I will not give him the satisfaction of witnessing me on my knees, hurt, and suffering. I’ll continue to stand up to my monsters until they’re dead.
Now, more than ever, this has become about justice, for me and my parents. I will prove my worth to Cipher, show them I’m no easy target. They met their match the day they chose me. I’m unstoppable and now I’m fuelled by a furious rage.
Death is by no means the greatest form of punishment. Living a half existence, as I have, is far worse.
Finding the strength to breathe, to put one foot in front of the other, and to look at yourself without feeling repulsed. That’s how Cronwell will feel once I’ve finished with him.
I’ve decided his fate. He will suffer by the means in which he hurt me, burns. I will chuck acid in his face and wipe that smug, sneering, smile clean.
His torment won’t end there. I want him stuck inside his own body; his own prison cell where he cannot escape. It is an eye for an eye. I’ll perform a suitable treatment to cure his incurably deranged, violent, and psychotic mind; lobotomy.
101
EMILIA
THURSDAY 29 NOVEMBER 2018, 8.35 AM
Our unbreakable family is fraying at its seams and will come unstuck if the truth surfaces.
Tom drops his guard as soon as I slam the door in Cronwell’s face, and crumbles like an infant in tears.
I pull him close, comforting him, trying to suppress simmering rage and panic.
Mark stands like one of his children in the playground - two’s company, three’s a crowd.
He smiles, and mouths the words, “I’ll leave you both to talk, I love you.”
I smile. Mark pats Tom on the back.
“I’m sorry you are both going through such a traumatic time, I’ll let you talk. I’m here if you need me.”
Tom lifts his head. He nods but cannot find his words.
I watch Mark walk out of the door; only this time, despite the media circus, and the shit storm that surrounds me and my family, this won’t be last time I see him.
Mark is back in my life, and I believe in my heart of hearts he’s here to stay, even after he’s learned the truth.
Well, the half-truth. I cannot confess to being a serial killer, that isn’t something that you reveal to your lover.
“What the fuck is going on?” Tom sobs.
“You know Dad didn’t do this! It’s the police trying to make themselves look proficient to the media.”
“But they must have had grounds to charge him!”
I offer my brother a scornful stare.
“Do you really think our own father is capable of beating our mother, almost to death?”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like a prized dick. Dad and Mum need our support right now, not doubt.”
“I tried to represent him as his solicitor, but it was suggested to me that while, by law, I’m allowed to, it could look bad in the eyes of a jury if it came to court. A conflict of interest, apparently.”
“It’s not going to get to court, is it? Mum’s in and out of consciousness, and as soon as she is strong enough to talk, then she will give her statement, clearing Dad.”
“But will she? Will she be OK? What if both Mum and Dad die, and we lose them both?”
“That’s not going to happen. I don’t even want to hear you say it. Mum and Dad will recover, and they will come home. They wouldn’t leave us!”
“I just want to know what’s going on. Tell me the truth Emilia. What’s being kept from me?”
“Nothing. Why would you say that?”
“Well, look at you! You’re as skinny as a rake. Mum says you’re sick and are hiding it from us. Mum’s been beaten in our family home, and now Dad accused of not only hurting our mother, he’s being questioned in relation to two fucking murders! This just isn’t normal, everyday life!”
“It’s all utter bullshit. Dad is not capable of hurting a hair on Mum’s head, let alone capable of killing someone!”
Tom rubs his forehead with his fingers, delving his mind for an explanation, answers even.
“As for me, I promise you, hand on heart that I’m not sick. Lovesick maybe, but Mark is back in my life again. I am going to be OK!”
“And when did that happen? Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased for you. He’s good for you. But you used to tell me stuff like that. Now, nobody’s telling me anything!”
I pause, reflecting on his words. Tom is right. Mark is good for me. And he’s mine again.
“We literally only bumped into each other yesterday. That’s why I haven’t had the chance to tell you.”
“I just don’t know what the hell to do. I feel useless. I can’t help Dad with his defence. I feel lost.”
“Me too, I feel lost, and so very afraid. But Tom, we need to stick together. That’s what families do. Blood is thicker than water, we will NOT let those bastards tear our family apart. Do you hear me?”
Tom nods, as tears snake down his cheeks.
“You need to pull yourself together. We need to be strong; we are a family after all. Isn’t that what family do, they pull together in dark times.”
“Emilia, I love you. I love Mum and Dad. We cannot lose them. Please, let’s just get to the hospital.”
Tom looks like the toddler brother, feet turned inward, fingers laced. He looks innocent and is innocent. He has no fucking clue what the actual fuck is going down - that our family is being hunted.
At any moment in time, Mum, Dad, Tom, and me, could all be hung to slaughter. We are so close to death its unreal and that feels absolutely terrifying.
102
DI CARMICHAEL
THURSDAY 29 NOVEMBER 2018, 11 AM
Cronwell is the devil and he should be sent back to the gates of Hell for the sinner that he is.
Not only has he destroyed Emilia’s life, he’s destroyed that of her family.
Now she’s coming for him. Emilia’s like a wounded animal and is more dangerous now than ever before.
Her unceasing reign of revenge will not stop, not until Cronwell’s been punished.
I’ve no idea if she’ll hunt me too. I’m past caring now; Annabelle’s gone and has made no contact. I deserve what is coming to me. In a way, I welcome it.
My only comfort is that Annabelle has not reported me, or Cipher, to the authorities. Had she, both me and Cronwell would have been arrested by now.
I cannot face the shame of prosecution. I’d rather die than be jailed and labelled a rapist. A cop behind bars is like giving candy to a baby.
I’ve various options; continue to be owned by Cipher, kill myself, or kill Cromwell. But after Hamilton, I know I don’t have it in me to be a murderer, no matter how strong the motivation is. I’m just not that person.
If I sit back and bide my time, Emilia will do it for me, because daddy’s little girl was trained to be a killer, the best, and will always get away with murder.
I suppose, in a warped way, I’ve become her champion. I’m willing her on because I want her to take out the final opponent. She deserves to have payback, justice, and closure.
The one thing I do fear is that if she continues her quest, it could cause further harm to her family.
I’ve been forced to threaten Emilia and have delivered her an ultimatum over text; hand over Goulding’s laptop, or Tom and her boyfriend will be next.
Cronwell is a warped fucker. He’s demanded Emilia meet us in Worlebury Woods, the place where this all began, where we destroyed her as part of the twisted game.
He’s promised Emilia that if she hands over Goulding’s laptop, all parties will walk away, Game Over.
He even said he felt she had been a ‘worthy adversary’.
I don’t trust him; never have. There remained a glint of slyness in his eyes when he made the promise. He is capable of many things but telling the truth isn’t one of them. Neither is keeping his word.
103
EMILIA
THURSDAY 29 NOVEMBER 2018, 11
.45 PM
The game ending is near. It’s time to revisit the gates of Hell and face Satan.
Cronwell has made me return to the woods, the sick fuck. I’ve got Goulding’s laptop stuffed inside a rucksack, along with my weapons.
Branches snap underfoot. Blackness engulfs me as flashbacks smash my mind. I’m on my knees, their perverted, greedy hands on me.
A light flickers ahead, signalling me for the showdown. This is what I have been waiting for, the finale.
This game needs to end. Too many people have been hurt. I will not let Cipher continue to destroy innocent lives, or mine. This game will end; right here, right now.
I’m high on fear and rage. Cronwell won’t keep to his word. Of course, he won’t. He wants me silenced; wants me dead.
The dead can’t talk. But they can haunt and, if these are my final moments on this earth, and he does kill me, I vow to haunt him until his dying days. And, if it’s remotely possible, I’ll seek him out in the afterlife, and punish him there, too.
Revenge can manifest itself both in life and in death. He will never, ever, be allowed to get away with his crimes. They chose the wrong victim in my round of the game. Choose wisely, that’s something Daddy taught me. Daddy, I’m doing this for you, and for Mum.
The moonlight hovers over twisted branches. Leaves rustle, diffusing the intensity of my heart.
My alter ego is cartwheeling, spurring me onwards, down my path of retribution. She wants blood.
I won’t be defeated. Good prevails over evil and Cronwell is far more evil than I could ever be. Darkness exists within his wretched soul and he deserves to be burned.
The howls of a dog disappear in the distance as I venture further inside the woods. Their silhouettes are lit by a lantern.
Twigs whip my cheeks as I wade into the lair. This is it; the moment I’ve waited for.
Daddy taught me how to get away with murder. He also taught me that some punishments are far worse than death. It’s time to dance with the Devil.
What’s that old saying? If you play with fire, you’re going to get burned? He might well be the Devil, but I am on fire tonight. I am an inferno; a volcano ready to erupt.
The Devil has played with fire. It’s finally time for him to pay the price for that and get burned. Burned like he has never burned before.
104
EMILIA
THURSDAY 29 NOVEMBER 2018, 11.59 PM
“Look what we have here, Carmichael. Look who has come to play the game for real.”
I cannot see his face, but I recognise the sour tone of Cronwell’s voice, and inch closer into their circle.
Cronwell’s lips stretch into a smile, exposing his repulsive teeth. He rubs his greedy, filthy hands together.
Carmichael’s face is aflame with shame and dread, as he finally comes face to face with me, his rape victim.
“Have you brought what we asked for?” Cronwell asks.
Carmichael bows his head. He can’t even look at me.
“Yes. Of course. I want this to be over.”
“Go fetch it, Carmichael,” he barks.
Carmichael saunters closer. I pull the rucksack off my back and pluck the laptop from inside.
“Is she clean?” Cronwell asks.
My heart leaps as Carmichael stands inches from me, eyeing the contents of the bag. The acid glows in the dark like a beacon, along with my glistening metal ice pick.
He mouths the words, “I’m sorry.”
It’s the first, and only, apology that I’ve been given by any of them. And he means every word.
“She’s unarmed,” Carmichael responds.
I stare into his watery eyes, surprised by his unexpected solidarity. He’s a man carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, riddled with shame and remorse, like an infestation of maggots inside his chest.
“Come closer, Emilia,” Cronwell instructs.
I obey.
Their taunts haunt my mind: “You like that bitch?”
I’m hallucinating, imagining the seven beasts around me. I shake my head. I won’t go there again.
Wings flap against the leaves, crows circle, ready to watch the live spectacle.
“You couldn't let it go, could you? If you’d accepted what you deserved, you wouldn’t have brought harm to your own door!”
How dare he say I deserved any of this? I did not deserve to be tortured and raped in a spectator sport. He’s a deranged, twisted, motherfucker. I’m going to hurt him so much. And I’m going to fucking enjoy it.
Cronwell steps closer, he’s wearing the same laced brogues that kicked and stamped on me.
“You know something, Emilia, you’re enjoying this all just a little too much ... I think you’re actually getting off on this,” he taunts, twisting his mouth into a sinister smile.
“Fuck you!” I screech, spitting in his face.
“Oh wow, you’re going to play it like this are you? You need to be taught another lesson about respecting your elders,” he whispers, before slamming a fist into my face.
My nose cracks, blood gushes over my lips. I stumble backwards, ankle snagging on a branch.
I’m falling, seeing everything in slow motion, until I hit the soil, winded. I snatch in air, desperately trying to regain control.
Cronwell’s face is satanic, bulbous eyes popping from their sockets. Metal flashes under the moonlight, cutting the air. He’s wielding a knife and is going to kill me.
“Oh, come on, Emilia ... did you really think I’d let you walk away? It would be a shame to let our final encounter go to waste. Let’s say we play one more game for the road, hey?”
His left-hand tugs against his belt, fingers opening his trouser button and zip. He ejects an ominous laugh. Crows shriek, as if urging him on.
“That’s enough!” Carmichael yells.
I turn my attention to him, spitting blood from my lips. His persona has altered; he’s found courage to stand up to his macabre master.
“What the fuck? Since when did you develop a backbone? Don’t you dare tell me what to do!”
“It’s over. Don’t do this! We have what we need ... let her go.”
My head darts like a tennis ball back and forth between them. I pull my arms free of the rucksack.
Oh, come on, Carmichael. She’s never going to stop coming for us. Maybe you’ll remember and actually enjoy her this time,’ he mocks.
“You’re sick, Cronwell. You’re a twisted, vile, ugly, predator. Not content with violating her once, you’re sick enough to go back in the ring for round two.”
“Points are points. Now, get your phone out and record it.”
My hands coil around the bottle of acid behind my back. I can hear the waves crashing in the distance in the bay below.
“I won’t let you do it ... you’ll never lay your hands on me, ever again, you hear me!” I screech.
He holds his stomach, belly laughing, now stood at my feet. He drops to his knees. I lash out and kick him.
His hand grabs my ankle, dragging me toward him, my hair snags, and rips on brambles. The searing pain is nothing compared to the agony he plans to inflict on me. He’s ruined me once; it will not happen again.
“Enough!” Carmichael yells, so loudly, his voice box could explode. It’s clear he will no longer be Cronwell’s puppet.
Cronwell turns his head, firing a vengeful stare, pointing the knife at Carmichael, in a threatening manner. I seize my moment, twist the cap off the bottle and aim it, like a gun, inches from Cronwell’s face.
Carmichael freezes. Cronwell twists his head back towards me, sensing a change in the game tactic. I’ve turned the tables, taken the upper hand; and now, I will destroy him.
“I’d never let you touch me again, or walk away, you twisted fucker!” I screech. “I knew you had no intention of letting me walk away from here tonight. Well, guess what, motherfucker. I have no intention of letting you get away with all the evil shit that you’ve done.”
Cronwell�
�s eye glue on my weapon. I squeeze hard, as though my fingers are wrapped around his throat, and spurt acid directly into his ugly, fucking face.
I inhale burning flesh as his skin bubbles immediately. The right side of his mouth slips, as though he’s suffered a stroke. One eye lid rolls back like the flesh of a peeling tangerine.
He stares wild-eyed before lashing out with his claws, attempting to tear at my clothing. I punch, kick, with every ounce of hatred in me, fighting the beast, for my life.
Carmichael appears. He smashes a log with perpetual force into Cronwell’s skull, hard enough to knock him out.
One eye slams shut, the acid-damaged socket hangs open. As if he’s a domino, he crashes onto my chest.
Vomit clogs my throat, singed skin suffocating my airways. I punch and kick, freeing myself from his snare.
“It’s OK, Emilia, it’s over,” Carmichael whispers, pulling me away from the monstrosity.
He lifts me to my feet and doesn’t take his eyes off me.
“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry, for everything. I never meant …” he stammers.
“It’s OK,” I whisper, although I’m not sure how the words escape from my lips.
“I didn’t know. I never meant to hurt you, please know that,” he whimpers. Tears glisten on his cheeks.
“I deserved what you did to me. I didn’t deserve a happy future after ruining yours. I’m sorry.”
“I hated you all, you must understand that.”
He moves his lips to speak but his words are replaced with an ear-splitting shrill. I stare at his stunned gaze, as he crashes to his knees.
My eyes follow, encountering the blade slashing the backs of Carmichael’s ankles, so deep, they tip over and he falls flat on his face.
“You silly bitch, you can’t keep me down. Now it’s your turn!”
Kill List Page 23
