CitPC Chapter VI, part 2.

Wow, after 2 weeks of nothing and waiting and stuff, I did it! Part 2 is upon us! WOOOO!
But like I said, don’t expect this to be anything too special. Let’s just say it’s leading up to the more interesting bits. This is to get your appetites going. Apologies to genji for this big fat waste of a post, which is bound to tick him off :P

Rating (which I almost forgot): PG-13 because nothing happens apart from the usual cursing.

Chapter VI: The Coils of Death, part 2.

(Now with 70% more Gilliam)

Thursday, February 17th, 4:30pm. London Bridge Hospital.

“So then, Eric, are you recuperatin’ alright?” asked Gil, slouching over a leather armchair by the side of Mr Idle’s bed. Eric was buried in a copy of the Sun, before he looked up and shot Gil a cheeky smile. Gil widened his eyes slightly.

“What?”

“That’s rather a big word for you, Terry,” teased Eric, with a giggle.

Gil shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Haha, very witty Idle.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ there,” Eric said, throwing his paper down, “It appears that I’ll be stayin’ here much longer than I’d hoped,” He let out a heavy sigh, “I really wanna get outta this dump, but the nurses insist that I remain here.”

“Gah, that sucks man.”

“Darn right it does,” Eric agreed.

“So, have you had any ‘famous’ visitors come to see ya, yet?”

“Not as such, surprisingly. Carol, Neil, David Jason, and Graham have visited, but that’s it. I don’t know why John hasn’t come yet, and Mike was meant to come, but because of the ‘you-know-what’, he never made it.”

Gil raised both eyebrows. “Huh? I don’t get it.”

“Y’know, the… the thing.”

“What thing?”

“Oh Terry,” sighed Eric, “don’t tell me you haven’t heard about Mike.”

“Why? What’s up with ‘im?”

“Have you been living under a rock for the past couple of days?!”

Gil folded his arms with irritation, “Okay, okay, I haven’t heard!” he retorted, “No need to rub it in.”

“Well,” began Eric, “he’s been taken into Broadmoor, one of those psychiatric hospitals.”

“Whu… Whu-Why?!” Gil cried in surprise.

He sat attentively as Eric went on to explain to him the events of that late Saturday night. He told Terry about how Mike had rang the police to say that he’d seen Snake murder his wife, about the constant accusations from the police, his sudden state of madness, and the suicide attempt. Gil could hardly speak. He had no idea what to say to that. He leant his head against his hands stricken with grief. The sudden shock overwhelmed him dearly.

“Damn, that’s… that’s not like Mike at all,” he murmured softly.

“Remember, he has been constantly accused for the ‘Snake’ murders, and to witness not only your wife’s death but also Jonesy’s… I mean, wouldn’t that make anyone go barmy?”

Gil let out a sigh and looked back up at Eric. Eric frowned as he caught the sight of Gil’s saddened expression.

“I guess so. I only heard about Helen’s death, I didn’t know about what happened with Mike.”

Gil and Eric stared at each other and remained silent for a few long moments. What else was there to say? It had shocked Gil almost to the point of silence. He had no idea how Eric, like Gray, seemed so calm and appeared to take the news well, despite the fact that his wife was dead, his friend Jonesy was dead, and Mike, another close friend, had been admitted to hospital as some psychopathic maniac. All this in just one week. He couldn’t understand. Maybe Eric was just a stronger person inside in general, possibly because of his father’s death when he was just two. Gil slated himself that he was just a big cry-baby.

“How d’ya know all this?” Gil managed to get out.

“Graham told me.”

Gil cocked his head slightly, and took on a look of confusion.

“How does he know?” he asked sceptically, raising his voice.

“He said a special friend had told ‘im.”

Gil looked interested. “Special friend huh?”

“He told me this guy works with the police on these special cases. Probably just some run-of-the-mill constable or detective or something.”

“Not someone from MI5, then?” The American quipped with a small smirk.

Eric snorted. “You wish!” he exclaimed.

“That would’ve been real awesome!”

Gil began to casually rock his chair back and forth, as he mused over what he would do next.

“I need to see Mike,” he spoke after a while, resting himself back onto the ground.

“Good luck with that,” Eric muttered.

“Why?”

“It’s a high security hospital,” Eric explained, “I doubt you’ll be able to get in.”

“I’ll find a way, don’t you worry.”

Gil took a breath and arose from his seat.

“Right,” he said loudly, but with a hint of sadness, “Well, sorry about my visit bein’ so short but duty calls.”

“Not to worry, my fine fellow,” Eric said, with a twinkle in his eye, “You go and see Mike, I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks pretty boy,” Gil chirped, a small grin on his face. He gave Eric a short, but cheerful wave, which he returned, and took a few steps forward. He turned back one last time to see Eric wink at him. Composing himself, Gil steadily walked out Ward 15 (I think it’s 15), past some grotty little canteen clustered with screaming toddlers with ginger hair, and fat middle-aged women with cellulite, flabby boobs and fishnet tights, and back out the building.

Now… where the hell’s my car?”

Thursday, February 17th, 4:50pm, Bermondsey St.

Terry was trying to retrace his steps to find his car, because as some of you know, London is a bitch when it comes to parking. He searched high and low for it. He’d only been searching for around 10 minutes and already he’d begun to get impatient.

“Why couldn’t they have just put them in the same place?” Gil asked himself, referring of course to Eric and Michael, “Then I wouldn’t have to go on a scavenger hunt to find my stupid VW and drivin’ round all day on my fat ass.”

He exhaled and continued his hunt. Through the bustling crowd he went, down this road, and through that alley, and back round that post box, and up that street…
A few short sighs and impatient grunts later, and there it was: A bright yellow car parked awkwardly next to some tall flats. His face lit up with joy as he skipped over to it like a bloody poof. He peered around to see a man quickly approach him. He didn’t look happy at all. He had a pouted lip and his eyebrows were arched creating a very fearsome look on his face.

“Hey John,” Gil greeted the man, ignoring his harrowing glare.

“Move it, Gilliam,” came the stiff reply, inelegantly pushing past Gil with no remorse.

“Woah, woah,” Gil said, moving over and stopping John in his tracks, “what’s the big rush, buddy?”

“None of your business,” John grumbled.

“Awww, c’mon Johnny, you can tell me.”

“Just go away, I’m busy!” John snapped, trying to get past Terry with no luck. Every time he moved, this stupid midget would come and jump in front of him.

Gil raised a somewhat amused eyebrow, “You look real pissed.”

“So? I always look pissed to you. Why does it matter?”

“Just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.” Gil reasoned with him, “It doesn’t take more than a couple of seconds,”

“For God’s sake Terry, can’t you leave a man in peace?!” John shouted to him, finally managing to get past the midget. Gil swivelled round to see John giving him a real eyeful.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” He spoke softly, proceeding to turn round, “I have a certain date with a tall, blond fairy I have to attend to.” John walked forward a few yards, but suddenly stopped.

Oh shit, I just had to open my big mouth. He thought, raising his eyes upward.

“Ooooh, is there a little somethin’ goin’ on between you and Gray?” Gil scoffed from behind,

“Cut the crap,” John spat, glancing round, “It’s a long story, and I’d rather not go into it.” He turned back to the road ahead and gruffly put his hands into his coat pockets, “Cya, bye,” he snarled grumpily.

“Okay then,” Gil said, finally submitting his interrogation before John was to blow up again, “bye Johnny.”

John snorted in response and stormed off. “Good riddance.” He grumbled, making his way down Bermondsey St and off into the distance…

5:00pm, Bermondsey St.

Looking through a window of one of the flats was a strange man. He watched as John walked off past the window and Gil entering his car. He gave a small grin and chuckled to himself. Unknown to the two Pythons, this guy had eavesdropped on their short, rather comical conversation. Backing from the window he made his way over to a phone stuck on the wall and pressed in a few numbers.

*Brrr Brrr* … *Brrr Brrr*

A voice was heard on the other line. The man pressed the receiver against his ear, the conversation going something like this:

“Hello? Ah, Mr Steele, good afternoon … Who am I? Does the phrase, ‘Citroen Sux’ (I know, it’s pretty lame, but there’s a reason for that) ring any bells? … Yes, that’s me … Oh, what I’m ringing up for … Are you heading for the hospital to see Mr Palin? … Good, good … Oh, well it’s just that I have a friend of mine who’s going to see him later today, but I have the unfortunate feeling that he won’t be allowed in. Would you mind letting him enter the building with you? … Just tell them that he’s an apprentice detective, who’s currently training with you … Thank you very much … Oh, and about Snake … It seems to be only you and I who truly believe Mr Palin has nothing to do with this … I’ve seen the real Snake y’know … C’mon, Ian, would I lie to you? … What’s he like? He looks very normal to me. Quite tall and lanky. Calm. Middle to Upper class. Dark eyes … Mr Idle’s account seems pretty accurate … I know he’s the killer, but somehow, I don’t think he knows he’s the killer, if you get what I’m sayin’... I’ll have to find a way of driving these mental demons out of his head … Right, mmm … Anyway, I’ve got a little work to get on with so I’ll speak with you later … You too, Mr Steele. Good day.”

Snake boy, Snake boy… time for me to wrap my ‘Coils of Death’ around you…

NOTE: ‘Citroen Sux’. Rather odd…

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