The Broken Trilogy

by Amy Cross

  "Elly!" my mother calls out. "Come on, we don't have much time!"

  "Coming," I say, a little disconcerted as I hurry to catch up to her. Damn it, I wish I could just tell her the truth about what I'm really doing today.

  Jonathan Pope

  1896

  "This is Clarice," Lady Red says, as the four of us stand alone in a small, quiet room. "Clarice, as you might imagine, is a very willing and pliable young lady. Already this evening, she has managed to seduce three junior ministers, two ambassadors and an heir to one of the major European thrones. I'm sure you'll agree that this is not a bad night's work."

  I turn to look at Clarice. Still wearing her purple mask, she giggles a little.

  "Clarice is twenty-four years old," Lady Red continues. "She is the daughter of a merchant in the north of the city. In other words, she comes from lowly stock. Had she not enjoyed the great fortune of running into myself and Mr. White, she would undoubtedly have endured a harsh and difficult life, tempered only by the knowledge that it would be over fairly quickly. However, Clarice was pulled into the game by Mr. D'Oyly, who believed she showed signs of promise."

  "Where is Mr. D'Oyly?" Clarice asks, looking over at the others. "Is he coming soon?"

  "No," Lady Red replies. "Mr. D'Oyly will not be joining us. Clarice has passed the first stage of the game. This, in itself, is very unusual, and it means she is ready to be put to the next level of the test."

  Again, Clarice giggles.

  "Look at her," Lady Red says to me as she walks over to the young lady. "You might think she's scared, but she's nothing of the sort." Without warning, Lady Red reaches down and slips a finger into Clarice's vagina; moments later, she removes the finger and holds it up for me to see. "She's wet," she says proudly. "She's ready for you again. As you've already experienced, she is ripe and firm and tight, so I'm quite sure you'll have no problem enjoying the moment. The aim of this session is quite simple, Mr. Pope. Clarice is to be pushed past her point of comfort. If all goes well, she will move on to the next stage." She indicates a door over on the far side of the room. "Through there, she will become fully immersed in the game."

  Clarice giggles yet again.

  "Is she of sound mind?" I ask, somewhat disturbed by her demeanor.

  "Of course I bloody well am!" Clarice replies, before turning to Lady Red. She has a rough, common voice. "You never told me he was a wimp."

  "He's merely concerned for your well-being," Lady Red replies. "Mr. Pope is a man of principles and morals, or at least this is what he believes. However, with your help, we are going to demonstrate that he can be broken down and turned into one of us with consummate ease."

  "Sounds good to me," Clarice says, staring at me. "I like a man who knows what he wants."

  "Mr. Pope has a great interest in the female body," Lady Red continues, "but he has tended to keep this interest tucked away. He tells himself that he is a good man. He hides behind a veneer of ordered behavior. He might live a rough life among the low-lives of the street, but he constantly reminds himself that, at heart, he is a good man."

  "You know me so well," I reply, smiling beneath the mask.

  "In many ways," Lady Red replies, stepping toward me, "you are the most perfect Mr. Blue who could ever exist. You have all these passions deep down in your heart, but you have struggled for so long to keep them hidden. Trust me, though; I know you better than you know yourself. Everything has been arranged for your benefit. Everything has been designed in order to lead you here, and now the moment has arrived." She pauses, before turning to Clarice. "My dear, you are free to choose. Would you rather take Mr. Pope as your lover for this test, or Mr. White?"

  Clarice turns to look at Mr. White, before looking back at me. "I'm not sure..." she says.

  "Choose quickly," Lady Red says, "or I'll choose for you."

  "Mr. White," Clarice says suddenly. "If that's alright."

  "You don't have to do this," I say to Clarice, starting to worry for her safety. After all, I've seen what Mr. White can do to people.

  "I want to," she replies.

  "Let them get on with it," Lady Red says, stepping back as Mr. White walks toward Clarice. Although he's an older man, in his fifties, Mr. White has a fairly decent body, and his thick, bulging penis is already erect. As he starts to kiss Clarice's shoulders, Lady Red moves over to stand next to me. "Mr. D'Oyly's sudden demise has necessitated some changes to the game," she whispers to me. "I would not normally have given Clarice the option of taking Mr. White for her next lover, but the role of Mr. Blue is officially unfilled, at least for now."

  "It will remain so for some time to come," I reply as I watch Mr. White's old hands fondling Clarice's twenty-four-year-old body, squeezing her breasts together and slipping between her legs. Clarice, to her credit, seems to be enjoying herself; either that, or she's a wonderful actress.

  "Don't you find the act of love-making to be quite beautiful?" Lady Red whispers, as if she's worried that our conversation might disturb the performance. "It's so rare that one gets to step back and really admire the mechanics of the whole thing. It's quite a remarkable thing to simply stand back and watch two people as they make love." She pauses for a moment. "Clarice!" she calls out. "Remember that you can tell him to stop at any moment. This is entirely consensual."

  "I'm good," she says, almost squeaking with pleasure as Mr. White pulls her down onto the floor.

  "How can you watch this?" I ask.

  "With great ease," Lady Red replies. "Look at the way their hands run along one another's bodies. Is there not some true tenderness on display here?"

  I watch as Clarice opens her legs and Mr. White begins to pleasure her orally. Arching her back, Clarice strokes her breasts as she closes her eyes and opens her mouth, letting out a gasp.

  "He is something of a master," Lady Red says. "That man's tongue can bring a woman to orgasm in seconds." She pauses for a moment. "So I've heard, anyway."

  Gasping again, Clarice writhes on the floor, her body tensing as she puts her hands down on the back of Mr. White's head and presses him harder against her crotch. It's clear that she's experiencing pure, genuine pleasure, and moments later she cries out as he brings her to orgasm.

  "I prefer the ones who scream," Lady Red says quietly.

  "My God," Clarice says, out of breath, "that was amazing." Reaching up, she removes her mask.

  "Put that back on!" Lady Red shouts.

  "Sorry!" Clarice says, quickly replacing the mask with fumbling hands.

  "You don't like to see the faces?" I ask.

  Lady Red doesn't answer; instead, she stares straight ahead as Mr. White turns Clarice until she's on her knees. He reaches over to a nearby table and takes a small bottle, before pouring the contents onto his penis and carefully oiling himself up. Once he's ready, he takes hold of Clarice's hips and begins to enter her.

  "No-one's ever put it in there before," she says, laughing.

  "I must say," I whisper to Lady Red, "I'm finding this whole thing to be rather tame so far. I've seen much worse things happen to young women in the back room of the King's Arms."

  "Perhaps you're right," she replies. "Perhaps we're just a group of very timid people who are easily shocked." She pauses for a moment. "Or perhaps you're wrong, and this is only the beginning."

  "Slower," Clarice gasps as Mr. White begins to thrust into her anus. "I'm not used to it up the back entrance."

  "The first signs," Lady Red says under her breath.

  "The first signs of what?" I ask.

  "She's not going to be the one," she replies, turning to me. "Can't you tell? She seemed so promising, but I fear she is going to back out when things become too extreme. It's so obvious."

  "What will happen to her?" I ask

  "It's sad," she says, "but we'll have to go looking for another girl. For that, though, we shall need another Mr. Blue."

  "Look elsewhere," I say. "Once this little show is over, I have no further interest."

 
; "Is that so?"

  I take a deep breath. The truth is, I'm not sure whether I have any option other than to play along, at least for now. I'm quite certain that if I try to leave, Lady Red will have me killed straight away. On the other hand, if I feign interest, I might at least be able to find some other way out, and I could even try to obtain evidence that I could use to bring this whole game crashing down. Not only would I save my own skin, but I might even be able to turn a tidy profit; after all, Elizabeth Cavendish's father has offered a reward of many thousands of pounds to anyone who can bring his daughter's killers to justice, in which case I would be able to retire and spend the rest of my life in luxury.

  "If I were to reconsider," I say after a moment, "what would be the next step?"

  "I would tell you more about the game," she says, "I would -" She pauses as Clarice lets out a loud cry. "Is everything okay over there?" Lady Red calls out.

  Clarice grunts as Mr. White continues to thrust into her.

  "If you want to stop," Lady Red says, "you have only to say so."

  "No," Clarice gasps. "Don't stop!"

  "Come with me," Lady Red says, taking my arm and leading me over to a nearby door. "I have no particular need to watch their entire encounter, not now that I know how it will end. I'm sure Mr. White is more than capable of determining the success, or otherwise, of Clarice's performance. I feel my time might be better spent showing you some of the secrets of the game."

  "I would be honored," I reply.

  "But you must understand one thing," she says, pausing as we reach the door. "Once we go past this point, there can be no turning back. If you follow me into the next room, you are accepting my offer. You are agreeing to become the next Mr. Blue."

  "Lead the way," I say.

  She pushes the door open. "Welcome, Mr. Blue. Allow me to answer all your questions."

  Elly

  Today

  "Can't a mother buy her daughter a bite of lunch?" she asks as we enter the bar. "It's not like I'll see you any time in the next few months. Then again, I suppose I could come and visit -"

  "No!" I blurt out.

  She turns to face me, looking a little shocked at the forcefulness of my response.

  "I'm going to be so busy," I say, trying to rescue the situation. "You know what it's like. Final papers to be written, projects to be finished. Exams. Stuff like that. I'd love you to come, but I'm worried it'd get in the way of my studies." I pause for a moment. "The last thing I want is to let my grades slip."

  "True," she says, turning and heading over to the bar. "So what do you want?" she asks as she takes a look at the menu. "I've never eaten here before. I've got no idea what the food's like."

  "It's good," I say. "Dad brought me here once when he was dropping me off. We had burgers."

  She smiles wistfully. "You and your father were always eating burgers," she says, sounding a little sad. "It's basically a child's meal, isn't it? Adults should eat something more substantial. Burgers are for Americans and children." She pauses for a moment. "And you never invited me to come with you."

  Once we've sat down and we're waiting for our food, there's an awkward silence that lasts several minutes. I keep glancing at my watch, desperate for time to pass so I can pretend to go and catch the train. As far as my mother's concerned, I've spent the past few days meeting friends, and now I'm heading back to Bristol; she has no idea about any of the stuff that happened with Mark. There's a part of me that would love to just blurt it all out and see the shocked look on her face. Still, she might have a heart attack, and I don't want that on my conscience.

  "So when do you think you'll be back?" she asks half an hour later, as we're wandering away from the bar and heading to the platform where my train is waiting.

  "I don't know," I say, which is true: I have no idea when I'll see her again, although right now I feel like I want to leave it as long as possible.

  "I suppose you'll be looking for a job in Bristol once your course is over," she says, not sounding too pleased with the idea.

  "I suppose so," I reply.

  "Your father would be very proud of you, Elly."

  "Thanks," I say as we get closer to the ticket barrier. Up ahead, I see the same ticket guard who fined me when I arrived. He glances over at me, and I can immediately tell that he recognizes me. "Okay," I say, stopping and turning to my mother, "I can take it from here. You don't have a ticket anyway, so they won't let you onto the platform." I pause for a moment, and suddenly I feel my anger start to subside. My mother can certainly be annoying, but I'm struck by the fact that she has to go back to that empty old house. With my father gone, she's got no-one. "I'll call," I say. "I promise. I'll be in touch."

  "Yes," she replies, reaching over and giving me a hug. "I'm sure you will. Good luck with your studies. Don't be a stranger."

  "Sure," I say. Once the hug is over, I turn and wander over to the ticket barrier. I glance back over my shoulder and see that my mother is already walking away, heading back to her car.

  "I'll need to see your ticket," the guard says.

  "No," I say with a smile. "You won't." Turning, I hurry away from the ticket barrier. As I reach the exit, I reach into my coat and pull out my phone, and I quickly bring up Jess's number.

  "Hey," she says when she answers. "Do you know what time it is?"

  "It's lunchtime," I reply. "Deal with it." Speeding up, I hurry out into the cold street. "Listen, Jess, I've got some news. I'm not coming back. Not yet, at least. I called the faculty this morning and deferred."

  "What the hell?" she replies, suddenly sounding wide awake. "What's going on?"

  "I'm fine," I say, "it's just that I've -" I pause, realizing how stupid I'll sound if I tell her the truth. I can't even begin to tell her what's happened to me over the past week; in fact, I'd feel stupid even telling her that I'm staying in London because of a guy. "It's just some stuff I have to deal with," I continue. "I don't know when I'll be back, but it won't be for a while."

  "So you're leaving me all alone for the next term?" she asks.

  "You're not all alone," I reply, emerging from the station into the busy street. "You've got loads of people there."

  "What about the house?" she says. "Are we still living together?"

  "Totally," I say, although I'm not totally certain whether I'll ever be going back to Bristol. "Of course we are. I just need to do some things here. Everything's changed, and I can't leave at the moment."

  "Are you deliberately trying to be mysterious?" she asks.

  "No!" I reply. "Listen, there's one other thing. I know it probably won't come up, but if you happen to somehow end up speaking to my mother for some bizarre reason, you have to not let her know about any of this. She thinks I'm heading back to Bristol today."

  There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Are you okay, Elly?" she asks.

  "I'm fine."

  "Are you sure? If something's wrong, you can tell me."

  "Nothing's wrong."

  "Is it a guy?"

  "No," I say firmly.

  "Are you ill?"

  "No."

  "Is it cancer? Have you got cancer? Oh my God, Elly, are you sitting bald in some hospital bed and -"

  "I'm fine!" I say. "I just have to stay and do some stuff. Honestly."

  "Do you need money?" she asks, sounding as if she's panicking a little. "I don't have any, but -"

  "I don't need money," I reply, smiling as I imagine what she'd say if I told her I was spending time with a billionaire.

  She sighs. "Whatever. Tell me when you're ready. Just get your ass back to Bristol as soon as possible, yeah? In some fucked-up way, I miss you."

  "Totally," I say. "I have to go, but I'll speak to you soon, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, I disconnect the call and hurry down the steps into the Tube station.

  Jonathan Pope

  1896

  "As Mr. Blue, your job will not just be to find young women for the game," Lady Red explains, as we stand before
a large, ornate book, above which there hangs an old painting of a stern-looking man. "You must lure them to you. You must make them want to impress you. You must make them come to you. It's up to you how you do it. Perhaps you'll arrange things in their lives in order to steer them to you. You might discern certain traits in their personality, and manipulate them. Whatever you do, you must make it seem as if they are choosing to come to you. Make them reject their old lives and seek out a new identity with you."

  "You make it sound so easy," I reply.

  "That is Benjamin Edgewood," she continues, indicating the painting. "He was the man who began the game. Without his work, neither of us would be standing here today. According to historical records, he was a merchant banker who came to the belief that sex could be the ultimate expression of an individual's strength. He was also a rather enlightened man, to the extent that he believed it would eventually be a woman who would emerge victorious." She pauses for a moment, before removing her mask; to my surprise, she looks tired and a little sad. "You must remember, Mr. Pope, that the early eighteenth century was a time of great moral confusion. All sorts of anarchic groups were springing up across the country, some of them with ideas far stranger than anything Mr. Edgewood ever proposed."

  "Almost two hundred years," I say, staring at the painting. "How can something like this have been going on, hidden from the rest of the world, for so long?"

  "At first, it was mostly luck. Later, the game altered a little so that it would be much harder to detect. By the time of Mr. Edgewood's death in 1751, the game was set in its modern form and it was able to continue with little intervention. He believed he could establish a set of rules that would exist almost like a living organism, evolving naturally to deal with the needs of each passing age. Still, I doubt that even Mr. Edgewood could have predicted quite how things would develop. As the very first Mr. White, he presided over a rather chaotic version of the game, in which many people lost their lives rather needlessly. It was really only later that the second Mr. White, Albert Carrington, refined things so that the game's rougher edges could be tempered. Since then, the game has been a little more calm."