by Wes Markin
He was now in need of release.
He checked his watch and saw that his visitor would not be here for another forty-five minutes. Then, he took the glass jar which contained his parents’ eyes floating in formaldehyde from the safe behind the leather sofa. He placed it onto the coffee table and pushed the sofa back.
As he sat back on the wooded chair, he felt his erection jamming hard against the front of his shorts. High from the endorphins of his workout, this wasn’t surprising. He pulled his shorts down to free himself. He reached over to the remote control and pumped the lights up to 100%.
He looked up at the eyeballs floating in the sallow liquid. The optic nerves still trailed behind them. He recalled using his thumb and forefinger to pull them from his parents’ heads and remembered the feel of the scalpel he’d used to slice them loose. His hand closed around himself and he sighed.
Realising he’d forgotten to pump the music up, he reached for the stereo controls on the table. They didn’t work. Batteries must have died. He threw the remote back down. He didn’t want to stop now that he’d found rhythm so would do without Cannibal Corpse just this once.
He prodded his bottom lip with his tongue and continued.
There was a knock at the door—
You’re early. You shouldn’t be here yet.
He increased speed.
She knocked again.
Nothing can distract me. Nothing can beat me.
The third knock was louder.
She cannot see inside … the curtains are closed … her efforts to end my pleasure are in vain …
His parents’ eyes turned in the yellowing liquid. He followed the movement towards climax. His heart rate increased. Sweat loosened from his shoulders and dampened his shirt.
Another knock. Heavy …
The weight started to push down on his erection.
Continuous knocking. Desperate. Incessant...
His erection was waning.
He withdrew his hand; he was flaccid.
He threw his head back and roared. Outside on his doorstep, she wouldn’t hear it, not through his soundproofed walls.
Not that he cared. He wanted her to hear his frustration ...
Who was she to demand his presence like this?
He was on his feet now. He gritted his teeth.
Forty minutes early.
With a distraction that had beaten him.
He hoisted up his jeans, fastened them and marched out of the lounge to the front door. He turned the key and steadied his hand on the handle.
You may have been beaten … but a true warrior gets right back up … and takes control …
He opened the front door.
His visitor was already walking away. When she heard him, she turned back and brushed her long black hair behind her ears, revealing jagged cheekbones.
He began to feel his erection again. ‘Why are you so early, Superintendent Madden?’
She walked to him, holding her hand open to catch the first droplets of rain. ‘Some of us are busy, Borya, and it’s about to rain like a bastard. I saw your light was on—’
She didn’t finish the sentence because he’d already grabbed her hair, dragged her in through the front door, and slammed it shut.
Time to take back control.
From the floor, George Johnson reached out. The blood-stained palm glistened. He moaned, and his hollow eye-sockets seemed to widen. He pitched forward. Willows flinched, and then flinched a second time when Johnson landed face first on his parquet floor with a thump.
Instinctively, Willows moved to assist him, but Pemberton was how holding her hand between both of hers, and she went nowhere.
Johnson rolled over onto his back. ‘My eyes. They took my fucking eyes!’
He clawed at his empty sockets.
Willows looked back at Pemberton. ‘Let go!’
‘He’s dangerous—’
‘Look at him!’ Willows managed to pull her arm free.
‘I’ll phone it in,’ Pemberton said.
Willows ran over to Johnson, knelt beside him, and saw that the extent of damage stretched further than just his eyes. Ear lobes and teeth were missing. His fingers were twisted and bent. Most of his fingernails had been torn loose; some still hung from their roots beneath the cuticles. He groaned as Willows drew him to his chest.
‘Help me, please help me.’ His face was swollen from an excessive beating, and his words were muffled.
She brushed his blood-stained hair away from his eyes and stroked his forehead. He shook. It could have been blood loss, or it could have been terror; more than likely a combination of both. She shushed him gently. ‘Imagine the most beautiful place you can.’
‘I can’t … the pain … it’s too much.’
‘Try George. Try to imagine somewhere you’ve been. Somewhere you loved. Somewhere beautiful.’
There was a pause. Willows continued to stroke his head and encourage him with gentle hushing sounds.
‘The beach,’ he said.
‘Good, now walk down that beach, and tell me what you see.’
‘The sea. So calm. Barely a wave.’
‘Can you feel the sand between your toes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to continue walking?’
‘I want to go into the sea. It’d be cooler. Everything hurts so much.’
‘Go in then, George.’
‘Can I take my mother? She’s here with me. We go together every year.’
‘Of course.’
Willows waited for George to play out the scenario in his head.
She’d once been told that you could still cry with no eyes. That tear ducts were a separate structure in your face. She’d struggled to believe that at the time.
She was having no problems believing it now.
George Robinson cried a river of blood.
Borya had the lower part of Madden’s bony face between his thumb and forefinger. He knew he could burst her jaw like a balloon. He pushed her head against a mirror by the front door and pressed his whole body against her to prevent being kicked. He could see his face in the mirror.
‘You disturbed me.’ In the reflection, Borya watched his mouth move, saw the savagery in his eyes and felt capable of so very much.
He dragged his eyes away from himself and back onto her. He bared his teeth.
‘I can feel your hard cock on me, animal,’ Madden said.
Borya snarled. Keeping one hand on her face, he closed his other hand into a fist and raised it.
‘Remember, animal, not the face, not the—’
He lowered his fist and swung. He felt the muscles in her taut abdomen slacken. He moved back and let her collapse to her knees, gasping for air. Harder than last time, wasn’t it? Did that surprise you?
He looked up at his reflection and curled his lip up into another snarl. He sensed her movement, her attempt to strike back, and without breaking eye contact with himself, he dropped his hand to catch her tiny fist. Her pebble in his ocean.
He pressed her hand against his erection. Now, another surprise.
‘Next time.’ He watched his lips move in his reflection. ‘You.’ He punched her in the face. ‘Come.’ Punch. ‘On.’ Punch. ‘Time.’
He was curious about her reaction. How surprised was she that he’d broken the golden rule? He looked down. She was looking up at him. Her eye was puffy, her nose crooked, possibly dislocated, and her lip split. Yet, she smiled.
He released her fist and allowed her to undo the zipper on his jeans. He moaned as she pulled him out. She leaned forward and let the blood dribble from her mouth onto his erection, using it to lubricate him; then, she thrust her hand swiftly and forcefully along the shaft.
He looked at his reflection again. His top lip trembled. He took a deep breath and prepared for climax—
She stopped.
He glared down. ‘Continue.’
Madden looked up at him with a chin covered in blood and spit. ‘I told you
. Not the face.’
He reached down and closed his hand around her neck. He lifted her from the floor and pinned her to the mirror again. Her face glowed, and she clawed at his hands. His eyes moved to his reflection. His lips were pursed, and his forehead creased. Determination. He looked back at her and saw her tongue protruding.
He didn’t want to kill her, but he wasn’t able to release her. It just felt too right.
He looked in the mirror again and addressed himself. Are you going to lose control again tonight? Or are you going to learn from earlier?
He looked back at her and saw the bluish tinge in her face.
He took a deep breath and felt the moment.
Everything was quiet. Still.
Peace.
He released her, and she slumped to the floor, gasping for air.
Sucking in a deep breath, he clutched her hair. He dragged her down the hallway as she spluttered and gagged.
When they reached the lounge, he flung her in, so she landed face first beside the chair and the table. She lifted her head, and Borya heard her cry out when she saw his parents’ eyes in the jar.
Before she had chance to turn over, and delay again what needed to happen, Borja had torn her trousers down, and clambered onto her.
Borya watched the eyes as he thrust, and the eyes watched Borya as he came.
18
YORKE COULD BARELY understand what Willows was saying.
Someone had been murdered, he’d gathered that much. And violently so. But who it was, and why it’d happened remained lost in translation.
Despite this, he was incredibly patient. She’d experienced severe trauma. He let her splutter out her experiences and then found a moment of silence. ‘Who are you with, Collette?’
‘Pemberton. Outside Johnson’s house.’
‘Okay, so it’s Johnson?’
‘Have you not been listening, sir?’
Trying to. Yes. ‘Just clarifying, Collette.’
He was glad Willows was with Pemberton. He’d never heard her like this before. If she’d been alone, Yorke would already have been in his car despite his injuries.
‘Collette, do you have a drink in your car?’
A pause. ‘Yes … I think so. A bottle of water.’
‘Good. I’d like you to hand the phone to Pemberton, go to the car, sit down and have a drink.’
‘I’m fine, sir.’
Clearly not. ‘I’m not being patronising, Collette. Just two minutes, please, and we will pick up where we left off … okay?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He heard the rustle of the phone being handed over. He glanced up at the psychiatrist’s card Bryan Kelly had left on his mantlepiece.
We’ll all be needing that before the week is out.
‘Sir?’
‘Pemberton. Are you okay?’
‘As well as can be, sir.’
She sounded calmer than Willows. Good.
‘Has Collette gone to her car?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. She needs to calm down. Pemberton, please talk me through what happened.’
She filled in the blanks left by Willows. Of which they were many.
Afterwards, Yorke sank back into the sofa. He didn’t need a mirror to see how pale he suddenly was.
‘I’m so sorry, Lorraine …’
‘I’m okay, sir, a little bit shaken—’
‘No, I’m sorry for sending you there.’
‘You weren’t to know.’
‘That’s not the point.’ He felt his lips tremble. ‘The investigation is over, and I put you and Collette in danger. Needlessly.’
‘Not true. We were doing our jobs.’
That wasn’t the case though, was it? The job they’d been given by SEROCU was clear …
Stay out of it.
He leaned forward, felt the pain in his ribs, welcomed it, saw it as a form of penance, and massaged his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. ‘If you’d arrived earlier … Jesus … I can’t even think about it …’
‘We’d have stopped it,’ Pemberton said. ‘Which is why I still believe it was the right thing to do - we were just unfortunate with timing.’
Or fortunate, Yorke thought. You could have ended up like Johnson …
‘Who is there?’ Yorke said.
‘Everyone. Major Incidents. SEROCU. No sign of the Super though. Her phone is off, apparently. Uncharacteristic.’
‘Is Johnson alive?’
‘Barely. He went into shock when the ambulance arrived. I haven’t had an update. Collette is back. Do you want to talk to her?’
‘Yes, please. I’m so sorry—’
‘Sir.’ It was Willows on the other end again. ‘I’m feeling better now. I apologise. What I saw in there—’
‘No, Collette, you’ve done nothing wrong. This is on me.’
‘How’s this your fault?’
‘I was incompetent. This is SEROCU’s gig now.’
‘Yes, you can tell. They’re everywhere.’
‘I want you and Lorraine to give your statement and come away.’
‘If that’s what you want, sir.’
‘Yes, it is. I also don’t want you at work tomorrow. There’s nothing you can do regarding this anyway. It will be going home with Robinson and his people. In fact, come here tomorrow, for breakfast. I want to check you’re okay.’
‘That won’t be necessary, sir.’
‘I insist Collette and tell Lorraine I would like to see her in the afternoon. You both deserve an apology face-to-face.’
Despite Willows’ continued protestations, Yorke finally got her consent. As soon as the call ended, he received another from Bryan Kelly. When he saw the name on the phone, he immediately felt overwhelmed with guilt. For years, he’d admonished Kelly for his failures. Yet, here he was, sitting on a mistake that was almost catastrophic. He’d sent two of his best officers into a lion’s den, and if he’d done it any earlier, they might have ended up as the animal’s food.
‘Bryan?’
‘Sir, I’m so sorry, something has come up. My wife has been called away by work. Emergency organ transplant. Happens often to her, I’m afraid.’
‘You don’t have to be sorry for standing me up because a life has to be saved, Bryan.’
‘Thanks sir, I knew you’d understand. I’ll pop in tomorrow.’
‘I’d like that, Bryan.’
After the call ended, Yorke felt tears in his eyes. He looked forward to seeing all these people tomorrow.
He planned to apologise to them all, profusely.
Naked, Borya meditated on the sofa. He hovered with his parents’ eyes in the jar. It was a pleasant experience. The only other time he’d felt this weightless was when he’d danced.
He didn’t miss it. That was another life. A rather meaningless life. A life as a show pony. What he had become, evolved into, was of far greater significance. The people around him were now part of his show. They were here for his entertainment. He was what mattered.
‘I’m going now,’ Madden said from the lounge door.
He didn’t break his trance but responded. ‘While you were gone, I emailed the information that you gave me. I’ve already been informed that the information was good. Your money will be deposited today.’
‘Of course, my information is good. It is always good.’
‘Yes,’ Borya said, ‘it seems so. Must be the resources at your disposal.’
‘And the father and daughter on the photographs my man provided?’
‘What about them?’
‘What will become of them?’
‘Not your concern.’
‘True. And you? Are you concerned for your fellow countrymen?’
Borya smiled. ‘It’s been a long time since someone asked me a question like that.’
‘Maybe you’re glad? After all, they fled your country. Betrayed your country.’
‘Everyone betrays everyone in my country. A retreating GRU officer is not someth
ing that interests me.’
‘Just the people you work for.’
Borya nodded slowly, still partially lost in the dance of the eyes.
‘Are you capable of any feelings, Borya?’
‘I enjoyed fucking you, so I must be capable of feeling something.’
‘You enjoyed the control, Borya. That’s different. What you were doing, and who it was with were irrelevant to you.’
Borya broke his trance to turn and smile again. ‘In the same way you enjoyed being controlled. Don’t pretend that who and what were relevant to you.’
Madden smiled. She winced. Her eye and lips were puffing up nicely. ‘True, but we did have an agreement.’
Borya turned back to the jar. ‘I remember. Not the face.’
‘Yes … so?’
‘So? I’m just saying I remember …’
‘Are we all just nothing to you?’
‘Everything is nothing.’
‘Goodbye, Borya. I won’t be back.’
You will, he thought as she slammed the lounge door. You always come back.
Yorke was in the bathroom trying to peek under the bandage on his face when Robinson called him.
‘Before you say anything, sir, I made a mistake. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not me you should be apologising to, Mike. It’s your two officers—’
‘I know!’ Yorke cut him off rather abruptly, but it was clearly a sore point. He then took a deep breath and apologised for his tone. ‘But my gut instinct told me that Wheelhouse was behind the murder of Buddy’s granddaughter. The fact that Johnson has been tortured, nearly to death, suggests I was probably right.’
‘I’m sure we’d have arrived at the same lead, Mike.’
‘I’ve no doubt, sir, but I thought you’d have your hands full, and would appreciate the support.’
‘Despite the fact that I told you to completely remove yourself from the investigation?’
‘I’ve had a rough time, sir, my judgement was clouded. I apologise again. Has Johnson woken?’
‘Rough time or not, Mike, I’m not answering that question until I have your cast-iron guarantee that you’re completely hands off.’
‘Cast-iron.’
Robinson sighed. ‘No, he hasn’t woken and until he does, if he even does, we’re working on guesswork, but one thing is probably sure …’
