The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "You really should go," Mark continues. "There's nothing for you here."

  "Isn't there?" I ask.

  He shakes his head. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be. Don't try to put yourself in a situation you can't handle. Please, Elly, just write off everything that happened tonight. Try to forget about it; try to forget about me. You've had a lucky escape, and you should just -"

  "What if I stay?" I ask, interrupting him. "What if I decide I want to see what happens next?"

  "You'd regret it," he replies.

  "So?" I stare at him. "I'd regret not staying, so it seems I'm going to have regrets, whatever happens. If I stay, can't I at least get a taste of the next step in this game? Who knows? Maybe you'll find I'm not as weak as you think."

  "You're getting into very dangerous territory," he says. "If you think tonight was extreme, you're wrong. Tonight was just an initiation, a toe in the water. If you stayed, the next sexual encounter would be a hundred times more testing, and the one after that would be even more extreme. I saw your face when you realized Mr. White was here tonight, Elly. You're not cut out for this. Just go home and -"

  "Be normal?" I ask.

  "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

  "But it's not what I want."

  He smiles. "I know what you're doing, Elly. You're trying to prove something to me. You're trying to make me think I was wrong about you, but it's not going to work. I'm a good judge of character and I can tell when someone is in too deep."

  "Well," I say, walking toward him, "it seems we have a difference of opinion. I guess there's only one way to settle the discussion." I lean closer to kiss him, but he steps back.

  "No," he says firmly.

  "Are you scared?" I ask. "Are you worried I might actually turn out to be everything you thought I was?"

  "I'm not scared," he replies, his voice tense as if he's offended by the mere suggestion. "I like you, Elly, and I don't want to see you dragged into the game and then spat out the other side. It's dangerous, and you could get hurt, or worse."

  "Maybe I want that," I say. It's crazy, but now that he's trying to push me away, I feel more drawn to him than ever. For the first time in my life, I feel I have a chance to prove that I'm not normal; I feel as if I've got a glimpse of another side to myself, and at the very least I want to explore it a little further. "Maybe I want you to show me what I'm missing," I continue, reaching down and brushing the back of my hand against Mark's large, flaccid penis. Almost immediately, I feel a slight throb, as if I've started to turn him on again.

  "Don't do this," he says, stepping back.

  "What if you were right the first time?" I ask. "What if I'm not normal? What if I am the right girl for this game you've been playing? Don't you want to find out for certain?"

  "I want you to survive this," he says.

  "You're being kinda melodramatic," I reply, stepping toward him and putting my hands around his waist. "Words are cheap," I say, looking into his eyes, "but if you really want to shock me, you'll need a lot more than just a few words. You'll need to show me what you're talking about."

  "You don't know what you're getting yourself into," he says, looking almost as if he's scared.

  "Then tell me," I continue, pressing my body against his nakedness and feeling his hardening penis nudging my crotch. "Tell me the things you'd do to me if we slept together again. Don't hold anything back, Mark. Tell me about it. Go into detail. Explain what you want to do to me next." Feeling myself getting wetter and wetter, I try to dismiss the nagging fear that perhaps I'm falling into some kind of trap. Still, there's no way I'm going to let Mark beat me.

  "You can't handle it," he says. "You could barely handle the things that happened tonight." He looks deep into my eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."

  "Hurt me," I reply, leaning closer and kissing him gently on the lips. It's a kiss that lasts only a few seconds, but when our lips part, I can tell that something has changed. "I'm not some kind of delicate little flower," I continue, "and I'm not like all the other girls. You challenged me tonight and I accepted that challenge. Fuck me again, I dare you. See if you can shock or upset me. I guarantee, I'll change your mind. After all, when you whipped me, you barely broke my skin, but when I whipped you..." I smile. "What are you scared of?" I whisper eventually.

  He stares at me for a moment. "Wait here," he says finally. "I need to go and get dressed."

  "Why?" I ask.

  "Because I have to take you somewhere," he says, turning and walking back into his penthouse suite. As I watch him head into the bedroom, I take a deep breath and try to work out why I'm doing all of this. I should just turn and run away from Mark as fast as possible; any girl in my position would recognize the warning signs and get out of here, yet not only am I still standing here, but I'm actually encouraging Mark to take his best shot. It's as if the events of the night have woken something new inside my heart, and now I can't help but allow my curiosity to grow. I figure I can always pull back at a later point, so why not at least see what Mark has in store for me? Besides, I'm determined to prove to him that he's got me wrong: I'm not weak or frail; I'm strong and I can handle anything he throws at me. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?

  "Ready?" Mark asks as steps back out of his bedroom. He's wearing an immaculate suit now and, as he pulls the door shut, he smiles. "It's not a long drive," he says.

  "Let's go," I say, reaching out and taking his hand.

  "Sure," he replies, and we walk together toward the elevator. He hits the Call button before looking over at me. "You've surprised me twice in one night, Elly," he says. "First when you were able to keep up in the bedroom, and then when you demanded to see more of the game."

  "I guess I've surprised myself too," I reply as the elevator doors open and we step inside, much to the surprise of the bellboy, who carefully avoids making eye contact. God knows what the poor guy thinks about the things he witnesses in this elevator.

  "The basement," Mark says to the bellboy, before turning to me. "My car's in the basement."

  I force a smile. There's a part of me that wishes I was going home right now, but I know I'd spend the rest of my life wondering if I missed out on something important. For all his faults, Mark seems to have an irresistible power over me, and I'm determined to prove to him - and to myself - that I'm not just another normal girl. Although Mark acts like he's got some kind of shocking, amazing challenge in mind, I feel pretty confident that I won't have any problems dealing with it all. Already tonight, I've been whipped and I've had the best sex of my life in front of a strange old guy; seriously, what else could Mark possibly throw at me? Whatever it is, as the elevator doors slide shut, I feel totally confident: I'm ready for anything.

  Jonathan Pope

  1896

  Rain pours down from the night sky, filling the London streets with impromptu floods and rivers that rush through every gutter and thoroughfare. It's on nights like these that one is tempted to believe the apocalypse might soon be here; in the distance, thunder rumbles ominously and there's an occasional flash of lightning. Only a fool or a madman would be out in such terrible weather; or perhaps a man filled with such desperation that he can contemplate limping through the darkness on his way to a fateful meeting.

  As I get closer to the Thames, I begin to hear the roar of the rain as it strikes the river. The banks are swollen, reaching up a couple of feet higher than usual, and the river - usually so quiet and calm, as if it wishes to flow unnoticed through the city - is tonight choppy and angry. On my journey here, I have run into not a single soul; even the rats are huddled up tonight, staying dry in their holes beneath the cobbles. In ordinary circumstances, I would be with them.

  I loiter near the south side of the bridge, keen to work out who has arrived and where they're waiting for me. Cather May is a given, of course, but there's also the question of Lady Red and Mr. White. It's simply inconceivable that Cather would have accepted my offer without turning to my enemies and nego
tiating a better deal. I intentionally played a weak hand with Cather, determined to send him scurrying off to Lady Red so that he could offer to betray me. I'm sure he's been handsomely paid for his efforts, and he probably thinks he's pulled off one of the double-crosses of the century. As I see a dark figure approach the bridge, however, I reach into my pocket and feel the handle of one of three pistols I've brought today; each gun is loaded with six bullets, so I'm fairly sure I've got a decent chance of taking down anyone who comes at me.

  I wait until Big Ben strikes twelve, the bell's boom ringing out across the city. Once the final chime of midnight has sounded, I take a deep breath and decide that it's time to get moving. I emerge from my vantage point and hurry through the rain, heading directly toward the figure by the bridge. I can already tell from the slouched shoulders and inelegant gait that it's definitely Cather; he's come to do the deed himself, so he can see my body as it's thrown into the ice cold water. I'd like nothing more than to blow his face off right now, but I can't risk startling his unseen companions. They're undoubtedly watching and waiting, but I imagine they'll take their time before they make their presence known. As far as they're concerned, they have the benefit of surprise, when in fact the reverse is true.

  "You got it?" I call out as I approach Cather. I have to shout to be heard over the rain.

  "Of course," he replies, indicating a small package tucked inside his coat pocket. "And you?"

  I pull a notebook from my pocket and pass it to him. "Everything you need is in there," I say. "A turn-key network of underworld thugs, all willing to work for anyone who'll send some coins their way."

  "It's strange," he says as he puts the notebook away, "but until today I never thought I wanted such a network. Since we spoke earlier, though, I've started to think more and more about what I could do with this information. If I can -"

  "Let's get this over with!" I shout back at him; if anything, the rain is getting worse by the second.

  "Fine!" he replies, pulling the package out and handing it to me. I take a quick look inside and see that everything looks to be in order. He's certainly worked hard to make this a convincing encounter. "You won't have any problems, with those," he continues. "Top of the line stuff. Your new name is William Gable, and you're a tea merchant from Islington."

  "A tea merchant?" I ask, surprised.

  "It's believable," he replies, "and it explains why you'd be leaving the country."

  "Fair enough," I say as I tuck the package away. "So I think perhaps we're done?"

  "Good luck, Pope," he says. We shake hands. "You're going to need more than luck, though. Where are you going to get your money from?"

  "Let me worry about that," I reply, glancing over my shoulder. I'd expected that Lady Red and Mr. White would have interrupted us by now, but so far there's no sign of them.

  "Goodbye," Cather says, turning and walking away.

  "Wait!" I call after him.

  He turns to me. "What?"

  I pause for a moment. "Nothing," I say, realizing that the plan must be for me to get jumped once Cather's out of the way. I watch as he hurries off into the rain, and I'm left standing by the bridge, anxiously watching the nearby shadows. I know I'm being watched from some vantage point, but right now I'm not sure where my enemies are perched. Deciding I can't simply stand out here in the terrible weather, I hurry along the road, determined to act as if nothing's wrong. If I'm to retain the element of surprise, I must ensure that the observers believe I am confident.

  I hurry in the direction of Westminster Bridge, with the aim of making my way to Paddington. With my broken leg, however, it takes me hours to hobble even a small distance. By the time I reach Westminster Bridge, I'm soaking wet, and I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever manage to get to the station. Just as I'm limping across the bridge, I spot a figure in the darkness up ahead, and I instantly bristle at the possibility that this could be one of the people I've been expecting. The figure appears to be just standing at the side, leaning over the edge and watching the river. I put my hands in my pockets, making sure I'm ready with the guns, and I limp slowly past the figure. He doesn't look over at me; he doesn't even seem to acknowledge my presence as I pass just a few feet from him. Still holding the guns in my pocket, I'm just about to relax when I hear a shuffling noise from behind. I turn and glance back at the dark figure, and finally I see that he has turned to watch me.

  "Mr. Pope!" he calls out, his voice hard to hear above the rain.

  I stare at him, unable to make out his features in the darkness.

  "Forgive me," he says, stepping toward me. "My name is Harrison Blake. I believe we have some friends in common."

  "I believe we do," I reply, before pulling both guns from my pocket and firing them straight at his face. There's a flash of fire from both barrels, and the figure drops to the ground. I turn and look around, concerned that there might be someone nearby, but it seems we're alone on the bridge. I fire one more shot straight into the dark shape at my feet, and Blake's body judders for a moment. The dark cobbles, glistening in the rain and the moonlight, run black with the man's blood.

  Rather than pausing for a moment of sentiment, I turn and limp away from the scene. There will most certainly be an outcry tomorrow when it emerges that the Honorable Harrison Blake, a Member of Parliament no less, has vanished during the night. No-one will know the truth, of course; it will be reported that he was a respected politician and a good man, while there will be no mention made of his murderous secret life. I would dearly have liked to have talked to him a little longer, to perhaps gain an understanding of the game and its purpose, but I know he would have swiftly killed me; my only option was to strike first, and at least I am now safe from his clutches.

  As I hobble off the bridge and up toward the Houses of Parliament, I reflect upon the fact that in just a few days, I have killed both Mr. Blue and Mr. White; I doubt they could have been replaced too quickly, which means that only Lady Red is left alive. Through bitter experience, I have learned to never discount the qualities of the fairer sex; a woman can be just as dangerous as a man, after all. I'm still not safe.

  "Mr. Pope," says a male voice behind me.

  I start to turn, but suddenly my bad leg is kicked from under me and I fall crashing to the ground. Struggling to pull the guns from my pockets, I find that I'm quickly kicked again, this time in the back of the neck. I'm momentarily stunned, which allows my assailant enough time to grab the guns and get them away from me. As I struggle to get back to my feet, I realize that the man has stepped back and is watching my pathetic efforts.

  "Not a nice evening to be out and about," he says.

  Looking up, I'm shocked to see Harrison Blake himself staring down at me.

  "I must say," he continues, "you were very quick to kill my assistant back on the bridge. Still, it's understandable in some ways. It's so dark tonight, and there's so much rain, it's easy to become confused and disorientated. Poor Charles did look a little like me, which I suppose might be the reason I placed him there."

  I pause for a moment, hoping I can reach down and pull a knife from the holster around my ankle. This isn't over yet: I can still bring this bastard down if I'm just able to strike when he's off guard.

  "Ordinarily," he says, "I would just kill you right now. Fortunately for you, or perhaps unfortunately, I've been instructed to keep you alive. It seems Lady Red would like a word with you." He steps toward me. "Excuse me while I give you a little light beating. Just enough to knock you out."

  Before I can do anything else, he grabs me by the neck, hauls me up, and then slams my head down against the pavement. The last thing I see, before a second strike knocks me out cold, is the nearby Houses of Parliament looming up into the dark, rainy sky.

  Elly

  Today

  I stare straight ahead as we speed out of the parking lot and into the London night. It's almost 2am and there aren't too many people about. Rather than try to talk to Mark, I twist around in my seat and
stare out the window at the dark city streets as they flash past. I have no idea where we're going, but now that we're out of his penthouse suite and back in the real world, I suddenly feel as if I'd rather go home. The real world seems so much more rational and so much calmer than the torrid hothouse of Mark's life. All my determination is ebbing away, and I'm starting to worry about where Mark's taking me.

  "Put your seat-belt on," Mark says as we speed along Park Lane.

  I turn to him, feeling slightly annoyed that he's telling me what to do. It's as if he's resorting to the role of an authority figure, telling a dumb little kid she has to keep safe. He's the one driving, not me, so he's the one who's in charge of keeping both of us safe. I glance at the speedometer and see that we're pushing close to 65mph, but I feel as if - despite everything that's happened tonight - I trust Mark completely. If you told me right now that Mark is in charge of the whole world, I'd believe you.

  "I think I liked it," I say suddenly.

  Mark doesn't respond. He just keeps his eyes on the road.

  "At first I was shocked," I continue, "but now I think I actually... liked it." I stare at him, desperate for him to say something. "Does that make me weird?"

  "You didn't like it," he says firmly. "I saw the look in your eyes."

  "That was then," I say. "I didn't like the deceit, but... the actual thing? I think I liked it. I just wish you could have told me in advance what was going to happen."

  "You'd never have agreed," he says.

  I sigh. He's right. I would have turned and walked away. The idea of being watched in my most intimate moments would have been anathema, but now that it's happened, I feel different. "You're not taking me seriously," I say eventually. "You think you can decide how I really feel."

  He looks a little uncomfortable for a moment as we drive through Hyde Park Corner and turn onto the road that runs along one side of Buckingham Palace. As we make the turn, the car's wheels screech a little.