“No idea. We’re not going to outwit her. If we draw any attention to Goulding’s death, we’re facing another murder investigation, one which could compromise us.”
Cronwell stares, eyes raging.
“It’s time to teach Emilia a lesson about playing with fire.”
73
RICHARD
SUNDAY 25 NOVEMBER 2018
Carelessness comes at a cost. Emilia put us both in danger, and I now fear for our lives.
Messing with Goulding’s mind and identifying herself was a childish mistake. I thought she knew better, believed I’d drummed the importance of anonymity into her skull.
Despite her error, I must offer her praise for gaining access to Goulding and killing her with the lethal injection.
This killing game has galvanised her.
Having seen her at her lowest, her soul disintegrated to dust, she’s become a force to be reckoned with.
I do fear the net is closing in on us. There was something in the way Carmichael looked at me, at Goulding’s place, almost as if he had figured it out.
While our murderous actions are immoral, I will do anything to protect Emilia from harm and exposure.
I’ve decided we will abduct Carmichael’s fiancé next. He degraded Emilia; he needs to know exactly how it feels to watch a loved one be afraid for their life.
The plan is simple. We will invite Carmichael to join a game on Cipher, one with a star victim, Annabelle.
This course of action is simply to put the fear of God into him and make him obey our orders.
I keep reiterating to Emilia that we do not need to have blood on our own hands, there are other ways to obliterate the remaining players.
Emilia will hold Annabelle captive. I’ve got the laptop, providing administrative access to Cipher. I’ll create a live feed, a countdown clock to her pending torture and death.
It’s genius. It’s his turn to roll the dice and choose which way to play the game.
Carmichael will receive a weblink with the tagline ‘Watch Annabelle Annihilated’ to set his heart on fire.
When he clicks it, he’ll be directed to Cipher and an embedded video; A.N.N.A.B.E.L.L.E, featuring his beautiful fiancé, bound and gagged, as the prize bait.
Carmichael will be forced to make the biggest decision of his life; kill Hamilton to save Annabelle.
He will be given 24 hours to kill him by means of violence, or watch Annabelle endure the wrath of the Master and Grand Master.
Emilia said Hamilton inflicted horrific violence during his onslaught, so that’s how he must die.
Carmichael was goaded into attacking Emilia, but he cannot walk away free from his crime.
He may not be a murderer, but I understand more than anyone how you protect family. Look at who I’ve become.
Carmichael will do what it takes to protect Annabelle because that’s what you do, you protect those you love, at any cost.
74
ANNABELLE
SUNDAY 25 NOVEMBER 2018
It has been eating away at me, the fact that Ben lied to me. I don’t deserve lies and betrayal.
Ben studies my face as I set the dinner plates on the table. He pops open a bottle of red and fills two glasses.
Rage consumes me. I down the glass in one swoop.
“Woah, steady honey! Rough day?” he probes.
“Rough few days,” I answer, bitterly.
Colour fades from his cheeks. He’s hiding something.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think you know.”
His Adam’s apple bobs, throat swallowing his guilt.
“Have I done something to upset you?”
“You lied to me!”
“About what?”
His face reddens.
“You said you were with Tim on Thursday. Why lie?”
“I didn’t lie.”
“ITV news would disagree. I saw you and Cronwell, heroes, returning to the scene of the fire.”
“I’m not disputing that didn’t happen. But I was with Tim earlier in the evening.”
I’m nauseous as the lies fall from his tongue with ease.
“You weren’t even meant to be working!”
“I received a tip-off about an ongoing investigation and met Cronwell,” he answers irritably.
I lower my gaze, unable to look him in the face.
“Call Tim. He’ll confirm that we met.”
He flicks his mobile across the table.
“Go on, do it! Make the call,” he screeches.
“He’ll only lie to me, too!”
“For goodness sake, I’m not lying to you!”
My spoon crashes against the plate. I push my chair back and leave the table, teary-eyed.
Tears dampen my pillow. I ignore his voice, pleading with me to come back, and close my eyes to be free.
It’s 2:36 a.m. Ben isn’t beside me. I walk downstairs, half expecting to find Ben in a drunken stupor, but he’s gone.
I’ll use the time alone to my advantage and find out what he’s hiding, then I’ll confront him with the evidence.
I rummage through his bedside drawer and wardrobe, then the washing, smelling his clothes for perfume, and searching pockets for incriminating receipts.
I move to his computer. The screen illuminates. I scour the past week; the history shows barely any activity.
My search takes me back three months before I’m sickened. I discover searches for torture and sexual equipment.
I see spreader bars, pinwheel tables, and, most horrific of all, a Judas chair covered by spikes and restraints. I’m engaged to a twisted pervert!
Vomit erupts in my mouth. I sprint to the bathroom and bow my head over the toilet.
I thought I knew Ben. I’ve been blinded by love. How could I not know he had this wicked side? I’m a fool, and I’m afraid. I’m weeks away from marrying a monster!
75
EMILIA
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 2.57 AM
It’s time to play. I reach for the syringe and jab M99 Etorphine into Annabelle’s neck.
She falls backward from the toilet rim with shock, her lips covered in vomit.
Her eyes catch a snippet of me before they close, and she collapses limp on the floor.
Our close surveillance has paid off. We watched and lay in wait for hours in the slim hope Carmichael would leave on a work call out.
A pang of guilt coils around me. Annabelle is an innocent victim, but then again so was I.
Her abduction is necessary; to allow me to take out the next opponent and finish the game.
I bundle Annabelle inside a large wheelie suitcase, tuck in her arms and legs, like a baby in the womb.
Head bowed and donning Annabelle’s hooded coat, I bump the case into the rear garden and drag it like a trolley dolly on the runway.
Dad and I lift the case into the boot. She has enough air to breathe and will remain unconscious.
We drive in darkness for 30 minutes, passing two farms on a single tarmac track to the perfect, hidden location at the end of Sand Point; St Thomas’s Head.
The abandoned 11-acre Ministry of Defence base rests on remote coastal headland alongside the Bristol Channel.
It was shrouded in secrecy for decades, having been a military research establishment for top security live underwater explosive testing by the Defence Evaluation and Research Agency (DERA).
Secret testing had taken place in the ocean during high spring tides ever since World War II, until 2009.
Now, high, barbed wire fences and locked gates secure the site, aside from broken trespass points.
We abandon the car on the tarmac to prevent tyre marks on the grass. Thrashing, insufferable wind slaps my cheeks. Its relenting power brings tears to my eyes.
Our pathway is lit by an abundance of stars and a crescent moon mirroring on the ocean below.
Waves crash against the rocks. I drag Annabelle, Dad carries our supplies, and we step through the fence.<
br />
The site is occupied by redundant Portakabins, two Nissen military huts, detonation points, wash down huts, and a main building.
A red-bricked building, once used to control the explosions, has been vandalised. Smashed glass and broken plastic sheeting litters the ground.
We continue toward the Nissen huts (prefabricated structures made from a half-cylindrical skin of corrugated steel).
I yank the case with force, bumping over an old fire hose. It’s eerie here, as though a nuclear disaster occurred, and military personnel fled for their lives.
Dad’s torch-light shines over a rusting buoy adorned with a damaged ‘MOD Trials Keep Out’ sign.
We pause at the double doors, sealed with a padlock. Dad uses bolt cutters to break it open.
Once inside, Dad turns on the camping lamps in his hands, and illuminates the chamber.
It stinks of pungent damp. I close the doors behind us, locking us in a disconcerting silence.
At the far end of the chamber, a roofing panel is missing. The moonlight shines in over the Fire Exit door and old lighting controls.
Damaged heating panels and fibreglass quilting hang off the walls. It’s the perfect setting for a prisoner.
Dad lays out tarpaulin, bandages, and restraints, ready for Annabelle to take centre stage as our hostage.
We are miles from the rest of the world, no one will hear her screams. I’ve learned from the best; Cipher.
I unzip the case. Her face is partially obscured with wayward hair strands, cheeks pale. We unpack her, unfold her limbs and lift her body onto the sheeting.
Adrenalin kicks in. I imagine Carmichael’s reaction, when he witnesses his fiancé bound and gagged.
I’ve no interest in hurting her; she’s a pawn in my game, a means to an end. That end is that I simply want to destroy him.
I want Carmichael to endure fear like he’s never known, seeping through every vein and artery in his body.
Annabelle will be terrified when she awakens, that’s understandable. But her fear needs to be realistic for the live feed to gain views and offer a convincing scenario.
When the camera is no longer rolling, she will learn what her fiancé is capable of and I’ll spare her the torment of marrying the beast.
I’ll make her watch the footage of Ben raping me. Seeing it with her own eyes is the only way she can understand the severity of his crime and why she is now strapped into this chair.
76
EMILIA
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 3.34 AM
Annabelle’s eyes flicker, weary from the sedative, head bobbing. She focuses on my face. I smile like the devil.
Confusion morphs to fear, realising her arms are restrained, her ankles attached to the chair as a prisoner.
Tears trickle over her cheeks, the camera capturing it all. She shakes and shivers, as though she’s convulsing.
We film her struggling for a good five minutes without any interaction.
Her eyes are wide with terror, throat gagging against the muslin cloth on her tongue. It’s enough action to upload the clip to Cipher, with a countdown clock.
A hint of sea salt loiters on my lips. It revokes a flashback to the clifftop at Sand Bay, to the point in time when I wanted to end it all.
I’m thankful Dad saved me from death, to allow me to continue my quest. The game is just getting started.
Dad ends the live feed. He cups his palms over his face, exhaling breaths on them to generate warmth.
The dilapidated chamber is as cold as an igloo, my toes numb, my heart hammering.
Dad stares at Annabelle in a way that I find unnerving, as though he wants to detract from the plan and kill her.
“Annabelle, I’m not going to hurt you,” I whisper, pulling the gag from her mouth with gloved fingers.
Her eyes dart from my face to Dad’s, gaze bouncing from wall to wall, studying loose cables, old power supplies, and a smashed phone smeared with dirty marks.
She fixates on a corroded sign: ‘Guards and goggles must be worn at all times when operating this machine.’ I suspect she believes this is her torture chamber.
Annabelle lifts her stare onto mine. I move closer, placing a hand on her shoulder offering reassurance. She flinches, breaking contact as though I’m contagious.
“What the fuck is going on? Let me go!”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”
“Why am I here, you crazy bitch?”
“You are here because of Ben. I promise I haven’t hurt you, nor am I going to.”
Her face remains puzzled, eyebrows sunken, forming tiny creases between them.
“I want you to know who the real Ben is. You deserve to know the truth.”
“I already know. I’ve seen on his search history. You’re welcome to the twisted scumbag.”
She tugs at her bonds, adding, “you deserve each other.”
“Annabelle, you have this all wrong. I am not his unbalanced, psychopathic lover.”
“Then who are you, why have you taken me?”
“I’m his enemy. I’m his worst nightmare.”
77
ANNABELLE
MONDAY 26 NOVEMBER 2018, 3.34 AM
Ben has been leading a double life and I am going to pay for it with mine.
The duo stare, smiling with bemusement, as I tug at the restraints holding me prisoner.
I’ve no idea who they are; she’s a young woman, and he’s in his sixties. This is insane.
The cord chaffs as I twist my wrists in frantic successions, trying to free their constrictive grip.
She skulks closer. Her face is kind, but her eyes sinister and dark, as though her soul has been infected by demons.
I cannot drag my eyes away. She offers a stare that makes the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end.
“Ben is the reason you are strapped to this chair,” she whispers.
I find the courage to engage with my captor.
“You’re twisted.”
I tug at the bonds again as she crouches at eye level.
“He destroyed my life, Annabelle, and now it’s my turn to destroy his. Your fiancé raped me; they all did! See for yourself.”
The man passes her a laptop, and presses ‘play’ on a video clip. Cries fill the cavernous bunker.
He cups his ears and backs away, so he cannot see the footage or hear the screams. I’m beyond confused.
The computer rests on my lap. I see her terrified face up close, while men take turns attacking her. A woman joins the ambush.
I drag my eyes from the screen, focusing on hers, rage diffused, now watery and sad.
“Keep watching, this is the best part,” she orders.
I stare back at the footage. The camera pans and zooms in on the face of another stranger. Only it isn’t a stranger, it’s Ben, my Ben, being supported on either side, raping her.
Vomit spills from my lips. I shake my knees, trying to push the video away, flooded with repulsion.
I’ve got this all wrong. Ben doesn’t have a lover that he’s trying to conceal. He’s hiding a sordid secret far more horrific than that.
“I’m sorry for making you watch it, Annabelle, but you needed to see it for yourself.”
My words are lost. She’s going to punish Ben, by hurting me. Her assistant is going to rape me in retaliation, an eye for an eye.
“Ben was paralytic and was made to take part by those animals. But that doesn’t lessen his involvement. He still raped me. For that, he must pay.”
Her haunted eyes are bulbous, mimicking the ventriloquist’s dummy in the ‘Saw’ movies.
I can see that she’s been destroyed, damaged beyond repair and is now riddled with evil, right to her very core. Revenge is the only thing keeping her heart beating.
“I’m sorry that he hurt you,” I say, trying to diffuse the situation.
“Please don’t do this.”
“They were playing a game, Annabelle. They streamed my gang rape and torture on the Da
rk Web to earn points and Bitcoins. That’s why I showed you. I’m sparing you from a life of lies. You cannot marry a rapist!”
My world crumbles. Images of me in my wedding dress in church fold in on the edges, aflame.
“I’ve killed the others; well, some of them,” she blurts.
I’m sickened. My life is in the hands of a mass murderer.
“They ruined my life, Annabelle. I never intended for any of this. Never considered I would exact revenge; I was too afraid. But I saw one of them, months later. He didn’t even recognise me. Can you imagine how that felt?”
I shake my head sympathetically.
“Annabelle, I swear I’m not going to hurt you. I am not going to physically hurt Ben, either. I’ve made him pay by exposing his actions to you. But it’s not enough. He has to suffer, truly suffer. But I will give him a choice. Which is more than he gave me.”
“What are you planning?”
“I’m sorry to have involved you, truly I am. But it was the only sure way to lure him. Here, drink some water.”
She holds a bottle of Evian to my lips. I notice she’s wearing protective gloves.
“Ben has 24 hours to meet my demands.”
Water spits from my lips.
“And then what? You'll kill me, too?” I hiss.
“I told you, I won’t hurt you.”
“You’ve drugged and abducted me. How am I supposed to believe a word you say, you crazy bitch? Let alone believe you will turn me loose in 24 hours if Ben co-operates.”
“I won’t hurt you, or him; at least, not physically. It’s only a game.”
“A game? Do you have any idea how sick and twisted that sounds? Besides, I’ve seen your face; I can identify you! How can you let me go now?”
“You won’t go to the police once you’re free because you wouldn’t want the shame of being linked to a sex murder ring.”
Kill List Page 17
