by P. R. Black
Becky said nothing. The pig man gripped her by the arm and pulled her upright. Angelica Galbraith placed a thin, sharp blade at her throat.
She whispered in Becky’s ear: ‘Give me an excuse.’
‘Let’s walk a while,’ Arkanescu said. He led the way, back turned, totally unconcerned.
Perhaps he realises that I can’t summon the energy to kick him. That I don’t have the fight in me to shake these two off.
The pig mask’s chain clanked at Becky’s ear; the man underneath it was breathing hard.
The four of them wandered through the stones. Becky ignored Bernard’s terrible sobbing; the riot of bare skin that cascaded over him on the flat stone. One man was already astride him, nude except for a wolf’s head mask thrown back in ecstasy.
Bernard screeched something that might have been her name; she might even have seen his eyes, thrown wide in fear and agony. She squeezed her own eyes shut until they were out of the stone circle.
‘What you got in store for me?’ she asked. ‘Wicker man? Maybe burn me at the stake?’ She regretted having said it, immediately.
‘No – a proposition,’ said Arkanescu. ‘An opportunity to live and thrive.’
‘You offering me a job?’
‘Not exactly. I want you to be by my side. I want to finish what I started. I want you, whole, complete. Unbroken.’
‘Great. When do I start?’
‘You’ll say yes, of course.’ The yellowed head swung round to face her. ‘Who wouldn’t? But I want you to consider the options. I want you to understand what’s about to happen. You will be completely under my control. Any resistance you might have will be broken, and broken utterly. Even as you consciously process this – even as you resist it, again and again, for months, maybe even years – you must understand that you will break. You will know this phenomenon. Stockholm Syndrome, some people call it. I call it simply obedience. I will be everything you desire in a husband, because you will obey unquestioningly. No matter what I do to you, you’ll love me. You’ll adore me. You’ll worship me. It is inevitable. Your life will be mine to do with as I please. And you’ll thank me for every moment of it.’
Becky said nothing. They followed a path through the trees, only dimly lit by the moon and the faint embers of the torches encircling the standing stones.
‘Please, let me have her. Let me have her now,’ the pig-headed man gibbered.
‘In a moment. First, though, Becky has to do something for me.’ He produced a long, double-edged knife, and turned the handle towards her. ‘In a few moments we’ll go back to Bernard. You’ll put him out of his misery. You won’t use this knife to fight. You won’t try to get away. It’s too late for that. You remember how this goes. Don’t you?’
59
Then
‘Here’s what we will do,’ the man in the mask told Becky. ‘I will give you the knife. And you will use it on your father.’
She must have refused, because he became rougher then, propelling her forward. Her dad was not dead, she saw, but he appeared drunk, lying in the long grass, legs bent at crazy angles after their fight. His eyes had a twinkle to them; it was only when she got closer that she saw they were tears. The knife was heavy in her hands; she dropped it once, and the blade sank deep into the ground. The man retrieved it and folded it in her hands.
‘Stab him, Becky. Do it, attack him. It’s our only chance!’ her mother cried.
This seemed to anger the man in the mask. Tearing off her bonds, he hurled Becky’s mother to the ground, fending off her thrashing limbs as if subduing a kitten. Then he simply sat on her head. Her hands and legs thrashed; her screams were muffled, and presently, it was done.
The man waited a minute or two, then rose, sighed and yawned, finally scratching his chin beneath the mask. He didn’t say anything to Becky – just nodded towards her father.
‘It’s okay, sweetie,’ her father croaked, in the voice of a man double his age. ‘It’s okay. You can do it. We’re not going to make it. I just want you to know that I love you. That’s all we have left. That’s all there is to think about.’
‘Do it,’ the man said at her back, urgently. ‘Enough talk. Do it, and I’ll let you live. That’s the choice. Don’t, and you die.’
‘Becky, it’s okay. It’s okay. You can do it.’ Her father nodded and swallowed. Tears threaded through his beard and dripped off his chin.
Becky punched the knife through his doughy belly. She had little strength but the blade was sharp.
He had held his head high, brave, even proud – until the moment the blade sliced through, and he screamed and thrashed. His blood covered her in a raw, metallic shower.
That was when she dropped the knife and ran.
Laughter followed her. Laughter, and footsteps. She ran blind.
He came close to her once, then very close, a second time, as the foliage tore at her, with a million crucifixion nails puncturing her bare feet.
When she dared to look back, there he was, within grabbing distance, forcing his way through the branches, the mask somehow still in place. Huge, dark eyes glaring at her. Intent. Horribly focused.
Then he stumbled. She got lucky.
He cursed her as he lurched to his feet.
And Becky ran for her life.
60
Now
‘You won’t struggle,’ the man in the mask insisted. ‘You won’t fight. You’ll kill your friend the same way I killed the squaw. Right through the neck. Take his head. You try to resist, you die. If you’re lucky, you’ll pass before I allow the others to violate you.’
‘Whatever you say,’ Becky mumbled. Her shoulders drooped.
‘Cheer up, girl,’ Arkanescu said. ‘Your friend will thank you. Look at him.’ The long blade tapped Becky on the shoulder, then indicated what she didn’t want to look at.
She glanced at the stone where Bernard had been laid. A riot of flesh covered him. He wailed miserably.
‘Who wants to survive that? It would be a kindness. You’ve wished for death many times, Becky. You know that feeling.’
Becky said and did nothing, utterly mute.
‘You can live, Becky,’ the man in the mask insisted. ‘Unharmed, from now on. You can come with me, and live. You can come home. I’ll be a father to you, if you prefer, not a husband. You see the truth in this, don’t you?’
The pig-headed man said, ‘You promised us we’d have her. I’m not leaving here without having her.’
‘You’ll shut up,’ Arkanescu said, in an even tone.
Then their attention was diverted. Another figure stepped into the clearing, one with a fox’s head mask. This figure was dressed in a brown overcoat and grey jeans.
Galbraith addressed this newcomer. ‘Aren’t you on watch?’
‘That’s not the man we left on guard!’ roared Arkanescu.
‘Who the fuck is it then?’ Galbraith cried in alarm.
‘Insurance, bitch,’ Becky snarled.
The new figure raised the long barrel of a shotgun.
‘Shoot him!’ Becky screamed. ‘Finish it! Do it!’
The man with the fox head hesitated; that half-second was enough.
The pig-headed man grabbed Becky and locked an arm round her throat, a knife pressing into the flesh beneath her chin. He held her in front of him as a shield, while Galbraith leapt aside. Arkanescu turned and ran.
The figure in the fox mask shouldered the rifle, tracked the fleeing figure of Arkanescu, and pulled the trigger.
In her panic, Galbraith dodged the wrong way. In the thunderclap of the shotgun blast, she was hurled off her feet and onto her back, legs failing comically. The leather of her costume was shredded and smoking at the neck. Her mask had been blown off her head. Her lower jaw had gone with it, and her eyes were glassy.
The man in the fox mask cracked the breach, spitting out spent shells. He groped in a pocket for more.
The pig-headed man took his chance; he hooked a foot round Becky’s shins, shov
ed her onto her face, and moved to intercept the man in the fox mask while he reloaded.
Becky sprung upwards on the heels of her hands, in a fluid deadfall that absorbed any notion of impact; then she leapt fully off the ground, scissoring her legs at the hips, her right foot whistling round in a high, wide arc.
The contact was perfect. The chain in the pig-man’s nose rattled; his head snapped sideways, and he crashed to the earth without a sound.
Leif tore off the fox mask. His hands shook as he tried to feed red cartridges into the barrel. Like the burner phones, like the relay set up in the Romanian hotel room, Becky had put in a safety net; she had asked him to trail them in the woods. A doubt had nagged at her over the set-up; she had urged Leif to watch over them. He had been suspicious of her, and while she was tied up she had been sure he had simply decided not to come.
‘Come on,’ he hissed. ‘This is our chance. The police are on their way.’
‘Where the fuck were you?’ she screamed.
‘I was late… I didn’t expect to arrive and find this happening now! I’m sorry!’
‘We have to get Bernard.’
‘Bernard’s finished. So are we if we don’t get out of here, now!’
Some of the throng surrounding Bernard had heard the shot and saw the commotion; some instantly fled into the trees, but several ran forward, the goat-headed man who had licked her face at the forefront. He passed a twelve-inch butcher knife from hand to hand as he approached, braced to attack.
Becky grabbed the knife the pig-headed man had dropped and turned to face him. She had the satisfaction of seeing him hesitate, then change his stance, this time to flee. Becky threw the knife from the shoulder, like a dart; it found purchase dead centre in his mask, just above the eyes – though not deep enough to seriously damage him. A flustered, pudgy face with a reddish beard emerged as he tugged the goat mask off, the knife still jutting from it. A single red trickle travelled down his forehead, dripping off the bulbous nose.
‘Come on,’ Becky bellowed at him, her blood high. ‘I’m still here. You said you were going to do me last. Is that right? You?’
But he was joined by more figures, sprinting towards them. Weapons glinted in their hands.
Leif gripped her by the arm, as the hideous faces closed in. ‘There are dozens of them. We go now – or I’m leaving you here.’
Then the helicopter’s blades rose above the hubbub. White light bleached the scene, stopping the horde in their tracks.
Some did not even bother to gather their clothes. As they scattered into the forest, Bernard rolled off the flat stone, stark naked. He lay on his back, knees and elbows at weird angles, unmoving.
The trees parted again. Uniformed police surged into the clearing, some with guns, some with dogs. The woods were alive again.
‘Drop the gun, Leif!’
He did as he was bid. Both raised their hands.
They made her and Leif kneel apart from the rest, even as Leif explained he was the one who had called them and it became apparent he was with Becky. Becky submitted to the handcuffs, even as she saw the masks knocked off the heads of the ones who’d surrendered. There were no familiar faces among them; these were mostly middle-aged men, bald, chubby, and startled.
She strained to see Bernard, but her view was cut off by a black line of French officers.
Eventually she saw a familiar face; Labelle.
‘Becky!’
She tried to rise to her feet, even as a firm hand from the arresting officer tried to force her back down. ‘He’s still out there,’ she gasped. ‘He got out into the woods.’
‘We’ll get them.’ Labelle placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘We’ll get them all.’ Then Labelle hugged her, tight. ‘I thought we had lost you. How did you know they would be here?’
‘I lucked out. We thought this would be a possible venue for them in the next few weeks. Turned out, they were tracking us.’
‘You’re safe now, Becky.’ Those bright blue eyes melted a little, just for a moment. ‘And he will not escape these woods, I promise you.’
‘Thank god. Thank god,’ Becky said, the adrenaline beginning to wear off. ‘They killed Rosie Banning. They took her body, they did something… I don’t know…’
‘Rest up,’ Labelle said. She spoke to the arresting officer in French almost too quick to follow.
‘Come on,’ she said to Becky. ‘I’m going to take you somewhere safe.’
‘How about Leif?’
‘Did you fire that shotgun?’ Labelle asked him, nodding towards Galbraith’s body.
Leif nodded, dumbly.
‘Then we’ll have to process you. Separately, of course. Becky is coming with me.’
‘Just a minute.’ Becky twisted, and tore through the phalanx of police. One arm caught her by the elbow, and pain flared where she hadn’t noticed it before.
‘Let her through,’ Labelle told the officer.
When Becky reached him, Bernard was wrapped in police jackets. He shivered in the cool night; one eye was swollen shut, and he didn’t seem to see Becky, until she took his hand.
‘However this ends up, I’ll be here for you,’ she said. ‘Got it? I won’t let you suffer alone.’
Bernard nodded, slowly.
‘Becky.’ Labelle’s hand was gentle on her shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
The detective led her away from that place.
61
The overhanging branches were frantic with flashing blue light as Labelle gunned the car through. There were a number of checkpoints; stern faces gaped at Becky as the policewoman handed over her ID.
‘Where are we going?’ Becky said, as the car sped up.
‘Safe house.’
The forest soon fell away as they turned onto the main route.
Becky’s hire car rolled past them, forlorn and alone in its needle-carpeted parking space.
Becky could only allow her shoulders and lower jaw to sag so far before her body reminded her of the previous few hours. The pain from the punch in the side of the face was particularly intense, but apart from chips in her incisors where they’d clashed together, nothing seemed too serious. Muscles and joints bridled at their cruel and unusual treatment, and however bad she felt at the moment, she knew it would be worse in the morning.
She turned slightly in her seat, and that’s when another red letter for the senses arrived from her chest, where the stun gun’s twin prongs had punched into her.
‘Ugh, that’s just nasty,’ she said, reaching into her top and tentatively touching the fresh scabs.
‘You all right? What did he do?’
‘Ah, it’s nothing.’ Becky grunted, then tugged out a long, curved wire from beneath her clothes. ‘I hated this bra, anyway.’ She sniggered; and that’s when it overtook her. Soon she was bent double, sobbing, body wracked, hands tearing across her scalp.
A hand touched the small of her back, gently.
‘Take it easy,’ Labelle whispered. ‘My god. What you’ve been through, Becky Morgan.’
‘He took another one,’ Becky said, her palms placed over her eyes. ‘I watched him kill Rosie. That poor lass. She thought she was onto another scoop. I never told her the full truth about what was happening until it was too late… She might never have come if I’d told her everything.’
‘Whatever happened to that girl was down to an evil bastard – not you,’ Labelle said. ‘You had nothing to do with it.’
‘And Bernard… what’ll happen to him?’
‘We’ll take care of him.’
‘They absolutely obliterated him… tore him apart like jackals. God, he must wish he was dead. I almost wish he was.’
‘He’ll be looked after. He’s safe now, that’s the main thing.’
Labelle took an exit down a narrow road; the canopy of trees returned. Becky caught sight of her face, the distortion of it clear in the smudged light reflected off the glass.
‘This safe house doesn’t seem very far,’
Becky said.
‘It’s not. It’s one of several the French police use out here. Mainly for witness protection, or people working undercover.’
‘Where’s Marcus?’
‘You’re about to meet him.’
‘Is Hanlon here?’
‘Not yet. He’s on his way from the UK.’
Becky listened to the engine labouring as the car climbed a hill. ‘You know… I’m not ready to sit an exam, but I’ve done a little bit of homework on police procedure. And I reckon you’re being a bit naughty.’
Labelle frowned hard in the dashboard lights, concentrating on the road as it became uneven on the slope. ‘I’m one of the senior investigating officers on this case, and my priority is to get you where it’s safe. No one knows who else is hiding out in that forest – they may decide to try and take a shot at you. I can’t risk that happening.’
‘You didn’t process me at the scene. Forensics should be going over my entire body with tape and tweezers as we speak, but no – nothing. And you didn’t offer me any medical assistance, despite the fact I’ve practically just walked out of a blender. That’s not regular practice.’
Labelle exhaled slowly. ‘The entire scene is a warzone until we round everyone up, as far as possible. It’ll take days to gather all the evidence, maybe weeks. There’ll be a doctor at hand when you arrive at the safe house. We’ll process you from there.’
‘It also begs the very good question of how you managed to be here, in the first place.’
‘We were following you, Becky,’ Labelle said. ‘We knew where you’d gone and came after you. Once Leif put in the call for help, we were on-site quickly.’
The safe house hovered into view soon enough, a single-storey family home which stood in complete incongruence to the forest. No lights shone outside, though the white walls took on an eerie effulgence in the moonlight.
It might have been a magical cottage to some, but to Becky, lonely cabins in the woods had all the wrong associations.
