Amy Cooper Forever

by Craig Mullins

  He barely acknowledged her as he carried on up the stairs, unaware as she opened and shut the front door and was gone. He ripped the envelope open and started reading:

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  Invitation

  You are cordially invited to attend the opening night of Yarmouth’s newest nightspot.

  Devils & Angels Gentleman’s Club

  This is. VIP invite entitling you to two nights accommodation, transport to and from the venue, all inclusive evening including all drink, private dances and tips.

  For full instructions please read the terms and conditions.

  The ticket is valid for the named person only and is non-transferable.

  Accommodation is at the Belle Vista Chalet Park. Just report to reception and give them your name

  .

  The event is for ticket holders only and no other persons will be admitted.

  Your chalet will be available from:

  2pm on Friday the 2nd July 1993

  Event starts at 8pm until late, car will pick you up from reception at 7:30pm and will return you after the event.

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  He sat on the edge of the bed and read the letter another half dozen times. It looked legitimate; it had been posted from Great Yarmouth. It was going to be an amazing weekend, free booze, free accommodation, free women, what more could a teenage boy ask for. Last nights girl was just one in a long string of such nights. He was beginning to get bored with the same old girls that appeared to be attracted to him. This could be his chance to hook up with a real woman. As he looked around his room he began to think that he needed to make changes to his life. The walls of his room were littered with posters of semi-naked girls draped over expensive supercars, the box under his bed was full of adult magazines. And on top of his wardrobe behind an ancient suitcase was a box full of video cassettes containing extreme pornographic films, many of which featured sadistic bondage sex. His life was becoming a slide into degradation, his needs were becoming stronger. He was treating the girls with less and less respect and he could become rough with them, at times he scared himself with how far he may go.

  This weekend would be the last of it, he would indulge himself one last time. When he got back he would try to rebuild his life. The porn would go, the endless one night stands would go, the attitude he had for women would go. But most of all he was going to change his attitude toward his parents. For too long he had manipulated them into giving him whatever he wanted, even if it meant sacrificing their own plans or happiness. They had always put him first above all else. And he’d let them.

  The first to go were the posters, still in just his jeans he took down the posters. First to go was Daisy Duke in her cut off shorts and tied gingham shirt as she draped her body over the General Lee. Also gone were the red swimsuit clad Pamela Andersen, the cast of Beverly Hills 90210 – his favourite was Jennie Garth with her blonde hair and perfect body. With the posters in a pile by his feet next to go were the magazines. He pulled the box from under his bed, there must have been at least fifty. Some were your everyday porn magazines with images naked women, others were stronger European mags depicting acts of sex. These he had stolen from his best friends dad, they’d discovered the secret stash when they were fourteen and over the last few years he’d hidden one in the back of his trousers and up his jumper, even his friend didn’t know he had them. He put the magazines together with the posters. Last to go was the box containing the films. He had to decide what to do with the stash, he couldn’t just put it in the trash. He’d lifted the suitcase down to retrieve the box behind and decided it would be a good place to put everything until he found a way of disposing of it all.

  With his collection of porn safely hidden away he did something he had never done, he gathered up all his clothes from the floor – including under his bed. There he found a pair of red lace panties from the girl who’d not long left, as well as a pair of his own boxers which smelled like they had their own eco system living in them. What he did next was unprecedented; he took the pile downstairs and placed it in the washing machine. A quick glance at the controls and a squirt of detergent in the cap and he was ready to go. He couldn’t believe the way he was feeling, he’d never thought about anyone but himself. Looking back he even felt a twinge of guilt about last night, she hadn’t deserved the way he’d treated her, she was a sweet girl really and intelligent. Maybe once he got back from Yarmouth he would get in touch with her and take her for a meal – a proper date.

  That was his plan, one last hedonistic weekend and then he would turn his life around. Get a job, respect his parents and most of all start living the life he wanted to live.

  Another had different plans for him!

  SIX

  As he began writing the last thing he heard were The Crafter and Homorapien arguing about Donald Trump, he had no idea what they were discussing and to be perfectly honest he had no interest.

  Chapter 3

  It was a week before I saw her again, we were nearly finished with the kitchen, probably another couple of days and we would be out of there. It was a Friday about three forty-five, and just like the first time she came in through the back door, luckily for me Pete had nipped out about ten minutes earlier to go and pick up some more sealant, he would be gone at least an hour.

  Just like before she put her bag on the counter, I stood up when I saw her and said the obligatory ‘hello’, I can still remember the way she looked at me, those eyes, an intense coffee colouring with a hint of honey. As I stared at her she asked me if I was alright, I don’t know how long I must have been staring at her. The next thing I knew she had gone and so had her bag.

  I scolded myself for being an idiot, and went back to the one task Pete had entrusted me with-cleaning up the grouting on the tiles. I was so engrossed in the job at hand that I didn’t hear her return; the first I knew was the kettle being filled at the sink. My heart sank thinking Pete had got back early, I turned to see a sight I was not ready for.

  She stood there at the sink with her back to me, her body shape accentuated by her tight fitting grey jogging bottoms. The bare small of her back visible between the waistband of the joggers and the hem of the charcoal crop top, twin plaits fell either side of her head reaching halfway down her back, each secured with a plain elastic band. When she turned with the kettle in her hand I knew I couldn’t stand up, things were happening in my trousers that I knew I wouldn’t be able to hide. I saw her lips move but barely heard a thing, my sole focus was on her crop top, when she had got changed she had removed her bra, now all I could concentrate on were the modest mounds topped with the most perfect nubs straining at the fabric.

  “Sorry what was that?” I heard myself ask her, what she must have thought I cannot imagine though her smile told me she didn’t appear to mind. She repeated her request about whether I would like a cup of coffee. While she made us both a cup, I rushed to finish off the job I was doing, I had never worked so fast in my life. In the five minutes it took her to complete her task I finished mine, by my reckoning that gave me about thirty minutes before Pete was due back and that was assuming he didn’t get chatting at the suppliers.

  With it being such a warm day Amy suggested we take the drink into the back garden. This was my first excursion out of the kitchen apart from bathroom breaks, and I knew that if Pete returned and found me there chatting to Amy he would make my life a living nightmare. But I didn’t care, Amy could have asked me to fly to the moon and I would have gone with her, I would do anything for her.

  In the garden we sat on a lovely ‘L’ shaped Rattan couch with cream coloured cushions, she took the corner tucking her feet underneath her, I sat about four feet further down, cradling the warm coffee in my hands. I remember it like it was yesterday, she made a show of sniffing her armpits before asking if she smelled or was there another reason I was sitting so far away. I shuffled a couple of feet closer, close enough to smell her sc
ent of what I could only describe as strawberries.

  We chatted for the next few minutes about mundane things like favourite TV shows, her school, my work, boring stuff. I found her really easy to talk too, though I had to make a real effort to stop my eyes caressing her body, the discussion soon turned to more personal matters, she asked about my family which I skirted around and then I listened to her tell me about her family. An envy I have never felt before washed over me while I listened, she appeared to have the perfect life, a mum and dad that loved her, a little sister she loved and this lovely house to enjoy it all in.

  As things progressed I was conscious of the time, I started telling her that we were nearly finished with her kitchen, and that I would soon be gone. My heart raced at the thought of asking her out, and until the words tumbled out I hadn’t been sure they ever would. With palms soaked with sweat I finally managed to ask her if I could see her when we had finished working there, maybe take her to the pictures or something.

  It was then that she asked me if I knew how old she was, I replied that I thought she was maybe sixteen. This pleased her, the smile reached all the way to her eyes–those beautiful eyes- and her laugh was one that got you instantly, the second she laughed I couldn’t help join in. When she told me she was fourteen I thought I was hearing things, the way she looked, the way she talked, everything about her told me she was older. I had never thought of myself as a cradle snatcher but here I was chatting to a schoolgirl and having thoughts about her that I shouldn’t have been having. But still I wanted her, and would do anything to have her.

  I tried to hide the shock in my voice and told her that it didn’t matter to me but if she was uncomfortable with it I would understand. She glowed at my response and I knew that from that moment on she would have to be mine, that there could be no way she would ever be with anyone else. I appreciated that before we could move to a more physical relationship we would have to wait, but she was worth it. My mind was already planning her sixteenth birthday when we could be together properly.

  I heard Pete’s van pull up in the driveway on the gravel, I apologised to her and told her we would arrange something before rushing back indoors and picking up the nearest cloth before pretending to buff the tiles just as Pete walked through the door. No sooner had Pete walked in than Amy came through the other door carrying the two mugs and placing them in the sink. She gave me a look and winked before turning and walking back out, barely a glimpse at Pete.

  Pinky placed his pencil on the desk, and flexed his fingers; they creaked as he did, an obvious sign of his age. He looked down at the scrunched paper on the floor, when he first started there would be at least a dozen or more, today there were less than half a dozen. He was finding the writing easier as he got into his story, he hadn’t realised what an effect the words he put on the paper would have on him. As he wrote today he was transported back to that very house, the smells, the sounds all came back to him. The strawberry scent from Amy, the sweat from Pete, he could even taste the bitter tang from the coffee once more, and her voice, he could have listened to her voice all day.

  As his head came back to the present he heard The Crafter and Homorapien still arguing, though he had no idea what about, they were saying something about the UK being a dumping ground.

  “Are you two still at it?” He shouted out to them.

  “What’s your fucking problem Pinky, we’re having a meaningful discussion here.” The Crafter returned fire.

  “So what is it this time?” Pinky thought a little bit of interaction may help bring his mind back from Amy, he still missed Amy and knew he always would.

  “Charlie boy [aka Homorapien] here thinks that the UK has become a dumping ground for the worlds waifs and strays, and that he can’t wait for Brexit to happen so that we can chuck all the trash back to where it belonged. And I was explaining to him that it was the waifs and strays that kept my hobby going all those years.” The Crafter explained.

  “What do you mean ‘they kept your hobby going’?”

  “All of my crafting was from immigrants, I never once used a British national for my work.”

  “How do you know they were immigrants, surely you didn’t ask them before you killed them, did you”

  “Of course not, they all worked for my company at some time, either cleaning or gardening. When I employed them I had to check that they had the right to work in the UK, the ones that couldn’t supply evidence in the form of a passport I took on and paid cash in hand so that there was no paper trail. Then when I was ready they would suddenly stop working for me and end up as trinkets or other items to be admired.” The Crafter explained.

  “And no one noticed your workers disappearing.” Pinky asked.

  “No, I employed around thirty legitimate workers, and about half a dozen illegals, staff were constantly coming and going, it was a shame though because the illegals were generally my best workers, the English were the worst, they were such lazy fuckers. If they weren’t off sick they were skiving. The illegals would work sixteen hours a day, seven days a week.”

  “Well I still think Britain would be great again without them.” Homorapien said as a final remark to end the conversation.

  SEVEN

  It had nearly been a week since Pinky had added any pages to his manuscript; the executives from head office turned up on Monday and had been there all week inspecting the staff, paperwork and buildings. On Wednesday a short squat bald man accompanied by a very attractive mid-thirties barrister came into the area of the cells, they ignored all the inmates and stood beside the one empty cell. The man was Leonard Wise, the chairman of the private company that ran the facility, it was a single block separated from the main building where years ago the infectious criminally insane were held until they either recovered or died. A small door at the end of the block led to a small ante chamber which housed a furnace, here was where they would incinerate the bodies of the infected to eradicate and chance of further infection. Stories were rife of inmates being forced into it alive when overcrowding became a problem in the early 1920’s, there was no evidence to back the rumours up.

  Leonard Wise proceeded to tell the lady barrister that the cell would be cleared and would be just like the others, with a nod she didn’t say a word and they both left, as they walked out they could hear as he asked her if she thought the facility would be satisfactory. Did this mean they were getting another inmate was all Pinky could think about, it was bad enough that he hadn’t been able to write all week, now there was going to be another fuck-up to put up with as if the other six weren’t enough. And he knew it was bad news when a new inmate arrived.

  He remembered back to the day when Charles Montgomery a.k.a. Homorapien arrived, he was bought in as they all had, in handcuffs. Pushed into a cell and told to place his hands through the slot so that the cuffs could be removed. He had done this without a word, then as soon as the escorting officers had gone he started. In a way it had been quite funny Pinky recollected, Charles had stood in his cell and with his posh accent declared that he was the evolution of mankind and that his new genus was called Homorapien. Mostly the inmates jeered him, Pinky thought that he would be trouble.

  Pinky was proved right, for nearly a month Charles had preached his sermon about how he was wrongly convicted, that evolution can’t be wrong. He was convinced that as time moved forward he would be proved right that all humans would eventually evolve to his level where they would take whatever they wanted with or without consent – in essence they would rape. In his case this had manifested itself sexually, he would invite men to his house where he would brutally rape and torture them before his hallmark signature of removing their penis and eating it in front of them as they bled to death. He had tried to convince them all that it was natural for a person to take, history had proven that there were others like him, some had craved power like Genghis Khan, others derived pleasure from the flesh, the most notorious of these being Hugh Hefner – Charles was convinced that Hugh must have be
en a rapist because how else could he get all of those beautiful girls to sleep with him.