The Devisal of Mr. Dankworth

This is my entry into Finish the Story Contest hosted by the diety @bananafish and its slew of hardworking members that make this place special.

I did something very different this week. I intertwined my story with that of @gaby-crb and @calluna without changing anything that they wrote. Did my experiment work? I'll let you decide for yourself.

No worries about the word count. I'm only a few over 500 8-)



The Devisal of Mr. Dankworth

by @gaby-crb and @calluna with @tristancarax's story intertwined -

With permission from the prison's warden, the paper I worked for assigned me the task of interviewing one of the most bizarre serial killers - Mr. Dankworth, age 64, Resident of Barr, Girvan, UK, worked at the local community store during horse shows and an avid bowler, who was convicted for the disappearance of the Dankworth line and the murder of a Barr. Michael Kent in an attempt to get Thirty Seven Million Bruvna ($37,000,000.00). Get this one last confession is what I was told.

For twelve years he refused to talk to anyone else before me. I sat across from him, my legal pad, pen, and pencil laid out neatly in front of me, watching the way he rhythmically tapped the wrist cuffs against the coffee cup on the table - tap tap - tap-tap tap - tap tap-tap - repeated over and over. Without waiting for my questions, he started talking once the recorder was set on the table and turned on:

"The familiar ping jerked through my morning haze, the signal of a new email arriving in my inbox, blared from my laptop. I hastily tapped at the volume. My fingers circled around the warm mug in my hand, the hot brush of steam warning me not to take a sip yet. I checked the screen, 16 new emails already this morning. Working from home had seemed so much easier, I never liked the office, or being out on the road, at least at home I had my own brand of coffee, and my cat Neelix, but the emails never stopped."

The room we were in was the last place they held prisoners before sending them off to work camps where bones crack under the weight your forced to carry, the last place before seclusion from civilization to live out consecutive life-terms on a distant planet. My heart ached at the thought of sending any human being there.

"I cleared through the top 10 as spam, another 5 were easily filed, the last however caught my attention. My eyes focused on the sender name, I hastily placed my mug on the table and clicked the email. The sound of the news playing on the TV melted into the background, even the smell of my burning toast didn't interrupt my focus."

Mr. Dankworth droned on without pausing, only his voice pitch rose slightly.

Good day,

My name is Michael Kent, I am the personal attorney and sole executor to my late client, Mr Ian Dankworth, who shares the same surname with you.

Between his breath in and the start of the next sentence, he grabbed my pen and legal pad and began to draw.

After the death of my client, in an automobile incident, in the year 2007, the bank contacted me to provide his next of kin to inherit his fortune, totaling Thirty Seven Million Bruvna ($37,000,000.00) according to the existing bank records.

I have written several letters to his country embassy with the intent of locating any of his immediate or extended family who will stand as the next of kin and all my efforts has been to no avail.

He allowed me to see what he was drawing. The picture made me exceedingly uncomfortable. But I, a stubborn, deaf young man wanting to get a major story under my belt for the paycheck it would bring.

I have received official letters from the board of directors of the holding bank in the last few weeks suggesting a likely precedent for confiscation of his abandoned personal assets in line with existing laws, therefore I have been issued a 30 working days ultimatum to provide his next of kin or forfeit the deposit.

From my professional experience I can use any and all legal means available to re-profile and present you as the next of kin to my deceased client since you share his surname, this would enable you put a claim to the funds on our behalf.

The room's temperature heated up.

Please kindly indicate your interest by responding to this email so we can discuss further.

Yours sincerely,
Barr. Michael Kent

He then wrote two names above the two two humans he drew: mine and his. Then, he drew a heart. At this point I'd had enough. Hunger was creeping in; a sign of me being nervous. He ignored my gesture to stop talking and continued:

"I glanced at the scuffed bag by the door, I had known Mr Kent would contact me eventually. I was the last person in the country with the surname Dankworth. As my eyes read over the email again, I laughed to myself, this had been easier than I initially thought.

"Neelix stalked past the black bag, rubbing up against it, he then stopped and pulled out his claws, pulling at the plastic material.

"I stood up fast in an attempt to scare him, knocking my coffee over my laptop in the process. I swore and grabbed at some tissues, watching as the black liquid slowly absorbed. I would forever be cleaning up my own mess.

"I got a boner immediately when I saw Michael's head roll out of the scuffed back."

Right when he said that, he poor his coffee on himself. I panicked when I saw his member rising. My quickness and agility was able to move me away from him, a man who benched 200 pounds. I slammed against the door with my tiny body and began pounding with my fists yelling for help.

All that opened was the sliding rectangular peep hole. Fours eyes and two faces with smiles the size of a watermelons there on the other side looked at me.

"Excuse me, ah Mr. Reporter," said the man with the squeaky voice, "we made a deal between us guards and that convict in there with you; which is: one last ride before being sent away to a distant rock."

The peep hole slammed shut.

I've never been the same since.

Help me Doc. I can't get this out of my head.

THE END

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