Count to Ten

by Mark Ayre

  Last night, after being sick in the commercial kitchen, he had wanted nothing more than to escape body and killer. When Liz had tried to grab him, he’d fled. In the corridor beyond she had caught and held him. Begged him not to go.

  Leaving his room for the last time, Trey made his way to where Liz was staying. Last night, wrapped in his fear, he had paid her no attention. Because he had assumed she was in control, he had seen her as in control. Had believed she was acting as though she had spilt a jug of milk rather than murdered a man by drowning him in boiling water.

  Trey stopped to consider whether drowning or the heat had killed Vicious. Because he would never know, he put the problem aside and continued to Liz.

  The recovering police officer had been terrified, falling apart. She’d held it together because Trey’s compliance mattered more than her wellbeing. Despite her attempts to dissuade him, he’d insisted before his father woke, he would flee.

  In the wake of Vicious’ brutal death, he had meant every word.

  Between his bedroom and Liz’s, he saw no one. When he knocked on her door, she answered immediately. Not, he thought, because she had risen with her alarm. Her eyes told him she hadn’t slept.

  She said, “You stayed.”

  “I had a change of heart.”

  “Good.”

  “Your plan,” said Trey, “what you want to do, it’s important.”

  “I know.”

  “Not the Mercury bit,” Trey said. This was an important distinction. “Mercury’s a good person. She deserves to live. But Heidi needs to die.”

  Examining him closely, Norton asked, “What are you saying?”

  “You gave me the knife,” he said. “Best case scenario, I plunge it into my father’s heart, after he’s accepted the demon. I won’t fail to try.”

  Liz nodded. Said, “But?”

  “But, more important than anything, Heidi has to die. If my father dies before we complete the ritual, and I get the chance to go for Heidi in Mercury, it’s a chance I’m going to take. You know why?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” He was surprised.

  “You’ll take it because it’s not just the deaths I mentioned last night for which you feel guilty. As you raised Heidi, you feel responsible for every life lost at her hands. If you don’t kill her, more will die, and the toll on your soul will rise.”

  “Yeah,” said Trey, impressed. “That is right.”

  Liz shrugged in a what can I say, I’m impressive, manner. As she gathered her few belongings, Trey noticed the previous night’s empty bottles and cans. That she was still standing was a surprise. Unfathomable was the steadiness of her voice as she spoke, the hand she placed on his shoulder.

  “You’re right. Mercury deserves to live. So you won’t kill her.” When he went to interrupt, she raised a hand. “If your father dies, we’ll perform the ritual again. I’ll take the demon, and you’ll kill me. Got it?”

  “Heidi has to die,” he reiterated. “But… why you?”

  Liz went to the door with her bag, hung off the handle as she considered the problem.

  “Victor,” she said at last, “was the first person I’ve ever killed.”

  “And that means you deserve to die?”

  “I don’t believe in soul’s,” said Liz. “If I had one, I gave it up yesterday.”

  He followed her into the hall. “You saved my life.”

  “And if you stab me, you’ll be saving mine, now,” she raised the hand again. “Go to your room, ready yourself. We leave at sunrise.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the bar, then to see your father.”

  “No.”

  Liz didn’t stop. “I need a drink. Sorry, Trey, I can’t do without.”

  He blocked her path. She looked bemused. Vicious was faster and stronger than most men. Last night, Liz had moved with incredible speed to grab him, and displayed surprising strength to get him below the boiling water. She didn’t seem to fancy Trey as much of a challenge.

  “I mean,” he said, “don’t go to my father.”

  “Have to,” she said. “Even ill, Harvey will notice the absence of his favourite pet. Angry as he’ll be, I’m his saviour. He’ll let me live, figuring he’ll kill me once he has his demon. You do your job; he won’t get a chance.”

  “Except I won’t be able to do my job.”

  “Don’t worry. I say you live, you live. Victor’s death will show I mean business. Harvey won’t come for you again.”

  “Nor,” said Trey, “will he trust me enough to get close during the ritual.”

  This stopped Norton. It wasn’t something she’d considered. Already furious with his lying son, Harvey would be apoplectic when he learned a woman had saved the boy at the expense of his favourite employee. Trey would live, but so far as the plan went, he would be useless.

  “What do you propose?” she asked.

  Trey smiled. Returning to bed post-panic attack, waves of calm had covered him. He remembered his first beating at Victor’s hands. Five-years-old and terrified. When it came to Vicious beatings, only his age had changed. Vicious, as he remembered, had delighted as he battered the boy.

  He remembered every blow. Not only those administered by Victor, but his father and brother too.

  Trey had always been weak. These four had towered over him, made him feel small and insignificant but guess what?

  He was going to outlive them all.

  Last night, his outlook had changed.

  “Get yourself another drink,” he told Liz. “I’ll speak to my father.”

  “What will you say?”

  “Easy,” he said. “I’m going to tell him I killed Vicious.”

  Thirty-Two

  By the time they reached their destination, the soft glow of the oncoming dawn had begun to colour the black horizon. Even amid this rundown industrial estate, Mercury was sure it would look beautiful. Considering it might be her last, perhaps more beautiful than ever before.

  Her handsome saviour approached a small warehouse nestled in the centre of six identical units. The front comprised a massive shutter and plain white door. Between the two, a little black box with glowing green light indicated someone had updated the place in the three hundred years since the lot’s birth.

  “Hang on,” said Mercury, as he approached the door.

  “What?”

  “My mother warned me never to enter warehouse units with strangers.”

  “She did?”

  “Oh, yeah. Mum had this weird fear of me being strung up by my ankles and beaten like a piñata.”

  Richard’s smile was charming. “Your mother sounds fun.”

  A fist gripped Mercury’s heart. Three versions of her mother flashed through her mind. The terrifying woman who had resentfully raised Mercury, and who would never have worried about her annoying daughter following a stranger into a warehouse. The frightened, cancer-riddled woman who had sat on Mercury’s sofa and whispered of her biggest fear, death. And the version that had not been her mother at all, but a monster in her mother’s body. Hera, who had tried to kill Mercury.

  Brushing the memories away, she attempted to focus on analysing the situation. Richard had saved her life. He said he knew Amira, and his little knowledge of Mercury seemed to support the claim. Two reservations clung to Mercury, impeding her belief in Richard’s honesty.

  “I don’t know why Amira wouldn’t have come to save me herself,” said Mercury. “And don’t tell me she was afraid. Amira fears nothing.”

  “We all fear something,” said Richard, inadvertently recalling Mercury to her once fearless mother on the sofa, tears in her eyes. “But, you’re right, Amira is as fearless as they come.” He considered. “Tell me, does she trust easily?”

  “No.”

  “No. To complete this ritual, she needs me, so here I am. If one is to risk their life to collect you, it should be me, because my life matters less than hers or yours. I don’t begrudge her this opinion. S
he tells me no more than she must so all I know is, in her workroom in that warehouse, she prepares.”

  Preparation. That was the other thing. Richard spoke of a ritual that could rip Heidi from Mercury, freeing her from the foul beast. A dying man looking to prolong his life would shorten it further by accepting the demon. Once two became one, a knife would end the lives of both.

  “If it sounds too good to be true,” said Mercury. “It probably is.”

  Richard rolled his eyes but seemed unbothered by her refusal to believe. From his pocket, he withdrew the key fob which would allow them into the warehouse, and his phone. Unlocking the latter, he scrolled to a number and clicked call.

  “Here.”

  Catching, she said, “I’ve already phoned Amira. She’s not answering.”

  “She’s busy,” said Richard, “and that’s not her.”

  On-screen was a number rather than name. It wasn’t one she recognised. Putting the phone to her ear, she waited until a suspicious woman answered.

  “Hello?”

  Like the number, at one word, Mercury didn’t recognise the voice.

  “Hi, it’s Mercury,” she said, trusting whoever was on the end of the phone would know only one. If any.

  There was a long enough pause for Mercury to think her partner in conversation was about to hang up.

  Then they said, “Shit, really?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “You’re not Heidi?”

  Now the voice was familiar. “Detective Norton?”

  “It’s Liz Norton these days.”

  “You change it by deed poll?”

  “Hey, that’s funny.”

  An awkward moment prevailed. It was bizarre. Though not friends, the events in the woods bonded them. Mercury remembered that the demon Hera had killed Liz’s partner.

  Because she could think of no more eloquent way of asking, she said, “What the hell is going on?”

  “I’m in the bar of a mansion,” said Liz. “But, in about five minutes we’re coming to meet you and… are you with Amira?”

  “I think I’m about to be.”

  “Grand. Mercury, listen, we’re going to save you. We’re going to rip that bitch out your chest or heart or bladder or whether she’s hiding and shove her into someone else.”

  “A dying man, I hear.”

  “That’s it. Harvey Michaels.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh yeah, you’ve been out of the loop.”

  Quickly, Norton explained, then moved on to confirm the existence of the ritual which could save Mercury.

  “Amira found it,” said Norton. “And the potion thing which turns blades into demon killers. The girl is brilliant. Brilliant. Hey, are you crying?”

  Mercury wiped her eyes, knowing how stupid it was.

  “Happy tears,” she said.

  “Yeah, we’re going to save you.”

  “Not that, it’s,” she turned from Richard, not wanting him to see her cry. “Last thing I knew, before Heidi took over, Amira was being rushed to hospital. I didn’t know whether she was going to live or die.”

  “She lived,” said Liz. “Course, she lived. She wasn’t going to die until she’d saved you.” She paused as though listening for something. “I got to go. We’re about to leave. You find Amira, and you wait. Few more hours and it’ll be over. You’ll be free.”

  They said goodbye and hung up. As she did, Mercury heard the blip of the door unlocking, and Richard stepped inside. Following him, she chucked back his mobile and again dried her eyes.

  Beyond the door and shutter was a stone room. On either side was racking on which pallets might once have been stored, but which were now empty. At the back of the room, a set of metal stairs led to a tiny and bare mezzanine. Beneath this was a single room with plasticine walls.

  “Amira’ll be in there,” said Richard, pointing at the room beneath the balcony. As he slipped his phone away, Mercury approached, trying not to jog, not wanting to seem like a stupid girl excited to see her best friend. Though she was. She wondered if Amira had brought wine.

  The door to the room faced the stairs. On the back wall was a fire escape. Mercury stepped into the room and found it empty.

  Not just empty of Amira. Empty of anything. She had expected gadgets and equipment. At least a table. It was more like a cell.

  Mercury turned back to the door as Richard slammed it in her face.

  As she rushed for it, pounded on it, Richard said, “I’m afraid I’ve not been honest. Amira is gone. You’ll never see her again.”

  He chuckled as she bashed the door.

  “Your demon, though. That’s going to be mine.”

  Thirty-Three

  Returning to the pub where two old men and a stern woman had reluctantly relinquished Richard Unwin’s whereabouts, Amira had spread her arms, declared victory, and asked for Wi-Fi.

  Quiet, reserved in her childhood, at some point during adolescence, into Amira had crept a loathable cockiness, coupled with a ridiculous feeling of invincibility.

  Spared this horrible affliction, Amira would likely not have stopped in the town closest to Richard’s residence; a place she had mentioned to him. There were plenty of locations on the road, between this nowhere and the city where she was to save her friend, where she could have scanned and emailed the information to Liz.

  Plus the barmaid, there were six locals when Amira returned to the pub. While she was upstairs, as she finished her email, Richard arrived and killed them all. For years they had needlessly feared the one-time monster. Amira had brought their nightmares to life.

  Hearing the carnage, Amira had to force herself not to rush downstairs. She knew she was responsible. She’d never be able to live with their deaths.

  Above all, she was pragmatic. Alleviating her guilt was no reason to fail Mercury. She would die if she went downstairs. While the townsfolk perished because of her, Amira finished her email and went for the window, wondering if she could slip out and reach her car.

  “Amira,” called Richard. “Come downstairs, or I’ll visit every home in town, kill every inhabitant. You wouldn’t see if you fled like a coward, but I want you to know, no death will be as easy as these. There will be pain. There will be torture. Before I’m done, people will beg me to end their lives. Once I’m done, this place will be a ghost town in more than metaphor.”

  Amira began to use a similar line of logic to when she hadn’t rushed downstairs. On this occasion, it failed. Amira could never have saved the six in the bar once Richard had started. Once he had her, he had no reason to kill anyone else. She could prevent further bloodshed.

  It was always possible if she fled, he would be too busy chasing her to kill the town. There was no guarantee. Madmen rarely acted logically, more on impulse. Even going downstairs might not spare those lives. But it was the surest route. Amira had to take it.

  Entering the bar, she wondered how he would next taunt her.

  Taking no chances, he used the bat the moment she appeared. A block of wood, swung with power, hitting your stomach at speed, will always hurt. When you have suffered a bullet wound and the area the doctors twice healed said wound still aches, the pain is unimaginable.

  As Amira collapsed, Richard came after her. Bat hit back, and she screamed as she spread flat on the ground.

  Casting aside the bat, Richard was upon her. He forced her arms and legs together and tied them fast with cord, then dragged her upright. Once she was stable, he shoved her. Because of her bound ankles and wrists, she smashed the bar and rolled like a bowling pin. Richard laughed more than any bowler ever had at his strike.

  “Come on,” he said, yanking her to feet. “Road trip.”

  After an hour’s driving, Richard asked for Amira’s phone pin. When she refused, he pulled up roadside and punched her repeatedly in the stomach until she cried mercy.

  Once he had the number, he texted Liz Norton, telling her of their movements, pretending to be Amira, pretending she had let Richard al
ong. Then they were once more on the road, heading to where Mercury waited.

  Silence would have been sweet. Amira feared Richard would try to talk with her. What she got was worse. Never turning on the radio, he sang for almost six hours straight. After the first hour, Amira began to wish he would pull over and start punching her again. A beating had to be preferable. They didn’t stop again. There were no toilet or food breaks for either driver or prisoner. Richard was taking no risks.

  Half an hour from their destination, the singing stopped. Excited by the proximity to his prize, Richard started to vibrate in his seat, bouncing. He twisted the mirror to better observe her face. Though she was exhausted, his singing and ropework had prevented her catching even a minute’s shut-eye. Nor did her throbbing bladder help.

  “I need a piss,” she said.

  “Don’t be so crude.”

  “Sorry, I forgot, you’re from the lost era of gentlemen.”

  “I am.”

  “It shows.”

  Richard glared. “You’re sarcastic. Because I’ve tired you up. You know as well as I, you gave me little choice. You were so unreasonable. You came looking for help to save your friend. I helped you. All I wanted was something in return. What did you expect?”

  “I expected you to want something normal men want.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Money and a blow job.”

  Richard laughed long and hard. “Oh yes, that’s right, isn’t it? But most men are short-sighted, narrow-minded. Or simply lack knowledge. If these men knew they could have the power of a God, they would choose it over sex or money every time. I’m an enlightened soul.”

  “Lucky me,” said Amira. “I don’t have the money, and if I had to see you naked, I’d throw up.”

  “Please,” said Richard. “I saw the way you looked at me. Before you knew my age and demands, you thought I was rather handsome. Will you deny it?”