep. What’s happening to me. Wake, perspiration running down my forehead. Force myself to go back into my memories, my only comfort for the time being.
Father, my mother, yer both have left me here alone. What do I do?
Grey morning. Turning into a character from a song I know well. A vampire or a victim, depends on who’s around. Memory’s returning then. Thank God.
Hear voices close by.
‘De boss wants to talk to Bono now,’ the Irish accent is just audible, I strain to listen ‘come on, let’s get the feckin arse out.’
‘When’s O Connell leaving Shane?’ the English voice whispers.
‘Soon as the wanker’s dealt with and he’s got de deal yer numbskull,’ Shane says ‘now shut it and get the effin man out.’
I hear the door being kicked open. Welcomed by abusive comments and kicks in the stomach, any lower and the bastards will ruin any chances of prospective fatherhood. Hauled to my feet.
Across cobbled ground. Through a door, up steps and through another one. Pushed into seat.
‘Take his blindfold off, I want to see if he can meet my eyes.’
I recoil from that voice, that harsh, rough voice shot through with venom. The voice that I haven’t heard since 1993 when he’d called me after the bomb. Sneering, hurling abuse at mine and Helena’s relationship, trying to convince me that it was my fault that she was dead.
Blindfold is ripped from my face and I am face to face with Brian O Connell. He seems taller and thinner than ever. A smug smile stretched on his haggard, snake like face. Slick grey hair gelled to his head. But I meet his bloodshot manic eyes which are darting from one side to another.
I look at my surroundings after he lowers his gaze, my head spinning slightly. There’s a bookcase, antique looking desk. And then back at him to meet and look him in the eye.
‘Yes well done men, it’s Bono alright. My how he’s aged since Helena, since you killed her Bono. So yer gonna apologise for killing Helena yer little son of a bitch,’ he says his mouth a thin line of hate ‘after all it was your actions that led to her death yer fucking…’
‘I cared about Helena, she cared about me,’ I react, grief I haven’t felt in years raw as I look at the perpetrator of the crime ‘I never abused her like yer did, yer wife beating loyalist. My conscience is clean and yours is NOT.’
‘Shane!’ O Connell beckons to one of his henchmen and I’m hit in the jaw. Blood filling my mouth, I spit it into a bowl that is thrust under my chin.
‘Haha, but a cad, a cad who devastated girls and continues to do so,’ he sneers ‘ but I want to talk business now. Are U2 going to cough up or am I gonna have to torture and kill the precious Bono?’
‘Depends how much you’re asking,’ I snap.
‘Oh so you are the businessman,’ O Connell’s laugh is high pitched and painful ‘I’ve always had my doubts but yer obviously are. Well here’s the deal Jesus wannabe.’
His face is close to mine, he spits out each word and his halitosis is nauseating.
‘Spill O Connell,’ I retort holding his gaze.
‘Rights from now on to all of U2’s music and merchandise, every royalty from every song. 75% of all the fortune the band’s amassed so far including McGuiness’s percentage.. That’s yer ransom, big enough for Bono’s ego?’
I laugh hollowly.
‘Sure yer gonna get all that!’ I exclaim sarcastically ‘feck me, this is personal revenge on me for Helena. Why does it have to have anything to do with the band? Yer welcome to my fortune.’
‘Aww did yer hear dat boys, isn’t he sweet,’ scoffs O Connell ‘offering us his own hard earned,’ he smacks his fist down on his desk ‘not fucking enough and yer know it Bono. We want control of U2, and the money to prove it. The IRA needs money, the youth are all buying into the fucking myth of love and peace. U2 need their front man. I think we could do a pretty reasonable deal. ’
‘Fuck off!’ I cry angrily ‘yer’ve lost your marbles O Connell as I suspected years ago.’
‘Oh shut this shit up,’ O Connell says wearily and I’m gagged ‘I’m making a phone call.’
‘Hello, yes we have him. Anyone left the house?’
I make incoherent noises against the gag, terrified that they’re watching my house. Grace be careful. He sniggers at me.
‘A hive of activity eh!? Forensics, well none of my threats have any DNA on ‘em so they can prove nothin. And no one has a clue as to where we are. Media on it big time? They are, excellent. A press conference with Grace and U2 in five minutes yer say? Grand. Thanks Alec.’
He slams the phone against its cradle.
‘Get the TV in here Stu,’ he smiles slimily, I am filled with repulsion ‘Shane, the brandy.’
A television set is wheeled in. Brandy is poured and the TV is turned on. It is surreal to see my friend the news presenter Seamus White announce the following:
‘Welcome to this morning’s news. Bono of the rock band U2 was reportedly kidnapped from just outside his home at 7.45 am by the IRA yesterday morning. A massive search is underway, we cross now to our entertainment correspondent Phoebe Devlin outside Bono’s home. Phoebe describe the atmosphere.’
A young woman stands outside my gates. It is deeply frustrating to be sitting here unable to do anything.
‘Hi Seamus, yes this morning Bono of U2 was kidnapped just where I’m standing. The home he shares with girlfriend Grace is being searched thoroughly for more clues as to where he could be. They’ve already traced the threats back to IRA head and Bono’s old enemy Brian O Connell. But if anyone has any clues as to where he might be, they are to call the following.
She reels off a number. I can’t watch this, I struggle and shout against my gag.
‘Shut the fuck up Bono,’ says Brian ‘it’s time for the press conference with your new love, what would Helena say eh? If she knew you were with some Scottish tart.’
I so want to take him out for insulting Grace but as I hear Seamus mention her name on the TV, my attention is turned towards it. I force back tears that threaten to escape as I see her drawn, pinched features, her eyes red. Oh baby, how could it only be yesterday morning since I held yer in my arms, kissed you and left you. I should never have done it, listened to you and stayed like you wanted all along. Don’t look so worried, I’ll see you again.
wow, Spanna, great chapter!! Bono seeing Grace on tv, that is an excellent touch. Those IRA guys are naaaasty, I hope Bono makes it out ok! Don't keep us waiting too long!!!!
