The Players

by Darren O’Sullivan

  ‘Agreed, we’ll keep that close for now. When we have anything, I will make sure you know.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Good luck.’

  The line went dead, and I handed the phone back to Jake.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The Host

  9.04 p.m.

  It was time to play the Seventh Game.

  The woman and the child had stayed. Perfect. He had more than enough leverage to ensure his Players followed the rules of The Game. They would play against each other, for their daughter. The only problem he had was getting inside. He knew from a quick Google search that DS Howard Carlson was ex-army. He knew that he’d not stand a chance against him, not without leverage. So he had to lure him out for a while. Removing his mobile, he unlocked it, and dialled the freephone number the police had dedicated for information about him.

  ‘I need to speak to DI Karen Holt,’ he said when the line connected. There was hesitation on the other end. The mechanical voice-altering device made him instantly recognisable.

  ‘I’ll put you through,’ the call handler eventually said. After a moment, the line connected to the police. Before they could finish their sentence, he cut in.

  ‘This is The Host, get me DI Holt.’

  On the other end of the phone, the officer panicked. He dropped the receiver, fumbled to pick it up, then he said he would put him on hold just for a moment, to connect with someone in the office. Thirty seconds later, another voice came onto the phone.

  ‘Where is Holt?’

  ‘She is indisposed.’ He knew she had gone; he had seen with his own eyes she was under house arrest when he stood outside her home, with a few other onlookers, as she closed her bedroom curtains.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘This is Superintendent Bradshaw. You can speak with me in her absence.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I assure you, it’s fine.’

  ‘If Karen Holt is indisposed, I will speak with DS Howard Carlson. I’ll call back in thirty minutes; if he is not there, someone will die.’

  Hanging up the phone, The Host sat back and waited. It didn’t take long for the lights to come on upstairs in the house. He watched DS Howard Carlson put on a fresh shirt. Minutes later, Carlson stepped out of his front door, closing it quietly behind him, before dashing to the car, firing up the engine and driving away. He would be at the station within fifteen to twenty minutes.

  Satisfied he wouldn’t return, The Host approached the house. Crossing the deserted road, he confidently walked up the garden path, and rang the doorbell. A light flicked on in the hallway, and the woman opened the door. She started to ask if he had forgotten his keys, assuming it would be Carlson. Before she could react to seeing the motorbike helmet, he slammed into the door, knocking her back into the house. She hit the floor hard, tried to scramble to her feet, but he climbed on her, forcing her back to the ground. With one hand on her mouth, the other pinning down one of her arms, he whispered for her to be quiet.

  ‘If you scream, the child will die.’

  She nodded, tears streaming down her terrified face.

  ‘Good, let’s make a phone call, shall we?’

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Carlson

  9.15 p.m.

  Carlson was driving at close to eighty miles an hour along the dual carriageway that cut through the heart of the city. The roads were quiet, and he swerved round those who were out and abiding the speed limit. His phone rang, and Becca’s caller ID came up on his dashboard display.

  ‘Howard, you need to come back,’ Becca said, sounding distraught.

  ‘Becca, I need to be in, that maniac—’

  ‘Jess has hurt herself.’

  ‘What? What’s happened?’

  ‘She fell out of bed,’ Becca said between sobs. ‘She is really hurt. Come home, I’m freaking out.’

  ‘OK, I’m coming, is she conscious?’

  ‘No. I can’t get her to wake up.’

  ‘OK, try not to panic. Is she breathing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ring an ambulance, I’m coming.’

  Carlson knew that The Host calling in was important, but Jess was more so, and without hesitating he spun the car around, and began to head for home.

  The Seventh Game

  DS Howard Carlson pulled up on the drive and, barely raising the handbrake, he jumped out and let himself into the house. Inside, it was dark, and quiet. He sensed straight away that something was wrong. Becca should have been shouting for him. Lights should be on. Something had happened, but it wasn’t that Jess had hurt herself. The instinct was confirmed when he saw a small patch of blood on the floor by the front door. Jess couldn’t have hurt herself there, could she? As a parent he was worried. He wanted to call out, find his daughter. But something was clearly wrong and he knew he needed to stay calm and use his training. The discipline, emotional detachment, and if needed, the ruthlessness he knew he had in him came to the surface. Taking three tentative steps towards the stairs, a voice rang out from the living room. Not a word, nothing intelligible, but a sob. Becca.

  Three steps in the other direction, and he was in the doorway to the living room. With his hands raised, he took the fourth and fifth step to enter. The room was empty. Another sob came from beyond the double doors that led to the extension out back. In the shadows of the room, he could just about make out the shape of something – it was too tall to be Becca. Again, he wanted to call out, but refrained. As the rest of the room came into focus, he could see what the shape was. Becca was standing on a chair, blood on her face. Her mouth had something stuffed inside and had been stuck shut with tape. He could see the rope around her neck that was attached to the exposed wooden beam that ran across the ceiling. The rope was thick, and even in the low light, he could tell it was tied correctly and wouldn’t fail.

  Carlson raised his fingers to his lips, telling Becca to keep quiet. She nodded back, understanding, and he took his eye from her to scan the room, looking to find Jess. From the furthest corner, the darkest space of the room the shape of The Host stepped out. Carlson assessed his height; close to six feet tall, this wasn’t the second, unsure version – the one he could reason with, talk down. It was him, the real Host, in his home. And in his arms, his hand clamped around her small head, was Jess. His other hand wielded a hammer. Jess was sobbing, and Carlson could see she had wet herself. Carlson’s stomach dropped, and he wanted to be sick, only the soldier in him stopped that happening.

  His training took over. Assess. Understand. Act.

  ‘You don’t have to hurt her,’ Carlson said calmly, trying to hold The Host’s eye through the darkened motorbike helmet visor.

  ‘And I won’t, if you and your lovely partner play a game with me.’

  ‘Let her go, and I’ll play whatever you want.’

  The Host laughed, the voice-altering device making him sound much more sinister.

  ‘No, DS Carlson, I think I’ll hang onto her.’

  ‘Just don’t hurt her.’

  ‘You have my word. I know what you think will come next, but this time it’s different. You see a runaway train moving toward people lying on the tracks, DS Carlson. You are standing next to a lever that controls the line. If you pull the lever you save five people. However, there is a single person lying on the side-track. A single life, what would you do?’

  ‘Pull the lever.’

  ‘And be responsible for killing a person.’

  ‘Better to act than do nothing at all. Better to save the many, not just one.’

  ‘I see. Most would do nothing, just abnegate their responsibility. But then, you know about killing, don’t you, DS Carlson? Now, answer me, with my Game, how would you play? What if you had to kill, or be killed?’

  Carlson didn’t say anything in reply and in the silence that hung over the unanswered question, Jess cried out.

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘It’s OK, darling, everything is going to be OK.’

  ‘Of cou
rse, you have played before, haven’t you?’ The Host continued. ‘We all know the answer to that one. Here are your choices tonight. You can either kick the chair, and watch the mother of your daughter die. Or you can take her place. Do nothing, and I kill your child.’

  Becca sobbed behind her gag, Carlson wanted to comfort her, but daren’t take his eyes off The Host.

  ‘If you hurt my girl, I’ll kill you.’

  ‘So be it, we all die eventually. But I think you wouldn’t want your girl to be hurt, would you, Howard? Ready to be a Player?’

  Carlson didn’t reply, and taking his cue, The Host reached above his helmet and pressed record on the mounted GoPro. The rules were set. The Game was in motion.

  ‘So DS Carlson, what is it going to be?’

  ‘I don’t want my daughter seeing.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ The Host replied as she cried for her daddy.

  ‘It’s OK, darling. Hey, Jess, look at me, sweetie.’

  Jess looked at him, desperate and afraid; it broke his heart.

  ‘Everything is going to be OK, I promise.’ Carlson looked at The Host, repeated his only demand. ‘I don’t want her to see this.’

  The Host took off Jess’s pyjama top, tied it around her head, covering her eyes.

  ‘Turn her around.’

  The Host did as he was asked. ‘There. Now, DS Carlson, it’s time to play.’

  ‘And what happens after I do?’

  ‘The same as always. I leave.’

  ‘Jess will be unharmed?’

  ‘Yes, just like either you or the woman.’

  Assess. Understand. Act.

  Carlson looked again at the hammer. He knew even though he was fast, if he sprang for The Host, he wasn’t 100 per cent confident he would land on him before the hammer could come down on his daughter’s small, precious head. The risk was too much, the stakes too high. He had assessed. He understood. Now he had to act.

  Turning to face Becca, he told her the same words he told Jess. It would all be OK. Stepping up onto the chair, he removed the noose from around her neck, and helped her down. She ripped the tape from her mouth and gagged as she pulled the sock from within. She made to dash to Jess, but The Host stopped her. She turned back to Carlson as the noose slipped over his head. His eyes locked on hers.

  ‘Becca, listen to me, because this is really important.’

  Becca didn’t speak, but nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘This is not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything different. This was my choice. I need you to know that. Say it, Becca, say it.’

  ‘This wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘I mean it. You’re a great mother, the best, you and Jess, you’re going to be OK.’

  Becca nodded again and closed her eyes. Carlson looked back to The Host.

  ‘You’ll leave them alone,’ he said.

  ‘You have my word.’

  Carlson nodded, his jaw muscles flexing, as he mentally prepared. He took a deep breath, exhaled loudly, and looked at Becca once more.

  ‘Becca, darling, turn around. I don’t want you to watch.’

  ‘Howard—’

  ‘Please, for me. For you. After, don’t look at me. Just leave and get help,’ he said, turning his attention to The Host. ‘Let them be together.’ The Host paused for a moment, then nodded and Becca ran to Jess’s side, hugging her daughter, kissing her head and telling her it would be over soon. Becca looked once more to Carlson, and he smiled at her.

  ‘Babe, turn around.’

  Becca did so, and held their daughter close. For Carlson, everything else faded into nothing. There was no rope, no Host, no fear, no hammer held in a white-knuckled grip above his daughter. Just the two most important people he was blessed to know, that he was honoured to have in his life. Seeing them, back turned, holding each other, was more than he knew he deserved. Becca stroked their daughter’s hair, quietly whispered reassurance, and it was the most beautiful and heart-wrenching image he would ever see – something he would carry to wherever he went next.

  ‘I love you girls, now, and always. It’s going to be OK; everything is going to be OK.’

  Carlson rocked the chair, and as it went over the tipping point and fell, he didn’t take his eyes from the girls he loved until the world faded into nothing.

  Day 8

  10 February 2019

  Chapter Sixty

  12.42 a.m.

  I bolted upright, a noise snapping me awake – I didn’t know what – and then I heard it again, a knock. Sam stirred beside me.

  ‘Babe? You all right?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought I heard…’

  It happened again, a few light taps on the bedroom door. I rolled out of bed, threw on my pyjama top and trousers.

  ‘Coming.’

  As I opened the door, Sam hid under the covers. The light outside in the hallway blinded me temporarily and when my eyes adjusted, I knew something was wrong. Jake looked like he had been crying.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Jake looked up at me. ‘Ma’am, I’ve been instructed to take you to the station.’

  ‘To the station? Whose orders?’

  ‘Bradshaw.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Ma’am, I…’ he hesitated, unable to finish his sentence, or likely, not allowed too.

  ‘OK, give me a minute.’

  He nodded before turning and heading back downstairs.

  I closed the door, turned on a bedside lamp and began to dress.

  ‘Karen, what’s happening?’

  ‘Bradshaw wants me to go in.’

  ‘Really?’ Sam sat upright. ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything.’

  ‘And you don’t know why you’re needed back?’

  ‘No, maybe they found something and need me to work out what it is. Maybe Howard has twisted Bradshaw’s arm to let me come in and look at it with him?’ I said, but I didn’t think that was the case at all.

  We drove most of the way to the station in complete silence. I had tried asking Jake what had happened again, hoping my persistence would pay off. But he wouldn’t tell me anything and instructed me to turn my phone off which only added to my sense of unease. When we arrived at Thorpe Wood, dozens of people were outside, holding a candlelit vigil.

  ‘Jake? What the fuck has happened?’

  ‘Don’t talk to anyone, Superintendent Bradshaw is waiting,’ Jake said, opening the car door and walking beside me into the station. Once inside, I made my way to Bradshaw’s office and knocked on the door.

  ‘Sir, what’s happened?’

  ‘Sit down.’

  I did as he asked whilst he closed his office door. Bradshaw sat down beside me, his body turned in, feet parallel, facing my way. He leaned in as he spoke. I read his body language, it was textbook ‘I’m about to deliver some bad news’. He was preparing to offer support.

  ‘There was another attack this evening,’ he said.

  ‘We were wrong about the link to the cadets?’

  ‘No, not strictly speaking. It was linked to that, but not in the way we thought.’

  ‘So where was it? What happened? What do we know about those involved? Who is on the scene?’

  ‘Karen, there is no easy way to tell you this, but thirty minutes ago, a new video was posted, from inside a house.’

  He stopped, swallowed. Took a breath, and in that short moment I tried to work out where he was going.

  ‘It was DS Carlson.’

  ‘What was DS Carlson?’

  ‘In the video.’

  ‘Sir, I don’t understand?’ I said, hoping the dots I was connecting were sequenced wrong. I wanted it to be that Howard was in the video, like before, because he nearly stopped it.

  ‘The video was from inside DS Carlson’s home. Howard…’ He stopped and lowered his head.

  ‘Is he OK? Sir, is Howard OK?’

  ‘No, Karen, I’m really sorry, he’s gone. He was t
he latest victim. Howard is dead.’

  I knew what Bradshaw was saying, but the words wouldn’t process, they became disjointed, broken, struggling to find their natural order. Bradshaw said something else, I could see his mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear. He reached out and touched my arm, and I had no feeling. Not until his words settled. Howard was dead. Howard was gone.

  ‘Karen, I know how close the two of you were. We are all here for you, if there is anything I can do…’

  I nodded, bit my bottom lip, held my breath. Tears filmed over my eyes, making Bradshaw’s features soften and blur. I blinked and a thick tear dropped onto my cheek. I caught it quickly, wiped it away. Now wasn’t the time to cry.

  ‘Karen, if I can do anything…’ he reiterated, as if unsure of what else to say, but there was nothing, no words would make this right, no gesture would bring Howard back.

  I grabbed the chair I had been sitting on and threw it as hard as I could. It hit the wall opposite, bounced, landed on its side. Three officers ran in from the incident room, and Bradshaw stopped them with an extended hand. They backed out, the door closing behind them. I wanted to kick the shit out of something, and contemplated attacking the upturned chair again, but the disruption caused by the advancing officers stopped me. And then the fight in me died. Standing with my back to Bradshaw, I crossed my arms, chin resting on my chest. I tried to breathe but didn’t dare.

  ‘Karen, I’m truly sorry.’

  I nodded, unable to speak as my chest tightened, and pins and needles shot into my hands. I focused on my breathing, slowing it down to steady myself. I needed to help, I needed to catch the fucker who killed my friend.

  ‘We will get this son of a bitch, I promise.’

  ‘Have you found the stencil?’

  ‘No, but we will.’

  I nodded again, bit my lip. Held in my rage, my grief. ‘I need to see the video,’ I said quietly.

  ‘No, absolutely not.’

  I turned, the fire in my gaze startling Bradshaw. ‘I’m not asking, sir; I need to see the video.’

  Chapter Sixty-One