“This, ladies and gentlemen, is what it means to be truly debauched.”
Mr. Pembroke gestured broadly, his tucked shirt pulling against a brown leather belt, sweat stains beginning to form beneath his arms.
“Works of an irascible deviant, actions of absolute contempt for the principles of this great society. A purveyor of vandalism and delinquency, and dare I say, the archetypal enemy of decency.”
The room was an oven, July heat baking the tar shingles and open windows begging for an afternoon breeze. The stifling smell of mildew hung in the air, mingling with the hushed, nervous breath of lookers on.
“The villain before you is to be extinguished, no doubt. But who among you are the accomplices? Who would be an acolyte of such terror?”
A murmer swelled among the ricktety chairs, mostly brought from home, as the townspeople donned shifty glances and whispered alibis. Mr. Pembroke paced, and paused at the back of the room to dab at his forehead with a yellowed handkerchief.
“The… Gathering… Was no small affair, mind you, and we are not many here. I implore someone, anyone, to speak on behalf of goodness.”
Mr. Grayhew stood sheepishly, pressing his knees into the chair as he turned to face his accuser, and unbottoned his jacket, an oppressive formality of a garment required only by the gravity of the event. His tongue pressed aggressively against his palate as he spoke.
“Weren’t nothing happened that everyone didn’t agree to.”
Pembroke strode back to the center of the room and pulled the hood from the man strapped to the device, revealing ragged hair and smokestained teeth.
“Agreement, good sir, or acquiescence to evil? Can a bargain be struck without fitness of mind? This stranger has polluted the people! A pox! A corruption! Do we even know this devil’s name?”
The stirring in the room grew with the pallor on Pembroke’s face. The stranger began to chuckle, quietly at first, then bubbling into hysterics as his fingertips drummed on the arms of chair, his head banging on the plank that ran up the length of his back. The shackles on his wrists jingled in chorus. Between howls, he shouted.
“I have no name! I come from no place and I see no wrongs! No name, no wrong! Invincible I am, you cannot harm that which remains unnamed!”
Mr. Pembroke yanked the lever on the back of the device, dropping a small weight and cinching a cable around the stranger’s neck. The laughter transformed into gargling horror.
A young man in the front row gagged at the sight of the lifeless body. A woman next to him covered her eyes. The crowd fell silent as Pembroke turned back to them and took a staggering step forward, yanking at his necktie.
“This is what disturbs you? The death of a vagrant instigator? This place. You people. Never have I seen something so quick to rot.”
He dropped to his knees, still clutching at his tie, sweat pouring from his brow.
Slumping to the floor with labored breath, each heavier than the last, Mr. Pembroke forced a quiet moan, turned his eyes toward the crowd with a plea, and ceased to be.
The sound of heels against hardwood filled the stagnant air as Mr. Grayhew snapped to his feet and walked calmly to the center of the room, smirking at the corpses as he approached. The others were silent, a few nodding their heads. Grayhew buttoned his jacket and let out a smiling sigh.
“Excellent. That’s finished. Now we may truly begin.”