Saxon.
Nice name for a cat, especially one with so much machinery strapped to its' body. It looked like a walking microwave, every so often pinging and whirring. It still loved the Master, even though Joey didn't. Ruining one of his many cats and turning one of his many rooms into a working exploding laboratory. He was just a total maniac, but the old man needed the publicity and so let the man, who called himself Jake Shears, keep the room.
"Great…" the Master realised.
He still had to pay the man.
-
Kill Wife-
Point one on the list and it was to be completed that day.
After a rough night up planning every move he was going to take the Master decided that what he would do was to make everything up on the spot. Downstairs, in what Joey had called their restaurant [just a table with a place mat laid upon it 'Jake' searched through phone book until he came across the name.
Lucy Saxon.
-
The George Robert's Mental Institution seemed as peaceful as it always did. As peaceful as a mad house could become. No patients going missing for a lunatic parade as a few men had reported the day before. Owen Stevens sat down for his daily tabloid read. The Sun was never his cup of tea, but in this job you enjoyed what you got and didn't complain. A few patients and their personal carers strolled out into the sunlight field for their morning walk. Owen knew he should get back to his patient, but she was just so bizarre and self reliant, there wasn't much point.
He partially remembered her husband, just never his name or appearance; it was just as if he was wiped from memory. Lucy Saxon was as crazy as nutters got, and that was a hard thing to say with the job he had. All she ever talked about was murder, some weird creatures called the Toclafane and some bizarre person called 'The Master'. It was if she had seen something else that happened and everyone had fallen asleep during that time. Owen sighed and got back to his reading [if you could call it that.
"Excuse me." Owen lowered his paper. The man standing on the other side of the desk was quite short with striking, rather insane, brown eyes, and a fat tabby cat perched on his shoulder which what looked like parts of a car stuck to its' fur. "I was told you looked after a woman called Lucy Saxon."
"That's right…" Owen said, staring the stranger upside down and holding his paper closer to his chest. "Who's asking?"
"Well… I am, and I want to go and see her, where will she be?"
"The atrium," Owen replied. For some reason he thought he could trust this man. "Down the hall to the left, it's straight up the stairs, big glass thing, you can't miss it." The man turned to leave, his cat purring and beeping. "Hey, wait a second," he turned. "Why do you want to know?"
"Just say… I have a close relationship with her."