The Day of Legion by Craig Taylor

crawling over him until their faces were level. She laid her naked body on top of his. He felt her breath on his neck, causing a tingle down his spine.
    Slowly she moved down to his groin, undid his belt and zipper, grasped his erection with her hand and took him in her mouth. He arched his back at the sudden warmth and watched as she moved her lips up and down.
    They made love slowly and intensely. She read his desires and responded with her body and hands. He caressed her, touched her gently and brought her to climax easily and often.
    John couldn’t remember when he had made such passionate, heated love. Even in the beginning stages with Janine, their lovemaking wasn’t this intense. When they had finished and Rachael lay next to him, he watched her breasts rise and fall as she breathed slowly, slipping quietly into sleep. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, dreamed of, been with.
    * * * *
    Around three in the morning, Rachael woke up. She slid quietly out of bed and retrieved her clothes, holding them in her hands. She stood at the end of the bed and looked at him, snoring quietly as he slept. She smiled and slipped out the door and dressed in the lounge to avoid waking him.
    She helped herself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator, glanced at the photos of Jason stuck to the door with little heart-shaped magnets, then walked out of the apartment into the hall way, quietly closing his front door.
    She got to the elevator and pressed the Down button. Behind her, Patrick’s door opened. She didn’t hear a thing. A faint scent of formaldehyde, then blackness.

Chapter Five
    It wasn’t so much a knock on the door; more of a pounding. It woke John suddenly. He could hear voices shouting, muffled by the walls, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He heard a huge thud and crash, then voices of men in his apartment. He leapt out of bed, quickly glancing at the clock. Ten a.m.
    As he hurriedly put on his pants, his heart pounding, the bedroom door came crashing in, kicked nearly off its hinges. A man in black rushed into the room, pointing a high powered rifle directly at him. Another man followed, then two more. All had firearms pointed at him; ‘POLICE’ printed boldly in white on the front of their ballistic vests.
    “Police!” the first man shouted. “Police! Get on the ground!”
    John froze, afraid. His legs were shaking and his body refused to do what his mind told it to, which was to comply with the man with a rifle pointed at his face. The last officer through the door was armed with a Glock, which he holstered and moved quickly over to him.
    He grabbed John by his neck and pulled him violently to the floor, before ramming one knee into his back. “Give me your hands!” he shouted. “Give me your hands, now!”
    John shouted in pain. He managed to get his hands into the small of his back where the officer was indicating by tapping it with his handcuffs. Once in position, the handcuffs were applied, quickly and too tight. The clicks of the metal teeth of the cuffs engaging made a sound John had only heard in movies and on television. His whole body jerked at the pain and he received a punch in the back of the head for moving.
    “No resistance!” came the stern instruction.
    “I’m not resisting, you’re hurting me!” he shouted “The handcuffs are too tight and what the hell is this about? Did you guys make sure you had the right apartment before you kicked my door in and assaulted me?”
    He knew none of the police cared about him. The first three that burst through the bedroom door walked straight back out as soon as he was shackled. The two who remained picked him up and sat him on the bed. One was dressed in the same black garb as the others; his rifle now slung behind him. The second officer was wearing a suit, obviously a detective. He was older and appeared a little calmer than the boys in black, but he looked mean.
    He placed some papers, stapled in the corner and