by Lee Shepherd
After an hour or so of reviewing client files, he takes out of the medical storage unit some bandages, syringes and bottles of sedatives and anaesthetic. Placing them in his bag, he left his office and the practice, telling Linda he had to go out and probably won’t be back for the rest of the day. She thought this a little odd, but chose not to question him as he didn’t seem himself today. He got back into his car and decided to take a drive back out to Wigton to see Mr Beattie at Haywood farm.
***
Upon arrival at the farm, he was a little taken aback as Mr Beattie rushed over to greet him.
‘Hello, Mr Lee, what a pleasant surprise. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?’
‘Er, it’s just a courtesy call, Mr Beattie, to see how the old girl is holding up since I was last here. I just thought I would call in as I was in the area and passing by.’
‘Well I’m so glad you did, come take a look at her — she’s recovered remarkably well thanks to you, sir,’ the farmer said eagerly. ‘Less of the “Mr Beattie” please, would you? Friends call me Jim,’ he added.
Charles was still taken aback by Jim’s charm offensive. ‘Ok, Jim,’ he said weakly.
‘Can I get you a drink, Mr — er sorry, I didn’t catch your first name — Charles, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it’s Charles, Jim. And a coffee would be great, thank you. Strong with sugar and milk please,’
‘No problem, Charles, follow me, old boy.’
With that, they headed into the farmhouse. Glancing around the old fashioned kitchen/dining room, Charles caught a glimpse of an old photo of Jim standing next to who Charles knew to be Mrs Edna Beattie, a woman he harboured mixed feelings for. He loved her because she’d been kind to him and had showed him affection; she would often patch him back up after heavy beatings and drunken gang rapes from Jim and his pals. However, he also hated her for the fact that she’d allowed this to happen to him and covered up for Jim when Charles, who was then named Jonathon, tried reporting him to his Social worker. They would both brush it off as though it was Jonathon who was the liar, because he didn’t want to adhere to their strict Christian beliefs and hardworking ethics. The truth was, even though she knew what was going on, she was just as afraid of her husband as Jonathon was but, unbeknown to Jonathon, his Social worker was a member of the same Masonic lodge as Mr Beattie, and would never knowingly betray the trust of one of his brothers, so the abuse was allowed to continue for a number of years.
‘So, do you live here alone then, Jim?’ Charles asked, trying to keep his feelings in check.
‘I’m afraid I do now, old chap,’ Jim responded. ‘Ever since the wife died from cancer a few years back, it’s just me and the cows now.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Jim,’ Charles responded. ‘I’m sure she was a fine woman?’
‘The best.’
The two of them sat and drank their coffee, exchanging conversation in a warm, pleasant manner, but all the while Charles remembered just how good Jim was at this game, leading you into a false sense of security with his apparent friendly nature, all the while hiding a dark, sinister, vicious side. A side that Charles had seen far too often growing up. Upon finishing his drink, Charles politely thanked Jim for his hospitality, said goodbye, opened the back door and walked back to his car, managing to maintain and control both his hatred towards the man and the overwhelming urge to kill him in his own home. Charles knew this wasn’t the best situation, and would bide his time until the right moment presented itself. With that, he started his engine and drove out of the farm.
***
Charles could feel his heart racing as he drove back to Carlisle. With adrenaline surging through his body, his senses heightened and with revenge firmly set in his mind, he decided to bypass Carlisle and the practice altogether. Instead, he headed straight on and over the border as though he was heading home, although home couldn’t be further from his mind at this moment in time. He passed back through Newcastleton, again seeing the young brunette’s face all over the billboards. He continued on over the humpback bridge and, instead of turning left as he usually would, he went right up the quiet country road that led to Kielder water and forest park.
He parked his Volvo in a small, quiet layby, hidden away from the busy car parks used by visitors and locals alike, then reached over and grabbed the bag he’d prepared earlier. He then leant over to the glove compartment and removed his black leather driving gloves before exiting the vehicle, looking around nervously to ensure nobody was watching. With that, he jumped over a small broken-down fence and made his way into the thick, dense forestry that surrounded Northern Europe’s largest manmade lake. He knew the forest well, due to him taking Tess, the family’s Border collie, on many a long walk through it. He’d specifically chosen this particular spot as no paths or mountain bike trails ran through it; this outer circle was home to nothing but wildlife for miles around.
He proceeded to trudge through four miles of dirt, moss and branches, becoming more and more excited as he did so. He noticed the November sky darkening and glanced at his watch: 4.28pm. A smug grin curled across his face; he knew there was no rush to get home after forewarning Rebecca he would be late that evening. He took his phone out of his pocket and switched it off, not wanting any distractions. He would savour every moment of what was to come.
An eerie silence fell upon Charles as he approached the site of the makeshift dungeon.
Charles loved the secluded environment — here, he was in his element; he was far more comfortable and at one with nature than he ever was with other people. As he got nearer, he could hear a faint whimpering coming from under all the debris and earth that was camouflaging the padlocked chains over the thick, heavy wooden roof he had carefully and painstakingly locked into place to ensure there would be no chance of escape. He removed the branches and leaves scattered over the entrance.
‘WHO’S THERE? PLEASE HELP ME, I’M TRAPPED DOWN HERE, SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME!’
Ignoring the girl’s cries, Charles removed his keys from his pocket and unlocked the thick iron padlock, all the while scanning the area to be certain nobody else is around. He needn’t have worried, as darkness was now cloaking his actions and nobody in their right mind would want to be out here now and risk becoming lost in this thick terrain. He slowly raised the wooden cove. As the last rays of daylight fall down into the small, dark chamber, he could barely make out the shadowy silhouette sat cowering in the corner, knees locked tight into her chest. She seemed to be shaking and shivering — both due to the cold temperatures her barely clothed body had been exposed to and due to sheer fear that had consumed her every thought for the past twenty-four hours. Her hands and feet were still bound with cable ties, while her fingers and hands were black from trying to tunnel her way out of the cold, hard winter earth, to no avail.
As he lifted the cover further, he noticed the pungent stench of ammonia filling his nostrils. Instead of having any sympathy for the young girl before him, another wry smile came upon his face at the thought of her having to sit in her own urine, and the degradation she’d been subjected to. This didn’t repulse him; instead it excited him. He felt a stirring in his loins as he contemplated the power and control he held over his vulnerable young victim. Again, he felt adrenaline race through his body — his palms sweaty, his senses intensified. With a steely determination fixed firmly in his mind, he climbed down into the pit, advancing towards the petrified figure before him.
The girl backed quickly away from him, pressing herself into the side of the dungeon. ‘WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? LEAVE ME ALONE! WHO ARE YOU?’
Charles remained silent.
Reaching out, he grabbed her by her tatty hair and lifted her to her feet. Suddenly and swiftly, he delivered a single left hook that connected with her right cheek. Stunned and trying to regain her senses, the girl struggled to get to her feet in a last-ditch attempt to attempt an escape. Her efforts were futile as he struck another blow to her face, then proceeded to k
ick her to the ribs as she lay in the dank, dark dirt. Blow upon blow came down upon her body as she curled into the foetal position, whimpering, desperate to remain conscious. She begged for him to stop, but again he continued, engulfed in a rage-driven frenzy, and beat her to a blood-soaked pulp. She finally passed out in a heap, a million miles away from anything she had ever known, with no support from family or friends, totally alone and vulnerable to this monster of a man — completely at his mercy.
Charles climbed back up out of the pit and reached for his bag. He then removed a five-millilitre syringe barrel and needle and took out the bottle of Ketamine he had initially used to sedate her. Climbing back down to where she lay, Charles carefully administered the full contents of the syringe into her limp body. Any chance of her regaining her senses was now completely diminished, as the dose he had just given her is usually reserved for putting fully-grown horses to sleep.
Charles smiled in satisfaction. There would be no more screams or moaning from this one.
The bloodlust slowly took complete control over him. He looked down where she lay, his menacing blue eyes piercing the teenager’s bloody, filth-stained body, the moonlight softly highlighting her faint young curves. Thoughts started whirring through his mind furiously. Was this what she looked like? Was this how his dirty little whore mother looked when she was lying on her back being impregnated at fourteen, before giving me up at birth? Dropping him like he was worthless? How he despised her! What kind of a person could do that to a baby? Who could abandon something as innocent as a new-born child?
His fury suddenly broke free as he raged to the heavens. ‘FUCK YOU, MOTHER! FUCK YOU!’
With that, he got down on the ground and knelt between the girl’s thighs. He glanced up at her face, noticing that her eyes pointed to the back of her head, oblivious to what was happening.
He was still uttering those words under his breath, ‘Fuck you, fuck you, Mother!’
He pulled off her short skirt, then tore off her underwear with one swipe. His excitement was like nothing he had ever experienced as he proceeded to pull down his trousers. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead with his arm; he knew what he is about to do is wrong on every level, but he needed to make her pay. He needed her to feel exactly how he felt, to be helpless and at his mercy, just as he used to be at Mr Beattie’s mercy.
His anger was mostly aimed at his biological mother for leaving him in the care of Social Services and the local authorities, the people that failed him on so many levels, the people who allowed the abuse, beatings and rapes to continue through incompetence and disbelief. He was angry at the life he never had, and the family he’d never known.
He climbed on top of his comatose victim, pausing for a second only to make sure her eyes were still shut, then proceeded to enter the girl. After only a couple of thrusts, he could feel himself nearing ejaculation, much to his disappointment as he wanted the moment to last. He reached out and placed his large, gloved hands around Lucy’s limp neck and gently started to squeeze. He began to thrust harder and faster as he tightened his grip.
‘FUCK YOU, MOTHER, FUCK YOU, YOU DISGUSTING LITTLE WHORE!’ He spat the words out like venom.
Her face became redder as her blood vessels began to surface and burst; as he throttled her to the point of asphyxiation. Suddenly, just as he was about to climax, her eyes opened abruptly and looked up at the man on top of her. He caught her gaze, looking deep into her ever-dilating green eyes. She was nearing the point of death when something strange happened: a tear fell from his eye, landing on her dirt-ridden face. But it was too late, he knew he couldn’t turn back, he couldn’t undo what he had already done. With that, he increased the pressure considerably, but it wasn’t profanities he was exclaiming anymore; instead he simply whispered down at her, ‘I’m so sorry’ right at the point of climax and, in that instance, Lucy Mitchell’s young life was extinguished. Ended at the hands of this so-called ‘family man’ and ‘loving father’.
Several seconds passed before he realised she’d gone; he was so lost in his own twisted euphoria. He quickly regained his senses and leant down to close her eyes before planting a soft kiss on her forehead.
‘Goodnight, Mother…sweet dreams.’
He then casually climbed off of her to his feet, then pulled up his trousers and straightened up while wiping his tear-soaked eyes. His composure now restored, he reached up and pulled himself out of the pit. He nonchalantly looked over the body lying before him for a short while, then slammed the cover down, pulling the chains tight. He made doubly sure that the padlock was back in place before covering the entrance entirely with forest debris, shrubbery and leaves. To the unknown eye, nobody would ever know it was there.
The dark of night was well and truly present upon the thick, dense forest as he made his way back through the labyrinth of trees before him, carefully navigating his route, as he knew — more than anyone — just how unforgiving this terrain could be under the cover of darkness. He made his way out of the tree line, back over the fence towards his waiting Volvo. He double checked his person to make sure there were no clues to his secret macabre activities. As he did so, he noticed his boots were thickly covered in mud and moss, and blood splattered up the front of his wax jacket. This didn’t bother him, however; he knew Rebecca was used to him coming home covered in blood and dirt from attending farms, delivering cattle and suchlike. It was the blood on his face that caught his attention as he looked in his rear view mirror. He pulled out his handkerchief and quickly removed it before placing his gloves back in the glove box, then carefully hid the bag he had prepared under the passenger seat. He composed himself again and concocted a story to relay to his wife. Satisfied, he pulled away from the layby and travelled the fifteen miles away from Kielder, heading back to the comfort of his own home, the warmth of his loving wife and children and the unconditional love of his beloved collie, Tess.
***
Back at the house, Rebecca greeted Charles with a loving embrace, thoughts of last night’s intimacy still fixed firmly in her mind; secretly she hoped for more of the same tonight.
‘So how was your day, love?’
‘Same old, same old, dear. You know how it is, there are always sick animals to tend to,’ Charles responded automatically.
She didn’t pry any further, as she could see he looked tired. She simply just offered to run him a nice hot bath.
‘That would be great. Thanks, dear. I’ll just take Tess for a quick walk whilst you do so.’
With that, he headed back out of the door.
He looked forward to his evening walks with Tess, as he would make a habit out of talking to her about his problems and feelings; even though she didn’t respond, he somehow felt as though they had a connection. He liked to believe she understood him on some level.
‘I had to do it, Tess, I had to. She would’ve talked, she would’ve sent me away! She asked for it, but its ok now, she can’t talk anymore, she’s gone for good. It’s just us again now, no more distractions.’ Once he had finished offloading, they turned around and headed back to the house.
Upon their return, Rebecca had his customary glass of red wine poured ready for him, and announced that his bath was ready. ‘Just be quiet,’ she warned, ‘as the kids have not long gone to sleep.’
He thanked her then headed to the bathroom, where he removed his filthy clothes before proceeding to relax in the hot, tranquil bath before him. He drank his wine, scrubbed any trace of DNA from his body, then just lay there, lost in his own little world, a twisted sense of justice and justification engrossing him. He was proud of what he’d accomplished. The realisation that he was capable of exerting that dominance and control over another human being, and inflicting the ultimate punishment, not only excited him, but empowered him. The feelings of being lost, helpless, and at the mercy of others as a child no longer held weight in his mind; for once, he had the power and control — and he loved it!
Forty minutes passed before Rebecca
came and knocked on the bathroom door.
‘You ok in there?’
‘Yeah, just getting out now, love,’ said Charles, snapping out of his reverie.
‘Ok’, she replied. ‘I’ll just be in the living room.’
He put on his dressing gown that hung on the back of the door, picked up the pile of clothes in front of him and took them to the kitchen, loading them straight into the washing machine. He set the controls to a boil wash, inserted the powder, and pressed start. He relaxed a little, pouring himself another large glass of wine, finishing off the bottle by doing so. He found Rebecca waiting for him in the lounge, but, ignoring her, he sat on the couch, took control of the remote control and turned on the news channel.
About fifteen minutes or so of national news headlines appeared on screen before it got to the regional news. They showed footage of flooding around the west Cumbria area before finally getting to the news of the missing girl.
‘Still there is no news on missing Lucy Mitchell…’
Charles is somewhat pleased by this, but Rebecca seemed less so.
‘Have you seen this Charles? It’s terrible. That poor girl’s family must be devastated. Gretna is only forty minutes from here. I couldn’t bear it if that was to happen to one of our girls, I’d be beside myself.’
Charles just mumbled, ‘Yeah, me too,’ on autopilot, as he was too engrossed in what was happening on screen.
The news finally came to an end. Downing his drink, Charles got up.
‘I’m off to bed. Work’s exhausted me today,’ he announced.
Rebecca seemed a little miffed — perhaps she was hoping that last night’s passion might have unlocked some of the old spark from their relationship. However, she pecked him on the cheek in forgiveness; after all, he was a hardworking man that provided a good stable life for the family.
