Kill List

by Vicki Fitzgerald

  105

  EMILIA

  FRIDAY 30 NOVEMBER 2018, 12.12 AM

  Cronwell spits saliva from between his teeth like venom.

  He stumbles to his feet, slashing the air in a frenzy with the bloody knife, which spatters on my face.

  Carmichael is positioned like a foetus, hands wrapped around his ankles, trying to stem the blood flow. Cronwell looks at him and laughs.

  “You always were a traitor. You useless piece of shit. It’s no wonder Annabelle left you!”

  “She left me because you turned me into a filthy rapist! I’m not like you, I never was, and I never will be,” Carmichael yells, grabbing the log.

  He sweeps it, knocking Cronwell’s feet from beneath him. He lands like a sandbag.

  Carmichael drags himself toward him, clawing the soil with determined fingers. They grapple like bare knuckle fighters.

  The woods swirl, everything is falling out of my control. Their groans stop, replaced with the familiar sound of sludge; a blade pricking flesh.

  I stare in horror; the knife protrudes from Carmichael’s thigh. His apologetic eyes fix on mine.

  He was one of my monsters but, in my hour of need, he’s become my saviour, sparing me from Cronwell’s sexual exploits and, ultimately, my death.

  “I forgive you,” I whisper.

  I scrabble on hands and knees to the ruck sack and retrieve the ice pick. Cromwell looks like a shrivelled prune, skin blistering and leaking fluids.

  His hands fumble for his blade, which remains lodged in Carmichael’s leg. His bewildered eyes linger over me, peeling my clothes off for the final time as he stands.

  He opens his mouth, exposing bloody and acid-burned teeth.

  “Come on, you bitch!”

  I step closer with determination. The fight is not over. I won’t ever stop fighting until I win the game.

  Carmichael yanks the blade out of his thigh and props himself onto one elbow.

  A stampeding silhouette appears, charging at Cronwell, knocking him to the ground. It’s Mark!

  He pummels his fists into Cronwell’s disfigured face. Carmichael scrabbles and pins Cronwell’s arms, so they’re cocooned by his waist.

  He’s crossed sides, become a fellow team player! He won’t let Cronwell destroy me, won’t let him win. He, too, wants him punished.

  “Stop,” I order. “It’s my victory, my game to end.”

  I lunge and jump onto Mark’s back. We mimic a violent, bloody game of Twister; legs and arms sprawled in varying angles.

  The ice pick glistens like a knight’s sword, ready to impale the enemy in war. This was war, it was my battle, one I had every intention of winning.

  I pull back Cronwell’s eyelid exposing every inch of the whites of his eyes, ignoring muffled threats.

  I never planned for my parents to get hurt. For that I am truly sorry. For taking the lives of my monsters, I am not.

  Carmichael is overriding his evil with good. He has repented for his sins, saving me. Mark loves me and is my ally, helping to take out my enemy.

  I stare into the soul of the devil. Demons must not be allowed to walk this earth. I hammer the ice pick like a tent peg into the top of his eyeball with a rock, puncturing it like a pickled onion on a skewer.

  Cronwell ejects a long, blood curdling agonising scream. I smile, feeling a tremendous sense of release and relief, as I slide the ice pick into the eggshell thin orbit bone at the back of the eye socket.

  It squelches and sloshes, as I wriggle it back and forth into his deranged mind, like I’m whisking eggs with a beater.

  The motion severs the connections between the thalamus (which controls the motor systems) and the prefrontal cortex (which affects decision making and personality).

  I’ve deactivated him as a person. He stares vacantly. He’ll live the rest of his life in a vegetative state.

  I rise to my feet, staring at the deformed monster, twitching as his brain continues to shut down. His mind was warped, it needed to be fixed - I’ve cured him.

  “Is he dead?” Carmichael shrieks, pushing him.

  “No. I’ve given him a lobotomy, so he’s trapped inside his own disturbed mind, forever.”

  “How much awareness does he have? Does he know what has happened to him?”

  “I hope he does. I hope he is trapped inside his grotesque shell, unable to break free, and rots inside a mental asylum for the rest of his pathetic life.”

  I stick my face in Cronwell’s staring at the beast with gritted teeth.

  “Game Over!”

  “Is it over? Or am I next?” Carmichael asks.

  “It’s far from over. I need you to finish this round of the game.”

  “I’m confused.”

  I pick up the laptop, open the screen and hit ‘play’, opening edited footage of Hamilton, showing Cronwell committing murder.

  “This is Cronwell’s laptop, not Goulding’s. I’ve planted the evidence of him killing Hamilton. I want you to charge him with murder!” I say, smiling.

  Carmichael nods his head and returns the smile.

  “You really are one clever…”

  “Bitch? Yes I am. I’m what Cipher turned me into. An unstoppable force to be reckoned with. I’d always win. Cronwell can’t defend himself, he can’t speak now. Plus, the evidence is irrefutable!”

  Carmichael smiles.

  “I also need you to drop the charges against my father.”

  “Cronwell has the original hair sample that he swapped for your dad’s, in his car. I can use it as evidence to overturn the charge.”

  I breathe a huge sigh of relief. Dad will be spared jail, and even though life will never be the same, at least my parents are alive, and can recover, together.

  “Are you OK, Emilia?” Mark asks, not even fazed by my gruesome actions.

  “I will be now,” I answer.

  “What about Goulding’s laptop, and Cipher?” Carmichael quizzes.

  “Mark has it.”

  Mark disappears into the shadows and returns, clutching Goulding’s open laptop.

  “Don’t you get it? My game is over, but Cipher isn’t! New targets have been acquired and the clock is ticking. I’ve a proposal for you. I’ll spare your life, if you help me spare theirs!”

  Carmichael looks bewildered, as he rips the sleeves from his shirt and secures them around his bloody ankles.

  “I want to team up. Let’s take Cipher down for good! Together. Wipe out all the monsters and erase the game forever. Are you in?”

  “Hell yes! Cipher destroyed my life, yours, your family. I want to obliterate it.”

  “Then it’s settled. My game is over; let our game begin!”

  “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story. This was mine.” Emilia.

  Acknowledgments

  Enormous thanks to my wonderful children, Matthew and Emily, who offer unconditional love and support. They encourage me to chase my dreams and always believe in me, even when I don’t. I love you to the moon and back.

  To Simon, for being brave enough to take on a broken little bird with a disturbed mind and love her. Your support means the world to me. I love you.

  To my wonderful friends, who have stood by me in lonely times. I’d be lost without you. Thank you for always being there.

  Massive thanks to Darren Bane, Andrew Marshall, Andrew Ramsay, James Cowling, Beth Muirhead, and my sister, Michelle Attwood. Your input and creative brilliance inspired me to keep going. You have no idea how grateful I am.

  Greatest thanks to Steve Green, former Home Office Forensic Scientist & Head of the Investigative Crime Team at Chepstow Forensic Science Laboratory, who continues to offer me invaluable insight into forensics. You taught me everything I needed to know.

  Huge thanks to Bindy Cardy, former Avon & Somerset Police Forensic Co-ordinator, for teaching me valuable forensic knowledge, which helped to bring authenticity to the book.

  Special thanks to Adam Croft, author of the number one internati
onal bestseller, Only the Truth, for his invaluable help and his incredible review, ‘Deliciously Dark’.

  I am also profoundly grateful to my wonderful first readers, Anne Foster, James Tormey, Terri Turner, Alison Kounnou and Tanya Petrie. Your reviews blew my mind and made me believe in myself.

  And finally, huge thanks to you, lovely reader, for buying my books and recommending them to others. Writers are nothing without readers, and your support has changed my life.

  Not all that glitters is gold ...

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